-8-
OMINOUS DISCOVERY
Pain screamed its way into Tommy's head, as he awoke from his long sleep. Every bone and muscle throbbed, and Tommy suddenly felt like he knew what his mornings as an old man would feel like, should he live to see his golden years. Groggily, he sat up and made slowly for the bathroom.
He made out with bitter cynicism, the wrecked remains of his broken face. He glared sadly into the mirror. He was a mess. His eyes were two deep blotches of puffy purple, giving him the passing resemblance of a raccoon.
A raccoon. Yeah. Right. A raccoon that had been hit by a bus, more like it.
Three rather awkward bandages covered the deep and severe cuts he had received. Grimacing, he pealed them off, as they had soaked with blood, and it was about time his wounds were cleaned. What he found underneath made him nauseous. The string that they had found in his tackle box held his cheeks and the bridge of his nose together, in an obscene patch-job. The flesh around his wounds was tender and flushed, threatening the inset of a bad infection. He barely recognized himself. His hair hung in knotted tufts. His own reflection reminded him of Frankenstein's monster.
Not so pretty now are you, Pretty-boy Doyle, he thought bitterly, and laughed.
He went back over to the bed and picked up the laptop. Keep it together, he thought. Focus. Concentrate.
After all, he had to stay rational, if he was going to be any good to Stephen. It took everything he had not to freak out when he found out that Stephen had been taken, but he had to keep it together for Kara. She wasn't doing well at all. She was contending with a lot on her plate – not only with her overwhelming guilt over her decision not only to leave Stephen in order to help them, but also with her shortsightedness with respect to not insisting that Danny had come with them. They were unable to reach Danny, and Kara was ready to snap.
"Don't overreact," he had tried to comfort her. "No news is good news," he made out with a smile. Not that he believed it for a second. Things were going bad in a big way, and Tommy was as concerned about their inability to reach Danny as Kara was. But worrying and fear made you helpless, and helpless was the last thing he wanted to be.
Concentrate. Stay focused.
Then there was Michael, to add to the sheer complexity of the situation. It was absolutely amazing how twisted and bent out of shape the world had become in a few short days. He had come back into their lives, but not with a killing stroke. He had come back to save them, free from the curse that had held him captive all of those years.
It was, admittedly, a little hard to swallow.
"I don't like it," Kara had said. "I know he saved us, and I know we need him, but...it's just so hard. I keep looking at him and wanting to bury that ax in his head." Kara's feelings were understandable. Michael after all, had murdered her entire family, and that was just not something you could kiss and make up about.
Surprisingly, Tommy had found himself feeling sorry for Michael. How utterly terrible it must feel to wake up into the world after a thirty-year sleep and discover that you were the most hated man alive. And thank God, he DID arrive. His presence was the only sign of anything remotely resembling divine intervention, amidst this supernatural nightmare. Tommy thought that perhaps he was the only one who didn't hate Michael Myers. Then again, he never found his mother hanging dead from the attic with a hatchet sticking out of her.
Also, it didn't change the fact that he was still afraid of Michael, a fact that he was reminded of when Michael clamped down on his hand when he picked up the phone to call Dr. Loomis. Michael's eyes flared with life on his usually expressionless face at the sound of the doctor's name, and he had prevented Tommy from making the call. Tommy's heart stopped as Michael looked deeply into his eyes, and spoke.
"No," Michael said, simply, and directly. His voice was strong, but surprisingly quiet, almost whispery. "Think," he spoke again, giving Tommy time to take it in, and then it came to him.
Of course, Tommy thought. Loomis was the only one on the face of the planet that knew where they were going, thus he had to be responsible for the cult's discovery of them here. But why would Loomis betray them to the cult? The man Tommy knew would die first before putting them in jeopardy. Loomis' parting words to them were to get as far away from Haddonfield as possible. Why would he give them up?
Reading Tommy's look of strained comprehension, Michael provided him with the answer.
"Before I fled from the institution, I heard the Doctor scream from behind me, where I had just killed Wynn, and left his body." Michael paused. He didn't like to talk. He was unused to it, and he didn't care for the sound of his own voice. It sounded to him like a door long rusted shut, opening for the first time in years. "I think whatever lived in Wynn has now claimed the Doctor."
The revelation sent a deep chill down Tommy's spine. He was dumfounded.
Once again, Michael spoke. "Come with me. There's something you need to see."
Michael had taken him to see the bodies. This time Tommy didn't need any explanation for what he was seeing. The heads of the Shapes were twins. It made perfect sense.
Tommy was reminded of a documentary he saw on suppositions and observations on the relationship between identical twins. He believed that even Dr. Loomis had written a paper on it. In both, the unusual correlation between the shared bonds of twins was explored. Several cases detailed how identical twins have claimed that they can feel when the other is upset or hurt over great distances, and of a shared possible "sense" of knowing at times what the other was thinking. The suggestion was that identical twins, having started as a single egg, still maintained an extra- normal intuitive bond. The documentary went the distance further, coining the phenomenon as a "psychic bond". Loomis' paper however, tried to remain grounded in scientific impartiality.
God help us, Evil is getting inventive, Tommy thought. Whatever had taken over the doctor was clearly using his facilities to its advantage. Tommy found himself morbidly impressed by the ingenious move to inflict the Curse on identical twins, and marveled at the cold simple pragmatic aspect of it. One curse. Spliced into two beings, like a cable cord extension. Man, were they in trouble.
Keep calm. Stay focused, Tommy reminded himself again, and turned the laptop back on. He was waiting for an e-mail from his contact. During the years he spent researching information about Michael and the Thorn curse, he had stumbled onto his informant through means of an information sharing chat-line, which dealt its deeds in mythology, lost histories, and supernatural occurrences. Most of the people on the line came across as stuffy librarian types, and his contact was no exception. However, his contact seemed to actually KNOW more, and always managed to provide him with information that no one else was capable of.
It was, his informant claimed, a result of the classified guild he worked for, which was the reason why he had chosen to remain anonymous, as the information he provided Tommy could put his job and station in jeopardy. He went by the e-mail alias of Methos, and that was all Tommy knew about his Internet confidant.
Tommy opened his account. The message was there. "Thank, God, " he sighed. His relief was replaced by mounting terror, however, when he saw what Methos had to say.
"Hello Tommy," the letter began. "I've done a little checking around for you, and I'm afraid it would seem that your situation is much graver than even we first had thought. If the information I've sent to you comes to pass, then the world is in for a whole lot of trouble. If I'm not mistaken, your humble little town of Haddonfield is poised to become the Bethlehem for the Anti-Christ."
"Oh, shit," Tommy muttered to himself, as he continued to read, completely immersed.
"Under the circumstances, I'd normally break my vow of anonymity and come to your aid, but, alas, I believe your time is growing short. As well, I am unfortunately detained by an emergency situation that has broken out here in Sunnydale. My thoughts are with you, and I hope this helps. Please keep me updated on how it turns out. Then again, should you fail to stop the things that are to come to pass, I will unfortunately know about it.
Yours, Methos."
Tommy rested his throbbing head in his hands. This was too much, and things were getting worse by the minute.
Concentrate. Stay focused.
Tommy returned to the laptop. He entered one of the accompanying files that Methos had sent, and began to read what his friend had to say.
"As you know, the history and practices of Druid culture are elusive and difficult to track down. The Celts used no written language of their own, although the Druids could write in both Latin and Greek. They were forbidden to write down any of their knowledge with respect to their rites and culture an as such information was considered far too intimate and valuable to have its secrets divulged through the written word. As a result, they were more than proficient in keeping their secrets, to the frustration of many historians and scholars everywhere. I must say, that even my resources, had a time with acquiring significant information, thus the following outline is sketchy, at best.
There are rare accounts of a Celtic Arch Druid known to us as only Myddrin. The name itself has been intersected with the myth of Merlin, from Arthurian lore. The two have occasionally been mistaken for the same person, due largely to their association with the construction of Stonehenge. Also, like Merlin, Myddrin is believed to be half demon, but unlike Merlin, Myddrin is about as nasty and ruthless as they come.
As stated above, Myddrin was an Arch Druid, whose tribe worshipped Cernunnos, also known as Herne, the Horned God of the hunt, and collector of souls. It was believed that Myddrin was also the keeper of the Thorn rune, and used the curse of Thurisaz (Thorn) against neighbouring tribes. The suggestion is that he would encourage tribal marriages, resulting in family conceptions which he would then unleash the Thorn demon onto the unsuspecting families, and everyone in their way. This usually resulted in the destruction of the neighbouring tribes, while insuring the safety and prosper of Myddrin's own followers of the cult of Herne. The souls from the sacrifices of Thorn were offered up to Cernunnos, keeping Myddrin and his race in favor with their horned deity. Needless to say, Myddrin's reputation began to flounder with the neighbouring tribes, and they began to lobby against him.
The final straw came when Myddrin attempted to fulfill an ancient prophecy of the tribe's which dealt with the manifestation of Herne on the earthly plain on the eve of Samhain, bringing with him the legion of the underworld. Upon this accomplishment, the "Eternal Hunt" is prophesized to begin, the end effect, being a world terrorized by demons and devils of unfortunately great numbers; in short, Hell on earth.
The success of the ritual depended largely on chance, as the conditions under which it could be successfully employed were rather rare. From what can be pieced together, the bearer of the curse of Thorn, ("the befouled one") was to lay with an oracle, a woman of psychic and prophetic abilities, and sire a child. This child, bearing both the demon seed of the befouled one and the psychic energies of the oracle, was to serve as raw material of a sort, as the future host for the emergence of Cernunnos. The child would remain normal with the supernatural properties lying dormant, until the eve of Samhain where through ritualistic sacrifice, the boy would be slain by his father, the befouled one, and rise resurrected as Cernunnos, opening the gates of the underworld in his wake.
Fortunately, oracles – true natural psychics – are hard to come by and are born rarely throughout time. Thus, Myddrin was forced to wait and watch. His patience had finally paid off however, and he had almost succeeded with the ritual, when the neighbouring tribes had stepped in.
It was the abduction of one of the neighbouring tribe's women that finally brought the other tribes upon Myddrin. The young woman had been one of the Arch Druid's daughters, and she was to serve as the oracle in Myddrin's ritual. A fierce battle ensued, where Myddrin's tribe was laid to dust. The neighbouring tribes' sorcerers who had channeled their magical energies against him forced Myddrin himself into a mystical stasis. His body was gathered up to be burned, his evil cleansed by the purge of fire along with the two who had handled it. There was the fear of Myddrin transferring his essence to one of the others through touch, one of the enchantments Myddrin was able to invoke before his defeat.
Myddrin's body was placed in one of the ancient deep barrows near Stonehenge, when some sort of unknown cataclysm occurred. It laid waste to the tribe bearing the body, and sealed the barrow in rubble. A short-lived effort was made to retrace the barrow's whereabouts, but with no results.
Which brings to the present age. The long barrow had remained undisturbed for millennia, until its discovery in an archeological dig back in 1962. I think that you will find it of particular interest who headed up that dig – non other than Dr. Terrance Wynn, himself. He was the first to enter the barrow, and the first to find the body. His team was quite quick to rush in, however, at the sounds of his piercing screams. He spent a brief time in the hospital recovering from what was considered some sort of shock, and was released. Finishing his business in Europe, he returned to the states and took up his position as the head doctor at Smith's Grove county sanitarium, located at a short distance outside of Haddonfield. I think you can fill out the rest of the history lesson yourself. Except for one thing...
In Dr. Loomis' journal about Haddonfield, there is a brief mention of some unexplained psychic behaviour with respect to Jamie Lloyd. The Doctor asserted that the little girl was capable of sensing Michael, and had systematically predicted and prevented at least one of his attacks through means of psychic precognition. On a darker note, the link seemed to work the other way with her channeling his psyche, resulting in her attack on her stepmother a year before, in 1988.
It is with regret that I have to say I believe that Jamie was the missing link in the scenario. I believe that she was in fact the oracle, unwittingly and prematurely silenced by Wynn, who wasn't fully aware of what he was holding captive at the time. Wynn didn't have knowledge of what Loomis had known, nor access to Loomis' journal. Loomis was in the process of solicitting it at the time Jamie had resurfaced, and had just mailed the manuscript to his publishing house. Thus, it wasn't until Myddrin had transferred his essence from Wynn to Loomis, that he gained knowledge of Jamie's abilities, and of the latent potential locked in the DNA of her son.
Your son, Tommy. I can't stress how important it is that you get him back. You've got to save him, and you've got to do it soon, for all of our sake.
Which brings us to your strange new friend. I've done some checking on the mythology surrounding the Thorn rune, and apparently there is a side to it that alludes to protection FROM evil. Ironic, wouldn't you say? Whatever the reason, it would seem that although the demon itself has been driven from him, he is still affected by the rune, allowing him to maintain his abnormal strength, size and endurance. Whether or not he is susceptible to a relapse of the curse is anyone's guess, and I shudder to think what may happen once he comes in contact with your son. However, I don't think you're going to have much choice in that matter, as I think he's your only chance at getting Stephen back.
At any rate, I don't think you have anything to worry about there, but just the same I've included a list of creative and inventive ways to take him out of the equation, in the event he manifests any demonic tendencies. I'd hate to be in your situation right now. Farewell, and tread carefully.
Keep in touch. Everything I have is at your disposal, and I will come when I can. Just remember, Tommy; Live, grow stronger, fight another day.
Methos."
Tommy shut off the laptop. He was getting dizzy again, and given the grim information that Methos had slapped him with, he considered rolling into a ball and going back to sleep. Methos was right, however; they were running out of time, and they needed to formulate a plan. Tommy had something in mind, and it was time to consult the others. They probably weren't going to like what he had to say, especially Michael. Still, they had to do something, and do it fast. Tommy believed that they had the element of surprise, and if they were going to make use of it, they didn't have a moment to lose.
Tommy popped a couple of Tylenol, and stiffly made it to his feet.
OMINOUS DISCOVERY
Pain screamed its way into Tommy's head, as he awoke from his long sleep. Every bone and muscle throbbed, and Tommy suddenly felt like he knew what his mornings as an old man would feel like, should he live to see his golden years. Groggily, he sat up and made slowly for the bathroom.
He made out with bitter cynicism, the wrecked remains of his broken face. He glared sadly into the mirror. He was a mess. His eyes were two deep blotches of puffy purple, giving him the passing resemblance of a raccoon.
A raccoon. Yeah. Right. A raccoon that had been hit by a bus, more like it.
Three rather awkward bandages covered the deep and severe cuts he had received. Grimacing, he pealed them off, as they had soaked with blood, and it was about time his wounds were cleaned. What he found underneath made him nauseous. The string that they had found in his tackle box held his cheeks and the bridge of his nose together, in an obscene patch-job. The flesh around his wounds was tender and flushed, threatening the inset of a bad infection. He barely recognized himself. His hair hung in knotted tufts. His own reflection reminded him of Frankenstein's monster.
Not so pretty now are you, Pretty-boy Doyle, he thought bitterly, and laughed.
He went back over to the bed and picked up the laptop. Keep it together, he thought. Focus. Concentrate.
After all, he had to stay rational, if he was going to be any good to Stephen. It took everything he had not to freak out when he found out that Stephen had been taken, but he had to keep it together for Kara. She wasn't doing well at all. She was contending with a lot on her plate – not only with her overwhelming guilt over her decision not only to leave Stephen in order to help them, but also with her shortsightedness with respect to not insisting that Danny had come with them. They were unable to reach Danny, and Kara was ready to snap.
"Don't overreact," he had tried to comfort her. "No news is good news," he made out with a smile. Not that he believed it for a second. Things were going bad in a big way, and Tommy was as concerned about their inability to reach Danny as Kara was. But worrying and fear made you helpless, and helpless was the last thing he wanted to be.
Concentrate. Stay focused.
Then there was Michael, to add to the sheer complexity of the situation. It was absolutely amazing how twisted and bent out of shape the world had become in a few short days. He had come back into their lives, but not with a killing stroke. He had come back to save them, free from the curse that had held him captive all of those years.
It was, admittedly, a little hard to swallow.
"I don't like it," Kara had said. "I know he saved us, and I know we need him, but...it's just so hard. I keep looking at him and wanting to bury that ax in his head." Kara's feelings were understandable. Michael after all, had murdered her entire family, and that was just not something you could kiss and make up about.
Surprisingly, Tommy had found himself feeling sorry for Michael. How utterly terrible it must feel to wake up into the world after a thirty-year sleep and discover that you were the most hated man alive. And thank God, he DID arrive. His presence was the only sign of anything remotely resembling divine intervention, amidst this supernatural nightmare. Tommy thought that perhaps he was the only one who didn't hate Michael Myers. Then again, he never found his mother hanging dead from the attic with a hatchet sticking out of her.
Also, it didn't change the fact that he was still afraid of Michael, a fact that he was reminded of when Michael clamped down on his hand when he picked up the phone to call Dr. Loomis. Michael's eyes flared with life on his usually expressionless face at the sound of the doctor's name, and he had prevented Tommy from making the call. Tommy's heart stopped as Michael looked deeply into his eyes, and spoke.
"No," Michael said, simply, and directly. His voice was strong, but surprisingly quiet, almost whispery. "Think," he spoke again, giving Tommy time to take it in, and then it came to him.
Of course, Tommy thought. Loomis was the only one on the face of the planet that knew where they were going, thus he had to be responsible for the cult's discovery of them here. But why would Loomis betray them to the cult? The man Tommy knew would die first before putting them in jeopardy. Loomis' parting words to them were to get as far away from Haddonfield as possible. Why would he give them up?
Reading Tommy's look of strained comprehension, Michael provided him with the answer.
"Before I fled from the institution, I heard the Doctor scream from behind me, where I had just killed Wynn, and left his body." Michael paused. He didn't like to talk. He was unused to it, and he didn't care for the sound of his own voice. It sounded to him like a door long rusted shut, opening for the first time in years. "I think whatever lived in Wynn has now claimed the Doctor."
The revelation sent a deep chill down Tommy's spine. He was dumfounded.
Once again, Michael spoke. "Come with me. There's something you need to see."
Michael had taken him to see the bodies. This time Tommy didn't need any explanation for what he was seeing. The heads of the Shapes were twins. It made perfect sense.
Tommy was reminded of a documentary he saw on suppositions and observations on the relationship between identical twins. He believed that even Dr. Loomis had written a paper on it. In both, the unusual correlation between the shared bonds of twins was explored. Several cases detailed how identical twins have claimed that they can feel when the other is upset or hurt over great distances, and of a shared possible "sense" of knowing at times what the other was thinking. The suggestion was that identical twins, having started as a single egg, still maintained an extra- normal intuitive bond. The documentary went the distance further, coining the phenomenon as a "psychic bond". Loomis' paper however, tried to remain grounded in scientific impartiality.
God help us, Evil is getting inventive, Tommy thought. Whatever had taken over the doctor was clearly using his facilities to its advantage. Tommy found himself morbidly impressed by the ingenious move to inflict the Curse on identical twins, and marveled at the cold simple pragmatic aspect of it. One curse. Spliced into two beings, like a cable cord extension. Man, were they in trouble.
Keep calm. Stay focused, Tommy reminded himself again, and turned the laptop back on. He was waiting for an e-mail from his contact. During the years he spent researching information about Michael and the Thorn curse, he had stumbled onto his informant through means of an information sharing chat-line, which dealt its deeds in mythology, lost histories, and supernatural occurrences. Most of the people on the line came across as stuffy librarian types, and his contact was no exception. However, his contact seemed to actually KNOW more, and always managed to provide him with information that no one else was capable of.
It was, his informant claimed, a result of the classified guild he worked for, which was the reason why he had chosen to remain anonymous, as the information he provided Tommy could put his job and station in jeopardy. He went by the e-mail alias of Methos, and that was all Tommy knew about his Internet confidant.
Tommy opened his account. The message was there. "Thank, God, " he sighed. His relief was replaced by mounting terror, however, when he saw what Methos had to say.
"Hello Tommy," the letter began. "I've done a little checking around for you, and I'm afraid it would seem that your situation is much graver than even we first had thought. If the information I've sent to you comes to pass, then the world is in for a whole lot of trouble. If I'm not mistaken, your humble little town of Haddonfield is poised to become the Bethlehem for the Anti-Christ."
"Oh, shit," Tommy muttered to himself, as he continued to read, completely immersed.
"Under the circumstances, I'd normally break my vow of anonymity and come to your aid, but, alas, I believe your time is growing short. As well, I am unfortunately detained by an emergency situation that has broken out here in Sunnydale. My thoughts are with you, and I hope this helps. Please keep me updated on how it turns out. Then again, should you fail to stop the things that are to come to pass, I will unfortunately know about it.
Yours, Methos."
Tommy rested his throbbing head in his hands. This was too much, and things were getting worse by the minute.
Concentrate. Stay focused.
Tommy returned to the laptop. He entered one of the accompanying files that Methos had sent, and began to read what his friend had to say.
"As you know, the history and practices of Druid culture are elusive and difficult to track down. The Celts used no written language of their own, although the Druids could write in both Latin and Greek. They were forbidden to write down any of their knowledge with respect to their rites and culture an as such information was considered far too intimate and valuable to have its secrets divulged through the written word. As a result, they were more than proficient in keeping their secrets, to the frustration of many historians and scholars everywhere. I must say, that even my resources, had a time with acquiring significant information, thus the following outline is sketchy, at best.
There are rare accounts of a Celtic Arch Druid known to us as only Myddrin. The name itself has been intersected with the myth of Merlin, from Arthurian lore. The two have occasionally been mistaken for the same person, due largely to their association with the construction of Stonehenge. Also, like Merlin, Myddrin is believed to be half demon, but unlike Merlin, Myddrin is about as nasty and ruthless as they come.
As stated above, Myddrin was an Arch Druid, whose tribe worshipped Cernunnos, also known as Herne, the Horned God of the hunt, and collector of souls. It was believed that Myddrin was also the keeper of the Thorn rune, and used the curse of Thurisaz (Thorn) against neighbouring tribes. The suggestion is that he would encourage tribal marriages, resulting in family conceptions which he would then unleash the Thorn demon onto the unsuspecting families, and everyone in their way. This usually resulted in the destruction of the neighbouring tribes, while insuring the safety and prosper of Myddrin's own followers of the cult of Herne. The souls from the sacrifices of Thorn were offered up to Cernunnos, keeping Myddrin and his race in favor with their horned deity. Needless to say, Myddrin's reputation began to flounder with the neighbouring tribes, and they began to lobby against him.
The final straw came when Myddrin attempted to fulfill an ancient prophecy of the tribe's which dealt with the manifestation of Herne on the earthly plain on the eve of Samhain, bringing with him the legion of the underworld. Upon this accomplishment, the "Eternal Hunt" is prophesized to begin, the end effect, being a world terrorized by demons and devils of unfortunately great numbers; in short, Hell on earth.
The success of the ritual depended largely on chance, as the conditions under which it could be successfully employed were rather rare. From what can be pieced together, the bearer of the curse of Thorn, ("the befouled one") was to lay with an oracle, a woman of psychic and prophetic abilities, and sire a child. This child, bearing both the demon seed of the befouled one and the psychic energies of the oracle, was to serve as raw material of a sort, as the future host for the emergence of Cernunnos. The child would remain normal with the supernatural properties lying dormant, until the eve of Samhain where through ritualistic sacrifice, the boy would be slain by his father, the befouled one, and rise resurrected as Cernunnos, opening the gates of the underworld in his wake.
Fortunately, oracles – true natural psychics – are hard to come by and are born rarely throughout time. Thus, Myddrin was forced to wait and watch. His patience had finally paid off however, and he had almost succeeded with the ritual, when the neighbouring tribes had stepped in.
It was the abduction of one of the neighbouring tribe's women that finally brought the other tribes upon Myddrin. The young woman had been one of the Arch Druid's daughters, and she was to serve as the oracle in Myddrin's ritual. A fierce battle ensued, where Myddrin's tribe was laid to dust. The neighbouring tribes' sorcerers who had channeled their magical energies against him forced Myddrin himself into a mystical stasis. His body was gathered up to be burned, his evil cleansed by the purge of fire along with the two who had handled it. There was the fear of Myddrin transferring his essence to one of the others through touch, one of the enchantments Myddrin was able to invoke before his defeat.
Myddrin's body was placed in one of the ancient deep barrows near Stonehenge, when some sort of unknown cataclysm occurred. It laid waste to the tribe bearing the body, and sealed the barrow in rubble. A short-lived effort was made to retrace the barrow's whereabouts, but with no results.
Which brings to the present age. The long barrow had remained undisturbed for millennia, until its discovery in an archeological dig back in 1962. I think that you will find it of particular interest who headed up that dig – non other than Dr. Terrance Wynn, himself. He was the first to enter the barrow, and the first to find the body. His team was quite quick to rush in, however, at the sounds of his piercing screams. He spent a brief time in the hospital recovering from what was considered some sort of shock, and was released. Finishing his business in Europe, he returned to the states and took up his position as the head doctor at Smith's Grove county sanitarium, located at a short distance outside of Haddonfield. I think you can fill out the rest of the history lesson yourself. Except for one thing...
In Dr. Loomis' journal about Haddonfield, there is a brief mention of some unexplained psychic behaviour with respect to Jamie Lloyd. The Doctor asserted that the little girl was capable of sensing Michael, and had systematically predicted and prevented at least one of his attacks through means of psychic precognition. On a darker note, the link seemed to work the other way with her channeling his psyche, resulting in her attack on her stepmother a year before, in 1988.
It is with regret that I have to say I believe that Jamie was the missing link in the scenario. I believe that she was in fact the oracle, unwittingly and prematurely silenced by Wynn, who wasn't fully aware of what he was holding captive at the time. Wynn didn't have knowledge of what Loomis had known, nor access to Loomis' journal. Loomis was in the process of solicitting it at the time Jamie had resurfaced, and had just mailed the manuscript to his publishing house. Thus, it wasn't until Myddrin had transferred his essence from Wynn to Loomis, that he gained knowledge of Jamie's abilities, and of the latent potential locked in the DNA of her son.
Your son, Tommy. I can't stress how important it is that you get him back. You've got to save him, and you've got to do it soon, for all of our sake.
Which brings us to your strange new friend. I've done some checking on the mythology surrounding the Thorn rune, and apparently there is a side to it that alludes to protection FROM evil. Ironic, wouldn't you say? Whatever the reason, it would seem that although the demon itself has been driven from him, he is still affected by the rune, allowing him to maintain his abnormal strength, size and endurance. Whether or not he is susceptible to a relapse of the curse is anyone's guess, and I shudder to think what may happen once he comes in contact with your son. However, I don't think you're going to have much choice in that matter, as I think he's your only chance at getting Stephen back.
At any rate, I don't think you have anything to worry about there, but just the same I've included a list of creative and inventive ways to take him out of the equation, in the event he manifests any demonic tendencies. I'd hate to be in your situation right now. Farewell, and tread carefully.
Keep in touch. Everything I have is at your disposal, and I will come when I can. Just remember, Tommy; Live, grow stronger, fight another day.
Methos."
Tommy shut off the laptop. He was getting dizzy again, and given the grim information that Methos had slapped him with, he considered rolling into a ball and going back to sleep. Methos was right, however; they were running out of time, and they needed to formulate a plan. Tommy had something in mind, and it was time to consult the others. They probably weren't going to like what he had to say, especially Michael. Still, they had to do something, and do it fast. Tommy believed that they had the element of surprise, and if they were going to make use of it, they didn't have a moment to lose.
Tommy popped a couple of Tylenol, and stiffly made it to his feet.