*Author's Note*
I owe you all an explanation for my disappearance. During the time I first started working on this story I was looking for employment and had lost of free time. Now I have a full-time federal position in Washington, DC and I have hardly any time to myself and that took time away from my writing. But I am forcing myself to take the time to continue this story to the end. After this chapter there will be one more and that will be the end of 'Under the Harvest Moon' and then I will start working on the sequel. Yet you all must understand that my posts will happen after long intervals considering that my career is very important to me but I hope to never keep you guys on hold like that again. I hope you accept my apology and you enjoy this chapter.
The fog was thick and white like curdled milk but I could see him clear as day. The audience of vigilantes, weary citizens and a near hysterical Laurie took a collective gasp and stepped back. One of the tavern regulars who had come to tear a piece out of Michael audibly yelped and scrambled away, his rifle left behind in the grass. Even Loomis muttered incoherently to himself as his 'pet' stood silently surveying the crowd before him, all the players in place and the game prepared to begin. Laurie's fingernails bit into my right arm but the pain was compartmentalized to be dealt with later, along with the rest of my injuries, both physical and emotional. My reason for coming to this place and risking everything was standing perhaps twenty feet away at the most and even that distance was agony.
"Michael, please give up the fight and surrender," Loomis shouted, desperation and exhaustion straining his voice. "Let's end this tonight."
"No! You don't get it he wants to end it but he'll kill you all."
My shrill voice caused Laurie to sob anew and Michael's black eyes locked on me. Even in his murderous rage that quietly consumed him I knew he recognized me, he understood my words. Through the walls of his mobile catatonia he still loved me but I couldn't protect anyone in the cemetery. My only recourse would be to try to insist people leave gradually, starting with the unarmed. As I considered any possible options Loomis was jammering on in a poor attempt to reach the soul of his patient, to communicate with the brain behind the mask. A part of me found the scene funny simply because after fifteen futile years of trying with no success, he was still applying his tired psychology techniques. Michael was beyond the attempts to recall and recapture his fondest childhood memories. None of that mattered because he had switched off any remnants of empathy and even with the thick fog I could see the car headlights shimmering on his knife. Something dark still dripped from the tip and because I'd seen his deeds I was not surprised or repulsed. But I was pulled from my thoughts when Laurie screeched in my ear.
"Just kill the son of a bitch!"
I blinked before I shrugged her from my arm and turned to stare at her as if she were insane. Perhaps it was the same expression she gave me at the hospital.
"He's done wrong but he's still your brother and he loves you. He left Smith's Grove to find you and care for you like he did when you were a baby. You only know the killer but he's also a loving and caring man who is a stranger to our world."
"He's brainwashed you, Angie—"
"How the hell can a mute man brainwash anyone?" I asked incredulously.
Laurie's lips twisted as a look of defeat settled over her face.
"But he killed our friends and for what purpose? Annie is gone and now you're defending him? What does that say about you? You are brainwashed whether he spoke or not and you need help," she leaned in closer and her eyes bore into mine and whispered, "and he needs to die—now."
"Then so will I."
Resolutely I turned away and pressed my back to my loved ones, my best friend, the eccentric psychiatrist and Haddonfield. Let Angelina Ramsey die tonight, let it all end here. If my last moments on this earth have to be anywhere then I would have them in my lover's arms.
"M-Michael…"
My voice was unrecognizable and yet I know he heard me. On numb trembling legs I took my first tentative steps forward.
"Angelina! Stop! He'll kill you!"
Faintly I heard my mother but it was too late. The closer I stopped the less chilled I was, the more oxygen was in the air and the fog seemed to lift and part. How befitting for me to glide through this cemetery like a bride to meet her groom. Instead of a flowing white gown I wore filthy rags and a stolen sweater. Yet as far as I was concern my husband was and is Michael Myers and if we ever made vows to one another, ours would continue in death if life would prevent them.
Behind me I heard the frightened officers and vigilantes all woke from their collective paranoia and Sheriff Brackett readied his haphazard group.
"Angie, this is Sheriff Brackett!" he bellowed through a loud speaker. "Please listen to me and listen to reason. He has murdered the spirit of this town and he's taken what's most precious to me. I will not let him take you, too. Once we've stopped him we can all try to heal. There are others we must find and we need to take you home."
"Yeah, that fucking bastard kidnapped Robertson. Where is he you fucker?"
By the time the drunkard made his demand I was a mere five feet from Michael, and I could see the steady rise and fall of his chest. There were fresh wet strains on his uniform and one sleeve was torn open, perhaps from a struggle. His bare bicep was visible and was bleeding; someone had fought back but no doubt had lost.
Again activity erupted amongst the thugs as some try to hold others back, some distraught because their potbellied leader was missing. Cries of "Where is he?", "Whatcha do with him?", and "Give him back you piece of shit!" rang out. And then the world seemed to tilt as I saw Michael's right arm jerk forward, causing an unexpected chocking and gurgling sound. My stomach leapt into my throat and Michael's already labored breathing grew louder as the fog faded just enough to reveal a rope in his hand. He clutched it and my eyes began to water as they followed the rope until it disappeared.
"Michael, what have you done?"
To answer he pulled the rope and lifted his arm to the strangled coughs of a man struggling to breathe. Slowly he lifted the frightened man until he was dangling and kicking in the air. He wore no shoes, no coat and his shirt and pants were torn and bloody, covered in dirt and dead twigs clung to his matted hair.
"Holy shit, he's got Stephan,"
Robertson was bound about the neck with a rope, his face ashen and his eyes bulging. The flesh around his throat was red and bruising as he tried uselessly to free himself. His friends cursed and bit their lips in fury because their desire to help and their fear warred. Blood poured down his face from a large gash; he had been drug through the streets, into the woods to this cemetery.
"Angie, tell him to let him go," Loomis commanded knowing Robertson had precious little time.
"Please…help…" the dying man gasped.
A part of me felt awful that this authoritative powerhouse of the community was brought to the brink of soiling himself before he drew his last breath. But that part of me was dwindling like his pulse. Nonetheless he was Billy's father and though neither deserved my sympathy, I wasn't heartless. With that in mind I stepped closer until I could see the spittle on Mr. Robertson's blue lips and the pathetic look in his eyes made my mouth twitch. If the circumstances weren't so dire, I would have laughed and I nearly did so as the damp stain began to spread across and down his pants.
"Think of dying puppies, think of dying puppies," I muttered and allowed my gaze to brush the holes of his mask.
"Michael, that's enough now. Mr. Robertson has suffered and he won't bother us anymore. You have to let him go. Please Michael, for me, gently put him down."
My plea felt like grease in my mouth but a man's life was at stake. Still by all appearances I could tell he was contemplating my request. For me he had taken lives, I wondered if now he would spare one. He certainly needed to make up his mind because Robertson's tongue was lolling out of his mouth. I felt everyone taking a collective breath and Michael, in his typical way, cocked his head to one side and regarded me as if he didn't understand. Was his face tense? Was he rolling his eyes? Or was he smirking knowingly at how awkward this whole this whole situation was for me? And then he made his choice.
Slowly he began to lower Robertson until the man's feet came to rest unsteadily on the damp grass. Michael's masked head drew closer to his petrified victim and I could see the flesh around his eyes and only when I was a breath from him did I realize I'd moved, because I could see the emptiness in his gaze.
"Put him down Michael,"
Those darkened eyes rolled towards me and did not blink. The pupil had engulfed his eyes and the evil had consumed him—he was beyond my reach. But Robertson had extended one arm in a sad plea for help and I did not reach for him; I couldn't do it again.
"Michael just put him down."
He nodded once and lifted his hand to begin unfurling the rope from around his victim's neck. His attention was drawn to Loomis who had come to stand at my side and he gave me a weak smile.
"Now Michael, we'll get you back to Smith's Grove and we'll get Angie the help she needs, too. You've done well Michael now if you—"
Within a split second Michael blinked and his right hand clutched the rope and his left swung back and launched the knife forward until it embedded the blade through Robertson's back. He lurched and screamed until only squeaks tore from his mouth. His chest cavity exploded, the blood and tissue spurted and gushed while the knife twisted in his back. The blade tip dripped through the gaping hole before disappearing as Michael reached up and drew it across the paralyzed man's purple throat. Crimson trickled from his mouth and nostrils, his eyes wide and disbelieving as they began to glaze, his face frozen in his last agonizing moments. I sought to wipe a tear from my eye only to realize that it looked almost black. It ran down my cheeks, down my neck and coated my clothes. The volcano of Robertson's innards had cascaded down upon me.
"No, Michael! No!"
Loomis reached into his overcoat, into an unseen pocket and withdrew a .9mm, his hand shaking as he took little time to aim.
"Don't shoot him!"
Instantly I leaped upon Loomis and tried to push the gun away and out of his grasp but he had already fired three times Michael easing deflected the bullets by using Robertson's twitching corpse as a human shield.
"That's it boys, take 'em down. On my order, fire!"
My head darted toward Brackett who had advanced closer with more armed lunatics. A firing squad I turned back toward Michael as he nonchalantly tossed the body aside as if it were trash. He stood there, ready to receive their punishment, awaiting the oblivion death holds. But I couldn't focus while Loomis wrestled with me, his strength increased by his adrenaline rush and he shouted incessantly that I let go of his arm; I wouldn't let him give Michael what he wanted. But he was able to overwhelm me and thrust me off hard enough that I fell in the path between him and his target.
"Damn it! If I have to kill you to save these people then by God I'll do it!"
The air rushed from my lungs as I stared back at the weapon, his hand now steady. Distantly I heard my family screaming for Loomis to stop, for someone to stop him but I lay prostrate on my back and elbows. Then I saw a pair of feet, one foot on either side of my head and the fear diminished. Standing over me like a dark guardian, I scrambled to my feet and found over a hundred guns pointed in my direction. Instinctively I pressed myself against his hard abdomen and gulped in anticipation. Sweat broke out against my brow and I took a deep beneath and let it out.
"On the count of three," Sheriff Brackett began, holding his arm in the air.
I squeezed my eyes shut and reflected over all we had been through, the discovery of my dead friends, my abduction and taken to Chicken Todd's shack in the woods.
"Two!"
Michael's first gestures of compassion and our trek to the hospital I realized how Laurie betrayed me and our flight to his home where he showed me more, taught me more and loved me more within the span of hours than others experience in a lifetime. And now it was all over. Time seemed to slow dramatically until I could see each puff of air escape in great detail. I took one last look into that placid white mask, beyond the eye holes and saw clear blue pools staring back at me.
"Michael, I love you, I'll always—"
"Three! Fire!"
Before he could get the words from his mouth the first barrage went off, rounds ripping out of hot barrels and zinging forward. The first ones hit his shoulders and he withstood them but more crashed into his chest, inches above my head. Blood burst forth and rocked back and forth from the force.
"No! Michael!" I screamed only to feel myself being thrown aside, this time by Michael himself just as five or six more bullets entered his stomach in front of where I'd been standing. For a moment I was disoriented and the wind took my hearing. I could see the clouds of smoke, the fire oozing from the rifles and hand guns as Michael jerked and contorted. Yet he never dropped his knife. Trees splintered as missing bullets lodged themselves into trunks and snapped small branches.
"Hold fire, hold your fire!"
The call went out and surprisingly everyone obeyed as plumes of smoke dissipated and yet still Michael stood despite the massive amount of lead that had entered his body and the equally massive blood loss he was sustaining. The whole thing lasted perhaps thirty seconds but it felt like a lifetime until he finally dropped to his knees and slumped to one side. When my hearing came roaring back I could hear my own screaming over the shouts of triumphant of the men and Laurie sat in the grass behind them with her hands still covering her ears and rocking back and forth. Loomis stood with his watery blue eyes wide and his hands still clutching his gun as if afraid Michael would rise.
"Angelina, oh my baby is safe,"
Sooner than my parents could leap upon me I crawled frantically to his side and found him remarkably breathing. The bullet holes in his chest were smoking and I took his free hand and pressed my lips to it and when he turned his head to look at me I couldn't hold in my choked sobs.
"Michael, Michael stay with me, please. You can't leave me like this so just listen to my voice and don't close your eyes."
My voice was hoarse and yet I knew he understood as his eyes held a peculiar light, one I had first seen when he held my hand on the mattress. I'd seen it when he left me at Haddonfield Memorial and just before he made love to me.
"Michael, how can I live without you, huh? What reason do I have when I don't have you?"
His eyes seemed to smile at me instead of the vacant glare expected. However long I live I swore to never forget these last moments.
"I love you, Michael."
He blinked and gave a nod so small only I could see it but reciprocated my feelings even if the others thought him incapable. His grip was iron tight around my hand and I laid down on his chest, absorbing the last of his heart beats into my own as seizures consumed him. He didn't let go of me or his precious knife as we rode the spasms and finally he slipped into cardiac arrest. The final beat fluttered beneath my cheek and I thought the hollowness could swallow me whole.
"Okay, let's clear the area and set up a perimeter. Call the Coroner's office to have this son of a bitch hauled away," Sheriff Brackett muttered to his second in command. The jubilation I anticipated was not there, just an abundance of weariness; even though I should have hated him, I should have utterly despised the man who had ordered my lover gunned down in the dead of night, but I couldn't because of all he'd suffered. He hadn't the time to mourn Annie and he deserved my respect.
Loomis stalked closer and looked over the carnage he'd failed to prevent no matter how hard he'd tried. I prayed he would drink himself to death by the end of the next year. He deserved to be reunited with his most beloved patient.
Two deputies were helping Laurie to her feet to guide her to a car but she continued to look over her shoulder to convince herself he was actually gone. I would probably see her in a padded room across from mine if the post traumatic stress disorder settled in. An ambulance had arrived on the scene to remove Robertson and his buddies all announced they would check out the town to search for more bodies. The fire had gone out of them and they turned to their vehicles with a heaviness in their limbs. There was no victory here when so much destruction had been wrought and none of the lives lost could be replaced. I didn't have the strength or desire to direct them to the other victims they would surely find.
"Come on baby it's over, see he can't hurt or confused you anymore. Let's get you home and we can get things back to normal."
My father carefully pried me away from him and hoisted me up in his arms. Both my mother and sister looked haggard but relieved but I couldn't speak anymore and my tears were drying. I truly felt like a shell of myself and allowed them to carry me to the ambulance to be examined by a paramedic. The medical team took me and settled me on a gurney and cut off the sweater while someone flashed a light in my eyes. An IV was administered and a list of injuries and possible traumas were rattled off. Beyond them I could see yellow police tape being brought out and the Coroner's van had already pulled up alongside the ambulance.
"…Will you sign off at the hospital for a rape kit?"
"Haddonfield Memorial?"
"No that facility has been shut down and all patients have or are en route to Chicago."
"We'll follow you there…"
I half heard the conversation because I watched two loud and obnoxious county workers jump out of the van and proceeded to collect Michael.
"Now make sure you're careful—"
"Oh we got this," the first idiot proclaimed, cutting off the Sheriff. "We used to work at the Depot cleaning the traps down the street from the gas station."
"Yeah," the other imbecile chimed in, "and he's the biggest rat we've ever taken off."
"We'll just drive safe boys," the Sheriff said before handing his rifle to a passing office.
They made faces behind his back then began putting out a black body bag and putting Michael's remains inside. A forensics team was coming and they would take the knife and bag up the evidence around the area.
"They're going to take you to the hospital sweetie, and this time you'll be absolutely safe."
"Thank you, Mommy."
Yes, let them think that all is well now, let them comfort you so they think they're helping and thus feel relieved that they assisted me in my recovery. Let everyone believe that these last few days could be wiped clean after physical and psychological examination and subsequent treatment. The emptiness, the numbness was swallowing me and I heard one of the EMTs say something about shock. I was covered in a lien blanket and the whine of the blaring lights staring. The driver leapt from the vehicle and my family followed.
"She's in good hands, folks, you've got nothing to worry about."
All of this came to me like a weird intangible dream and the slam of the double doors didn't register, but silent tears spilt down my cheeks as I observed those two yokels haul Michael away. They gave no reverence—simply shoved the heavy bag in the back of the van and took long swigs from a canteen. I could hear their laughter and lewd jokes but there was nothing I could do about it now. It was over, just like he wanted it.
They climbed into their van and revved the engine before speeding off crazily, barely missing tombstones and officers until I couldn't see them any longer. The driver of the ambulance spoke to the paramedic monitoring my vitals and soon we were on our way. I saw my parents and Christy head for the Camry and Loomis and Sheriff Brackett were lining up another sweep of Haddonfield. I honestly didn't give a damn where they'd taken Laurie and purposely did not ask.
"Michael's gone…"
"Yes, Angelina," confirmed the EMT holding my hand. "He's dead and gone forever,"
A groan escaped my lips and I shut my eyelids and found in that darkness the memory of the glow of his blue eyes captured in my memory. No matter what would happen I would never forget the man who destroyed and loved me unlike any person could. My Halloween would be life-long and I prayed for the strength to assimilate back into society, to appear as I had before Michael tore into my world, shaping it behind a white mask and at the edge of a knife.
"God help me," I croaked just as my weariness sucked me under, "it's over."