November 3
School lets out early on Monday because Mr. and Mrs. Strode's funeral is in the afternoon. Some classmates skip altogether.
Alice walks with me to the funeral parlor. We see Ben Tramer outside. I have not seen him since before Halloween (he is one of today's skippers) so when I see him standing dazedly in the parking lot, I'm reminded Chelsea had said Ben had a huge thing for Laurie Strode.
I'm sure I'm not the only one who feels that the Strodes' funeral is also Laurie's funeral. To be philosophical, Laurie has died as well, only she will be resurrected as a persona created by the Witness Protection Program. There is no more Laurie Strode. Some might argue there never was a Laurie Strode, only baby Angel Myers.
Except the people who knew Laurie (which doesn't really include me) can not deconstruct her so quickly. No doubt Ben was mourning Laurie Strode. Not Angel Myers.
"Hi Ben," Alice says in a high voice. For a moment she is at a loss for words. She seems as reluctant as I am to mention the Strodes, to suggest that Laurie is dead.
"Hi." He glances briefly at us.
"So you work at the hospital?" Alice asks conversationally.
"Yeah." His 'yeah' rises in suspicion.
"That's so cool. Are you planning to be a doctor? I'm planning to be a nurse."
I should explain. Alice grew up in a household where gender roles remain rigidly in the Fifties. She was never encouraged to develop any intellect or make any big decisions without her father's approval, and never expected to be anything but a man's wife. Her ambition to be a nurse is a big rebellion for her, though I don't think she realizes how much work nursing school is.
Ben's guarded expression transforms to utter bewilderment. He does not see the appropriateness of Alice's chatter, though the chatter is very appropriately Alice.
Alice giggles. "Stella wants to be a cop." She says it like it's the funniest, most outrageous thing she's ever heard.
"Is that right?" Ben asks me. His suspicious look returns.
"Yeah," I muster out.
Alice doesn't know this (no one knows but my parents and Joanne) but after reading Dr. Loomis's book, I long to be an FBI profiler. I want to learn what makes a serial killer. I want to know if it's a tragedy that could be prevented. Dr. Loomis was rather pessimistic on that point, but I can't help wondering if he was wrong.
"We'd better go inside," Alice mentions. She shivers as if she has just noticed the cold wind.
He nods and moves ahead of us, holding the door open for us.
Joanne, Joanne's boyfriend Scott, and Chelsea are waiting in the foyer, among several others who we've known forever. Alice rushes over and hugs each of them, even though she has seen them earlier at school. She has also hugged me and my mother when she showed up at my house before we came here.
Chelsea whispers, "Is that Ben Tramer you came in with?"
Scott snorts derisively, but contains his taunt because Joanne aims an icy glare at him. Ben is nearby and can hear Chelsea's question. I don't want to embarrass him any more, so I ignore Chelsea's question. Instead, I echo Alice's pleasantries about the weather.
HH
The five of us crowd into Scott's car and follow the procession to the graveyard. By the time we arrive, the sun emerges, shining pale light on everything. I lament that I have forgotten my sunglasses. The glare is unbearable. I blink rapidly, trying to clear the tears from my eyes.
I look around at the other mourners. Mrs. Wallace is there with Lindsey. Mrs. Wallace is weaving and doesn't see me. She obviously fortified herself by knocking back a couple of bottles of scotch. Lindsey clutches at her mother's hand to rein in her unsteady steps.
I don't see Tommy Doyle or his parents. I heard the Doyles are visiting Tommy's grandparents downstate for a while.
"It's terrible Laurie can't be here," Joanne says. Her comment brings some comfort to us, that someone acknowledges that Laurie is not, in fact, being buried beside her parents. Alice chokes out a sob that sounds like agreement.
Scott lays his arm protectively around Joanne. I feel a tiny twinge of jealousy. I feel alone, which is ridiculous, because it's not like the other mourners have paired off like Noah's Ark. Alice and Chelsea do not have boyfriends.
Minister Torkelson begins his eulogy about what loving parents the Strodes were. Now I tear up again: this time from sadness. I think of how Laurie might have turned out growing up as a Myers, knowing her father was an abusive drunk and her brother was a psychopath, and I can't imagine that she would turn out as well. The Strodes meant kindly to prevent that kind of grief from their shy and quiet daughter. If Michael Myers had not broken out of the sanitarium, Laurie would have never had to know.
Damn you Michael Myers. I think, as tears run down my face. Damn you for destroying the one good thing that came out of this family.
Suddenly Mrs. Wallace shrieks out. "It's him! It's Michael Myers! He's at Judith's grave."
The eulogy is cut off as the minister and everyone else probes the Myers plot at the far end of the cemetery. But there is no one there. There's not even a hint of movement.
Sheriff Brackett goes over to the plot and searches the area. Maybe because his daughter Annie died that night and Michael Myers' escape weighs heavily in his mind, he gives Mrs. Wallace the benefit of the doubt. But to no one's surprise, he returns empty handed.
"There's no one there, Mrs. Wallace."
"I saw him," Mrs. Wallace insists loudly. "He was standing over Judith's grave."
"Mom," Lindsey hisses. She murmurs apologies to the crowd. The people around her shuffle back and forth, feeling embarrassed for the eight year old girl.
Sheriff Brackett offers to escort Mrs. Wallace and Lindsey home. Mrs. Wallace takes offense.
"I'm not drunk! I saw him. Why don't you find him and lock him up?"
A couple of deputies flank her and lead her off to the sheriff's car. She struggles as they seat her in the back seat.
"He was there. He was standing over Judith's grave. Someone has to stop him!"
Lindsey enters the backseat next to her mom. She shrinks into herself.
HH
I arrive home bone tired. I did not sleep much the night before. So I kick off my shoes, roll down my stockings and stretch out on the living room couch.
I doze, then I jump awake when I feel a finger running down my thigh.
