There was so much blood, he couldn't tell if it was his own or...
It didn't matter. Survival was the only thing Michael could afford to think about. The police were coming, for him and certainly for anyone they believed to be aiding him.
If he really didn't want to see Minka hurt, he could just leave her in his house. She would be found eventually, and free of suspicion.
He couldn't. Not after all that had happened.
His sister had gotten away, all because of Loomis. He'd killed her friends, one by one, specifically to terrify her. He'd wanted her to know that she was next.
Then the bullet flew through the air. Time slowed, then sped up as the burning metal hit him right in the chest. The pain was incomparable.
Shocked and dazed, he fell through the second-story window, Loomis watching him with a look of triumph spread across his round face. He'd nearly screamed when his back met the hard ground, and managed to get on his feet and sprint down the street to his old home.
Why wasn't he dead? Any other man wouldn't have survived such a wound, or a fall like that.
His hand tightened around the nurse's wrist as he lead her out of the room and down the stairs; it was clear that her ankle still hurt, each step taking a second too long. She asked question after question, the tone of her voice letting him know just how scared she was.
"Are you hurt?" She whispered, before Michael picked her up and helped her out the window, then leapt out himself. His chest burned with every moment, his clothes soaking up more and more blood.
The sirens. They couldn't be more than a block away.
As quickly as he could will himself, the girl in hand, Michael ran to the front of the house. He needed to find a new vehicle.
That's right! The one girl, Annie, had a car. He knew the keys still hung from the ignition. If they ran through the backyard, they could make it there before the police arrived.