Chapter 7

Wynn wandered the halls of the Sanitarium, trying to sort things out in his mind. He was livid. They been so close, but then Michael had jumped the gun and killed Steven. Now what? They'd have to wait for another opportunity. And neither of them were exactly young anymore. What if Wynn wasn't around the next time an opportunity arose?

Why wouldn't Michael listen to him? Why wouldn't he obey? He shivered at the possibility that he might be losing control of him again. He remembered what happened last time.

But he'd helped Michael. He'd taken care of him. Not even a year a go he'd brought him back here after the fire. He'd been in bad shape then. Areas of his skin had been charred straight through to the bone. And the mask- the latex had melted into his skin.

He still remembered the screams- those God awful agonized screams as the mask was scraped, peeled and cut from his face. It had taken cuffs, shackles, and chains- chains -to hold him down for the procedure.

But for all the powers and strength he possessed, he was growing weaker. In 1995, he'd been at the height of his power. Why? Jamie Lloyd, Steven Doyle, and Laurie Strode, who was in hiding at that point with her son John Tate. They fueled his power. Now, with the strongest link, Steven, gone and only one member of his family left, Wynn wondered just how much power remained- and what effects it was having on him now that it was subsiding.

~*~

Rosalyn couldn't sleep. She'd tossed and turned most of the night before finally, tired and frustrated, she got up. A tune she didn't recognize drifted to her ears from the radio. It sounded like Shawn Colvin. She wondered if it would help to shut it off, but it was always on and she didn't think she could stand it being off. The house could be so silent sometimes.

She paced around the room a bit, listening to the radio playing, before going downstairs to the study and situating herself at her desk with a book.

After another minute she let out an exasperated sigh and rubbed her eyes. How could she read at a time like this? But then, what else could she do?

She shook her head and stood. Nothing, she thought as she switched off the light. Her best bet was to just go back to bed and try to get some sleep. She'd talk to Tommy in the morning.

That thought settled her a little and she yawned as she headed back upstairs. Back in her room, she stood at the window and looked across the street. Diagonal from hers was the old abandoned house that the local kids referred to as the "spook house," the Myers house. Was Michael there now? Was he with Wynn? Probably not. Wynn wouldn't be happy with Michael right now. He needed Steven, but now, she guessed, Steven was no more.

Lost in thought, she didn't seem to notice faint footsteps coming up the stairs, or that unmistakable sound of another person's breathing- even when it was right behind her. She didn't notice until an arm wrapped around her shoulders. A glimmering blade shone in the moonlight from the window. The blade came to rest against her neck, drawing a small whimper from the back of her throat. She stiffened at the thought of that sharpened cold steel dragging across it, but something made her stop.

"Michael," she said softly, still afraid to move. But his breathing, she noticed, was ragged. He sounded almost strangled. Something warm and wet dripped onto her bare shoulder.

He's crying! Rosalyn touched his hand and his grip loosened on the knife. She took it and relaxed a little as she dropped it on the dresser, but when she touched his hand again, it was as if something snapped.

The Shape made a sound almost like a growl- but definitely not a growl. It couldn't be explained, but it didn't sound good. He spun Rosalyn around and gripped her hard by the wrists. He backed her up to the window and her eyes widened fearfully.

He's going to push me out the window! He can't- the window's closed. Then it occurred to her that he didn't care if it was closed. She'd be going through it if that was the intention of her assailant. This was it. She was done for, but instead of giving up, she panicked and without a rational thought in her mind, did the only thing she could come up with at that point.

She kissed him.

For a minute Michael didn't move, but then he threw her off. She landed on her bed and watched fearfully as he picked up the knife from the dresser and stalked toward her. He was between her and the only exit from her room. She was trapped. Just about paralyzed with fear, she watched as the Shape stopped by the bed and raised the knife.

"Michael," she whimpered. "I'm sorry. Please stop. You don't want to do this. You don't have to do this."

Unexpectedly, he stopped. He shook his head and looked at Rosalyn laying helplessly terrified on the bed. He dropped the knife.

Rosalyn stared wide-eyed as Michael crawled up on the bed with her. Slowly he bent down and tried to kiss her through the mask. Shocked but also surprised, she reacted. All right, if that's the way he wants it, she thought gleefully as she wrapped her arms around his neck. She pushed him over onto his back. Before she did anything else, she reached down and pulled off his mask. He let her this time, without defiance. "It's been years, Michael. I missed you," she smiled. On the radio, Cyndi Lauper's "All Through The Night" began playing softly.

TO BE CONTINUED...

~*~