An hour had passed. I'd dumped my case on the floor beside my bed, which was nothing more than an air one on the floor with a hand operated pump. I understood why, wires could be fatal if in the hands of my cell mate and was sitting on the very edge of it almost waiting for something to happen. But it didn't seem that Myers had as much as turned towards me. That was when I heard the soft "ding" in my earpiece, like the sound a public address system makes to get someone's attention.
"You, ok?" A female guard's voice said. "Michael has just turned towards and is looking straight at you."
"Thanks," I just managed to say. Fuck. I hit the square button which would end the call. Calm down, I told myself. You wanted this after all, even if only you will know the real reason why… That was… Then I heard Myers's slow, calm breathing. He was right in front of me. I'd known this would happen, just not when. Slowly, I turned my head towards him.
"Hello Mr. Myers," I said softly, keeping my voice as calm as I could. Not an easy feat considering it was shaking. Of course, nothing. But I hadn't expected anything else. I lay back on my airbed and pulled out my iPod. I'd been allowed to take it so I could read, listen to music. Also, a small part of me had thought cynically, so I won't know when he's about to kill me as I won't hear him approaching. Not that that said much, Myers could approach in total silence and be unheard even without his victim wearing earphones. That wasn't much comfort.
The adrenaline of what I was doing must have left me then and the tiredness hit. Because next thing I knew it was 12 midnight according to my iPod's clock. I stretched a little and removed my earphones. They were the expensive ones designed to be worn while sleeping if necessary. In this case they certainly were. They kept me from hearing… No! I shouted at myself. Stop! Don't go there! Not here! Myers was standing beside my bed. I could hear his breathing. But he hadn't killed me in my sleep. That was something at least. I stood up, hearing, and feeling my back crack. I winced. I hated airbeds. Now I could not be more thankful they'd shown me the layout beforehand. Still though, I'd have to walk past Myers. I brushed past the killer as gently as I could, trying to minimise contact. I was taking no risks and heading for the toilet screen. 5 minutes later I stepped back out. I rubbed my eyes, feeling unbelievably tired. The problem was as I was still half asleep, I was worried about going the wrong way. I felt a stir of panic. For a reason only blind people could understand, I had to think about those few steps back to my bed, so I got there without a problem.
That was the first time Myers made a move. Before I'd quite realised it, he'd grabbed my arm none too gently and was dragging me back across the cell. Panic threatened to take over, but somehow, I willed it down. "It's ok," said a guard in my earpiece. No soft doorbell sounds this time. "We're watching." That comforted me, I couldn't lie there. Perhaps Sartain was right after all, and they really would protect me if they had to. Myers shoved me effortlessly on to my camp bed and then I finally heard him walking away back towards his. I let out my breath. He'd just, all be it not gently, guided me back to my bed. But why? Had he sensed my panic? Was that progress? I once again turned on my iPod, using a book this time to both get myself back to sleep again and avoid my almost nightly nightmares. This was the last place I wanted to suffer from my demons. Even if they were the real reason I was here. Unbelievably, it worked.
The sound of the cell door clanging shut jolted me awake the next morning. Holy fuck I was still alive! That was my first shocked thought. I was still alive! Michael Myers hadn't killed me all night. But then, that was what Sartain had been hoping for after all. Unless Myers was just biding his time of course. Waiting. Toying with me. Luring me and the guards into a false sense of security before he struck. Why he was in a mental hospital I'd never know. I privately didn't think he was insane at all. Rather calculating, silent and downright dangerous. He knew exactly what he was doing of that I was certain. I'd seen him described as inhumanly patient by Loomis, so what were a few days to him? He would wait years if he had to, of that I had no doubt.
A few minutes later a guard appeared, leading me to get some breakfast. "Michaels in the yard," she said. "I'm Rachel by the way."
"Hi Rachel," I shook her hand and introduced myself in turn. "I'm Zoe Roberts." She led me into the staff dining room and helped me get some food. I could hardly believe I could even eat. My stomach was churning. Sartain came over while I was drinking my second tea and asked me how I was.
"Well, I'm still alive," I said without a smile. "Is that what you want me to say?"
He touched my arm. "No, but I understand why you did."
"Is that progress? I asked. "That Michael hasn't killed me all last night when he so easily could have tried?"
"It's a start," the doctor agreed. "I can't deny that."
"Sorry," I let out my breath. "I shouldn't have been flippant with you just then. I'm fine, thanks. Just… Well in shock I guess that I am still alive. Surprisingly though I managed to sleep believe it or not."
"Good." I remembered what he'd said about Michael being in control of whether I was in the yard with him and clearly the killer wanted his space. I understood that if I was honest. So did me. What little there was of it in that cell anyway? Bigger or not, it was still claustrophobic to me. Meals and the yard were the only space I had.
A short while later, I headed back in to said cell. I slumped on to my airbed and let out my breath in a long sigh. I knew where the money would be going from this if I made it. My damn therapy. Some fucking comfort. It was ironic that the very thing I needed treatment for was the one thing linking me to Michael Myers and the true reason why I wanted to be here. Maybe Sartain would give me some free treatment after this as a thank you? If I was honest with myself, I'd take that over any amount of money right then.
No one knew. Not my parents, friends. I knew what would happen if I told them and it was too heavy a price to pay. If Myers didn't… I felt myself shiver uncontrollably. Fuck. Was this really a good idea? Now I was thinking about it, I wasn't sure even Myers could help me if he knew, never mind whether he would. As I sat here and considered it, it sounded even more dangerous. Go! Shouted my mind. Go now while you can!
"You ok Zoe?" Rachael's voice asked in my ear. I took a deep breath. No, I'm not! I'm haunted by a past no one can know on pain of death, I'm… "Yes," I said quietly. "Just thinking."
"Michael won't be back for a while yet; do you want someone to talk to about it?"
Jesus I was tempted. More tempted than I think I've ever been in my life, but I shook my head. Too dangerous. If they knew they'd probably pull me out without my consent whatever Sartain may have said and I wanted control over that decision. Didn't I? But then why was I even here in the first place, if I wasn't hoping to tell Myers at some point, somehow? I could kid myself all I wanted, but the truth was I must want to tell him, or I wouldn't be here. Surely. I highly doubted I was just here to say I'd met Michael Myers to try and help me with my past, but hell who would I say that to anyway? They'd all ask me if I was mad and how I was still alive to tell them this. In truth, I would be to.
"I'm fine thanks Rachael," I said softly eventually. "But I really appreciate and will remember your offer of an ear if I need it."
"If you're sure," the guard said quietly, before there was a soft click in my ear and then silence. For a wild moment, I considered calling back and begging to talk to her. Another woman, a stranger and not my therapist… I immediately slammed that mental lid shut.
Unable to find food, the totally silent house, the locked front door. He wasn't here, he'd gone again, left me alone with the door locked, and I couldn't get out as he'd taken my key…
I jolted up in bed, biting my lip to fight back a scream. I bit it so hard I tasted blood. Shit! I must've dosed off and there he was. He was always there, waiting for any moment to say hi in my sleep, the moment my defences were down, my guard dropped. Fuck I hated him. I only realised I was shaking when I sat up. I also felt sweat trickling down my face. Or maybe it was tears. The 2 had merged so seamlessly over the years I sometimes couldn't tell the difference. Then there was the anger… Grabbing my bag I pulled out my meds and took a tablet. My doctor had told me to take one every time the nightmares and/or memories were bad. This was particularly bad. They were given to me on a monthly proscription which was delivered to my home. I'd been considering discussing lowering the dose soon, sure I was getting better, but not after that. Not a chance in hell.
Shakily, I swallowed the small pill with water and sank back, feeling mentally exhausted, drained. I must've been mad to do this, I thought again. Why the fuck would Myers care even if I did tell him? I took another long sip of water and wiped my face on my sleeve.
"Zoe, its Rachael. Are you sure you're, ok?" The soft voice asked again, and it took all my will power not to start crying then and there. Fuck that'd been vivid. More vivid than any time I could remember in the last few months.
"I'm fine," but my voice shook as I said it. "Just dosed off, bad dream, that's all." I don't think she was convinced and frankly I don't blame her. I wouldn't have been either if the roles were reversed.
"I'll say it again, someone is always here if you need to talk," she said. I nodded for the benefit of the camera. I couldn't speak further just then.
At that exact moment, Myers returned and the guards with him unchained him. I stayed still as the door again clanged shut. I was surprised to be honest. I thought I'd only live to hear that sound once, never mind twice.
The next morning was when things started to change. This time when the guards chained Myers to take him out to the yard, the killer grabbed my arm. It wasn't a gentle grip by any means, and I winced slightly, unable to help it. But the killer didn't loosen his grip. I was practically dragged out by Myers into the exercise yard and across his yellow warning line. I knew it was there of course from my extensive studies. I could hardly believe I was standing on the other side of it.
"Are you ok?" A guard asked me. Myers still hadn't released my arm. I could feel my circulation starting to go. My hand was getting cold and starting to tingle. I had to do it. Slowly I turned my head to face the killer.
"Mr. Myers, please could you loosen your grip just a little? I promise I won't go anywhere… Even if I wanted to me can't. But I'm losing my circulation."
To my surprise, the killer did so. Nor did he stop me when I moved my arm away and flexed it, trying to get feeling back into it. This time when he took it, it was almost… Softly. No, not that far. But certainly nowhere near as tight as it had been the first time.
"I'm fine," I said quietly to the guard. "Just…"
"Nervous?" He gently touched my free arm from the other side of the yellow line. "Don't worry. You'll hear laughter, shouts, but I promise you you're perfectly safe."
"Because Michael Myers is protecting me or because they won't cross the line? I thought and could tell by the guard's soft chuckle he knew exactly what I was thinking. "Both," he said simply.
That said, the guard was right. The sounds I heard were damn scary. Shouts, laughter and cries of insane men and women. Not something I ever thought I would or wanted to hear up close. Myers didn't release my arm though. I wasn't aware I'd shivered at one point until Myers tightened his grip a little.
Eventually there was a harsh buzzing sound and Myers was released from his concrete block and led back towards his, our, cell. He hadn't released my arm all this time. I was shocked when even as the door closed, he still held it. He pulled me across the cell, again not exactly gently but not altogether hard either and then lifted me off my feet. I felt fear grip me then. How could I have been so naive? He was going to kill me; I just knew it. That was when I felt myself flying and landing hard on my airbed. My body and head smashed against the floor, the thin mattress offering no protection at all, and pain consumed my every thought for a few seconds. Michael Myers. Such a gentleman, I thought with a grim smile. Or not. I suppose from Michael Myers that was almost kind…
"You, ok?" A guard said immediately in my earpiece. No doorbell sounds.
"Yeah," I said once I'd got my breath back. "That was just… A bit of a shock."
"Are you hurt at all?" This time I didn't answer, I just shook my head and the guards, "good," meant he'd seen it via the camera. I wasn't hurt, not at least. Bit of a headache granted, and I'd probably have a bruised back tomorrow, but nothing more serious than that. Yeah, I thought with a derisive smile. You only must soften a killer's heart using the fact you're blind. Easy squeeze if you're naïve.
Opening my bag, I pulled out a pack of painkillers and took 2 with water. I then let my eyes close, glad to be away from those terrible sounds of insanity. Not to mention in silence. My head was painful. I'd have one hell of a bruised head tomorrow too. Not to mention I was lucky I was skinny, and the airbed hadn't burst upon impact.
As I lay on my airbed, having just pumped it back up which sounded like a vacuum cleaner, I started to think about an exchange I'd had with Dr Sartain in the yard earlier that day.
"I chose a disabled woman because you are vulnerable for those reasons. I'm honestly not being sexist; Michael Myers is stronger than any man I know. But the disability makes you vulnerable. I think you may be, as horrible as this sounds, too easy to kill. Michael enjoys the thrill of stalking, the hunt before the kill."
"So, you think that's why I'm still alive?" I asked incredulously.
"Not necessarily, but it is a possibility we certainly cannot discount."
"Well," I began. "I certainly wouldn't want to be in his f…" Shit! Such a casual expression used by so many and yet I can't use it. Firing line. I took a sharp breath. "In his way," I finished, knowing I sounded lame and like I was hiding something. Well, I was, after all.
"That's not what you were going to say, is it?" Sartain's voice was quiet, the voice of someone who knows their instincts are correct.
"Yes," I lied, but quickly changed the subject. "How are you today, doctor?"
It was a pretty rubbish attempt and I know this, but to my relief, Sartain didn't press me. God! I really need help with all this stuff in my past. If I can't even say firing line without panic!
Michael is still out in the yard I think, but to be honest I'm glad for a few minutes at least to myself. That really shook me up. Damn! What is my therapist hoping to accomplish? Nothing so far. But maybe that's my fault. I haven't told her everything. But why? I can't answer that. I just… can't tell her the truth. But then, why? It's not like any of it was my fault! I wasn't the one holding the fucking gun! I didn't massacre 6 innocent people that fateful Monday. Why doesn't that give me any comfort? I feel as bad about this as if I were the guilty one.
I know what my therapist would say. She knows there was a massacre and I survived, but not who did it. I pretended I didn't know to both her and the police. But really, I knew only too well. She'd say "you feel survivor's guilt because you couldn't help any of your deceased colleagues. But you're interpreting it as you did it guilt. You need to try and stop doing that."
I knew she was right there, but it was a damn lot harder said than done. I pressed the non-emergency call button on my transmitter and asked for a coffee. Once it came, I sat on the bolted down chair and drank it, beside the also bolted down table.
Sequel to 'death's Game.; Zoe is still reeling both from being a survivor of a shooting, and her meeting and experiences with Michael Myers. Trying to attend therapy now someone else knows the whole truth even if it is a masked killer, and back to work in the office it all happened, she is trying to move on with her life and not think about all that happened with Michael too much. This is much harder to do than she expected. Meanwhile, Clive is still on the run and the police are struggling to find evidence as no one left alive saw his face. He returns to Haddonfield in the believe he is now safe; little does he know he's instead in more danger than ever before.
If I think about it seriously, I can't see why he did it, but perhaps I know what built it up. My parents were always away, dad was a builder and mom were a paramedic. He was always in charge when they were away. He was 4 years older than me. Yes, it was my brother, Clive Roberts.
When I was 6 and Clive was 10, everything in our lives changed. We had seriously been hit with bad luck. Mom had a crash while in an ambulance. A car didn't move fast enough and hit them head on. Mom was killed as was the driver. They were on their way to get a patient. Less than a year later, dad's safety harness snapped on top of a tall tower, and he fell to his death. Even before then, Clive had always been the rebellious type. He never really respected our parents. Every child is naughty to some degree, but my brother took it to extremes I would never dream of. It only got worse after mom and dad were both gone. Dad's sister Anne came to our house to stay and look after us. God, I wish she hadn't! She was a damn strict woman. It was obvious she never had children because she took discipline to a whole new level. Yet it didn't stop Clive. That was when he started to dabble in crime. 11 years old he started stealing, causing damage with other youths. Most of his stealing was shop lifting at first, but as he got older, his crimes got worse. By 14, he was burgling houses.
I also had strong suspicions he was accessing porn, from things I heard from his bedroom, mainly the sexual moans of women. But I didn't dare say anything. I couldn't see it, so how could I prove it? When I was 8, Anne's new boyfriend joined the family. He was, not to put too fine a point on it, an absolute bastard. I privately suspected he helped Clive with his criminality. But again, I couldn't prove it. When he was drunk, he shouted at Anne, and I also suspect he beat her. Thank fuck though, he never touched me in any way. But he was a bully. He certainly shouted at both Clive and I, making us get things for him. Beer, food and so on.
At 9, that was when I started to realise Clive was doing drugs, probably with him. I can't remember his name. Roy, I think? Anyway, it doesn't matter. But I started smelling this strange smell in the house all the time, day, and night. It smelt like… some weird cigar smoke. It also gave me seriously bad headaches and made me feel a bit… strange. It wasn't until I finally got out of there that I realised it was Cannabis. That was only the start, however. Before long, they were doing the serious stuff. Heroin, Cocaine, speed, ecstasy. Clive would often wake the whole house up at night, shouting, screaming, and walking around shouting all sorts of rubbish. He thought creatures were after him, or someone was after him with… with a gun.
It got to a point where all of us even Roy, locked our bedroom doors at night. We had no idea what he was capable of. I note though that Roy never stopped Clive taking the stuff. I think my blindness was an advantage during those hellish days because Roy never asked me if I wanted any, probably thought I was so stupid I'd burn myself with it or something. But I didn't care. If he had, I'd have refused anyway. Clive is now addicted to it, and I didn't want to follow in his footsteps.
He's currently on remand, which doesn't really help me in my quest for revenge. I have the phone number of one of my colleagues who survived, but I haven't spoken to her yet. How the hell can I? Both of us share a traumatic experience and we wouldn't know what to say to each other. I do wonder if she has a therapist too. No shame in it if she does. I just hope her treatment is working better than mine.
From the little I remember when mom and dad were alive, they were always very good to me. When I turned 10 myself, I went off to a boarding school for blind people. Best thing in my life because it was my escape. I stayed at weekends and only went home in the summer holidays as I could stay for the others if I wanted. Of course, I jumped at the chance. Eventually, I told one of the house wardens what was going on at home. I was 12 before I was brave enough to do this. Anne and Roy got arrested and last I heard both had over 10 year prison sentences. I can't lie and say I'm sorry because I'm not. Good riddance. Clive got a damn stern lecture from a judge and a fine. I can kind of see why, no one wants to give a young man just 16 a serious criminal record. That was their mistake. I know that now. I never mentioned the porn because I couldn't prove it. For all I know, the moaning was Anne being fucked by Roy.
I'm 25 now and I've no idea where Clive went. We didn't keep in touch after I went to school. I'd also told the police about the hell my life had become. How Roy would lock me in the house, hide my key, leave me with no food. If it wasn't Roy, it was Clive. I don't know why my own brother hated me so much, because of my blindness? That's the only thing I can think it could be. When I finished school at 16, I decided to go straight in to work. I was surprised I was allowed to do so. Social services had taken overlooking after me after Anne and Roy got arrested. But my social worker was a genuinely nice woman who seemed to really care about me. When I wasn't at school in the summer holidays, I was put into a foster family. My foster parents, Scott and Gina are the nicest people I know. I wish they were my real parents. I'm still in touch with them now and see them at least once a month.
When I was 18, I got my own place. Which is where I live now. I'd heard news reports that Clive was becoming a serious criminal and had been arrested several times. But it never seemed to be serious enough to keep him in prison for a sustained length of time. If it had been, then what happened never would've. Was he after me that day? But then that makes no sense. I could hardly believe it when he'd called me out of the blue. He sounded drunk. "It's Clive," he'd slurred. How he'd got my number I had no idea. "Don't go in work tomorrow, Zoe, floor's being relayed."
I knew it was total bullshit, I'd hung up on him and blocked his number. After what he'd done to me in our younger years, I didn't think I was able to let bygones be bygones. It was too late for that. Where had he been for the last over 10 years? Not caring about me, that much was obvious.
But why had he told me that? Was he trying to save me or something? The very next day was when he entered the office, and…
Had he known I'd ignore him? Was he in fact after me and had failed? I knew I'd never know, but I couldn't help wondering. If my plan didn't work, I knew Clive would be receiving the lethal injection, but not for years yet. Execution processes took way too long in my opinion. I'd feel no grief when he was gone, I'm sorry to say. Or maybe I'm not sorry to say it. It's the truth after all. The 4 years before I went to school after our parents died, Clive never spoke to me except mono syllables. Food there, drink there. Out. Doors locked. When he was "out," the door was always locked. I think now that both he and Roy hid my key, or Anne took it. Every time Roy went out, Anne did too. Now, I know this was because Roy was very controlling and didn't want Anne on her own to speak to other men. He always answered our phone and oversaw all money. Of which we never had much once he started buying drugs.
It was such a relief to let the truth out and get taken in to foster care. It's almost sad that Clive has gone from drugs, burglary, to murder and if court, will undoubtedly face execution. Especially if I can just ask Michael Myers the question…
I yanked myself out of these depressing thoughts and got up from the chair, having finished my coffee. I felt suddenly annoyed with myself. Why couldn't I do better with my treatment? Clive was on death-row for his crimes. It wasn't like I'd ever see him again, was it? I sure as hell had absolutely no desire to visit him! But I still wasn't sure how my revenge would work. Death-row was too secure. Maybe… maybe now I think about it, I don't want Michael to kill him, I just want to tell him the truth? Now I am really sitting here and thinking about it properly, how the hell did I ever think I could pull this off? But I was driven by anger for the last 2 months. It was a fast trial, CCTV footage and witnesses who survived plus other evidence, meant the jury hardly needed any time to return the death penalty. I attended court of course, Gina insisted on coming with me. She's a sweetheart, I love her like the mom I lost. But I didn't give evidence. I was told I didn't need to, as I'd only heard things, not seen them. I know that visual things count much more than audible as evidence in a court of law.
Myers had obviously gone for a late stroll in the exercise yard or something. But he returned a few minutes later, the door slamming shut after his chains were removed. Without a word, I lay down on my thin pillows. Shit! Why had I let my mind go down this path? I wouldn't be sleeping tonight anymore.
I heard Myers walk to his bed, and his slow, calm breathing. He didn't stop in front of me this time, for which I was grateful tonight. A few seconds later, I heard the click as he turned the light out.
