Author's Notes: If you haven't seen my updated previous chapters-I have changed the date when Jamie and Loomis met from October 19, 1999 to October 19, 1999, as I have changed the plot I have in mind for this story to what I believe will be more linear and cohesive. Thank you all for being patient with this update-I have found a new job and had some medical issues. I plan on updating regularly-at least once a month-from here on out.
Content warnings for this chapter include mentions of Eugenics and Eugenic-like practices, which will be prevalent in most scenes involving Terrence Wynn.
"I saw him. The Shape."
- Laurie Strode, Halloween (2018)
It's one-thirty on the dot when Jamie slips back into her house, soaking wet from head to toe from the downpour. Thunder crashes loudly when she shuts the door behind her gently, greeted immediately by Coco sniffing at her only to jerk away when she gets wet. Jamie takes off her boots and coat, wringing water out of her dark locks over the welcome mat by the door.
A light in the living room turns on, earning a gasp of surprise.
"Jamie," Rachel Carruthers says softly, over the sound of rain hitting the house. Jamie exhales, her first instinct to prepare for some kind of fight, then to plead her not to tell their parents she was out so late.
"I'm not mad," Rachel says quickly, standing to greet her. Even now, she stands a few inches above Jamie, the girl petite unlike her own biological mother. "And I don't plan to tell mom and dad. If anything, they'd be glad to know you actually went out tonight."
They wouldn't be so happy if it was to visit Sam Loomis, Jamie knows that for sure, so she decidedly doesn't mention that.
"Good," Jamie says awkwardly. Rachel sighs.
"Come on, you're gonna catch a cold, all soaking wet like that."
Rachel hands her a worn shirt and pants, which Jamie changes into in the bathroom. Darlene must have thought to leave out a towel on the heater because it's warm when Jamie dries her hair with it. She sees herself in the mirror-dark mussed hair when she takes it out of her braid, skin flushed from cold rain, and dark eyes looking back at her. The brush rakes against her scalp as she gets most of the knots out of her wet hair, earning a few winces. She hears the static of the TV as Rachel flips through the channels for something to watch.
Clad in her robe and her dry clothes, Jamie comes back out to the living room, finding Coco sitting next to Rachel on the couch. Lightning illuminates the living room when Jamie sits on the chair adjacent to the sofa, where they sit in silence for a few minutes before Rachel speaks again, tentative.
"I'm sorry, for this morning," Rachel says. "I didn't mean to-"
"It's okay," Jamie interjects, shaking her head. "I wasn't being fair to you, Rachel. We both survived him. I just-haven't-all the progress I've made since then, I've been feeling like I've been regressing somehow lately. I don't know."
She curls her knees to her chest, eyes still focused on the television ahead. Rachel reaches for her hand, leaning over the couch, and Jamie spares a glance at her.
"What do you mean?"
"I've been dreaming about him. Like I used to."
"It's been almost ten years," Rachel says softly, "don't you think that's a pretty significant anniversary, Jamie? You've lived past him for ten years. We both have. That's what my therapist tells me, anyway."
Jamie offers a small smile, turning her hand over in Rachel's to hold in her own, small thumb tracing over the lines of her palm. "I guess you're right. I don't know."
"I dream about him too, you know. Sometimes. How he looked at us, from that stairwell when we first saw him, then when we ran him over with the truck. It feels like it was all so long ago, but sometimes I feel like it was yesterday,"
"Me too, Rachel."
"So there's nothing wrong with you, Jamie, especially because he's your uncle. It's hard to forget that. But he's not your family, not like your mom was and not like mom, dad, and I are."
Jamie nods.
"I know, Rachel. I love you and mom and dad. But I still can't help but just-think about him sometimes. I think about how he's doing. I think about what he's feeling, maybe," Jamie shrugs, tentative about her words because of the reaction they could bring, especially from Rachel. Dr. Loomis had been a little more receptive to it, even encouraging, but Jamie knows that that feedback hadn't come from the most mainstream of sources, so to speak. So, she gauges Rachel for a reaction that she may possibly dread.
Instead, she's met with only an understanding gaze, and Rachel squeezing her hand. It makes her heart jump, and a smile spread over her features.
"That makes you a good person, Jamie. I can't say I'd feel the same but, I'm not in your position. I wouldn't know, you know."
Jamie smiles wider.
"Thanks, Rachel," she sighs, "I'm just tired of feeling these different things, and I feel like therapy may not be helping as much. Or I'm just afraid to tell her."
"Why? That's what she's there for."
"I know. It's just my natural instinct, I guess."
The two sisters sit in silence watching a late night televangelist preach to an enthusiastic crowd before Rachel stands. Coco jumps off the couch with her, trotting to the kitchen. Rachel offers a hand.
"I was thinking of making some hot cocoa before I went to bed, figured it'd be great for this cold night. Especially after you've been out in the rain."
Jamie's smile grows wider as she reaches for Rachel's hand, pulling herself up to her feet.
"That sounds pretty good. As long as we can use the marshmallows and chocolate chips."
"Of course. As long as you don't tell mom."
A laugh leaves the younger girl's mouth as the two head into the kitchen to prepare their snacks. The rain pours outside, thunder booming loud. Coco sits in the kitchen window and stares into the eyes of a man outside their front lawn dressed in black, whose aged features illuminate in a clash of lightning. The cat runs at the sight of him, bounding up the stairs, though neither Jamie nor Rachel notice over their chatter.
The heavy door leading to his cell opens and closes loudly, though this time only Wynn enters, the men adorned in cloaks that usually follow him long gone. The Shape isn't roused by this disturbance, simply staring at the wall ahead, past it. Inhumanly patient. Wynn exhales as thunder rumbles loud enough to be heard even in the belly of the asylum, where Michael's dingy cell sits among the line of others deemed so undesirable for society that they were just stowed away to waste down here.
Not Michael, though. Not Michael. He isn't like the others.
"Hello, Michael," he says cordially. As usual, there's no response. Nothing, not in ten years-nothing besides Jamie Lloyd. His lips curl in pleasure at the thought.
"Your niece, Jamie-she's not so little anymore, Michael. I saw her around a week ago, visiting Dr. Loomis. They must have had a reunion, like you and Sam had earlier today. Do you wonder when she'll come see you, Michael?"
An exhale escapes from the Shape, low and breathy. Wynn goes on, seemingly undeterred.
"I'm arranging for it-and you know, she is the same age as your sister. As Cynthia. It'll be perfect, don't you think?" he asks, "However, unlike when we spoke last week, we have a better surprise for you. Something more suitable to you."
As if on cue, wailing from down the hall begins, echoing off its corridors and prompting the other inmates in the block to begin screaming like banshees from within their cells, delirious and almost deafening. The heavy metal door opens and slams shut, revealing a young girl with dark hair and bangs and a fresh pair of black eyes, to boot. Michael's head cocks upon seeing her in his peripheral vision, bearing such a striking resemblance to his niece but too young to be her current age now.
Wynn's insidious smile spreads, which Michael doesn't fail to notice in the peripheral vision of his good eye.
The girl weeps while Wynn touches over her hair. Michael's fingers twitch in his lap.
"She's from the juvenile ward. No one's really noticed her missing-doesn't have any family left of her own, actually. Besides a sister who abandoned her here and moved away," Wynn practically hums, honey-sweet, "does that sound familiar at all, Michael?"
The cloaked figures throw the girl onto the floor by her hair. She screams as her knees scrape against concrete, though it's to no avail, only serving to echo off the poor acoustics of the cell. Michael stands, not facing any of the others but staring at the girl, who gasps for air over hiccups and claws at the concrete floor. Wynn watches all of them-the girl, deaf and emotionally disturbed, as her doctors called her, has no family and will be missed by no one. It's perfect, for what he has planned-for what he's always had planned, ever since Michael ended up under his vigilant watch at the tender age of six, those doe eyes concealing a strength within that he and his group had been searching for for so long.
A smirk unfurls wide over his features, wolfish and with teeth, and he says, "I'll leave you to it this time, Michael. Don't hold back."
When his disciples try to follow him outside of the room, Wynn shakes his head and holds up a hand, signalling them to stay as he exits. The moment the door closes, it's instantaneous-the screaming, the sound of a body hitting the door. More bangs and screams rouse the other patients in their cells before the silence that follows is enough to make Wynn's ears ring. With a few of the other disciples stationed by him, he enters Michael's cell to find blood everywhere-coating the room in pools of it. All over Michael's bed, all over the floor and painting the walls like a macabre mural. Wynn's eyes widen at the sight-both of his disciples dead, one with his throat ripped out and the other with her neck twisted so her head's on the other side of her body. Under the bed, the girl shakes, covering her dark sleek head with her hands and looking as pale as a ghost but otherwise unscathed. Wynn's gaze meets Michael's, who stands about a head above him and tilts his head.
Wynn hisses, and one of the hooded figures in the hallway steps forward, holding a folded mechanic's uniform and the unmistakable stark white of the mask, frayed as it is.
"We called in a favor from the attorney general's office, Michael," Wynn almost whispers. The Shape reaches out to take the mask from him, the coveralls, fingers trailing almost reverently over the aged latex. "It's for you. It's all for you and your niece-a birthday gift, if you will. I know how much you enjoy this time of year."
The iron door opens, creaking loudly. Wynn steps out of the room, turning back to the other one last time.
"Happy hunting."
The Shape glances down at the mask between his fingers, its large eye-holes staring up at him. It stretches a little differently than it had when he first wore it, but it fits seamlessly, like a second skin. He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror when he tucks the mask into the collar of the coveralls.
The Shape is complete.
For a long time, Jamie can't move when she awakens-she has no idea of the time of night, just knows that it's so early it's still dark and she hadn't fallen asleep too long ago in the first place. Then she feels like she's choking, wheezing and coughing from deep in her chest as she thrashes, finally able to move, gripping and clawing at her throat to rip it open and get some air in her lungs-an incredulous idea but more effective than not bleeding at all.
Then she sees him, like a specter, coveralls covered in blood standing at the end of her bed, stark white features almost blue from the light from her window. Spots cover her vision but still, she can't move, can't get away from him and can't get any air in her throat no matter how hard she wheezes. Lightning flashes over him, illuminating him bright, the knife covered in blood in his hand looking black in the moonlight.
He steps toward her. Jamie inhales, finally-a gulp of air, and he steps toward her once more, and she licks her lips and tries to scream but can't find her voice once more. Hears Darlene Carruthers' screams for help as if she's underwear from how distant and far away it is, as she stabs and stabs away at her in the bathtub. Michael stares back at her, getting so close a blood-coated hand knots in her pretty quilt, raising the knife above her to strike.
And that's when Jamie really wakes up-her breath catching up to her now, screams silenced from the sharp intakes of breath. She scrambles to curl herself up against her headboard, turning her light on to find no boogeyman in sight, only Coco thoroughly scared by her sudden movements and sounds from where she sits at the foot of her bed.
Sighing, heart still racing, Jamie climbs out of bed and stumbles to the bathroom to step into the shower, standing under the hot jets of water for a long time before she steps out and gets dressed, finding the landline in her bedroom when her hair is still wet. When she holds the phone against her ear, she listens to it ring for a few times after she dials, hoping that someone will answer who won't outright hang up on her.
"Hello?" a young man on the other end answers. Jamie exhales in relief.
"Billy?"
"Hey, Jamie," the boy gets a little more quiet. The stutter that'd inflicted his dialect when they were younger seemingly gone, for the most part. "You're up early."
"I know," she says, pushing her small fingers through her cat's fur as she leans against her dresser, sighing softly. "I knew you'd be awake-sorry if you were trying to sleep, I know you work late at the construction site-"
"No, it's fine, Jamie," Billy insists. "I'm all wired up on energy drinks so I should be up for a few more hours. What's up?"
"I'm in the mood for some pancakes and eggs or something, and I was just calling on the off-chance you're free and can get out of your parents' hair," she says, "I can swing by and pick you up."
"I know you love that new car of yours."
Jamie laughs. "I do love it. Is that a yes?"
"Yeah, I can do it now, if you want, before I sleep. Could go for something to eat and my parents don't have much here."
Jamie smiles brightly. "Good. I can come swing by and get you, and I'll be there in ten or twenty?"
"Yeah, of course. I'll see you then, Jamie."
Jame feels a smile spread over her features when she hangs up the phone. Billy Hill, her only light at the end of the tunnel when she was seven, proves to be the same at seventeen. While she has Rachel and Lindsey to keep her company, the times she periodically gets to see Billy is when she actually feels like she has friends her own age. Otherwise, despite her kind nature, Jamie keeps to herself when it comes to her peers besides acquaintances out of necessity at school.
With that thought in mind, she wrings more water out of dark hair until it's damp enough to put some product in it, leaving it in loose waves at her shoulders, and pulls on a purple cardigan and blue jeans once she removes her robe. Upon reaching the door, she pulls on a pair of her tennis shoes, a peacoat, and heads to her car that's parked in the driveway.
The drive to Billy's house on the outskirts of Haddonfield takes less than ten minutes. It's too early for any real traffic to begin, which makes her feel comfortable enough to look at the Tower Farm that sits adjacent to Billy's house. It's in the distance, and she can barely make it out in the dark and over the brightness of her headlights before her, but she would never mistake the long winding dirt road there, leading to the woods where Michael had pursued her ten years ago.
It doesn't matter how much construction they do, to build over the destruction her uncle caused. It'll still be the same. It'll still have been marked, by him, and that includes her own soul, too. What Dr. Loomis had said about them being soulmates-it comes to mind immediately, leaving her even more introspective over the static of her car stereo. The idea of sharing any part of soul with him seems fitting, but it leaves her with chills, now that she lets herself think of it more.
When she pulls up to Billy's house, she sits in his driveway, deciding not to honk the horn lest his parents or brother awaken. The boy-more like man, now-comes down the steps, clad in a flannel shirt and paint-stained blue jeans, a big sports bag hung over his shoulders with a Chicago Cubs cap to match.
"Hey, you," Jamie says when he opens the passenger side door. Upon sitting, Billy wraps his arms around her, broad and work-worn from his job at the site. Jamie laughs, returning the embrace before withdrawing.
She backs out of the driveway and down the road, away from the farm in the distance that looms over her like an albatross.
"It's really good to see you. I've been so busy with work and everything, I just haven't been able to."
Jamie can smell the shampoo from his shower, and knows that he must have just got home, maybe the instant she called.
"It's okay, Billy, I've been pretty busy myself, too."
"How's school going?"
"It's okay. I've been getting pretty high marks and I'm looking to transfer to Haddonfield University next fall. They've got a great speech pathology program."
"You still want to go to school for that?" Billy asks, glancing over at Jamie as she looks at him, the two of them stopped at a red light while a freight train passes by before them.
"I do. I know how to speak sign language from when I couldn't talk for that while. I tutor deaf students now, too-it's work that makes me feel good."
A long moment goes by before the freight train finally passes, and Jamie carries on driving, taking the exit to her favorite diner in downtown Haddonfield.
"You're smart. I know you're going to do great."
"You're pretty smart too," Jamie says, turning the corner to the diner. "How's work been?"
"It's good. I think I'm gonna get promoted."
"Oh yeah? That's awesome."
"That's what my boss says, anyway."
Jamie parks the car in the lot of the diner, taking the key from the ignition and locking her doors before stepping out. She waits for Billy before heading into the diner itself, where he opens the entrance door for her as she smiles at him. The diner's decorated as if straight out of the fifties-bubblegum pink, baby blue, and white tile covering the walls and floor, a jukebox playing in the corner, with waitresses wearing old-school uniforms. They sit themselves and wait for their waitress, combing through options in velvet-clad menus. Jamie chances a glance out of the big frost-tinted window beside their booth, looking at the parking lot and the woods beyond, the world so dark the streetlights still brightly illuminate the white and yellow lines of the road and lot.
That's when she sees it-the stark white face, illuminated by the lights too with its dark holes for eyes still shrouded in shadow, standing under a streetlight. Her breath catches in her throat and her eyes widen as The Shape stares back at her.
"Jamie?"
Jamie tears her gaze away from the window and looks at Billy.
"Are you okay?"
She looks at the world outside once more and finds no one there, standing under the streetlight. Disappeared into thin air. It does nothing to help her racing heart but she calms a little, not teetering on hyperventilating so much anymore.
"I'm okay, Billy," she offers a smile. Their waitress smiles a bright greeting at them both, interrupting their conversation to take their orders. When she leaves, Jamie's attention returns to Billy.
"I just-" a loud noise from the kitchen makes her jump before she can finish the sentence, "it's so close to being ten years since I last saw him. So I think I see him everywhere."
She remembers what Loomis had told her-that she and Michael, and Loomis too, are forever linked to each other. That Michael will escape some day. She would've heard about it on the radio, on the news-from any of the patrons in the diner-and her sense of security is tentative more so than sure, because she knows Michael better than anyone in the world.
"That's normal. I had so many nightmares, after he chased us with that car, y'know."
Jamie nods as their waitress sets their food on the table, along with a pot of coffee. She pours a mug for herself before Billy's hand covers hers.
"It's okay, Jamie," Billy says, softly, "he's never getting out. Ever. You know that and I know that."
She smiles wider, though it doesn't quite reach her eyes, hand turning to hold Billy's.
"You're right."
They release each other's hands. Billy offers a smile.
"Let's eat, then."
Jamie cuts into her pancakes, unable to keep her eyes from the window, where she doesn't notice The Shape enter a Smith's Grove issued station wagon and drive off.
The day goes on without incident-she leaves breakfast with Billy to head to her first class of the day, finding out from a note on the door for her second lecture that it's cancelled. Jamie's student that she tutors in the afternoon after classes end for the day cancels last-minute too, leaving her with only a worksheet from her physics course to do and an entire weekend ahead of her. Upon finishing it, she returns home, anxious to find something to keep her productive. Coco meows at her when she enters the foyer, rubbing against her legs in delight to see that she's home. Jamie slides off her coat, picking up the cat to hold her against her, sighing and kissing her on the head. In response, Coco purrs loudly, rubbing her cheek against Jamie's and sniffing her. The tickle of her whiskers makes Jamie laugh before she puts the cat down, locking the door behind her and heading into the kitchen to put on a pot of tea and grab a snack.
She fills the kettle with water, leaving it on the stove to heat up before heating up some of last night's baked ziti in the microwave. With her plate of food, she sits on the couch, unhappily alone with her food and her thoughts. No television program is stimulating enough, and the best thing she can find while flipping through the channels is a local program about a haunted house decorating contest. Innocent enough.
If only they knew what a real haunted house looked like.
She's sipping at a mug of tea when the doorbell rings, making her and Coco jump from where the cat sits in her lap. Setting the mug down, Jame heads to the door, peering into the window beside it to see who it is instead of even bothering to go on her toes to look at the window above. Lindsey Wallace, grinning widely and waving at her through the window. Jamie swings open the door immediately, greeted with the older woman's arms wrapped around her. Jamie laughs in delight, returning the embrace, and beams when Lindsey's lips press against her forehead. It's easy, when she's so much taller than her.
"I haven't seen you in so long, kiddo!"
"Sorry, Linds. I've been busy with school and work and all that crap."
"I've heard. I heard you're getting straight A's, huh? You've always been such a bright girl, Jamie," Lindsey pulls her bag closer to her form, heading further into the big house to look around. "Rachel told me to meet up with her here, because we're going shopping for costumes for Ray Nelson's basement party tomorrow night."
"Oh yeah?"
Already, Jamie doesn't like where this conversation is headed.
Lindsey prods her in the rib-cage, gently.
"Why don't you come with us, Jamie? Costume shopping, and then to the party itself. I know there's gonna be some cute boys your age there."
"I really don't know, Linds… I do have a lot of work to do..."
As Jamie had expected, that excuse doesn't fly over well. Lindsey huffs out a breath, petulant, shaking her head.
"Oh, come on, Jamie. You have to live a little!" Lindsay's manicured fingers find their way to Jamie's slight shoulders, and she continues, a little more serious, "believe me, for a really long time, after seeing his face, I was scared too. I was too scared to sleep, even, and Tommy and I never even got that close to him. But you have to live your life for you, and that includes getting maybe a little tipsy with me and your sister and having the time of our lives."
Jamie sighs, offering a small, relenting smile.
"Okay, fine," Jamie agrees. Lindsay grins brightly, but Jamie interjects, quickly, "you guys just can't run off and leave me, though. I've never really been to a party like this before."
"Oh, sweetheart, we'd never leave you by yourself. You're a baby."
Jamie shoves at her, shaking her head and laughing. The sound of Rachel's car stereo almost shakes the house as she pulls up, playing some R&B song that's been haunting the local stations like crazy, and the blonde herself trots up the steps, wearing a wrap dress with her hair teased and kitten heels, fresh from a day at the office.
"Hey, you're here early?" Rachel looks between the both of them. Lindsey wraps an arm around Jamie's shoulder, piping in before Jamie gets a chance.
"Jamie here, is going costume shopping with us now," Lindsey says, "and she agreed to come to the party tomorrow night."
"Oh, Miss Mother Teresa is actually going out?"
Jamie shoves at the two of them, laughing along with them.
"Yeah, I've been convinced," Jamie says. "You're both pieces of work, y'know that?"
"Yeah, that's why you love us," Rachel says softly, flashing her a smile. Jamie shakes her head and Lindsey releases Jamie, gesturing widely with her arms.
"I brought my mom's Hummer, can you believe she let me take it?" Lindsey asks, going on quickly. "Anyways, we can cruise to Vincent's in fucking style and hey, maybe grab some sushi after? I'm starving."
"Sounds good to me," Jamie says, reaching for her own purse on its hanger. "I haven't even dressed up as anything for-well, not since I was seven. I don't even think I've left the house on Halloween since then."
The three of them walk down the stairs, Rachel trailing behind only to lock the door behind them. The dead leaves from the trees that surround the front lawn crunch under Jamie's feet as they head to Lindsey's big van, Jamie sitting in the backseat while Rachel and Lindsey take the front.
"Well, I'm really glad you're going out of your comfort zone, Jamie," Rachel says, continuing the conversation as Lindsey pulls out of the long driveway and down the street. Jamie looks out the window, looking at the Halloween decorations that cover the big Victorian houses down the block. Ghost decals, carved pumpkins, fallen leaves-ten years after Michael Myers terrorized them all, and Haddonfield seems to have finally tried to move on, the youngest of its residents fully embracing Halloween once more whether those who remember the most like it or not. Jamie remembers too well, but she thinks it may be time for her to try to move on too.
Her psychiatrist talks about this all the time, and she wonders what she'll think when she reports back with this tale of the greatest exposure therapy she could possibly undertake, short of going into the Myers house itself.
"Yeah," Jamie says, getting herself out of her trance as the enter downtown, with its mom-and-pop shops and the typical influx of university students from the nearby Haddonfield University and Haddonfield Community College, with a few high school students mingled therein. She watches a few of them run by the car, happy and immersed in conversation with one another, and looks back at the two women in the front seats of the car. "I think it'll be good for me, to give this a try. I think I'm ready."
"I agree," Rachel says, "and so do mom and dad. You need this."
"Here we are," Lindsey interrupts, pulling into a parking spot in front of Vincent's. While she pays the meter, Rachel and Jamie head into the store, the two of them making a beeline toward the Halloween costumes rack. Vincent's, even after all of these years, still has the best Halloween costumes in the entire county, locally made and high-quality. Lindsey's heeled boots clack against the tiled floor of the drug store, catching up quickly to her friends in the other aisle.
"Jamie's so lucky she's so small."
"That's because she's barely five feet tall and she's got such a high metabolism," Rachel mutters, looking through one of the racks while Jamie looks through another. "That's why she's so skinny. Not to mention, she eats like a canary."
Lindsey pouts.
"You look awesome, Lindsey," Jamie interjects. "Don't compare yourself so much to me. You look like a woman-I look like I could still be thirteen."
That earns a laugh from Rachel and Lindsey alike, along with Jamie, who only interrupts when she finds her costume-an angel costume, pretty and white and sparkling, not to mention the least revealing of the other women's costumes though not by much.
"That's so gorgeous, Jamie. I can do your hair and makeup with it, too."
Rachel looks over the costume, then back down at Jamie.
"Can you go try it on? We should make sure it's not too big."
Jamie rolls her eyes playfully, tucking the costume under her arm and heading toward the direction of the changing rooms, calling out, "right on top of that, mom."
She enters one of the stalls, Rachel and Lindsey waiting outside of them, and changes. The costume fits as expected-a little too big in the waist area and definitely too long on her short legs. Other than that, she loves it, and can't help but see herself in it tomorrow.
Then she sees him, looking back at her from behind her, still so much taller than her with his head cocked in that inquisitive way of his. This time, she manages to scream, and Lindsey and Rachel are there in an instant, opening the changing room door to find her there alone.
"What happened?" Rachel says, giving Jamie and immediate sense of deja vu. Unlike when she was a child, Jamie doesn't cry, simply shaking all over and holding herself tight.
"I-I thought I saw him."
"He's not here. He's in Smith's Grove, and you're safe here."
Lindsey hugs onto her friend. Jamie sighs, blinking back tears as she wraps her arms around Lindsey in return.
"You look gorgeous in that costume, though," Lindsey offers, pushing Jamie's hair back. "I can't wait to see you in it tomorrow, when we're all made up. Why don't you get dressed, we'll pay for that, and then we can go out to eat, huh?"
Jamie nods, offering a feeble smile, and says, "okay, we can do that."
Blood covers the freshly waxed wood floor of the big house as screams fill the house. Marion Chambers lies, covered in blood and clawing with half-gone nails at the carpet to get away from the Shape, who advances quickly on her. Dr. Loomis himself lies in bed, clutching his chest in pain as it feels like his heart is possibly closing in on itself, wheezing loudly as breath fails him.
The Shape picks Marion Chambers up once more, earning a scream.
"Michael…" Dr. Loomis says, pleading hoarsely. He can't move-not even to the .380 in his bedside table, "take me, Michael. Don't-don't hurt these people, Michael. Leave Jamie alone! Stop!"
The Shape's head cocks, inquisitive-perhaps in amusement, if he was capable of feeling such things. Marion cries, grasping at his jumpsuit to no avail. He simply pins her against the wall, tearing open the back of her blouse. She gasps, choking on blood now, as his knife connects with her skin. This hadn't been what Loomis had been anticipating waking up from his afternoon nap to, and it'd been such a shock to find those eyes staring down at him that his chest had immediately begun contracting, right arm tingling white hot in all of the tell-tale signs of cardiac arrest. Of course, Michael had been taken advantage of the predicament, clearly amusing himself with chasing Marion Chambers like a cat playing with its prey before they ended up back in Loomis' bedroom, making their way full-circle.
Now, he carves each letter at a time while Loomis watches, aghast.
N-I-E-C-E.
By the C, Loomis feels his eyes going heavy, the black spots cloud his vision. Michael, as if bored, breaks Marion Chambers' neck with a simple twist, looking over Loomis' convulsing body as their gazes lock. He remembers the promise Loomis had made to him, in his cell-remembers it clearly, and feels something like pleasure at the sight of him in pain. He decidedly doesn't kill him, or make any move to let him die-he instead simply passes over him.
The old man would survive this heart attack, just like the last, and they would be face-to-face once more.
The phone starts to ring for a long time on the other end of the house. When there's no answer, the answering machine finally picks up the voicemail.
"Dr. Loomis," Jamie's voice says over the phone, surrounded by gusts of wind. "I'm calling you from an outside line, at a payphone. I just-I wanted to tell you that I've been seeing him everywhere, and I don't know if it's my imagination or if it's just me. I called Smith's Grove three times today, and each time they assured me he's still on their patient roster. I don't know what to do. I know we just talked last week, but, I'd still love to meet with you again…"
The Shape's head cocks once more, heading toward the sound of little Jamie's voice until he's staring down at the answering machine.
With one bloodied hand, Michael picks up the phone.
"Dr. Loomis?" Jamie says. "Is that you there?"
The only response she gets is heavy breathing.
"Dr. Loomis?"
After a long moment, Jamie sighs in distress, hanging up. Michael sets the phone down as well, heading to the kitchen to search through the drawer to find what he needs the most. A knife, the biggest in the drawer, clean and shiny and all stainless steel. He looks at his reflection on the blade, distorted as it is, before heading out of the back door to where he parked the car, heading into the night.
He could never forget where Jamie lives-but, most of all, he remembers fresh from this morning that Billy Hill lives so close to the woods where he almost killed little Jamie once and for all.
It seems the best place to carry on.