It had only then occurred to her to run after her brother tugged out a gun from the waistband of his pants, rested the weight of the weapon in his palm, and settled his finger on the trigger in the short time that she had registered the patient with his head bent sitting at the dining table in only a thin hospital gown.
Her eyes turned slowly — she refrained from making any sudden moves.
"Son of a bitch," she hissed, though she didn't sound as threatening as she wished she had because her brother grinned.
His green eyes had reached an odd tinge as Adam looked absolutely delighted — such delightment belonged to a madman. "Careful, she's your mom too." Then, he stepped closer, arm still rigid with this predatory smile that made her gut churn.
"That's dad's gun, isn't it?" She asked.
"What do you think?" He replied.
"Why?"
"For convenience." Her brother answered, nonchalant. "You should sit down Carmen, you look like you're going to faint." With the gun, he pointed at a spot on the dining table. He wanted her to sit down next to him. She thought Adam must be crazy— even more than he let on. When she didn't immediately comply, her brother titled the gun in his hand impatiently. "I said sit down. You don't want to know what happens if you don't."
The threat had brought a deeper frown to her face and Carmen forcefully shuffled forward with the soles of her sneakers dragging her back. Every step was agonizing, yet she moved carefully and slowly as though she were walking on pins. Her hands reached out to the backrest of the chair and pulled it out — its feet scraped against the floorboards with a screech. Even held at gunpoint, she was surprised she had not broken down to tears.
Her eyes unconsciously flitted to Michael Myers whose face was hidden under dirty blonde bangs.
Carmen lowered herself until her bottom hit the seat then looked straight down at her hands, so that she focused on nothing else. Limiting her eyesight had somehow amplified the sound of her heartbeat.
"There. Good girl," Adam said.
"You'll pay for this." She whispered, head bowed.
Her brother laughed and she found herself insulted. "Don't be a condescending cunt, Carmen."
The word stung her ears and then her eyes.
Adam went behind the kitchen counter and for a few minutes she heard dishes clatter and cupboards clap shut.
"You don't know our dad like I do," Adam said. "Ask him how well he's been doing trying to get the houses on this block sold. You think anyone wants to be next door neighbors with him? Only the old stubborn bag across the street is crazy enough to stay. But, that's because everyone else in this town knows she's nuts too..."
Her eyes drifted to Michael's large hands, corded with thick ugly scars, spread flat atop the table. Hands that have been stained with blood. The gentle smell of hospital corridors filtered into her nose.
Carmen quickly looked down at her own hands, clammy, cold, and shaky in her lap.
A plate slammed beside her and her eyes widened at the contents.
"Here, eat up." Adam said, sliding the sandwich in her direction. She didn't realize her brother was so terribly close. He emitted a funny stench— the stale stench of body odor and dirt and perfume.
When bony fingers raked across the back of her scalp leaving her skin tingling with needles, she peered up at Adam. She tried to dissect his smile and found there were no traces of amusement.
"I said eat up."
Carmen didn't move and the ends of his lips curled tightly like a wicked coil. The increasing pressure of his hand on her head was quick and her face met the hard surface of the table with a clunk and pain was instant, spreading from her nose, jumping over to bridge the sensations across her eyes and then her cheek bones. Carmen trapped her tongue between her molars, refusing to give him the satisfaction of her hearing her scream. Blood trickled out of her nostrils and pooled into a sticky puddle below her mouth.
"You don't want to upset Michael, do you? He hates teenagers," he hissed.
She hadn't even questioned why her brother would be involved with the likes of Michael Myers, but she also considered, for a brief second that maybe Adam has been Michael's accomplice all this time.
Don't cry.
Finally, the girl shook her head as best she could with Adam holding it in place.
"Good. Now, apologize Carmen."
Carmen whimpered in response, sensing the gun was in his hand, the barrel inches from her temples. Adam crouched down and rasped into her ear. "The last thing I want is to see you get hurt."
And Carmen, despite the brutality her brother had so far shown her — this brutality so unlike their father— her kind father — believed him. Though she could not see him, she knew her brother had leaned back because she could no longer smell his foul breath.
"Apologize to Michael," Adam said dully.
"I'm sorry... Michael." The moment she'd parted her lips to speak, the taste of blood burned its way down her throat. She closed her mouth and willed herself not to breathe so that the nauseous smack would vanish until she could no longer contain the air in her lungs.
"You make me proud, Carmie."
Once she realized his hand had left her head, Carmen was freed from her brother's harmful clutch. Her head lifted up slowly, confused as she was frightened when Adam stared at her intently then flickered a worried gaze at the ground.
"Good God, look what you made me do. I hate to see you bleed." Adam shook his head and holstered the gun in the waistband of his pants. It disappeared as soon as the tail of his wrinkly shirt dropped over it — she felt slightly better about her situation. For once, she felt hopeful. He turned away towards the kitchen sink with a frantic clumsiness that had him searching through the cupboards. Then, as Adam turned around to the oven, his back to the dining table, Carmen remembered that she wanted this day to end better than it had started.
xxx
The kitchen towel that had hung off the oven handle was in his hand when Adam spun around at the sound of heavy footsteps pounding against the floor, right before a loud bang resounded from the dining area.
"Carmen?"
Besides an overturned dining chair, he didn't see anything else out of place, but he assumed if he went into the foyer, the door would be wide open too, letting in that cold chill snaking around his ankles.
Adam cursed under his breath and grabbed the carving knife teetering on the edge of the kitchen sink, marching over to Michael. Within an arm's length of the notorious killer, Adam had to stifle a shiver from showing in his gait.
Adam rested the knife on the table in front of him.
"Well?" He said bitterly, forcing himself to sound as strong as he wished he could be — as threatening as he wished he could be. "Go get her."
The hand that was spread flat beside the knife, hovered over the handle and gripped it with furious vigor.
AN: This scene was half inspired by Pan's Labyrinth when Ophelia was with the Pale man.