She would never admit it bothered her.
The way her father never mentioned her brother.
Not even once in the four days that had passed since her arrival to Haddonfield. There was nothing in the house that indicated she had a sibling. Not even pictures. She didn't know how he had transformed over the years. Adam Doe could've walked right in front of her and she wouldn't have noticed.
When she lived in St. Louis — when her mother was alive — Carmen only discovered she had a brother after she'd asked her mother about her father. She could recall the grimace that her mother wore as she recited their names with startling disregard as though she were forced to recall strangers and not a man she once loved and a son she once bore, or a town she used to call "home." Whoever Adam was, he wasn't for Carmen to ever meet and she wondered if her brother wanted that.
Seated at the dining table, Carmen chewed her food until it tasted like dirt in her mouth and swallowed, repeating the action again as she stabbed her fork through a chicken leg.
"How was school?" Her father asked slowly. The dining room chandelier flickered above them. He'd mentioned that the house was fairly old and he'd used that as an excuse to justify the defective lighting and the odd moan running through the pipes whenever she flushed the toilet. For a man who specialized in houses, she'd think he'd take better care of it. But, Carmen also thought it must've been hard to take care of something that was a constant reminder of what he'd lost.
"It was fine. I...made a few friends. And I'm settling in okay if that's what you're worried about. There's alot of assignments, but my teachers are extending the due dates for me, and some I'm even being excused for."
Her father's face lit up. "That's great to hear! I knew you'd transition here smoothly." Looking decidedly pleased, he propped his arm on the back of the adjacent chair. "Maybe we can head out of town tomorrow and get you some new things for your room? I need to stop by the drug store anyway to pick up candy for the trick-or-treaters ."
Her appetite, not that it was very strong to begin with, dwindled away. Carmen set her fork down. "Why are we celebrating Halloween?"
Her father took a moment to digest the question. "I — it's been a custom to give out candy to the children."
"Despite what happened with Michael Myers?"
The more she had looked into it, Carmen remembered she had vaguely heard of the name before she arrived to Haddonfield.
A year ago, he was some lunatic whose brutal slaughters reached headlines she vaguely remembered but didn't bother looking into.
Quite ironic now considering the amount of time she asked students around school about the notorious killer. Everything from his detainment in a county sanitarium at six years old after the murder of his older sister, to his bloody rampage across town last Halloween all in the pursuit of his younger sister. Acquiring that information helped her draw out dark conclusions about this town.
When she looked up from her plate, the man in front of her had appeared terribly sober.
"Who told you about that?"
"I—" she hesitated.
Was curious…
"... I mean, I found out at school. Alot of the kids talk about him, especially now, at this time of year. The man's practically a celebrity. What with all the killings, you'd think someone would think there's some jinx attached to Halloween." She stopped talking in time to witness the subtle twitch of her father's lips.
He leaned forward and rose from his seat, taking his dishes with him to the kitchen. His feet sounded heavy as they echoed across the wooden flooring.
Thump. .
He hadn't said anything until he reached the sink and turned on the faucet.
"Myers is a sick, young man who's rotting away in a cell, Carmen. There's nothing for anyone to be afraid of." It was a warning easily translated into : Stop putting your nose where it shouldn't be.
Though, Carmen wasn't deterred because she was tired. Tired of not knowing. She was only two, too young, when the fabric of her family fell apart and she wanted to know what had happened. Why? How? Question after question arose and fell without an answer.
"Is that why mom didn't want me coming back here? Because of some lunatic in a cell? Because it turns out that there's alot wrong with this town? And you didn't want to leave?"
"Your mother left because I failed her as a husband," he said sharply and all of her thoughts running rampant in her skull stopped all together.
The hiss of running water rushing out of the faucet was the only sound she heard in the dining room. Carmen gulped and scooted back the seat as she rose from the table.
"What did you do?" she whispered.
The water shut off. Her vision blurred with frustrated tears at the sight of her father's back. Her feet moved of their own accord before she made a conscious decision to follow him. As he climbed the stairs, Carmen screamed, "What did you do!?" The sound carried throughout the halls, bouncing the echo back to the source.
His retreating footsteps hadn't ceased, only growing fainter as the distance grew.
It had seemed her feet had become glued to the floor because she couldn't follow him.
She couldn't bring herself to do it. To force from her father answers that would only pain him to recall.
When the bedroom door slammed shut, one question wrapped around her skull without release, claiming victory above all others.
Why did you kill yourself, mom?