Chapter 10: The Tenth Visit
"So how do you want this to look?" asked Rachel.
Laurie settled down on the step. "Just make sure we're all in the shot."
"Yeah, but do you want portrait or landscape? How zoomed in? Maybe the lighting-"
"Whatever looks best!" said Laurie, laughing. "It's pretty informal, don't overthink it." She hauled her two wriggling children next to her. "Okay, just – John, sit down – no, Jamie, you stand up – no, Jamie stands, you sit, John – there you go, and my arm will go there-"
"Why're we taking a picture now, Mommy?" asked Jamie as she was manhandled into the right position. Photos had generally been taken around Christmas, to be sent to the few friends and family Laurie had left.
"Yeah, I'd like to know that too," Rachel mumbled, fiddling with the camera.
"It's just… something I wanted to do," Laurie said. It was a blatant lie, but she did not have any intention of letting Rachel know who they were giving it too.
"Getting the Christmas pictures done early?" asked Rachel with a wry smile. "Shouldn't you all be wearing reindeer sweaters?"
"Just tell us when you're taking the picture, Rachel!"
"Ready when you are." Rachel held up the camera. "On three… one, two, three!"
The camera flashed.
"Mommy," Jamie whispered a week later, as they walked down the halls of Smith's Grove Sanitarium, "are we going to be in the garden today?"
Laurie glanced at the aide ahead of them, who had heard her question. He shook his head. "Probably not, Jamie. That was a special thing, but it won't happen every time we come visit."
Jamie pouted. "I liked the garden." She had evidently forgotten all about falling and hitting her head.
The aide, however, slowed his pace to match Laurie's. "If your kids get bored, ma'am, you could think about sending them to the children's area," he told her. "It's a part of the hospital for some of the younger patients here, but we also use it for visitors who need to bring children along but don't want them interacting with people here."
"Oh." Laurie had not heard of this, but it sounded like a good solution, particularly as, in her rush to get out the door, she had forgotten to bring any coloring books or toys for her children. "I could do that. Will there be anyone there?"
"We can ask a nurse. It's far from here, in the part of the hospital reserved for short-term patients, so you don't really have to worry about security."
John jerked at her hand. "I want to see."
"Me too!" Jamie chimed in.
Laurie let out a weak laugh. "All right. We'll just, um, say hi to your uncle and you can go, okay?"
Security seemed to be loosening on each successive visit. The room was the same size, and the amount of furniture had not changed, but none of it was bolted down. There were windows, albeit barred ones. No restraints were being used on Michael at all anymore, and there was only one guard at the door. There was no one-way mirror into the room, as far as Laurie could see, giving them even more privacy.
The twins ran into the room and happily greeted Michael, hopping onto the seats nearest him. There was the general 'ooh'-ing over his mask, while Laurie hovered on the sidelines, not sure whether to leap in when they demanded to touch the mask again. (He let them. Jamie declared it "softer" than the previous one.)
Then John wondered why he didn't take it off, and Jamie declared she was going to do that, and Laurie decided it was time to step in.
"Okay guys, want to check out the children's area?"
As she hoped, it distracted them, and with squeals and attempts to out-run each other, she managed to hustle them out of the room and towards a waiting nurse. Michael watched them go impassively (they waved goodbye), and remained looking at the door long after it had closed, as Laurie dragged over a chair and sat down near him.
"I brought this for you," she said without preamble. Michael's masked face snapped over to look at her. She held out the photo, a little bit wrinkled at the sides from where she had been holding it tightly. It took a moment for Michael to look down at it. When he did, he gave no visible reaction, not even a head tilt.
"It's a photo," she said a bit lamely; somehow she had anticipated a greater reaction from him. "Of us."
He continued to stare at it, showing absolutely no indication of what he was thinking. Feeling more and more unsure, Laurie put the photo down and passed it towards him.
For a moment, she thought that was all that was going to happen, her brother just looking at what was probably his first gift in twenty years. But then, Michael lifted a hand from out of his lap and laid it on the photo.
She held her breath, not sure what he was going to do. He didn't make any move at first, beyond resting his fingers near the small group in the photo. However, after another long moment, he tugged the photo closer. His masked head bent closer, as if examining it, close enough that his hair fell on top of it. His fingers seemed to be moving over the faces – not stroking it exactly, but a more hesitant, curious motion.
He had been staring at for probably several moments, Laurie watching with drawn breath. When his movements slowed for a moment, she said, "Michael-"
Two things happened then.
The first was that the walkie-talkie of the guard in the room crackled to life, blaring out instructions in a static-y fuzz.
The second was that the alarm went off.
Laurie jumped so badly at the second that she knocked her chair back, clamping her hands over her ears at the wailing noise. Michael, on the other hand, did not react at all, seemingly still absorbed in the photo.
"What is that?!" she screamed over the din, whirling around to look for the guard. The man was shouting into his radio, paying her no attention. "Hey!" she yelled when she got no response. "What's going on? What's happening?!"
She flew out of her chair, racing towards the guard, who was still speaking frantically into his device. The noise grew more ear-splitting the closer she came to the door, but she could still make out fragments of voices –
"-receptionist's office, gotten through secure-"
The voice on the other end crackled to an abrupt stop. The guard swore loudly and began fiddling with some of the knobs, and Laurie unclamped her ears to hear: "-visitor's area, standing by for instructions-"
"Patients in short-term care have been returned to their cells, patients in long-term returning from lunch, need back-up-"
It crackled out again. "I'm on my way!" the guard responded, and would have gone out the door if Laurie had not grabbed his arm.
"Wait!" she exclaimed. "What's going on? What's happening?"
"Ma'am, stay here-"
"Tell me what the hell is going on!"
He shook her off. "Intruder break-in, ma'am." Laurie felt a horrifyingly familiar bubble of panic and rocked backwards. The guard, fumbling to put his radio back, did not notice, continued shouting instructions: "Just stay here – this is a secure area and you'll be safe-"
"My children are out there!" she screamed, lunging at him. "They're in the children's area, I have to go get them-!"
"Ma'am, do not leave the room!" was the guard's answer, now pushing her back. She stumbled, fear boiling over – Jamie, John, trapped, helpless, God knows who coming after them, herself stuck in here, unable to help them... She opened her mouth, not knowing what she was going to say, if it was just going to be a wordless scream, but the alarm was drowning out any words she was making.
The guard jammed the keys in and turned. "The children's area is quite secure, ma'am! Now I have to go – just stay here, nothing will happen to you-"
The door was shutting on her. "No – wait!" She grabbed at the door, but it was too heavy for her. "Please, I have to get to them, you can't-"
It slammed closed.
She wasn't too aware of what happened afterwards. Even at the time, events seemed to come in a series of blurred, disconnected images – a raw tearing in her throat as she screamed, angry, helpless tears overwhelming her – her fists pounding against the door, knuckles aching – clawing at the door handle as it refused to give way –
And then, suddenly, a hand clamping down on her arm.
Laurie could never remember turning; what she would remember later was seeing Michael suddenly appearing behind her, masked face close to hers, his hand gripping hers like a vise – and then being jerked through the air, the room whirling around her, and a sharp pain as her shoulder hit the ground – she was rolling, sliding until, with another painful bang, she hit the wall –
And when she looked up, through a haze of hair and tears, she saw Michael place his hand on the door, give a hard pull – and the door opened with a crack that could be heard even above the alarm, the lock torn loose and long streaks along the door edge and frame where the wood had been gouged out –
She screamed. "Michael!"
He stepped out and was gone.
Dr. Beckett raced down the corridor, coat flapping, ID badge banging against his chest. The alarm continued its interminable howl as he slid the card through the security panel and barged into the room. He could barely squeeze his way in. The cramped room was already filled with small tables, chairs, and television monitors showing various parts of the sanitarium, but now it was also occupied by the two guards who had been unlucky enough to be on shift there, the head of security, the head nurse, and almost all the other doctors available.
"What have we got?" demanded Dr. Beckett, shutting the door. Mercifully, the alarm did not penetrate here, allowing his brain to have some space to actually think.
The head of security was Mr. Wynn, a burly-looking man in his late forties; at the question, he grunted through his mustache. "All short-term patients have been secured in their rooms. Nurses have taken shelter in a nearby staff lounge and have barricaded the door." He pointed it out on the monitor; Dr. Beckett could see perhaps a dozen women, in white uniforms, huddling under tables or against the wall. Various pieces of extra furniture were piled up against the door. "Long-term patients have been sent back to their rooms – most already inside. Maximum security wing placed on full alert-"
"That won't help if the guards do not have their weapons," interrupted Dr. Walker, his accent thick – really the only way Dr. Beckett could tell he was panicked, for his superior seemed otherwise unfazed. "Have they been able to get to the weapons rack?"
"Some, not enough. You're the ones demanding we never carry guns around – we can barely smack a patient around without a goddamned lawsuit! And we were taken completely by surprise-"
"Yes, yes, we know," said Dr. Koplenson, cutting through the security guard's defenses. "It's an unprecedented event – we're built to keep patients inside, not other people out!"
"Nevertheless, it has happened," remarked Dr. Walker. "Have the police been called?"
"Yes, but it will take them at least ten minutes to get there-"
"Then we hold down until they do. The patients are secure?"
"Just about all of them." As he said this, Dr. Beckett made his own quick perusal of the cameras. They were not installed in the patient's rooms, in the interests of privacy, but he could see down each hallway of each wing, and all were empty.
"The staff? Nurses, doctors, aides, security?"
Wynn tapped the previous screen of the nurses, then another showing a darkened room, "Nurses in the lounge, most of the doctors are here, aides are in a storage facility, security guards are trying to hold them off…" He pointed out screens of the various barred doors, each with a guard positioned behind it.
"Tell them no," ordered Dr. Walker. "Their priority is the safety of the patients. We do not need heroes."
Wynn nodded. "Yes sir."
Dr. Walker glanced over the cameras. "Tell me about the intruders."
The security head tapped on the appropriate screens. "Six, maybe seven heavily armed criminals." He jerked a finger at three different screens from the minimum security area, each showing two or three men racing down the halls. They looked fairly ordinary, wearing leather jackets, jeans, and baseball caps, save that they were bristling with weapons – pistols, shotguns, rifles, one even carrying a bat. "Police say they were on a high speed chase, having just robbed a mall in another town. They crashed their car through the gates, blasted through the receptionist area, and are making their way through the minimum security area. No attacks on the patients so far – looks like they might just be trying to hide here-"
"Or take us hostage!" pointed out Dr. Koplenson in agitation, to the murmur of the others in the room. It would mean being trapped in the hospital for an indeterminate amount of time, with patients with varying severity of illnesses, and their families waiting in agitation – it'd be a nightmare, thought Dr. Beckett.
"Wait-" Dr. Walker held out a hand. "What is that?"
An ominous silence fell over the room as he pointed at a television.
"Dr. Beckett?"
He felt a chill crawl up his spine. His superior was staring at a screen as if he might bore through it if he tried hard enough.
"Is that not your patient?"
The others in the room seemed to melt aside as he pushed his way through. He looked at where Dr. Walker was pointing, at a man walking through the corridor of the maximum security wing.
"That's… um…" He licked dry lips. "Yes. Michael Myers. My patient."
"No shit!" shouted the head of security. "And now he's loose in the fucking hospital!"
"He was in the visitor's area, in the secure wing, I could not have predicted this-"
"You're the one who fucking said to take off his cuffs!" Wynn roared, spit flying. "You're the one who only had one guard there and nobody else fucking watching! Now he's fucking loose, probably fucking killed the guard and the unlucky bastard visiting him, and we're going to have a goddamned shitstorm up to here-"
"Mrs. Lloyd appears to be alive," Dr. Walker said, pointing to yet another screen, this one showing a visitor's room. Indeed (and with an internal sigh of relief), it did seem that Michael Myers's sister was, if not well, then at least moving and on her feet. Even with the fuzzy black-and-white feed, he could tell she was under great distress, blonde hair in tangles and nursing her right arm. Still watching, he saw her open her mouth and say something – it looked like "Michael" – and then dash from the room.
"Shit, and now she's out," muttered Wynn. "What the hell does she think she's doing?"
Dr. Beckett forced him aside. "Where's Myers?" He spotted the man moving along the corridor. In another camera, Mrs. Lloyd was stumbling out the door, frantically looking up and down the hallway. And lastly –
"The children," Dr. Beckett murmured. He looked at where Myers was walking, at the children's area – where a nurse and the Lloyd twins were hiding – and at Mrs. Lloyd. "He's going after the children."
"What?" shouted Wynn.
"No, see." He felt as if he were talking in a dream. "He's at the first door…"
A guard appeared on the screen, blocking access to the door. He was gesticulating, waving the gun at Myers, who had halted. The latter's back was to the camera, but Dr. Beckett had studied the archival footage for hours; he knew his patient's body language. Myers was observing the guard, waiting…
The guard aimed his gun. A collective gasp ran through the room as Myers's hand shot out, faster than Dr. Beckett thought possible for such a large man. He swept the gun to the side – a hole appeared in the wall to his left – and then Myers was on the guard like a cat leaping onto a mouse, hand locked around the guard's throat. Another gasp – and then the guard was being hurled against the bars, body smashing into it and slumping to the ground, only for Myers to grab him again and bash him into it – and then again, and again, smashing one area in particular –
So that finally, when he was finished, the guard's head was little more than a bloody lump, and the lock on the door had been broken up just with the force of his body been crushed against it. Myers swung open the door and stepped through, out of range of the camera.
For a moment, all was silent in the room.
Finally, Wynn snorted. "Well, doc," he said, "looks like your therapy's been doing wonders for the guy."
The children's area was not very fun.
Maybe Jamie was being mean. It had some toys, like the wire set with little balls she could roll around. There was a dollhouse too, though a lot of the furniture couldn't be moved. Some books, but John was hogging all of them. But there just wasn't anything to do, and the nurse was boring and kept telling them when they were playing with something wrong (she just wanted to move the bed around, she didn't know it was glued on), or reading her magazine.
She thought she'd rather be back with Uncle. He never talked, but she liked that, because it meant she could talk more. Like with John. Mommy had said he hadn't talked in a very, very long time. The longest time Jamie knew was the time of the dinosaurs. Had Uncle seen dinosaurs? She'd asked Mommy that but Mommy just made a funny noise and said "no". But not talking meant he couldn't tell them they were playing wrong, or yell at them for wandering off. Which Mommy did a lot. Especially to Jamie. Not with John, because John just liked to sit around and never do anything, but Jamie liked to explore and see new things, and Mommy didn't like that. Mommy had said that it scared her, which just scared Jamie, because Mommy should never be scared.
Uncle seemed to scare Mommy too, though Mommy said he didn't. But Mommy didn't seem to like going near him, not the way Jamie did. (John didn't go too near him either, but John was just like that all the time.) Mommy always looked kind of funny around him, like she was scrunching up to do a somersault or something. And Mommy's voice always sounded a bit weird when she was talking to him.
She didn't really know why, though. Mommy said that her uncle had done bad things. Maybe he had failed a test at school? Tests were really important to Mommy. Or maybe he stole a toy or something. Once Jamie had grabbed one and forgotten about it until one of the store people had pointed it out. Mommy had said it was okay to forget, but that if she did it on purpose, people would think she was stealing and throw her in jail. Maybe Uncle had been thrown in jail for that.
It was funny to think she had an uncle. All her friends would talk about their Mommy and Daddy, Grandpa and Grandma, Aunt and Uncle and Cousin, but Jamie and John didn't have any. Daddy had said that most people had two Grandpas and two Grandmas, but that theirs had all died. He had also told them not to talk about it with Mommy. And they had no Cousins and no Uncles and Aunts, except for Aunt Annie who came over once but who wasn't their real Aunt, according to Daddy. And now they had no Daddy either.
Rachel had an Uncle. They had seen him once. Neither of them had liked him. His belly was very round and he was kind of smelly and there was no hair on his head, and it always looked very shiny. He didn't really like talking to them, just wanted to hog the TV, even if Jamie and John were watching something. Mommy had said their Uncle was different, but Jamie had thought that if their Uncle was anything like Rachel's, she would never see him again.
But their Uncle seemed nice. Jamie had thought he was a girl at first, because his hair was really long. And he wore funny clothes, like he was going to go bed soon, only it was always after lunch when they visited him, which was too early for sleeping. He let them touch his mask, which Jamie had liked. She had wanted to ask him how he made it so good, but then Mommy had sent them out and she couldn't. And now she was stuck playing here until –
A sound hit her ears, so hard it made her clap her hands over her head.
What was going on?
When the alarm began, John dropped his book and looked around for Jamie. She was yelling, and he wanted to yell too, because it hurt so much. But the nurse was shouting at them, trying to grab them both but also grabbing her walkie-talkie (which Jamie had tried to touch but which the nurse had said not to) and yelling into it. There was so much noise it made his head hurt.
He had been having fun too. Jamie didn't like books as much as him, but he was happy with them. Some of them had only a couple of pictures, and a few had only words, but he could pull out the ones with lots of pictures and make up the words. (Mommy was teaching him to read, because his teacher was too slow.) He could tell though, with that weird sense that he and Jamie sometimes shared, that she was bored and probably missing their uncle.
John didn't really miss his uncle, or at least not as much as Jamie did. When Mommy had told them about him, he had imagined someone a bit like Daddy, even though Mommy had said no, his uncle was very different. Also, he knew Daddy had never done anything bad, and had never gone to jail, the way Mommy said his uncle had done. That was a bit scary – he'd never met someone who'd been in jail before. So he wasn't really surprised when he came in and saw his uncle for the first time – he was really, really big, way bigger than Mommy or Daddy, and looked kind of messy, and smelled funny, and he always wore a mask. He remembered in the shows he watched, burglars and bad guys always wore masks, so it made sense his uncle would too. (Jamie thought he had gone to jail for stealing a toy, which John thought was true too, since burglars and bad guys always wanted to steal stuff.) Mommy had said not to take the mask off unless his uncle let them. Except it was really hard to tell when his uncle would let him, because his uncle never talked.
John didn't like to talk much either, but his uncle didn't talk at all. (Jamie said since the time of the dinosaurs, but Mommy had said a really long time, and John knew from Daddy and his books that there was a time before dinosaurs, full of funny hairy blobs, so maybe that was when his uncle had stopped talking.) Sometimes John forgot he was even there. Except that his uncle stared at them a lot, which was also a bit weird, and distracting.
If he and his uncle had a staring contest, who would win?
But just when he had started thinking about that question, a really loud noise started, and Jamie started crying, and the nurse threw aside her walkie-talkie (John wanted to grab it because he'd always wanted to use one but he also didn't want to uncover his ears), and then she locked the door and pushed a table against it and grabbed them and pushed them under a bigger table and told them to be quiet.
The alarm kept going, and going, and going, until it stopped being painful at all and became background noise. Jamie was staring at the door, face all scrunched up, and John pressed closer to her and held her hand. Jamie was older by 30 minutes, Mommy had told them once, and so she was his big sister and had to protect him. Sometimes John tried to protect her, though.
Mommy had said his uncle was her big brother. That was funny. It was like the opposite of him and Jamie. Did their uncle have to protect Mommy then?
Then the door crashed open, and John saw his uncle standing there, and he began to wonder if his uncle had read his thoughts and come to find him.
The nurse saw him last, if the twins were to be honest. But when she did see him, she screamed so loudly she almost drowned out the alarm.
They saw him come into the room, almost filling it up, knocking aside all the toys. The nurse was scrambling up, and as their uncle approached, she lunged past him, trying to get the walkie-talkie.
She didn't make it. They watched, in horror-struck fascination, as their uncle just lifted an arm and waved it, like he was batting aside a fly. Only it wasn't a fly he hit, it was the nurse, and it made her legs and body go up and go soaring through the air and hitting the wall with a crunch. And when she slid down, there was a red streak along the wall and red all over her hair, and then she made this horrible little twitch and didn't move afterwards.
That was when the twins began to scream as well.
Laurie stumbled out of the room. Her head was pounding, making the hallways spin in a dizzying kaleidoscope of white walls and bright light, not helped by the incessant, continuous wailing of the alarm. Grabbing onto a nearby wall, she pulled herself up, gritting her teeth as pain shot through her still-aching shoulder.
Her children were somewhere in the sanitarium and there were intruders and Michael had escaped –
She launched herself forward, choosing a direction randomly – her vision was still horribly blurred and she had no idea what direction her brother had gone in – but she was going to find him, she was going to find her children –
And if he had done anything to her twins, she would kill him herself.
She forced herself to continue walking, the alarms screaming in and out as she passed them by. Turn a corner, her legs still shaking – looking for the hulking, familiar shape of her brother –
Instead, she found a barred door, opened, its lock busted, and the bloody body of a guard on the floor. His gun lay beside him, its barrel bent sideways. Laurie ducked her head, squeezing her eyes shut for a second as a wave of nausea almost overcame her. Refusing to look around herself, she stepped through the door.
At least she knew he had come this way.
Her head was beginning to regain its equilibrium, and she started going faster, trying the doors that appeared alongside her. Some had windows, so that she could see inside – often there were patients, some standing and staring back out at her, but most huddled in their beds. She didn't bother them, but tried others – storage rooms, cleaning facilities, bathrooms – nothing. She kept going, not stopping for too long, alarm still ringing –
Another door, another guard. This she could not keep herself from looking; the woman's body was slumped against the half open door, a great red bruise around her neck. Laurie swallowed forcefully, not thinking of Lynda lying naked with a red mark on her throat and eyes open and kept going, kept going –
She had to be in a less secure area now – the windows were no longer covered with grates, she could see doors and windows leading to yards, a mess hall off to her side that was empty of people, though dishes and food had been left abandoned on some of the tables. Her arm was pounding with a dull ache, and with the constant noise she could not hear anything to tell her if there was someone coming, but she just thought of Jamie and John, scared and vulnerable and at the mercy of intruders or their uncle, and she moved, one foot after another –
Ahead she saw another barred door, ajar, another body lying near it, feet partway blocking it, and she kept going, no longer sure where she was, except to follow the trail of victims –
Bang.
Laurie threw herself down, hands over her head. When she looked up, it was to see a scruffy looking man with a baseball cap and a pistol running down the opposite hall.
"Got your attention with that, didn't I?" he shouted over the alarm, brandishing the gun with too-casual vigor. Not a guard, as he wore no uniform, not an aide or a nurse for the same reason… one of the intruders. A wave of fear almost knocked her back.
The stranger said, "Come on, move on over there-" He gave a little point with the pistol, forcing Laurie to crawl back until they were as far from the alarm as possible. As she shuffled away, he gave her a look-over that made her skin crawl. "You're not one of 'em, are you? The crazies?" He snickered, then shouted, "Hey, Lou!"
'Lou', another fellow who looked much the same as the first man but with slightly longer and darker hair, came tromping down from the hallway ahead of her. He was carrying his own pistol and, ludicrously, a baseball bat, which he had leaning against his shoulder. Upon seeing Laurie, he stopped and whistled.
"I know, right?" said the first man, eyes hard and shining. "Gotta be one of 'em nurses or somethin' – maybe even a doctor."
"Don't look like a doctor," Lou commented, appraising Laurie like she was a dumb animal. "C'mon girl, get up, just wanna take a looksee…"
She stood up slowly, hands where he could see them, not making a sound. How far were these people in the sanitarium? Had they reached the children's area? Did they have Jamie and John?
"Doctors got money, don't they?" said the first man. He aimed his pistol at her. The shiny barrel held her gaze; she couldn't see anything except the hole, her own death, and her children left alone and completely vulnerable. "C'mon lady, hand it over."
She shook her head, tongue gone too heavy for words.
Lou snorted, swinging his bat from one shoulder to the other. "Don't try to be a hero, lady. Give us what you've got and we won't touch you."
Laurie shook her head again. "I don't have any," she said croakily. "It's – it's in my purse-"
"You lyin' to us?" Lou demanded, voice gone quite flat.
"No!" She pressed herself against the wall. "I'm a visitor, they take all our things before we go in, I don't have it-"
"Well shit," sighed the first man. "Think we oughta search her?"
"Nah," muttered Lou, though still loud enough to be heard over the alarm – again the goosebump-inducing look over Laurie, feeling vulnerable in her jeans and shirt, with only a cardigan on for warmth. "Not hiding anything on her, Dan."
The first one, Dan, pulled up his pistol. Laurie's internal sigh of relief lasted only a second before the man stepped close to her. "So who you visiting, sweetheart?" he whispered. "One of the loons locked up here?"
"None of your business," Laurie snapped, before she could stop herself. Her eyes flicked to the gun.
Dan tsked, pulling it back. "Don't even think about it, sweetheart. Lou-" he threw over his shoulder, "-watch her if she does anything." He reached for her arm. "Now come on dearie, come along with Dan and Lou here-"
She brought her knee up, ramming it into his crotch.
Dan howled, doubling up in pain, the noise joining the still-ringing alarms. The pistol came swinging up but Laurie grabbed his arm, holding onto it for dear life, aiming it away from her – in the back, she saw Lou roaring in fury and whirling his bat –
She tried to dodge but only partially succeeded – the bat slammed into Dan's side but also hit her left arm. The pain was intense, ringing up her bones, and she let go on instinct – and Dan, swearing loudly at both her and Lou, jerked his own arm up and aimed the gun –
A crash.
Laurie, clutching her arm, saw three things. The first was the door behind Dan suddenly exploding into a shower of wooden splinters – she had to raise an arm to protect herself, crouching down as they rained upon her. The second was Dan being knocked aside, going flying through the air towards her. She fell back, crawling aside, and he almost bounced against the wall where she had been standing. His partner was yelling in confusion, and she could hear terrified screaming, not sure if it was her or someone else, because the third thing was a huge gray shape that reached out and grabbed Dan by the neck.
She screamed. "Michael!"
It only added to the din, and Michael, if he heard, did not seem to notice her, was squeezing a struggling Dan against the wall, the man's feet raised over a foot off the floor and kicking wildly. Laurie scrambled away, still screaming. Lou raised his bat and brought it down on Michael's back, but he did not react at all, did not even seem to feel it, and Laurie saw a brief look of shock pass over Lou's face –
Then Dan was being hurled again against the opposite wall, his head smacking the surface and baseball cap flying off – Lou was backing away, fear passing over his face because Michael had turned on him. He swung his bat, only for Michael to catch it – to hold it as Lou, screeching, tried to grab it back against the other's inexorable pull towards him –
A jerk. The bat went flying out of Lou's hands, clattering against the floor. Some part of Laurie told her to make a dash for it, but the rest of her was held by the mayhem going on before her and only watched as Michael scooped up Lou like a kid and threw him against a window. The glass shattered, shards raining against the floor, red with Lou's blood as the man collapsed on the floor, and Laurie saw his back filled with them, sticking out like the spines of porcupine –
Over in the corner, Dan was recovering, mumbling curses. His hand dragged over his gun, fingers scurrying to grab it – then Michael moved towards him and grabbed his head in one hand. As Dan shrieked and struggled, Michael pressed his head against the wall, squashing it further and further – blood dribbled out between his fingers –
Laurie turned away from the sight and screamed, then almost threw up where she remained curled against the wall. Her stomach was twisting up, her chest heaving as she choked, face inches from the ground.
Eventually, she heard the shrieking stop, but her eyes remained closed, not wanting to see.
A thump, and then, penetrating her consciousness, two very familiar little squeals. Laurie opened her eyes to see Michael dragging out, from behind the ruined door, her two children.
She shot up, elation overwhelming her – Jamie and John were alive –
But they were with –
Jamie spotted her first, and tried to run to her. "Mommy-!"
With one arm, Michael scooped Jamie up around the waist; with the same arm, he grabbed John as well. They started shrieking, their little arms and legs flailing uselessly. "Mommy! Mommy!"
Rage took over, pushing away all thoughts of fear and safety, and Laurie found herself running towards them. "Michael, let them go-!"
He turned his masked head on her. With his other arm, her brother grabbed her by the waist and scooped her up like a child.
She screamed, kicking him, trying to throw off his grip, but he just kept moving. A horrible memory was coming back – hiding in the Doyle's house, in the bathroom – Tommy and Lindsey sobbing in the tub as they hid – and the black shape punching his way through the door, brutally stabbing a police officer, grabbing her and pulling her out of the house –
Something snapped in her. She tore her hands against his sleeve, punching whatever she could of him. "Michael, let them go, let me go! Michael, stop – stop please-!" But he ignored it all, like it was the battering of a flea, dragging them back through halls, back over a body – her children had stopped screaming and were crying as they passed battered doors and bloody bodies –
"MICHAEL!"
He dropped her.
Laurie fell to the ground in a heap. Her throat was aching from shouting so much, her arms and legs numb from trying to wriggle free. She scooted back, throwing hair out of her face and preparing to fight for her children – but then she saw Michael looming over her, and –
He dumped the twins on her, letting them go like two sacks of potatoes.
For a moment, Laurie was too stunned to react, both from surprise and from the weight of the two children falling on her chest. The twins, however, were quicker to react, throwing their arms around their mother.
"Mommy!" Jamie squealed.
Laurie gasped. "Jamie – John – are you-?"
"It was so scary-"
"It's so loud!"
"And the nurse made us hide under a table-"
"And then Uncle came-"
Laurie was talking over them, sobbing despite herself. "You're okay. Oh God, are you hurt? Did he hurt you?"
John was quivering, but he shook his head. "He grabbed us – Uncle took us away-"
Jamie wriggled in closer and whispered, "Mommy, the nurse, she was bleeding-"
Laurie grabbed them both in her arms, muffling their whimpers. "It's okay," was all she could say. She wiped away her tears, squeezing her twins. "You're okay. It's okay…" She checked them over. Their clothing was rumpled, their hair a mess, and there was blood on them, but no wounds she could see, nor did they wince or yelp when she cuddled them closer.
Above her, Michael remained standing, staring down at her. Even over the din of the alarm and the frantic hugs from her children, she could sense his gaze. There was an expectation about him, a waiting. It dawned on her slowly that they were back in the visiting room, half lying on its floor. And incredulously, she realized what Michael had just done.
He had broken out of the room with unnerving ease, had killed several guards and, if her children were to be believed, a nurse. But he had not tried to make his escape. He had not tried to hurt the twins. He had not even hurt her, or at least (Laurie thought), not intentionally. Instead, he had dragged them from the children's area. He had dragged her back here. He had killed two of the criminals who might have assaulted her.
And the only reason he could have done it, she thought, heart twisting, was because he thought that was what Laurie wanted. If he had wanted just to escape, he need not have taken them back. If he had wanted the children for himself, for whatever purpose, he would not have come for Laurie or saved her. If he did not care about the children, he would have just stayed with her in the visitor's room. And if he had wanted her and her children dead, he could have easily done it while they were alone, then broken out to go after the twins.
She sat up, tucking the children into her arms. "Michael…"
Then the alarm stopped.
The sudden silence was so startling that it shocked Laurie out of whatever she was going to say. For a moment, she simply looked around the room, thinking that maybe the police had come, maybe the intruders had gone away, maybe everything was all right…
A gunshot echoed down the hallway, and in the quiet, she could hear cursing and footsteps, which she knew were not the police.
For a moment, Laurie stayed frozen; even Michael turned around, looking out the door.
Then she sprang into action. "Get by that corner!" she shouted at her children. They ran, hunching near the heater. Laurie took in the windows (barred), the walls (no mirror or glass), the furniture (intact, unbolted, and still in their places), and the door (open, lock shattered). Moving quickly, she grabbed the table and dragged it to the door, kicking it shut. The broken lock bumped against the frame, bouncing it open, but she heaved the table onto its side and shoved it against the door until it stayed as closed as possible. Grabbing two chairs, she pushed them up against the knob and another near the table, then dragged a third over as well.
Panting with effort, she backed away, still facing the door, brushing up against Michael, who was also watching the scene. She could not think about his thoughts or his reactions now – the intruders, criminals, whoever they were, would find the bodies of their partners soon… might follow the trail of bodies back… and if they saw this door was unlocked, could come barging in…
Without taking her eyes from the door, she called out, "Jamie. John." The twins rushed back towards her. She grabbed their arms. "Get behind me. Don't make a sound." Squeezing them tightly, she pressed them back, felt them shiver against her leg, shushing even the smallest whimper.
The shouting grew closer; even through the metal door, she could hear it. She was breathlessly aware of every moment, every breath, every touch against her skin – her children's sticky, sweaty hands in her own, Jamie's hair tickling her wrist, John's warm body pressed against her leg, Michael standing like a statue just a few inches behind her, his robe brushing against her back.
The footsteps and shouting grew louder, closer… then stopped.
They waited.
A thud against the door that made it shudder, and then a whoop. She jerked, forced herself back into stillness. Beside her, her children squeaked and then hushed themselves. There was a tingling against her spine where she knew Michael was closest. She could hear his heavy breathing through the mask, but did not, could not, look at him.
Another bang. The chair against the knob was pushed back, its legs hitting the floor. The twins squeaked.
A louder bang. This time it was the table that shuddered, moving back a few inches. Laurie couldn't help pulling back as well, tugging her twins even closer. The shouting was growing clearer – a gap had appeared, and she could see movement behind it. She thought that maybe she should move, get to a corner, but her legs refused to obey. And in the bare room, there was nowhere to hide.
One last crash, and the table slid back a foot, knocking over the nearby chairs. The door was heaved open.
Five men barged into the room. They all looked similar to the two Laurie had encountered – leather jackets and jeans and stubbled faces hidden under baseball or hunting caps, all of them sporting at least one weapon. Their shouts and whoops filled the room, and Laurie felt her children creep even closer to her.
"Fellas!" shouted one, the tallest and oldest-looking of the bunch. When the noise didn't stop, he whistled. "Fellas," he repeated in a quieter tone, "we got a lady here with us. Show some manners." He holstered his own pistol.
His eyes fell on Laurie, then on her children, and finally lingered on Michael, looking him up and down. He was only a little shorter than her brother and unlike the rest of his group, did not seem intimidated by him. The others spread out around the room, one blocking the door, the others pushing the table away or standing in a corner. Their leader parted his lips in a grin that did not meet his eyes. Laurie did not believe any of his pretenses at politeness; there was a cold look to his eyes that made her draw back.
"So," he drawled, "you the feisty gal who did it?"
She just looked at him.
He didn't seem surprised by her silence. "You the one who killed Dan and Lou back there."
Laurie shook her head, not daring to answer.
"Hey Phil," said the man near the door. "Think the big guy did it?"
Again, the appraising look. "Could be. He's one of the crazies though, isn't he?"
"Maybe he's one of the violent crazies," another pointed out.
"Might be." Phil made a move towards Michael, fingering his gun. "So, you the guy who did it?" He lifted a hand, made as if to poke him.
Laurie stepped in-between the two men, dragging her two children with her. "Don't touch him." She didn't know whether she was warning the man or protecting her brother; all she knew was that it would be very bad if anyone touched Michael.
There was a guffaw from the men. Laurie knew how she looked – a young woman, guarding two kids, attempting to shield a man who was over a foot taller than her. Even Phil smiled. "You got feelings for this guy? What is he," his eyes looked over her children, "your husband?"
"My brother," snapped Laurie. Behind her, she felt Michael's breath stir her hair.
Phil stepped closer. He towered over her and the children, and so close to her, she could smell his breath. "That's sweet, lady. Guess you're visiting him?"
"Yes." Her hands were shaking, and she tried to force them back into stillness.
"Aren't you sweet?" Phil pressed closer. Laurie and her children had basically backed into Michael. At that moment, she felt his hand brush gently against the back of her wrist. It felt deliberate and, strangely, reassuring.
Phil said, "But you've never answered the question, big guy." His eyes went up over Laurie's head, looking at Michael. "You the one who did it?"
Michael, as expected, did not answer, but she knew, without looking, that he was staring levelly down at the other man. Laurie could barely breathe; the tension between the two was thickening, and with her and her children trapped in the middle of it.
Phil just looked back at him, a little grin twisting his feature. "I'm noticing something, big guy," he said. "There's blood all over your hands there. Gotta wonder how that got there."
Michael was silent. Laurie was ready to scream, sensing something building in the man behind her, and wanting only to get out from between them, get herself and her children away.
Phil shrugged. "All right." He flicked a hand over his shoulder. "Grab her and the kids. They'll make good hostages when the police come. Take care of him."
The men surged forward. Laurie tried to step back, opening her mouth. She was going to say "Wait". She was going to say "Stop".
She didn't get to say any of it.
What she would remember, later on, would be a series of movements that she could only put together later. What first happened (she would always know) was feeling a hand – not Phil's, not any of the men's, but a hand behind her – circle her arm. Instinctively, she had tightened her hold on her children's bodies, desperate to keep them with her –
The next memory would be of being hurled to the ground and sliding along the smooth floor to the back of the room. She would still be holding her children, they would be tangled up with her, rolling alongside her amidst an explosion of screams and cursing –
And then she would see Michael grabbing Phil by the face with one hand and the man's shoulder with another, and – as the group swarmed around him – giving a sharp twist.
Crack.
The body slumped to the floor, head turned at an unnatural angle.
Laurie might have screamed; she could never remember later on. The last thing she saw was Michael moving forward like lightning to grab the next man – and then she turned and grabbed her children and ran for the other side of the room. She could hear more thuds, another crack, the splintering of wood. The sound impacted in her brain, gave her an idea –
She must have shouted "Move!" because her twins were dashing alongside her. She dived for the table, still on its side, and heaved it along the wall until all four legs were pushed up against it. "Get behind it!" The twins crawled over the bottom legs, huddling inside, shielded from anything going on in the center of the room – Laurie, frantic, looked over her shoulder before joining them –
It was chaos. The shouting was bouncing off the walls, making a horrific din. Michael was a gray form, his hands on one man, lifting him several feet into the air. Two bodies were at his feet – she saw Phil, with his head still twisted almost the other way, and another – Laurie almost threw up – with a bloodied stake through his chest and the destroyed remnants of a chair nearby –
A clatter, and she saw one of the two remaining men dive for a gun, fumble with it, and fire –
Michael's shoulder jerked; a red circle splattered over it. Laurie screamed.
The sound drew the man and he half-crawled, half spun and aimed –
She threw herself down and heard a crack over her head, diving down, she saw a hole spider-webbing out from the wall near her. Pushing her children back, she pulled herself behind the table and threw the twins between her and the wall, shielding them…
A third gunshot, but this sounded nowhere near her. A sharp cry and yet another snap. More thuds. Wet crunches. A low moaning that went on and on before petering out. A low scream that ended in a choking that stopped abruptly.
Then just a slow, constant dripping.
Laurie lay behind the table a long time, feeling only her curled up limbs and the shallow breathing of the twins. She kept waiting for something – for a hand on her shoulder, for the table to be shoved aside, for voices and more gunfire – but there was only a lingering silence, broken by the drip.
At last, she untucked herself and looked out.
There were bodies lying on the floor, but she avoided looking at them. Blood covered the ground, swathing a large area of the room in red. Around the edges she could see streaks where a person might have been dragged back, splatters dotting up against the walls, and handprints. Of the furniture, only the table and one chair had survived; the rest were smashed or torn apart or crushed against the wall.
And in the center was Michael, standing as still as before.
Slowly, Laurie crawled out. The heavy smell of copper hit her nostrils the closer she approached, all too familiar. She should be panicking, she thought distantly, all the bodies and the blood, it was like something out of her worst nightmares, her deepest fears – but she couldn't really feel anything, think anything. It all seemed unreal, not quite occurring to her. Michael did not look at her; his masked face was staring at the nearest body, and she could see the slow rise and fall of his breathing. There was blood over not only his hands, but up his arms and sleeves, to his elbows. Moving around, she could see small droplets of it on the front of his shirt and pants. Still circling cautiously, unable to avoid stepping in the blood, she saw the source of the dripping sound. There was a slowly growing red patch on his shoulder.
"Michael," she said softly. "You're bleeding."
He swung his gaze around to look at her, eyes shadowed behind his mask.
There wasn't really any thought left in her head; she was moving more on instinct than anything else. As if from a distance, Laurie saw herself reach for his robe and pull it off. The fabric stuck to the blood, forcing her to tug at it, but Michael did not seem to notice any pain. She crumpled it in a wad in her hand, not caring if blood got on herself. Still detached, she dragged the one remaining chair over, unconcerned if it was on top of the blood, and moved to her brother.
"Sit down," she murmured.
After a short pause, he did, still watching her. Laurie moved to look at the wound. It looked worse against his white shirt, a slowly blooming red circle.
She said, "I'm going to put pressure on it." Her voice was still, almost detached, as she looked directly at him.
He was still looking at her, but something about the relaxed set of his body, his slow breathing, made her feel as if he was accepting that – giving her permission. She pressed the wad that was his robe against his shoulder, letting it sit there. The red of the blood around them, the metallic smell, and the pressure of her hand against her brother's body, burned itself into her mind.
Slowly, thoughts came filtering back in. Michael had brought back her children. That had happened. He had brought her back here with them. That was also something that had occurred. And when the intruders, criminals, whoever they were, had broken in, Michael had killed them. And he did this because…
Because…
Because Laurie had said she wanted her children back. Because the intruders had threatened them.
So he had saved them.
Laurie let that thought echo in her mind, pressing the cloth closer. Blood seeped into the fabric at its edge.
She did not delude herself. Her brother was still the person who had killed her friends and family. Still the man who, as a boy, had slaughtered several people in his home. And today, in getting to Jamie and John, he had murdered several guards and nurses. He was not a hero. But in his own way, he had protected her. He did what he did because he saw a threat to Laurie and her children and he had acted to get rid of it.
Suddenly, Laurie wanted more than ever to see what was behind the mask. It wasn't just to see if she might detect any emotion there. She wanted to look at the person who had saved them. She wanted to see the face of her brother.
His head was still tilted up to look at her; with him sitting and her standing, she was, just barely, taller than him. Her fingers hooked under the mask, but stopped, looking at Michael's eyes, inquiring.
He looked back. There was something accepting, mutely appealing in his gaze, and she had that sense again, of permission.
Very carefully, she pulled off the mask.
It was an ordinary face. She had not remembered that. She could barely remember his face at all – no memory of him as a child, and the only clear photos of him in Dr. Loomis's book were when he was younger. Even the first time he had unmasked himself, it had been in shadow, half-hidden behind his hair. She had never gotten a good look at it, and her imagination had twisted it, melding it with the cracked, blank face of his mask, into something more monstrous. But he did not look like a monster right now. He looked like a normal man.
There were strands of hair falling over his face, damp with sweat from being trapped under the mask. Laurie found herself raising a hand and sweeping them off, frowning slightly as she gazed at him. He gazed back. The fact that she had touched him, of her own accord, maybe for the first time since they were children, did not seem to affect him. And oddly, it did not affect her, other than a quiet little thought: Oh, I just touched him.
Laurie found her curiosity deepening the more she looked at him. It was funny, but she had always thought his eyes would have that flat, feral look described in Dr. Loomis's books – the blackest eyes, he called them. Perhaps they did look that way at other times – probably did when he was killing the intruders – but right now, they were clear and observant, taking her in as much as she was him.
There was a scuffle, and she was peripherally aware of the twins coming out from behind the table. If they were frightened of the bodies, of the blood, they didn't show it, but stepped over anyway, sneakers sticking to the drying blood.
"Mommy?" That was Jamie, tugging at her cardigan. "Did – did Uncle do this?"
Laurie nodded, lowering her hand from Michael's face. Their gazes were still riveted to one another's, not aware of anyone else.
"They were going to hurt us," said John from behind his sister. It was not a question, but Laurie nodded again anyway.
Jamie asked, "So – did Uncle save us?"
Another nod.
There was a pause, a wondering look on both the twins' faces. She saw them look at the broken door, at the table they had hidden behind, and flinch away from the bodies, still with that distant, curious gaze. Then, as one, their faces stilled, coming to a decision.
Jamie was the first. She stepped over and laid a hesitant hand on Michael's bloody wrist. "Thank you, Uncle."
After a moment, John did the same, echoing her words. "Thank you, Uncle."
Michael dropped his gaze, looking at their hands on his arm, then at the children, holding their gazes. Laurie stepped back, letting them have that moment, and continued pressing against his wound. After a second, her brother dropped his stare. She felt him breathe out, long and steady, like a sigh.
That was how the police found them, following their way through the carnage: Michael sitting, docile and bloody-handed, the two children at his side, and Laurie with the cloth still pressed to his wound.
"You realize this will set back some of the progress he has made? Certain liberties we've been allowing him?"
"Yes."
"The deaths of three guards and a nurse – needless."
"Yes." Her voice was mechanical, devoid of emotion.
"Even the intruders, all seven of them, did not do what he did. Just the receptionist – a few cuts and bruises, she was more scared than injured."
"I know."
Dr. Beckett rubbed his eyes, looking very gray and tired. "Not that we're not, erm… grateful, I suppose… for what he did."
Laurie did not move her gaze from the hospital door. "I understand. He's not a hero. He's a serial killer."
"Well… yes." He was peering at her. "Mrs. Lloyd, are you sure-"
She waved away his concerns. "I'm fine." The movement made her twins stir from where they were sleeping against her. The three of them had clustered onto a small bench outside the sanitarium medical wing, where the guards had taken Michael. She could not remember much of what happened when the police had finally arrived, except being shooed away, them putting restraints on Michael and taking him away, then ushering her out. A nurse had checked her and the children over and filled them in on events: the identities of the intruders; the whereabouts of other patients and staff; injuries and deaths; police cordoning off the area.
And yes, physically, they had been pronounced healthy, save for some bruises here and there and small scratches. They were visible now, with her cardigan pulled off – red and blue blotches on the skin around her upper arm and shoulder, little red scabs around her hands and wrists. Jamie and John had had the blood washed off their faces and clothes as best as they could.
Dr. Beckett sat on the bench next to her. "I know the nurses said you were, but… the video footage did show Michael Myers, well, grabbing you, throwing you around… it's not really the kind of behavior we were hoping he would display, particularly with you…"
She shook her head, knowing what he had assumed. That Michael had deliberately hurt her. That he did not care. That it might have led to worse violence, even killings. But it was wrong. Yet she also did not know quite how to explain it, not without sounding as crazy as… well, her brother. Dr. Beckett, however, waited patiently, letting her find the words.
"I don't claim to – to understand him," she began, kneading her fingers. "But I think I know… in this case… what he might have been thinking. He…" The words jammed in her throat, and she swallowed thickly. "No, I – I told him – well, no, I said – when the guard ran out, when I was scared… that I wanted my children with me. And he heard me. He understood – in his own way. So… he did it. He went out and… got them."
The doctor began to say something, something about the guards, and she nodded quickly. "I know about that. The thing is, when I – I guess I did tell him to do that… but when he went out, to do what I asked… he doesn't think about – about anyone else, about… not hurting them. I think they're…" She chewed on her lip. "I think he just sees them as… obstacles, in his way." Maybe that was how he saw her parents, a long time ago, her friends, even his own doctor.
Dr. Beckett waited.
"And I think… he knew when I was in danger and was trying to – to protect me. It's just…" Screaming as she fled down the street, struggling as he carried her out of the house… "It's the same thing. He does that, he's single-minded about it, and he doesn't really care or maybe even see if someone is scared or crying or accidentally hurting them… he just does what he thinks needs to be done, and it's all… irrelevant."
There followed a short silence. Jamie snuffled in her sleep and curled up closer to Laurie as she stroked her hair.
"You know him well," Dr. Beckett commented finally. There was a glint of admiration in the midst of his weariness.
She shook her head. "Not really. But with what happened today… I could make a guess."After a second, "Is he all right?" She felt like she was asking more out of obligation than curiosity - she had seen Michael take half a dozen bullets, including one to the head, and keep walking.
"A bullet to the shoulder, which we pulled out. Some blood loss, but it doesn't seem to have affected him." Like her, Dr. Beckett seemed to assume that Michael was more than likely to recover from the wound.
She picked at a thread in her cardigan. "He probably saved our lives."
"If I bring it up, it might affect his odds of being transferred to another facility…" And possibly release, seemed to be the unspoken statement.
The thought did not make Laurie flinch as it had before, but she still shook her head once more. "No. He can't. I don't-" I don't want him with me, she might have said, but was that quite true anymore? "He just can't be out. Whatever he's done today… doesn't make up for everything else." That she did know. She clung to it.
Dr. Beckett nodded. "I agree. But Mrs. Lloyd-"
"Laurie." She managed a weary smile. "I think we've talked enough that you can call me that."
"Ah – Laurie." He returned her smile. "Perhaps you might agree now that you… helped?"
Again, she waited for that internal recoil – the thought of aiding her brother in any way had been anathema – but it too was gone. She just felt tired.
"Yes," she said. "I suppose I did." She stood. "Could I see him?"
"I'll see what I can do."
A little while later, with the pulling of a few strings, she was allowed into the sanitarium's medical wing. There were police and nurses swarming the area, not for injuries, but for the dead. Several had been zipped into black body bags, while another was covered with a white sheet. Some were still exposed, and Laurie recognized several pulped bodies, but she averted her eyes, hurrying past. Phone calls were being made in hushed voices; she tried not to listen to that as well. In a separate section were a few patients. She had been told that none had been assaulted during the attack, and could only assume they had already been occupants in the medical wing before. They were lying in a communal room, one hooked up to an IV. However Michael, was befitting a maximum security patient, was placed in his own room. She knew when she had reached it – it was the only door that seemed to be made of heavy steel and had a durable lock on it. And there was a guard outside. A quick murmur from the accompanying Dr. Beckett, though, and he let her inside.
The room itself was small, little more than a cell, windowless, and lit only be an overhead bulb covered with a metal mesh. The only furniture was a hospital bed, which was held to the floor. There were no other machines, not even an IV drip. She supposed her brother hadn't needed it. She did not hear Dr. Beckett murmur that he was going to leave her alone, nor notice the door shutting behind her.
He was lying in the bed, half covered with a blanket, and Laurie felt a dim little surprise that they had managed to find a bed big enough for him in the first place. Well, she supposed they would have; he had been there for over two decades now. Straps held him down – also not unexpected, considering who he was. They had taken away the dirty robe she had used to stop the bleeding and replaced his shirt as well, but she could see the edge of a bandage peeking out from beneath his collar.
As soon as she came in, she felt his gaze on her, but it was no longer as oppressing as before – hadn't been for a while. There was no chair, so she came to stand by his bed, examining him. He wore no mask for now; she had dropped it on the floor after taking it off and assumed it was still there, probably cleaned up and thrown away by now. But his hair had fallen all over his face again, and she was startled to find that she had to resist the urge to brush it away. Yet even not being able to see him clearly, she could feel the strange, gentle weight of his eyes, a lingering acceptance from their moments before.
"Hello, Michael," she said. The words were foreign in her mouth – was this the first time she had ever actually greeted him? Perhaps. She considered what next to say. "The twins are okay. And me." She couldn't really ask him how he was feeling, since he would not give an answer, but she did make a show of examining his shoulder. "I guess you're okay too."
Quiet fell, but with none of the tension of her first visits. This felt normal, even companionable.
Laurie reached into her pocket and unfolded a glossy piece of paper. "I think they forgot to give you this." She handed over the photo. It had fallen on the floor when Laurie had moved the table, far away from the carnage that it had not been smeared with blood. His eyes dropped to it, then back to hers. She slipped it under his blanket, where he would be able to reach it.
Another period of silence. It was quieter in the room than in the visitor's area – no music being piped to them, no whir of the heating system, no quiet electronic buzz of the cameras. Not quite sure what to do, she perched herself on the edge of his bed, one leg swinging.
Laurie knew what she was feeling, knew that she wanted to acknowledge it in some way to her brother – her frightening, fascinating brother whose presence had changed so much of her life in the last few months – but she could not quite come up with the right words.
Some English teacher, huh? was her brain's barbed comment.
"Michael," she began, then stopped. Maybe it didn't really matter, the exact way to say this. "I still – I still remember Halloween." He was watching her. "Everything that happened that night. You killed… so many people. My friends, my family. And…" She swallowed. "I can't forget that, or forgive that. I still have nightmares, I still can't – can't open a door or see trick-or-treaters or walk down a street at night without feeling… so afraid."
She hesitated now. "But… you saved their lives – Jamie and John's. You saved my life. And… I don't know if that makes up for anything… no, I know it doesn't… but it's…" She tried to find the right words. "I'm grateful."
He looked at her a moment, and something had shifted while she spoke, for she felt the heaviness of his glance and lowered her own gaze for a second, poking at the photograph lying partway beneath the blanket.
Then Michael did a strange thing. Despite the strap that confined it, he twisted the hand closest to her so that it was up, palm facing towards her. She might have missed it, had she not already been looking down. For a second, Laurie was going to dismiss it as just a random movement – except that she had learned throughout her visits that there was very little Michael did that was random.
She glanced up. The burden of his gaze seemed to have lightened; there was instead only an anticipation, a hopeful waiting. Then, she figured it out.
Without hesitating, she reached over and tucked her hand in his, not surprised to see how his absolutely dwarfed hers. It was only her second time touching him, and she heard that same tiny thought: I did it again. She could feel the roughness of his palm, the calluses. Wrapping her fingers around his, she gave a tiny squeeze.
"Michael… thank you."
And Michael squeezed back.
A/N: I debate cutting this chapter into two parts, but eventually decided not to; there wasn't really a place where the parts would be evenly split without ruining the momentum. So have a 10,000 word chapter!
The head of security is surnamed Wynn; if you watch the original Halloween series, it's the name of one of the other doctors and, in the sixth movie, the "Man in Black" who controls and aids Michael. In the remake, there's a nurse with that last name, probably Rob Zombie's shout-out to the character; she's the one Michael stabs in the neck with a fork. I kind of thought of my Wynn as that nurse's younger brother or son (which would explain why he's so cynical).
I also considered, for this chapter, having there be a breakout of the patients which threatens Laurie, Jamie, and John, but decided against it early on because 1) it's been done a lot and 2) it's not representative of people with actual mental illnesses (people with mental illnesses are more likely to have violence done to them than they are to inflict violence).
Only the epilogue to go!