ONE DAY LATER

Haddonfield, Illinois

October 20, 1997

Karen woke up at the crack of dawn to a very full bladder. She was still nestled in Mitchell's arms, but he was awake as well. "I need to get up," she told him.

"Yes, I figured you would."

He let her go so that she could take care of her needs. Karen dashed into the bathroom, blushing furiously when he heard her partner chuckle from the bed. She whipped a towel in his direction before closing the door.

"Hey, it's not my fault you waited too long, sweetness," he said near the door. Karen assumed he was picking up the towel.

"I was sound asleep," she retorted as she flushed the toilet. She washed her hands and then decided to brush her teeth while she was at it. Before leaving the bathroom, she grabbed another towel, knowing that Mitchell was now armed.

Karen used her new supernatural abilities to arrive in the bedroom behind him. He turned just as she swung her towel. With lightning-fast reflexes, he didn't only catch the towel but also her hand. He squeezed his fingers tightly around her wrist. She could feel the power behind his grip; however, her bones refused to break, and the pain she felt was only a mild discomfort. It was just enough to annoy her.

In retaliation, Karen grabbed ahold of Mitchell's arm with her free hand. His radius cracked under the pressure. His pain only lasted a few short seconds, but it was enough to make him release her wrist. By the time his limb fell to his side, she saw that it was already healed. Still, she was completely astounded that she was capable of hurting him at all.

The teenager raised her eyes from her husband's arm to his face. His eyes had turned to their original color of black, making her heart pound with undeniable desire. She placed her palms on his chest and raised her lips to his. "I want you, Mitchell," she breathed.

His mouth crashed down onto Karen's. Their kisses were hot and heavy as was the sex that followed. She combed her fingers through his hair while gazing up at him from the floor. "I love you,' she told him, her tone reverent, "but, just for the record, I am not sorry for breaking your arm."

Smirking, Mitchell kissed the tip of Karen's nose. "Good." His mouth moved down to her lips. They were in the midst of sharing a long slow kiss when a knock sounded at their bedroom door.

"Hey, guys, you awake?" Dawn's voice asked through the oak.

Mitchell lifted his mouth, which earned him a sour look from Karen.

"Sweetness, you know Dawn wouldn't be disturbing us unless it was important," he lowly said.

"Yeah, I know," she sighed. More loudly she said, "Yeah, we're awake, just not decent."

"Well, can you get decent, then? I really need to talk to you before you leave."

"Oh crap," Karen muttered, suddenly realizing what was weighing on her friend's mind.

Mitchell sat up and handed her a towel, which she tightly secured around her torso.

"What do I even say to her?" she wondered.

"Whatever she needs to hear," Mitchell advised. He reached for the other towel and rose to his feet. "Meanwhile, I'm going to take a shower. I won't be long."

Karen mutely nodded as she walked to the door. Dawn was standing in the hallway looking quite ill. She entered the room and sat down on the edge of the bed.

"I woke up feeling sick this morning," she said. "But I'm not sick, am I? And don't you dare lie to me."

Karen deeply sighed. "No, you're not sick," she truthfully replied.

Dawn moistened her lips. "Who else knows?"

"Well, Mitchell, of course, and Eleanor."

"Yeah, I figured," Dawn said. "But no one else?"

Karen gave her head a sound shake. "No, of course not. And the only reason we told Eleanor was because with you visiting the doctor this week, we knew there was a good chance you would find out the truth before we got back. We just wanted to make sure you would be well looked after while we were gone."

Dawn slowly nodded. "Yeah, I get it." She flung herself backwards on the bed. "This just sucks. How could I have been so stupid? God. What am I going to do?"

Karen sat down next to her friend's legs and shrugged. "I don't know, Dawn."

"I suppose I could just go somewhere and have it taken care of before anyone else finds out."

"You could," Karen agreed, "but you know how I feel about abortion. I don't know why an innocent baby should have to pay just because you and Mark didn't bother to use any contraceptives."

Dawn frowned. "Well, there's no way I can have this baby," she insisted.

"Why? Because you're too scared to take responsibility for what you've done?" Karen countered. "Dawn, you can't just take the easy way out without thinking about the consequences."

The blonde teenager sat up. "Consequences? What consequences?" she asked. "What I'm carrying isn't even a baby, yet."

Karen's eyes narrowed.. "You don't really believe that," she said.

"And what if I do?" Dawn left the bed to pace the floor. "I really don't want to have a baby right now, okay?"

"Fine. Just don't pretend like the life you're carrying doesn't matter, all right?"

Dawn stopped moving to look at Karen. "As if you are in a position to lecture me on the value of human life," she snapped.

The brunette scoffed, her anger rising. "Oh, I understand now. You came to talk to me because you thought I would condone your decision. Well, I don't."

"Obviously," Dawn retorted. "I just don't get you sometimes. Why do you care about this baby so much?"

"Because it's a part of you, Dawn," Karen said, "and I can't just dismiss that as easily as you obviously can."

Dawn folded her arms across her chest. "Well, I don't have to make a decision about it today," she countered.

"No, but in this case, the sooner, the better, I would think."

"Fine," the blonde girl huffed. "I will have a decision made by the time you and Mitchell return."

"What about Mark?" Karen inquired. "Are you going to tell him about this?"

Dawn's shoulders raised and then fell. "I don't know. Maybe."

"I think you should," Karen opined.

Dawn sighed loudly. "Of course you do."

"Well, it's his baby, too," the brunette reminded her companion. "I just think this is something you should discuss together as a couple."

"We'll see," Dawn simply replied.

"Fine," said Karen, dropping the subject for the time being.

The younger ran a hand through her hair. "So, when are you leaving?"

"I'm not sure," Karen admitted. "I don't even know how long it takes to get to Altoona."

"About nine and a half hours," Mitchell interjected as he strode into the bedroom.

"So four with the way you drive," Dawn joshed.

"Six," he drolly corrected.

Dawn offered him a small smile before turning back to Karen. "Well, I have to get ready for school, but I hope you have a safe trip."

"Thanks. I'm sure we will."

The blonde girl quietly cleared her throat. "Yeah."

"Listen, Dawn, I'll call in a couple of days, okay?" Karen softly voiced.

"Yeah, okay. I'll talk to you, then." Dawn gave the brunette a brief hug and then hurried to the door. "Bye, guys," she said as she let herself out of the bedroom.

Frowning, Karen stared at the closed door. She wished she could console her best friend, but right now Dawn needed space to sort out her own life. And Karen had to move on with hers.

She added a few more outfits to hers and Mitchell's suitcase, which was still mostly packed from their trip to Vegas. "Maybe I was too hard on her," she lamented, "but, at the same time, part of me just wanted to knock some sense into her."

Mitchell chortled. "Yes, I know," he said. "And, no, I don't think you were too hard on her. You told her exactly what she needed to hear. Dawn doesn't always act rationally and, therefore, doesn't consider the consequences of her impetuous actions."

Karen felt the emotion behind her soulmate's words. It was stronger than just annoyance. "You're still angry that she ran off that one day," she knowingly stated.

"Yes," be said. "Her actions caused you to get stabbed, Karen. You have no idea the rage I felt when I found that knife covered in your blood. I was pissed."

"And yet you didn't kill Dawn or the Davises."

"No. I could never kill Dawn, no matter how much she angers me. As for the Davises, by the time I reached them, my rage had diminished enough to keep them safe. Besides, they had helped you in your time of need, making them less of a target. My love for you is affecting my rage, Karen. Before I fell in love, I wouldn't have cared."

She nodded and said, "You've developed a conscious, Mitchell."

"Yes, so it would seem."

"Meanwhile, I'm losing mine," she stated matter-of-factly.

"Only when you're with the Boogeyman, which is to be expected," Mitchell assured her. Then, he gestured to the small pile of gifts by the desk. "Do you want to open them now or when we get back?"

"Oh, now!" Karen excitedly exclaimed.

The killer chuckled. "I thought as much." He carried the presents to the center of the room and pulled up two chairs. "Shall we?" he asked.

The teenager moved to sit down next to her husband. As she adjusted her towel, she said, "I feel a bit underdressed."

"Really?" he countered, "Because I think you're actually a bit overdressed."

"Yeah, I'm sure you do," Karen deadpanned.

Mitchell merely smirked. "So, which one do you want to open first?"

"The Johnsons'," she said without hesitation. Her partner handed her the correct gift, letting her unwrap it. It turned out to be a leather photo album with the words Love Conquers All and their wedding date inscribed on its cover. "Oh, it's beautiful," Karen breathed.

"Yes," agreed Mitchell. "Now we'll have a safe place to put all of the pictures Markus took." He reached for another box and set it on her lap. "This one's from Dawn."

Karen ripped off the white and gold wedding paper to reveal a box that contained a 35mm camera plus a few rolls of film. Inside was also a note. It read:

Dear Mitchell and Karen,

I bought these in Vegas, thinking you might want to take some pictures on your honeymoon.

With love,

Dawn

P.S. Keep it tasteful.

Dawn's note, though meant as an innocent joke, quickly reminded Karen of the reason she hated cameras. However, Mitchell was not her father. She knew he would never take pornographic pictures of her without her permission.

"Dawn has a wicked sense of humor," she said after a long moment.

"Very," Mitchell agreed.

"But I wouldn't mind taking some pictures of our trip."

"I will leave you in charge of the camera, then."

"Thanks, Mitchell. I appreciate that." Karen set the box aside only to be given a larger one.

"From the Davises," he informed her as he handed her the card.

Karen read the wedding card and then opened the gift. Her eyes instantly widened at what was hidden underneath the silver wrap. The present was a set of wooden handled kitchen knives complete with a matching knife block.

An index card was taped to the front of the box. Written in red marker was the Shakespeare quote: "It will have blood, they say. Blood will have blood."

"That's from Macbeth," Karen said. "I read it on the plane ride to Vegas."

"Yes, well, I think they need to work on their subtlety," Mitchell dryly replied. He carefully detached the index card and placed it with the wedding cards. He then lifted the box off her lap to study the picture on the front. "Still, it's an attractive knife set."

"To be used for chopping up food only," the teenager sternly declared.

Mitchell looked at her, his brow furrowed. "Of course, sweetness. What other reason would I have for using a knife?"

Karen sighed. "My apologies, Mr. Martin. I forgot that you would only use the knives for cutting food."

He kissed her temple. "Precisely." He placed the knife set on the floor and gave her a gift from Courtney. It turned out to be two crystal champagne glasses with a matching ice bucket chiller, plus a gift card to Big Ed's.

Patrick's gift to them was beautiful stainless steel silverware, and since the photographer hadn't worked out, Nathaniel and Rebekah had given the newlyweds a blue floral vintage dinnerware set.

"Well, that's everything," Mitchell announced as Karen admired their new china. "If we want to get to Altoona at a decent time, we should leave here soon."

"All right," she said. "Just let me take a quick shower first."


After saying their good-byes to everyone, Mitchell led his wife her Camaro, which was packed and ready to go.

"Oh, we're taking my car?" she asked, surprised.

"Yes, I thought we were due for a change," Mitchell replied. He handed Karen the key. "And you're going to drive."

"But I don't have much experience driving, yet," she argued.

He offered her a small smile. "I trust you."

"A lot more than I do," he heard her utter under her breath.

Mitchell sat down in the car and fastened his seatbelt. Once Karen did the same, she started the engine.

"So, do you have a map?" she wondered while she drove down Oakwood Drive.

"Yes, but I pretty much know where we are going. You'll want to take a left up here," Mitchell said, referring to the cross road in front of them.

"Okay."

The killer relaxed on his seat. "So, I figured we stop for a bite to eat and gas up the car on Belvidere before we head onto I-94."

"Sounds good," Karen agreed.

"Unfortunately, most of our travelling will be on toll roads, so our stops will be limited."

She merely nodded and continued to drive.

Mitchell observed his wife for a few moments. Even if he didn't possess the ability to feel her emotions, her stiff posture would have succeeded in betraying her anxiety. "Do you want to talk about it?" he gently prodded.

She shrugged. "This entire trip has my stomach tied up in knots."

He instantly frowned. "Karen, if you're having second thoughts, we don't have to go."

The teenager gave her head a firm shake. "No, I want to go. It's just that something feels - I don't know - off."

Curious, Mitchell asked, "How so?"

She pursed her lips together as she considered his question. "I just have this nagging feeling that I'm missing something - something important." She drummed her fingers in the steering wheel. "I remember my mom telling me stories about her parents, and they were always happy memories. They also visited her when I was born, so they must have really loved her, right?"

"One would assume so," Mitchell agreed.

"Well, then, what happened to suddenly change that?" Karen wondered. "I know we moved to Haddonfield within a month of my birth, but I doubt driving another few hours would have been enough to deter them from visiting. And, growing up, I don't recall my mom ever talking to them on the phone, so they must have had a falling out with each other either before or very soon after the move. It must have been over something pretty serious, too, for them never to check up their daughter's well-being, don't you think?"

Mitchell stared at Karen and said, "I wouldn't be a bit surprised if your grandparents did not support the move to Haddonfield. Not even a full year had passed since Michael Myers' tirade, and the fear it caused was not contained to just that town. That fear has diminished a lot over the past decade, but in the early eighties more people moved out of Haddonfield than in. At that time your father's decision to relocate his wife and newborn daughter there would have been deemed incredibly stupid, especially since he's a cop."

Karen slowly nodded but chewed on her lower lip, which meant she was not completely satisfied by his response. At last she said, "Okay, let's assume you are right, because logically that would make sense - would my mom really have let my grandparents' anger keep them apart for nearly eight years?"

Based on what he knew about his mother-in-law and the deep love she had for her daughter, Mitchell was forced to shake his head. "No, I believe your mother would have tried to mend their relationship at some point."

Karen kept her eyes fixed on the road and when she next spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper. "Yeah, I believe so, too."

And they both knew what that meant.

Karen sighed heavily. "What did my father do, Michael?" she asked. "If you had been in his position, what would you have done to keep my grandparents away?"

The usage of his given name did not surprise the killer. His wife wanted answers from the one being who could give her some. Unfortunately, even he was befuddled by the situation. "Truthfully, if I was your father, I would have killed them," he said, "but he left them alive, and his motive for doing so baffles me. However, he obviously has done something extremely proficient to keep them from meddling in his affairs."

Karen raised an eyebrow at Mitchell. "Quite literally."

"A true but unintended pun, I assure you," he honestly replied.

Karen pulled into a Denny's parking lot. "Is this okay?" she asked.

"Yes, sweetness; it's fine."

"Good."

The couple stepped out of the Camaro and walked into the restaurant. Since it was now past the prime breakfast hour, they were able to seat themselves. Karen chose a quiet booth in a corner.

"Hello, my name is Martha," a chipper blonde-haired woman greeted. "Will it be just the two of you this morning?"

"Yes," Karen answered.

"And what would you two like to drink?"

"An iced tea for me." Karen predictably told the waitress.

"I'll just have water," said Mitchell.

"Okay, I'll be right back with those."

Karen settled into her seat as she looked over the menu. "Do you know what you want?" she inquired.

"Yes."

She glanced up at him. "Foodwise?"

"Yes. Why? What else do you think I meant?"

"With you, Mr. Martin, I can never be quite sure."

Mitchell smirked. "Well, if you're offering something else, I'd take that, too."

"I'm not," Karen quickly said.

"Really? Because I think you could be persuaded otherwise with very little effort," he truthfully remarked.

"Mitchell, stop." She gave him a mock stern look. "You are terrible."

"And knowing that, you still married me," he bantered back. "Regretting it, yet?"

His wife laughed. "No, not yet, but ask me again in a few years, and my answer might be different."

"Rest assured, sweetness, I will do everything in my power to ensure that it's not," he promised.

The smile stayed on her lips. "I believe you, Mr. Martin."

Karen's gaze dropped to her menu. Mitchell remained silent, letting her ponder her food choices in peace. Meanwhile, Martha returned to their table with their drinks. "So, what can I get you?

"Go ahead," Mitchell urged his partner.

"Okay. I'll have a bacon and cheese omelette, with American fries, and sourdough toast, please."

Martha scribbled down Karen's order and then looked at the killer. "And for you, sir?"

"I'll take a Belgium waffle with three eggs over hard," he said.

"Very good. I'll be back in a few minutes."

"Thank you," Karen answered. She reached for her drink and then examined it, troubled.

"What's wrong, sweetness?" Mitchell implored.

"I was just thinking I've been away from my father for a few months now, and I still can't bring myself to drink pop."

"Well, in all fairness, pop isn't the healthiest of drinks, anyway."

Karen offered Mitchell a soft smile, obviously catching his meaning that her aversion to soda was nothing to fret over.

"No, it's not," she agreed.

The teenager sipped her tea as they waited for their food. Mitchell tried not to watch her, but he found the task impossible. He reached across the table for her hand. "I love you, sweetness" he said.

A light blush spread over her cheeks. "I love you, too, Mitchell."

He released her hand when the waitress returned with their food.

"Here you go," Martha said. "Enjoy."

"Thanks," said Karen. "Looks great."

The newlyweds ate quietly. Despite her anxiety, Karen finished her entire breakfast. Then, she excused herself to the restroom while Mitchell paid the bill. When they reunited at the exit, he asked, "Do you still feel up to driving?"

She nodded. "Yes. It will give me something to do other than brood over my father."

"I thought as much." Mitchell opened the door for his soulmate. Hand in hand they returned to the Camaro.

After making a quick stop at a gas station to fill up the car and buy a few provisions for the long road trip, Karen started driving towards I-94. Looking at her, Mitchell said, "You're still brooding."

"Yep," she openly admitted.

"Perhaps this will help." Mitchell switched on the radio. He turned it to a station that played a mix of current and older pop songs. "I know you like music."

"Yeah, thanks."

However, Karen's mood darkened even further when a new song started playing. Mitchell instantly recognized it as the one that was sung during Princess Diana's funeral.

Throughout the years, Michael Myers hadn't kept up with worldly affairs, which was why he hadn't understood the shock and mournful tears of the entire Helms' household over the sudden death of the former princess back at the end of August. Karen had tried to explain to him the impact Diana had made on people all over the world, but at the time, he had lacked the ability to comprehend why Karen, or anyone, could feel sorrow over someone they had never met before.

Now, though, Mitchell understood how a person like Karen, who had learned about the princess by writing an extensive report on her in the tenth grade, could feel emotionally attached to a complete stranger. He, himself, was beginning to feel similar emotions towards Holly Miller. The more he learned of her, the more he regretted that she had been killed.

"I played her in a school play once when I was in fifth grade," Karen suddenly said.

Startled from his thoughts, Mitchell asked, "Who?"

"Princess Diana. Dawn was actually the one chosen for the part, but then she came down with strep throat, so I was asked to fill in, even though I was a brunette. I only had a few lines, but the dress I got to wear was very pretty."

"I wish I could have seen it," the killer honestly told his wife.

"My father was there," she said. "Knowing him, he probably took some pictures of me that night."

The moment those words left her mouth, Karen's anxiety level skyrocketed. It was the same feeling Mitchell had experienced just before leaving for Vegas. "I assume he enjoyed taking photos of you," he said.

She nodded. "And when a man such as my father takes pictures of someone, it's pretty obvious what he's doing with them." Her tone was casual, yet the deep heaviness in her heart betrayed her true feelings.

"I'm sorry, Karen. I really am."

She shrugged. "It's something I should have gotten over years ago. I mean, they're just photos."

Mitchell frowned. Once again, his partner's emotions failed to match her words. She felt violated and ashamed. Those two emotions radiated from her soul so strongly that he could have mistaken them for his. She clearly didn't want him to know how badly she had been hurt. The only problem was her feelings were no longer just her own. Their bond did not allow them the luxury of keeping secrets from one another. Fate itself had designed it to be that way.

"But they're not just photos, are they, Karen? Mitchell pressed. "Because if there is one thing I have learned about your father, it is that nothing about him is ever as simple as it may seem. His deception and cruelty extends beyond my own comprehension at times."

Karen paid the toll to continue their journey to Pennsylvania. Once she cranked up her window, she asked, "You don't think he's a supernatural being like us, do you?"

"No," he snapped, "and don't psych yourself out by believing otherwise. I am certain he is a mortal man. It's his damn arrogance that has let him become the monster that he is. He believes he is invisible, because no one has proven they can stop him. However, that will soon change."

Karen slowly nodded. "I just don't know how, yet. As much as I want my father dead, I'm not sure that will satisfy my vengeance at this point. He deserves to be exposed. Yet killing him would be so much easier…"

"Karen, what he did to you was not your fault," Mitchell sternly reiterated. "You are a victim of abuse."

"It doesn't matter," Karen stubbornly insisted. "It's still his word against mine."

"A few days ago you spoke of evidence that could possibly exist."

"Damning evidence, and I know it still exists. He told me so himself when I spoke to him on Friday. But, the only way he'll let me find it is by him showing it to me, and I know that will never happen. I've completely lost his trust. He knows the only reason I agreed to return to him is to protect Dawn."

"Then, you're going to have to make him believe otherwise."

"Not if I decide just to kill him," Karen said, "which right now is sounding a lot more appealing."

Mitchell gave her a hard look. "You don't want the evidence to be discovered."

"No, I don't," she firmly admitted. "In fact, if my father doesn't destroy it first, then I just might."

The killer instantly scoffed at that notion. "As much as you may like to think that, I know you won't go through with it. I have never known you to be a coward, Karen. Even after the initial rape, you sought help. That took a lot of courage on your part."

"A lot of good it did me," she griped. "Mrs. Hekman rejected my claim."

"But others won't," Mitchell confidently stated, "especially if you find the evidence to prove your case and bring it to light."

Karen pursed her lips together. "I'll consider it, Mitchell, but I'm not making any promises."

The fact that his soulmate was truly torn on what to do, made him rethink his original presumption. "Karen, all this time I had assumed the evidence you were referring to was the pills your father had used to drug you with. However, it's more than that, isn't it?"

She mournfully nodded, her heart breaking with the secret she was desperately trying to conceal. "The pills could be explained away," she quietly voiced. "What I'm talking about can't be."

Mitchell knew it was a risk pushing Karen so hard while she was driving, but he didn't want to drop the subject when the truth was so close to revealing itself. "Karen, the evidence, what is it?" he gently pressed.

"The photos," she uttered.

Mitchell cocked his head at her, confused. "The ones your father took?"

"He didn't take all of them, Mitchell," Karen gravely clarified.

"Jerry," the killer hissed.

His wife's grip on the steering wheel tightened. "Yes. You had wondered about his involvement in all of this. Now you know."

Mitchell's eyes narrowed. "I still don't understa -" He suddenly stopped midthought as his mind finally caught up to what she had just told him. "Holy fuckin' Hell!" he yelled, now fuming with rage. "Christ, Karen! You were just a child! And a drugged one at that!"

Her eyes remained glued to the road. "Trust me, Mitchell, I know. During my last phone conversation with my father, I was forced to listen to him describe in great detail a photo of my thirteen-year-old self while he got himself off."

"Fuck," the killer crudely snarled. "No wonder you were so upset when I found you. I wish you would have told me."

"And potentially ruin our wedding weekend? No, I wasn't going to allow my father the chance to do that. He has ruined a lot of things in my life, but my wedding wasn't going to be one of them."

"Which is why you let Markus be our photographer."

Karen sighed. "Derek had the Helms cancel our professional wedding photographer, so Mark volunteered to take his place. Since I knew with absolute certainty that his motives were pure, I agreed."

"Does that mean you told Derek about the photos?"

"Yes. I had to tell somebody." Karen glanced at Mitchell. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's good that he knows."

She merely nodded and returned to concentrating on her driving. After a few minutes, she said, "I don't want you to see the photos. Ever."

"Karen, I sincerely promise you that I have no desire to look at them. None at all. The only, and I mean only, reason I am tolerable to their existence is because they really are damning evidence, especially if your father is in any of them."

"He is," the teenager confirmed, her expression grim, "which is why he will destroy the photos before letting me see them. He knows I'll turn them in. If I want them, then I'm going to have to regain his trust in me before I return to him."

"Yes, exactly," said Mitchell, "and you have just over a year to accomplish that task, so I suggest you use your time wisely."

"Or I could go with my original plan and kill him," Karen countered.

"Either way, sweetness, it's not a decision you'll be able to make on a whim," the killer cautioned "Your father has moved beyond being satisfied with nightly hook-ups. He wants a real relationship with you."

"Mitchell, I hate him," she seethed. "How am I supposed to set that aside in order to give him what he wants?"

"Karen, you already have," the killer candidly pointed out. "You've opened communication with him. That's a good start."

"Our conversations have been far from romantic," his wife argued.

"But you have the power to change that," Mitchell fervently insisted. "The next time you two talk, try flirting with him. Keep it subtle, though. Coming on too strong will make him suspicious."

A deep frown appeared on the younger's features. "This is so messed up."

"Karen, this is the game your father chose to play, so you have to abide by his rules. If you decide to destroy him without actually killing him, then you're going to need those photographs."

She deliberately nodded. "I know. I'm just not sure yet what I want to do."

"Believe me, sweetness, you'll figure it out, and once you do, I'll fully support whatever decision you chose to make," Mitchell assured his soulmate.

She looked at him for a brief moment. "I do believe you, Mitchell, and thank you. You're a really good husband."

"And you are a really good wife, Karen," the killer firmly stated. "Please don't let your conduct with your father persuade you otherwise. This is his doing, not yours."

"I know," she relented. "I just wish there was a way I could deal with him without having to cheat on you, but there isn't, is there? This truly is the only option."

"Yes," Mitchell bluntly confirmed.

"All right, but I still don't trust him," Karen said. "Until he is either dead or contained, Dawn's life will always be in jeopardy. I don't care what he promised."

"Karen, you needn't worry about Dawn," Mitchell told her. "I will protect her till the end. You just focus on dealing with your father. I will handle everything else."

"Does that include Mark and the baby, too?"

"Yes."

Karen's mood lifted considerably. "Thank you, Michael."

Again, she had called the killer by his true name, and, just like before, he understood the significance behind it. "You're welcome, sweetness," he gently replied.

Karen stopped speaking, yet instead of falling silent, she started humming along to a song that was playing on the radio. Mitchell contently listened to her as they waited in line to get onto the Ohio Turnpike.

"You know a lot of songs," he eventually said.

His wife paid the fare and then gave him a sideways glance. "I know I was forced to live a pretty sheltered life, Mitchell, but I wasn't a total recluse," she teased, but then she turned serious. "I liked listening to music when I studied. It helped keep my mind focused. Oftentimes the silence was just too much."

Mitchell nodded. "You were dealing with a lot. I wish I could have been there for you."

"I know I was angry at you for not helping me," Karen said, "but I also know why you couldn't. Had you and I met any sooner, I honestly don't think I would have been able to handle it. I mean at the age of eight, I wanted you the same way my father wanted me. And because he and I had sex, I'm not sure I would have understood why you and I couldn't be together like that, which would have put you in a very precarious position."

"Yes," Mitchell softly voiced.

Karen sighed, and there was a distinct tremor to it. "I suppose it was better that things worked out the way they did. And when I felt completely overwhelmed, I always had Jane Austen to lean on."

"Austen was one of my mother's favorite authors as well," Mitchell reminisced.

His wife's expression immediately lit up. "Well, then I'd say her taste in literature definitely makes up for her deficiency in baking."

'Perhaps for you," he said, "but I would have gladly traded one for the other."

Karen laughed, genuinely. "Did your mom ever read to you?"

"Yes. Mostly fairy tales."

"Did you have a favorite?"

"Snow White," answered Mitchell. "I liked the wicked Queen."

"Of course you did," Karen smirked.

"All right, so which fairy tale was your favorite?" he countered.

His companion grinned sheepishly."Beauty and the Beast," she said. "In fact, the Disney version is one of my favorite movies."

"No surprise there," Mitchell noted. "You are such a romantic, sweetness. It is very endearing, especially considering what you suffered through as a child."

"I have always been enthralled by love stories," Karen told him. "Meeting you right after the rape is what kept my romanticism alive. When you finally appeared to me at Mrs. Hekman's house, the connection I felt towards you was instantaneous. I wanted to stay with you."

"Hence why I left," the killer said.

The teenager risked taking her eyes off the road to give him a long look. "Mitchell, you're a much better man than my father." She turned completely quiet after that, clearly lost in her own thoughts.

After a few miles of silence, Mitchell broke it by saying, "Karen, when we reach the next service plaza, we'll need to fill up, again."

"Yeah, I see that." She sighed heavily. "May I have a bottle of water, please?"

Mitchell reached into the grocery bag behind her seat. He grabbed two waters and a candy bar. He opened both bottles and gave one to his wife.

"Thank you," she uttered. She finished half her drink before handing it back to him. He replaced it with the dark chocolate bar.

"Here, you're looking a bit tired," Mitchell assessed. "This might help."

"Thanks." Karen bit off a section and sucked on it. "So, what's the plan once we get to Altoona? Stay in a hotel tonight and visit my grandparents in the morning?"

"That's certainly one option," the killer agreed. "The other is that we visit them tonight to save you the stress of waiting until morning."

The younger frowned. "By the time we get to their house, it will be almost ten their time."

"At the speed you're driving, it will be. However, I can get us there a lot faster."

"Fine. After we stop for gas, I'll let you take over," said Karen. "I could use a break, anyway."

"Very good, sweetness."

She broke off another large chunk of her candy bar. "I don't even know what I'm going to say to my grandparents."

"In this instance, I'd let your necklace do most of the talking" Mitchell advised. "They should recognize it."

His wife gradually bobbed her head. "Yeah, you're right. Thanks, Mitchell."

"You're welcome, Karen."

She finished her chocolate and then gulped down the rest of her water. "So, do you have any living relatives besides Laurie and your niece or nephew?" she asked.

"I suppose I might, but if I do, their existence doesn't bother me."

"Yet your sister's and her child's does."

"Yes. Very much so. And, as much as you might wish otherwise, my hatred for them will never change. It's ingrained within me."

Karen exited the turnpike. She then pulled into a gas station. After parking her car next to a pump, she turned to face Mitchell. "Michael, how you choose to handle your family is none of my concern," she insisted. "You are the Boogeyman. Whatever you need to do to calm your rage, just do it. I won't ever stand in your way."

The amount of desire the killer felt for his wife at that moment could not be denied. He yanked her onto his lap and kissed her hard on the mouth, leaving her in no doubt of what he wanted.

"Someone will see us," she muttered as he unzipped their jeans.

"No," Mitchell confidently assured her. Impatient, he tore a hole in Karen's panties so that he could slide his manhood directly into her. Within seconds, the couple was intimately joined together, secretly copulating in a very public setting, though he made certain no one could see them.

"Oh, god," Karen moaned. Her juices seeped out from around their union, indicative of how much she was turned on.

They both came once, but that did not deter them from indulging in more passionate sex. Even after the second and third time, their movements barely slowed. It wasn't until the end of the fourth round when climaxing finally sated them. By that time, though, Karen was a hot sticky mess.

Mitchell lifted her back onto her seat so that he could be instrumental in cleaning her up. He thoroughly enjoyed tasting the aftermath of their sex. She twisted her fingers through his hair and bucked her pelvis against his face while he forced her to endure orgasm number five.

"All right Mitchell, that's enough. Please," Karen gasped, winded.

He gave her nub one last affectionate kiss before raising his head. He then duplicated the kiss on her lips, which she hungrily returned. When they broke apart for good, she said, "You ruined my panties."

"Serves you right for wearing them in the first place," Mitchell retorted.

Karen had the audacity to stick her tongue out at him.

"Careful, sweetness, or I'll find a much better use for that delectable tongue of yours."

She offered the killer a saucy grin as she dipped her face towards his lap. Her blow jobs were always fantastic; however, this particular one satisfied him like none other.

"You're really honing your skills there, Karen," he commented once she sat up.

"Well, it is said that practice makes perfect," she teased. "I am glad you enjoyed it, though."

"That is quite the understatement," Mitchell said. "It felt utterly divine."

Karen flushed prettily, and something happened inside of Mitchell. He couldn't explain it other than his heart suddenly swelled with an abundance of love for her. She cocked her head at him in bewilderment, for he knew she had also felt the strange surge of emotion within him.

"Mitchell, what's going on?" she softly asked.

He gave his head a small shake. "I have no idea, but you look distinctly different to me."

"Different? How so?"

"Beautiful," he replied, his tone filled with awe. "No, gorgeous," he corrected after a brief moment. "You look gorgeous, Karen. Just stunning." She did, too.

"Maybe we had too much sex," she offered as an explanation for this odd phenomenon.

"The sex was fantastic," Mitchell assured her, "but this is unrelated. I love you and only you, Karen. Truly. I feel it's really important for you to believe that."

Her expression faltered. "Okay, now you're officially scaring me, Mitchell. Were you having doubts before?"

"No. Never. Not once," he firmly stated. "Karen, you are my soulmate, my wife. I love you. Surely, you can feel the truth behind my words."

The teenager gradually nodded. "I do, but I still think this is all very bizarre."

"I'm just trying to prepare you."

"Prepare me?" she implored. "For what?"

Mitchell shrugged. "I don't know."

Karen sighed in obvious exasperation. "Okay, well, the car still needs gas, and I have to use the restroom."

"I'll fill up the car while you take care of your needs," the killer said.

Karen nodded "I'll only be a few minutes."

"I'm not going anywhere, sweetness."

Mitchell followed his wife out of the car. While he started filling the tank, he watched her walk to the service station. She was still troubled by his premonition, as was he. He suspected whatever was awaiting for them in Altoona was going to push her past her breaking point. It was his job to be there for her as her husband and as the Boogeyman, because he had a feeling she was going to need them both.