Title: Stolen Innocence

Rating: T for some swearing and blood.

Summary: When Michael learns he has a niece, he decides to kidnap her instead of kill her. Michael x Jamie [AU]

Disclaimer: Don't own a thing.

Author's Note: I'm afraid it's gonna be nothin' but cliffhangers from here on out, guys. I apologize in advance. And I finally remembered to enable anonymous reviews so by all means tell me if this chapter was worth the effort I put into it. It took a lot out of me to write and the next one's probably going to be even harder! Just in case this is my last update until after Xmas, so I wish you all Happy Holidays in whatever way you choose to celebrate them! Myself, I'm going to drink lots of eggnog (preferably with that extra kick to it) and munch all the candycanes I can get.

Chapter Eleven

"Well," he thought, "I've got a new friend, all right. But, what a gamble friendship is! Charlotte is fierce, brutal, scheming, bloodthirsty – everything I don't like. How can I learn to like her?"

E. B. White, "Charlotte's Web"

Trees, some with broad trunks pitted and cracked from age, others young, slender saplings that had barely begun to grow, loomed over the little girl as she ran and darted among them. Above them all, the gray sky gradually deepened from sickly green, to the livid purple of a fresh bruise, and finally to a false night lit by erratic flashes of blue and white lightning. Strong gusts of cool wind caused high branches to bend and creak, and rustled through the dry needles of white pines. The entire forest seemed to be holding its breath, waiting for the power contained within those massive, angry thunderheads to be unleashed.

Fueled by the liquid fire of adrenaline, Jamie ran without stopping for what felt like hours, her heart pounding so hard she thought it would burst inside her. The chilly autumn air blew against her face and ruffled her nightgown, making the long white sleeves billow out like wings. It flowed effortlessly through the thin cotton fabric and contacted the sweat covering her body, making her pale skin feel cold and clammy. A shudder passed through her limbs as goosebumps started popping up, becoming tiny frozen pearls on her arms and legs. She wanted to stop, to lay down on the cold, prickly forest floor and rest for just a few minutes, just long enough to catch her breath, but every time she tried her imagination kicked in, filling her mind with images of what the Boogeyman might do to her if he caught her and how much it would hurt.

So she kept running, batting aside low hanging tree branches and tangled ferns, ignoring the broken sticks and sharp thorns that stabbed into the soles of her bare feet. Every time she stumbled, she immediately got up again. Every time a sharp twig or stone cut into her tender feet, she ignored the urge to cry out. The near constant flashes of lightning disoriented her, providing frightening seconds of brilliant illumination that outlined the entire forest in black and white, making swaying branches appear as grasping claws and thick tree roots seem like piles of giant, writhing worms, then plunging everything back into almost total darkness. Her breath came in ragged pants as she forced herself to keep running, run fast enough to leave the horrible memory of the poor old man's crushed, bleeding head behind her.

The Boogeyman kills people.

The reality that the strange, silent monster-man she'd somehow befriended, who she'd been starting to like and maybe even love a little, was still a ruthless murderer made tears trickle from the corners of her tired eyes, despite her frustrated attempts at holding them back. The unshed tears blurred her already limited sight, making the lightning-lit forest glisten as if everything were floating underwater.

As if from sympathy, fat drops of cold rain started to fall, plunking into the muddy ground, hitting tree branches, clinging for a moment, then sliding off the rough bark and the tips of the few remaining leaves. The wind began to pick up, buffeting her as she ran, making it harder to keep her balance. It mercilessly tore the last of the autumn leaves from their stems, sending them spiraling into the air like kites with their strings cut.

Suddenly, in the middle of putting one foot in front of the other, her right heel got snagged by a broken tree branch that lay half buried in the ground and she was falling, about to land face first in a shallow puddle. She instinctively threw her arms out to catch herself, and couldn't keep from shouting in pain as a sharp stick jabbed into the palm of her right hand. She got to her knees, squinting as she tried to inspect her stinging hand in the flickering blue light. There was definitely a fresh scrape in the middle of her palm that was already welling up with blood. It hurt, providing a steady, stinging burn that caused her frantic mind to stop, focus, and assess her situation.

Blind panic was what had sent her racing out into the middle of nowhere without a plan, during a dangerous thunderstorm, and now she had no idea where to go or what to do. She was lost, in every sense of the word.

Maybe I should've stayed. Maybe it would've been okay.

But what he'd done had been so horrible...

Jamie stared down into the muddy puddle in front of her knees, barely noticing the haggard and filthy state she was in, so overwhelmed by confusion, desperation, and unbearable, crushing exhaustion that she was almost unable to move. She brought her bleeding right hand to her cheek and halfheartedly wiped away a streak of dirt, not noticing the small smear of blood she left behind, trailing down the side of her face like a fresh scar. Her heart still hammered in her chest, but she was so tired. She wanted, needed, to rest, to catch her breath, to allow the aching muscles in her legs a second to stop moving. She had to have run far enough away that the Boogeyman would never be able to find her! He'd have to search through the whole forest.

I wish Mommy would find me.

Her eyes unfocused as she slipped into a light trance. Rain continued to fall, splattering into the murky puddle before her and creating small ripples that flowed and crossed each other in hypnotic patterns. Quick bursts of blue lightning set the small puddle alight, allowing the water to paint a wavering reflection of Jamie's frightened, drawn face, framed by the overhanging branches of a birch tree, thin lines of mottled white and brown wood that interlaced over her head, roughly being tossed about by the rising wind. More raindrops splashed into the water, upsetting the surface, making new ripples. Jamie watched, fascinated, as several ripples connected and spread into shivering circles over her distorted reflection, sharpening it, and shifting the features of her small, chubby face until the reflection in the water became the hard, strong image of her mother.

Mom, help me!

Jamie was about to reach out and touch the near perfect face of her mother hoping to find reassurance from this vision, hallucination, whatever it was, when an intense streak of forked lightning blanketed everything in electric white, briefly revealing the entire forest. In the instant between the lightning flash and the returning darkness, the image in the water changed, the tanned skin took on the same vivid brightness as the lightning, the strong cheekbones became hollow and sunken, and the eyes darkened, so that they were no longer her mother's blue eyes but the shadow eyes of the Boogeyman, staring intently over Jamie's shoulders.

.She screamed and bolted forward, getting up off her knees so fast she became slightly dizzy, launching herself back into the darkness. The wind began to shriek as it gained even more speed, pelting her with sheets of stinging rain that almost blinded her, making the already low level of visibility even worse. It was only seconds before she was soaked through. Her nightgown clung to her skin and long strands of her soft brown hair became plastered to her forehead and scalp, the rest flowed down her shoulders and back in one sopping wet tail. Her body felt heavy and slow as she ran, and she stumbled more often. The driving wind, pouring rain, and endless running were wearing her down. Finally, her knees gave out and she fell forward, landing painfully on her stomach in a pile of wet leaves and fallen branches, which snapped as she clumsily flipped over onto her back.

The strength of the wind began to die down, dropping from a shrieking crescendo to soft whimpers, then fading away completely. The air became almost tranquil, while scattered drops of rain continued to fall like bullets into the softened ground. Distant rumbles of thunder and bursts of lightning interrupted the silence, but the worst of the storm appeared to be moving on. Still laying flat on her back, Jamie wiped her eyes with the back of one hand, clearing her vision of water. Shakily, she propped herself up on her elbows.

And saw him walking toward her.

"No! No!" Jamie shrieked as she tried to drag herself away from the approaching monster. She could barely make out his shape, which blended quite well into the surrounding darkness, and only knew he was coming by the crunching sound of his heavy, footfalls and the sight of his mask, which seemed to float like a spectral lantern toward her.

Crying hysterically, Jamie continued her desperate scramble away from him, scooting backwards on her hands and feet. Then her back pressed up against the splintery trunk of a large tree, an ancient tree, and she nearly fell into the hollow opening concealed between two thick roots. It was circular and deep, barely big enough for her to squeeze into, and it was under a very large and foreboding old oak, a bad place to be in a thunderstorm, but she couldn't run and there was nowhere else to go. On her hands and knees, she crawled down into the hollow, ignoring the crumbling black dirt that became uncomfortably stuck under her nails. She wedged herself back as far as she could, brushing aside thin strands of roots and moss that dangled around her. It was a tight fit, almost making Jamie give in to claustrophobia as she sensed the enormous weight of the tree pressing down above her, She stayed still, trying to slow her breathing, hearing nothing but blood rushing through her ears from her pounding heart, keeping her eyes fixed on the crescent shaped opening only feet away from her. She could see nothing outside but bluish, hazy light and flashes of lightning. Her lips moved soundlessly as she prayed.

Please God, don't let him get me!

Crunch.

A scarred hand shot through the crevasse, its crooked fingers scrabbling against the dirt, seeking purchase. Jamie screamed, pulling her legs tight against her body as the hand came within inches of seizing her ankles. The Boogeyman shoved his arm in up to the elbow, but Jamie remained just out of reach.

"Please don't hurt me! Leave me alone!" She begged, sobbing.

To Jamie's surprise, the Boogeyman listened. He stopped trying to grab her, and slowly withdrew his arm.

What?

Please don't hurt me! Leave me alone!

Jamie had been hiding her face in her hands when she'd cried out, and so didn't see that her rejection had hurt the Boogeyman worse than any sadistic torture she feared he was going to inflict upon her. The pain was only evident in his eyes, which were wide and slightly moist, just barely visible through the black holes of his mask. He had tracked Jamie down to calm and soothe her, to assure her that she didn't need to be afraid of him, but now, she wouldn't even let him touch her. He stopped trying to reach her and simply crouched down outside her hiding place, watching her, feeling bitter and hurt and betrayed.

The rain had almost stopped, turning into a fine mist that might've cooled the temper of any other person. It had no effect whatsoever on Michael Myers.

Frustrated anger filled the entirety of his being like a rising tide of black, polluted seawater that battered against the cracks in his tenuous control, wanting to find release and spill over into vicious action. Hadn't he taken care of her, fed her and clothed her, kept her alive when it would've been easier to just kill her? And now she was turning on him, just like Laurie! He felt like killing something, murdering someone in the most painful way his sick mind could imagine.

He felt like crucifying Jamie against the damned tree.

Red mist descended over his vision and the world shifted as though it were being held at a distance, as though he had become an eye that floated serenely above the forest, watching the events below with calm detachment. He saw himself tearing through the wooden bark, ripping out huge chunks of the rotting tree until he got to Jamie, ruthlessly dragging the screaming girl out by that lovely brown hair he had so fastidiously cared for. He saw himself slamming her up against the rough trunk of the oak, one hand squeezing her fragile neck hard enough to silence her screams as he stabbed her, plunging the knife up to the hilt in her chest over and over. He saw himself raising the blade to run it across her tender throat, staring coldly as her carotid artery spurted streams of hot blood, bright jets of crimson liquid that ebbed and flowed in sync with her dying heartbeat. He saw her innocent blood staining her white nightgown and his dark jumpsuit. He saw himself burying her lifeless body on a hilltop.

It was all over. Now that his ungrateful niece was gone he could...?

What could he do now?

He could go back to his cabin, to hate and hurt and be alone. But he realized now that wasn't what he really wanted. He still wanted Jamie. Somewhere along the way, having to give up whatever powerful and addictive emotion Jamie's presence had awoken within his bestial black heart had ceased to be an option.

But she was afraid of me!

Maybe if she'd known...that we're family...

Family?!?

The detached eye dove back into his body, the cozy feeling of serenity dropped off him like fake velvet, and in an instant he was seized by sheer, visceral panic.

IS SHE DEAD? WHAT DID I JUST DO?

Heart pounding in his chest, Michael looked around wildly but saw no blood, no body, no grave. Little Jamie was still in the tree, terrified and crying, but alive. None of it had been real, just a startlingly clear vision that had been brought on by his rage, but he hadn't acted upon that rage. For what had to be the millionth time, he'd been able to stop himself from killing her.

But he needed to hurt something so that the rage would have an outlet, and since something inside him refused to hurt Jamie, there was only one alternative. Without hesitating he flipped his knife over and dragged the serrated edge across the veiny center of his right palm, creating a deep, bloody, pleasantly painful wound. He switched the knife to his bleeding hand, and prepared to make a similar cut on his left palm.

"Stop it!"

He had become so focused on releasing his rage that he'd forgotten that Jamie was still watching him, and had seen him cut himself. His head snapped up to look at her, and he saw that she'd crawled halfway out of her shelter, still on her hands and knees, They're eyes locked and Michael noticed that hers looked huge and bright and shining with...concern? For him?

Upon seeing him, she froze. Jamie was within easy reach now, vulnerable, helpless, and she knew it. Her whole body shook, but she continued to speak to him. She pointed at the knife in his scarred hand.

"Please, stop hurting yourself! Put it down!"

Why? he wanted to ask. It feels good. Weariness descended on him, a profound tiredness he hadn't felt since the last time he'd been drugged by the nurses at Smith's Grove. He didn't care about the pain of the cut or the pool of blood that was collecting in the center of his palm, but Jamie seemed to, and he needed to make her happy or she would run from him again. The muscles in his arms slackened, the fingers gripping the knife handle loosened until one by one they pulled away. Without resisting he let the knife fall from his hand, for the moment completely willing to do what she told him.

Something about his slumped shoulders, his downcast eyes, his all - encompassing aura of misery and defeat, prompted Jamie to emerge even further. She scooted towards him, one slide at a time, until they were sitting less than a foot apart.

She picked up the knife.

And tossed it away from him, into a thick clump of weeds several feet away.

"Are you okay?" she asked, a little hesitantly. She sat in front of him with her hands folded in her lap, shivering from cold and fear, but still with that concerned look in her eyes.

He gritted his teeth beneath the mask as his rage tried to break free once more, hot and potent as lava.

No, I'm not okay! Don't you know that by now! He wanted to shout at her, be rough with her, make her suffer for making him feel so vulnerable and weak. Her damnable kindness, combined with his current state of mental exhaustion, were peeling away the last of the crusty scabs covering his psychic wounds, baring raw, painful memories and their accompanying painful emotions that had been forcefully repressed and sealed away since he was a child. Loneliness, grief, self-hatred and several others that Michael couldn't even identify poured forth from his fractured mind like an infection that had gone untreated and was in the final stages of killing him.

I'm ugly. Ugly. .

Michael couldn't deal with this all at once. It was much easier to hate everything, hate himself, hate his victims

He called to mind the faces of some of his victims and tried focusing every ounce of his hate into their memories, shutting out every other disturbing, unfamiliar emotion that tried to make itself known. He remembered how he had killed two of Laurie's friends the first time he'd escaped from Smith's Grove. The first girl had died when he'd strangled her in her own car, he'd killed the second after dressing as a ghost so she would think he was her boyfriend. It had seemed like a funny joke at the time. But that wasn't enough, he hadn't really hated those girls, they'd just been ways to get Laurie's attention. He needed to think of someone he truly hated.

Someone did come to mind, but for once it wasn't Judith.

It was Ronnie. Ronnie, who had been the absolute worst of the men his mother had dated. Abusive and alcoholic, he had often hit little Michael, usually for no reason other than being a convenient way to relieve stress, after his mother had left for work and there had been no one around to stop him. He had been hateful and selfish to everyone around him, full of rage, until the night Michael had let loose his own bottled fury. Michael had made Ronnie pay for every cruel word he'd ever said, every punch he'd ever thrown. He'd made certain that the bad man would never hurt him again.

But the damage was already done.

A light touch snapped him out of his reverie. He looked down and saw the top of Jamie's childsized right hand resting on his own gigantic one. There was a dark brown streak on one knuckle that closely resembled dried blood. He flipped her hand over and ran one of his fingers along the nasty scrape there, mostly crusted over but still oozing a few small beads of red. He'd forgotten that his own hand was bleeding, and so ended up getting a few drops of his blood on her palm.

"I'm sorry I ran away," she whispered, inching closer to him. He was able to see what a mess she was, splattered with mud from head to toe and soaking wet besides. She looked sadly up at him, then her face crumpled and she jerked her head away, trying to hide her tears, "but I was really, really scared."

Something broke inside him, and he lunged forward, grabbed the girl by the shoulders, pulled her up against his chest and locked his arms around her in a powerful hug that was almost painful. She started to sob and tears streamed down his own face, though they were safely hidden beneath his mask. His masked lips brushed against the top of her head. barely grazing it, while one of his rough hands became lost in her hair as the other rubbed her back, massaging her tense muscles. In some corner of his mind that he was barely aware of, he wasn't only comforting a scared little girl. He was comforting himself, his childhood self, that traumatized, abused, frightened part of Michael Myers that had been ignored and repressed for so long he'd forgotten it had ever existed,.

Eventually, she settled down, her sobs became sniffles and she relaxed more fully against him. Michael hovered over her protectively as she hid her face in his chest.

"I want to go home," she whispered as she gripped his shirt. Her voice came out muffled as she was pressed tightly against his body.

Michael Myers knew that, he too, wanted to go home.

He scooped Jamie up, one hand beneath her knees and the other cradling her back, and carried her back to their cabin.

Jamie didn't understand what had made her leave the protection of the hollow tree and face the Boogeyman, and she was far too tired to care. She hardly noticed when they passed through the door of the cabin and he carried her to her bedroom. When he set her on the edge of the bed she immediately flopped over onto her back, barely conscious with every intention to stay that way. She heard the sound of his retreating footsteps and assumed he'd left for the night, but a moment later he came back carrying a lighted candle, with a large bundle tucked under one arm.

More presents. Great.

Jamie groaned as one of his hands went behind her back and forced her to sit up. She blinked and rubbed her eyes as he tapped the wick of the burning candle against several extinguished ones on her bedside table, filling the room with yellow light. Then, from within the bundle under his arm he withdrew a cardboard box that turned out to be a packet of strawberry Pop-Tarts.

"I'm not hungry," Jamie protested, and would've laid back down if it weren't for the hand pressing against her back, firmly keeping her upright. He shook his head and shoved the box in her face, apparently unwilling to take no for an answer. Sighing, she tore open the box and began to halfheartedly nibble on the edge of one Pop-Tart while he left the room once more This time he came back with a wet washcloth and began dabbing at the mud caking her face and arms. She'd completely forgotten how dirty she was.

I'm going to need a bath.

She finished half of her snack as he cleaned her, unable to stop herself from remembering the last time he'd done this for her. It had been the first night they'd been together, after he'd kidnapped her, drugged her, and almost killed her. That seemed like years ago now, and yet she still didn't understand.

Why is he doing all this for me?

"I can't eat anymore," she said as she dropped the leftover pastry back in its box. He took the box from her and tossed it in a corner, then finished removing the dirt from her face. He examined the trail of dried blood on her cheek closely, prompting Jamie to give an explanation of how it had gotten there. Then her injured hand was turned over, thoroughly inspected, and cleaned. She noticed he'd put a bandage on his own hand, the one that he had cut himself.

Jamie was starting to nod off when something was thrust into her lap. Reluctantly, she opened her eyes to see what else he'd gotten her.

It was a pink princess Halloween costume, a little rumpled but in perfect condition He held out the costume, and Jamie thought there was a pleading look in his eyes, as if he were silently begging her to accept it.

She almost started crying again, but managed to gulp down the lump in her throat. She reached out and took the gift, thanking him with a little half smile.

He pointed at the costume, and then pointed at her. For emphasis, he tugged on her sleeve.

"You want me to put it on now?"

He nodded. It did make sense. She needed to get out of her wet clothes.

"Okay."

He left the room to give her some privacy while she changed, shrugging out of her wet nightgown and into the costume. The material was shiny, like silk, and the sleeves were large and puffy. It flared out around her legs, becoming a shimmering pink cloud every time she spun around. It was beautiful, and Jamie tried to pretend she was a real princess. A princess in a tower.

While she was waiting for the Boogeyman to come back, she remembered the box of jewelry he'd gotten her, still sitting on the bedside table. I shouldn't touch it. It's not mine. He had to have stolen it. But she reached over to lift up the ornate wooden lid anyway, and immediately the soft music began to play, haunting and a little sad, like a lullaby. The music sapped Jamie of the last of her strength and she curled up on her side, not even bothering to crawl under the covers. When the Boogeyman finally came back, she was already asleep.

Upon seeing his sleeping niece, Michael pulled back the covers and, without hesitating, climbed in beside her. He pulled her into his arms and when she became restless, placed his masked lips on her forehead in a soft kiss.

As he lay there holding Jamie tightly in his arms and listening to the final notes of the lullaby, Michael thought of something that had never occurred to him before, had in fact only just become obvious to him due to the emotional meltdown he'd experienced in the forest. It explained why he'd been unable to kill Jamie when he'd had so many chances, why he'd forgiven her for running away, and why he so desperately needed her to stay with him now. All this was possible because, somehow, in spite of his raging, animalistic nature, he had grown to love his little niece with a fierceness and devotion he hadn't known for a long time, not since Laurie was a child, maybe not even then. And he wanted her to love him just as much as she loved Laurie, preferably more than she loved Laurie. Realizing that, he came to a decision. Tomorrow night he would take her to his childhood home on Lampkin Lane, and there he would find a way to tell her who he was.