Chapter 11

The bright morning sunlight filtered in through the curtains onto Rosalyn's bed. Her eyes fluttered open and she looked around. Saturday! No work today! She sat up and smiled to herself as she stretched luxuriously. Her nightgown was still a little damp, the last fading evidence of last night's breakdown. She threw her robe on over it and went out to feed Sable. Outside a neighbor was singing and Rosalyn recognized the British accent. She turned and smiled at an older woman in her mid-fifties sweeping off her porch.

"Good morning, Mrs. Hoover!"

"Well, well- someone sure is chipper this morning," she sneered. "Does it have anything to do with that tall, dark, and handsome that was carrying you up the stairs last night?"

"What?" He carried me. She blushed.

"You know, coveralls, looked a little pale..."

Pale? Rosalyn thanked her lucky stars for such dense neighbors. "Oh, him." Her smile grew wider. "Maybe."

"Aha! I knew it! He takes care of you, he does. Don't let that one get away- even if he is just a mechanic." She winked.

"I wouldn't dare," Rosalyn promised, as much to herself as to her neighbor. Then a thought came to her. She smiled. "Happy Halloween Mrs. Hoover."

~*~

John stood at the door. This was it. A fight to the finish. It would all end tonight one way or another. Somehow he knew Michael was in there waiting for him. Was his uncle thinking the same thing? If he's capable of human thought, John thought, I'll bet he fucking well is. He extended a shaking hand and turned the doorknob. As quietly as he could he stepped into the house, firmly grasping the baseball bat he'd brought with him. He didn't notice the door swinging slowly shut behind him, or the looming shadow behind it. All of a sudden he felt something pounce on him from behind. A strong pair of hands wrapped around his throat. John thought fast and thrust the bat behind him and into the stomach of his attacker. He heard a whoosh of air as the wind was knocked from the figure. He spun around to confront him and was not surprised to see the Shape, staggered but in no way finished.

Rosalyn had crept in through the back door. She knew where John had gone this Halloween night and she knew precisely what he was going to try. This could get interesting, she thought amusedly. If the boy thinks he has a chance, let him try.

Now the Shape came charging after John again. There was a faint glimmer in the dark as Michael pulled the knife out of his pocket.

"Come on, Uncle Mikey," John taunted. "Give me your best shot."

Michael continued to advance, but at the last second, John swung the bat at his wrist, knocking the knife across the room. Michael watched it fly, then turned back to John.

"Not so tough now huh? Come on! Come get some a' this!" John was raving like a lunatic, but still Michael pressed forward. With or without the knife, he intended on finishing this once and for all.

John swung the bat again, but this time Michael caught it with one hand. With the other he reached out and grasped John's throat. John strained and pulled at the Shape's hand before finally, his eyes closed and he went limp. His hands fell limply at his sides.

Michael tipped his head to the side and surveyed John's motionless figure before dropping him carelessly.

"Michael!" He turned to see Rosalyn emerge from the shadows. "You did it!" she squealed happily. He started toward her, but then suddenly the smile vanished from her face and she pointed behind him. "Look out!" But it was too late. John rose up and swung the bat one final time. There was a sickening crack as the bat connected with the side of the Shape's head. He collapsed in a heap on the floor. Seeing his exits were blocked, John made a dash for the stairs.

Rosalyn saw the Shape was down and darted up the stairs after John. She caught up to him halfway up and grabbed him by the hair. She whipped around, holding him there. She was stronger than she looked, demonstrating by twisting John's arm behind his back at a painful angle while keeping a strong hold on the young man's hair.

Michael had recovered and was already on his way up the stairs.

"Here he is!" Rosalyn screamed. "Take him! He's yours!"

"No!" John cried and jerked his head backward, hitting Rosalyn in the nose and snapping her head back. She slumped down on the step while John took off. The last thing she felt was a warm trickle of blood run from her nose before she lost consciousness.

Michael reached her and bent over her. He touched her face and saw the blood on his fingers. He shifted his eyes to the top of the staircase- at John.

John stared back. "Oh shit."

The Shape straightened and started up the stairs toward him. John couldn't move. There was no where to go. But he realized he had to run anyway and finally dashed into an empty room.

Michael followed. He opened the door and surveyed the room, but John was nowhere in site. He stepped into the room. Suddenly the door slammed shut behind him and John came out from behind it wielding his baseball bat. He struck Michael across the back, knocking him down again. He made for the door but Michael's hand shot out and grabbed his ankle. He toppled backwards on top of the Shape but quickly rolled off. He spotted the bat and snatched it. Gripping it tightly at both ends, he watched as Michael slowly stood. He was ready. He charged at him and held up the bat as a block, hoping to clothesline him.

Michael caught it easily in both hands. He began walking, pushing John backwards. Before he realized it, he'd been backed up to the window. Michael gave one final push. All this time he'd been waiting- he would finally be set free.

The impact from John's body shattered the window, but as he started to fall, he grabbed the front of Michael's coveralls. He squeezed so tightly that his fingernails dug into the skin underneath the cloth.

"You're coming with me you son of a bitch!" John screamed.

Michael pulled at his hand, but it was too late. They fell together, almost in slow motion. They hadn't remembered the fence- didn't see it until they felt the cold metal pierce their skin. They stuck there, impaled on the rusty, twisted wrought iron sharpened to gothic-style points, their blood running down in distorted red rivers.

A scream sliced through the night. Rosalyn ran to Michael's side crying hysterically. "Michael," she whimpered, "Michael you can't die now!"

She heard a sharp intake of breath and Michael jarred himself awake. His whole body shivered and he winced when he moved. He looked at the body impaled on the fence beside him. The last of the bloodline dead, his task was complete. It was almost as if he'd awoke just to make sure he was finished.

Rosalyn looked at him helplessly. She hoped he would bounce back from this like he had before, but in her heart she knew that his resilience had always been fueled by that power- the power that was fading now.

He reached out and touched her cheek, streaking it with blood- his blood. As his black eyes looked into hers, Rosalyn understood that the doctor- Dr. Loomis- had been wrong. The human part of him wasn't dead. It just wasn't strong enough to contend with the curse of Thorn. Their love had strengthened his soul, but in the end, Thurisaz had been too powerful and it destroyed him. Now with his last bits of strength he put his hand to her abdomen and looked up at her.

"What? What are you trying to tell me?"

Michael tipped his head quizzically as if saying 'don't you know?'

"I- I don't understand. What-" She gasped and thought back. The tears came flooding back and she cried harder. "Don't leave me," she whimpered. "Don't leave me all alone with your baby!"

He cupped his hand around her cheek and touched her lips. She bent down to kiss him, but he pulled back. He pawed at the mask but couldn't quite seem to grasp it.

"Here let me help you," Rosalyn sniffed and pulled the mask over his head. She looked down on his face. He still bore the scars from the fire, but she still recognized him- the dark determined boy who broke her out of her cell at Smith's Grove. She'd loved him ever since, but now she had to let go again.

Their lips touched and Rosalyn prayed it would never end. She wasn't ready to let go. She couldn't. When they finally did part, she watched in agony as he breathed his last and closed his eyes, finally able to rest in peace. "No- no!" Rosalyn tried to say, but it came out as a sob. Finally she couldn't hold it in any longer and she broke down. She didn't know how long she cried before she stopped suddenly, almost eerily calm. A strangely warm breeze had picked up, blowing through her hair. She was almost certain she heard a faint voice on the wind. It seemed to call her name. 'I love you,' it whispered. She looked up toward the voice- faced the wind.

"Michael," she whispered softly, closing her eyes. She glanced down at her midsection. She had to prepare. She had to be ready for their unborn child- Michael's and hers.

TO BE CONTINUED...

~*~