The heavy breathing behind her was all she could focus on. She wanted to move, wanted to run, but her limbs just wouldn't respond. Her mind flew through possibilities; that this person was a serial killer, that they were there to rob the house, that it was someone playing a prank on her, etc. There was a tension in the air, like whatever happened next depended on her, like she was being observed or studied. Something about the breathing pattern seemed angry, primal in a way that she couldn't identify with words. Alex's heartbeat was beating so fast that it made her dizzy, her breathing so shaky and rapid that it felt like she couldn't get any air. Realizing that her hands were still outstretched to turn on the TV, she slowly brought her arms back to her sides. She wondered how long this person had been standing there before she noticed, wondered why they were just standing behind her. Who's grave did she step on to deserve this?
"I-I don't know who is there, but please don't hurt me," she stuttered, broken and scared. She brought her limbs even closer to her, effectively a ball of tense and shaking limbs on the couch. There was no reply, no movement from behind her. If her tear ducts still worked, she's sure she would be crying by now. It was just her and this person, alone for an eternity with the sound of heavy breathing and the air saturated with her fear and their anger.
The longer she sat there in silence, though, the less tense she felt. Instead, her fear was replaced by exhaustion and anger; anger at her position, anger at her disabled state, anger at the world that this would be her life. It wasn't fair that she was always scared, that she was always stuck in a complete darkness. Alex squeezed her unseeing eyes shut, an ingrained reaction to her emotional turmoil. However, upon irritating her still healing burns, she gasped as pain overwhelmed her. Her hands flew to her eyes, hovering over damaged skin as if that would help, the danger behind her fading with her pain. While it was nothing compared to when they were fresh, it still took her breath away. Alex had been so good about being careful, and all she could hope now was that she didn't make it worse. She longed for the cooling gel from the hospital that was back at her place somewhere, and in her haze she wondered if she could call her aunt and have her bring it over.
Suddenly, there were hands grabbing her wrists and pulling them harshly away from her face. She hadn't even heard them move, hadn't even realized this person was now in front of her as opposed to behind her. Alex jerked, trying to free herself from their hold, but it was useless as those hands tightened even further. She began to lean back, trying to distance her body from the person she was sure was only inches away, but not getting very far as her back hit the couch cushions behind her. She turned her head away, an attempt to keep her injuries, her weakness, from her tormentor. In response, one of her wrists was transferred so that both wrists were in the hold of a single large hand. Their now free hand grabbed her jaw and turned her face back towards them.
"Let go of me! Don't touch me! You're hurting me!" Alex screamed, feeling the grip on her hands tighten to the point where she could feel her bones grinding together. The hold on her jaw extended onto her neck, fingers pressing threateningly into soft skin. There was a sharp intake of air from the person in front of her, their hold on her wrists relaxing enough that blood flow could return to her hands. Alex was now leaned back completely into the couch, and she could sense the way this person was hovering over her. All she could do was just sit there in their hold, panting from her struggles.
It was hard to breathe with the way her legs pressed into her chest, and it only got worse the longer they stayed in some sort of deadlock. Slowly, as if to show that she meant no harm, she unfolded her legs until her feet were flat on the floor, her knees now bumping into the other's legs, separated only by her blanket.
"Please, just tell me w-what you want," she pleaded softly as the other began to move. Slowly, the hold on her jaw loosened until their hand was just resting there. The thumb that had previously been digging into her cheek now moved upwards to graze her cheekbone, stopping just under her scars. They then proceeded to trace the circumference of the burns, fingers being careful not to get too close or drag over sensitive skin. She made sure to keep perfectly still, the hand binding her wrists a reminder that she didn't really have much of a choice. She couldn't hear them breathing anymore, and she wondered if they were holding their breath or if the heavy breathing from before was on purpose. Alex didn't want to think about the possibility that they had been playing with her.
They made no noise as they moved, lowering to kneel between her legs rather than hover over her. It was a rather intimate position, and she suddenly regretted ever moving her legs. There was still a hand on her face, meaning that they must be rather tall to still be able to reach there with ease. Judging by the large hands and the possible height of this person, she concluded they must be a male. There were new scents in the air as she focused; the smell of clean linen from her blanket, the sickly sweet smell of rubber, and something metallic. She startles when the hand on her face almost removes itself entirely. Fingertips move to tap at her lips, and this situation feels like its going even more south. But the fingertips don't try to pry her mouth open, pausing only to repeat the tap to her lips. She's wondering what he's trying to do, trying to say, when she realizes what he's trying to tell her.
"You're mute?" After a moment of realizing that he couldn't really reply, she thought up a simplistic way for them to communicate, "Um, one tap for yes, two taps for no, three taps for maybe?" Immediately, he tapped her cheek a single time.
"Are you going to kill me?" There was a hesitation before he tapped her twice; no.
"Are you going to hurt me?" When she registered the three taps to her cheek, her stomach seemed to drop at the response; maybe.
"Have you hurt anyone else?" One tap; yes.
"Is that why you're here, to hurt someone?" One tap, yes. How long had it been since she'd seen Laurie? How long ago did the sound of children laughing outside die out? When he said he had hurt people, did that mean that he'd killed them? How many people? How many teenagers or children had lost a parent tonight? How many parents had lost a child tonight?
"You're the boogeyman." The whisper slipped out without a second thought, and she didn't even realize that she had said something until she felt a single tap on her cheek again.
'Yes.'
"You killed people tonight."
'Yes.'
"And yet I'm still alive."
'Yes.'
Before she could ask her next question, she heard the front door being flung open, rapid footsteps and crying entering the house. She could hear Laurie slam the front door shut and tell the children to go hide. And from the way the hand on her cheek moved to cover her mouth, the boogeyman heard it too. She didn't dare try to scream as the hand tightened painfully, squeezing her face until it hurt. As footsteps approached the living room, the man stood up slowly, using his grip on her wrists to tug her up too. Alex followed easily, even as he began to guide her into the dining room, away from the hallway.
"Alex?!" Laurie called out, but she couldn't answer. All she could do was follow his lead. Eventually he must have tired of the way her bare feet stumbled over his boots, because he released her wrists in order to wrap an arm around her waist. The sheer size and strength of this man was inhuman as he lifted her to until she rested on his hip. She didn't even use her newfound freedom of her hands to do anything but grab at her captor, twisting in his grip to get a hold on his shoulders. He froze momentarily, and at first she thought it was due to her rearranging herself, but then she heard a voice.
"Michael, let her go," an older sounding male voice shouted, the volume and echo in the dining room making her cringe away from the sound, into the boogeyman.
"Alex? Alex!" Laurie's frantic calls joined in as she ran into the room, sneakers squeaking loudly on the wood flooring as she came to an abrupt stop. She started to respond, turning towards where she heard Laurie's voice before she realized that with the hand still covering her mouth, they wouldn't be able to understand her. There was a metallic clicking sound that she couldn't quite place until Laurie yelled.
"Don't shoot! You can't risk hitting Alex!" She could swear she could feel her heart stop at those words, and she quickly moved a hand from the mute's shoulder to tap at the hand over her mouth. Maybe it was because she didn't try and pry his hand off, maybe it was because there was a gun trained on them; but the man's hand moved, freeing her face at long last. Instead, she could feel him shift until he could pull something out of his pocket. And based on the gasp from Laurie and the sharp intake from the man with the gun, she guessed it was a weapon.
"Michael, don't hurt her!" ordered the older man with the gun.
"Stop, I'm the one you want, please stop killing my friends!" Laurie pleaded. It made her blood run cold, the confirmation that this man had killed people tonight, even though he had basically told her so. But why was he after Laurie?
"Laurie? What's going on?" Alex asked, trying to stay calm despite the obvious wobble in her voice.
"It's fascinating, he hasn't killed her yet for some reason," the older man mused aloud, like it mattered. And maybe it did, Alex wasn't quite sure.
"Alex, the man holding you is very dangerous. His name is Michael Myers," Laurie explained, and Alex was very sure that her best friend was crying. Although she was scared for herself, she was also worried about Laurie. What had her friend been through tonight? What had she seen? How many dead bodies, how much blood?
"Michael Myers?" she tried the name out, surprised when the man holding her sharply inhaled, going as far as to shudder slightly under her. There was a tap on her hip where her captor held her against him.
'Yes.'
The name was familiar, though she couldn't quite place where she had heard it before.
"He was put into Smith's Grove many years ago when he killed his sister, her boyfriend, and his step-father on Halloween night. I'm Michael's doctor, Sam Loomis," Doctor Loomis explained, sounding patient despite the hostage situation still in progress. And the name finally clicked, the town horror story that all the parents avoided, unaware that their children spread the gruesome tale like a disease. The 'haunted house' of Haddonfield that no one would buy, the one still rumored to have bloodstains on the walls. And Michael Myers, the boy who had slaughtered three people for no reason other than that he could. But she could remember something, a vague memory that kept slipping away every time she tried to focus on it, on his name.
"I think you guys need to let us leave," she carefully suggested, aware of what she was asking.
"Alex?!" Laurie almost shrieked, appalled at the idea.
"He hasn't hurt me yet, but the longer this goes on, the more danger I'm in," she reasoned, trying to be soothing.
'Yes,' the tap on her hip agreed.
"It's true, I've never seen Michael act like this before, he normally goes for the kill immediately. If she's still alive, there has to be a reason why," Dr. Loomis hypothesized, and despite the situation, it gave her some confidence that she could survive this.
"How do we know that he won't kill you the moment he's not in danger of getting shot?" Laurie implored, still opposed. She was struck with a fierce adoration for her friend, for this sweet girl, this saint.
"He said he wasn't going to kill me, and I don't think he's the type to lie," she responded, rational. And she found herself believing her words, believing that Michael didn't lie to her.
"He spoke to you?!" Loomis exclaimed, something crazed about his voice that made her uneasy. Not as uneasy as the serial killer holding her but still a solid 8 out of 10 on the creepy scale.
"Well, no. We communicate through a series of yes and no questions, with one tap meaning yes and two meaning no," she attempted to explain, but she wasn't sure if it made sense to anyone other than them.
"Incredible, Michael hasn't communicated with anyone since that night, verbally or otherwise," he mused, awed yet again. She didn't like this, the feeling of being under a microscope. She had experienced enough doctors studying her, she didn't need this one to have any interest in her as well.
"I don't like this idea, but if you're sure, Alex," Laurie finally consented, though she trailed off at the end as if to leave room for Alex to suddenly change her mind.
"I'm sure, Laurie. I'll be fine." She attempted a smile, but she's sure it came out too fake and tense to be anywhere near reassuring.
"Michael, we're going to walk backwards out of this room and into the hall. The door is right there. Okay?" the doctor explained, and she could hear footsteps as they moved away. She was startled slightly when Michael began to move, causing her to return to clutching at his shoulder. She knew the layout of the house and knew it wouldn't take more than a few strides to get to the front door from their position in the dining room. Using the opportunity now that the others weren't in the room, she whispered to the man holding her.
"Even once we're out of the house, keep walking backwards. I don't trust that Loomis won't open the door and shoot you in the back the first chance he gets," she warned, though she didn't know why she was helping him at all, receiving a single tap in acknowledgement as they reached the hallway. There was then an awkward moment where she realized that he couldn't open the door currently, one hand supporting her and the other clutching some kind of weapon still. She reached out, feeling around the door behind her until she encountered the doorknob. Opening the door, Michael walked backwards through the doorway, pausing as an indicator for her to pull the door shut after them, which she did without complaint. They walked backwards down the pathway until they hit the street, where he proceeded to finally turn around, strutting now that he could see where he was going. She was relieved that she didn't hear the door open, though she was sure that Laurie and Loomis were watching them from the windows of the house. She briefly wondered about the children that had run upstairs earlier, if they were okay, if they were watching them as well from the second story windows. But alas, she couldn't know without asking her captor, which she really didn't want to do right now.
It wasn't long before she lost all sense of direction, the way Michael cut through yards and alleys not allowing her to mentally track their path or destination. Her feet brushed bushes and plants every now and then, startling her with the cold dew on her bare skin, and her back began to hurt from the way she was twisted to keep a hold on his shoulder. When they showed no signs of stopping anytime soon, she finally resolved to do something.
"I'm gonna readjust real quick, don't drop me," was all the warning she gave before twisting her lower body to face her captor, her legs coming up to wrap around his waist. It was concerning how large he was that her ankles could barely meet in order to lock her legs around him. Despite the warning, he stopped walking the moment she started moving, though he didn't do anything other than shift his grip on her hip to the small of her back to accommodate her new position. In her new position, she could reach his shoulders more easily, allowing her to hang onto his neck now. He tensed when her hands brushed the rubber of his mask, but when she made no move to touch it otherwise, he relaxed again. She rested her forehead on his shoulder, her sore muscles almost rejoicing at the more relaxed position.
"Okay, all set," she let him know as he seemed content just waiting for her to finish moving. With that, they continued onward. The weirdness of the situation was striking, but there wasn't much she could do about it now. She was clinging to her captor, the serial killer known as Michael Myers, like he was a damn tree. She was blind, and he was mute. He hadn't killed her yet, and she had no idea what he wanted from her or where he was taking her.
From how long they had been walking, she guesses that they had to have been on the other side of Haddonfield by now, if not completely out of the town. It's probably around 3 AM, and she was exhausted. She had almost drifted off when she heard the unmistakable sound of a vehicle approaching. She could hear the engine and the tires on the pavement, could smell faint exhaust fumes. She was careful to not tense up, trying to act normal despite there being no normal for this situation. Alex cursed the gods when the car slowed down as it passed them before stopping.
"Hey there, everything okay? It's getting pretty late out for you guys to just be walking on the side of the road like that," a stern male voice lectured from his car.
"Hey sir! Yeah, everything is fine, we were just out late at a Halloween party. We're almost home, thank you for asking though," she replied when Michael made a move to approach the car.
"You guys want a ride? It's pretty cold out here, especially since you, darling, aren't wearing shoes or a coat or anything. You must be freezing!" he insisted, and something about the pet name rubbed her the wrong way. Yes, she was freezing, the only source of warmth being the man she was attached to, who was apparently a damn heater. She hadn't even realized that her back and feet had gone numb from the cold, which was concerning on so many levels. She was surprised when Michael nudged her, as if curious about her answer.
"I am actually pretty cold, Michael. I can't feel my feet or back anymore," she murmured for only him to hear. His hand moved carefully at her words, leaving her to use her own strength to not fall to the ground as his fingers slipped under her shirt at her back to brush at her skin. His touch felt like fire on her flesh, making her shiver violently in response.
'Yes.' She assumed that in these circumstances, it meant that he conceded.
"If you're sure, sir, that would be great!" She tried to be cheerful, but it fell a little flat, sounded just a tad too stressed.
"It's no problem! Here, let me get the door for you," he insisted, opening his door and leaving the safety of his car to open the door to the backseat for them. Michael must've put away his weapon at some point, because suddenly his other hand joined in removing herself from his person. She expected to just be placed on the ground, but she was surprised when he kept her in a sitting position, sliding her into the backseat of the car instead. The door closed, allowing her to be wrapped up in the warmth pumping out the car's heater.
"So where are you heading? I'm going-" the man started, only to cut off suddenly. It made her freeze, unsure as to what had just happened. She couldn't hear much over the heater, as it was on full blast and her door was closed. After a moment, someone slid into the driver's seat quietly, the door shutting behind them. She was pretty sure that it was Michael in front of her, but she wasn't completely sure.
"Michael?" she voiced quietly, slowing leaning forward, reaching for the seat in front of her. When she hit the soft fabric of the seat, she slid her hand over until it touched the shoulder of the driver. Suddenly, there was a hand on top of her's, taking her aback for a moment before she felt the answering tap.
"Okay," she eased out, leaning back into the seat, her hand slipping out from under his without a fuss. They continued to sit there for a moment before she could hear him readjusting. She moved quickly to the middle seat so he could move the driver's seat all the way back, which he proceeded to do after she was out of the way. Alex almost jerked when something soft was suddenly being pressed into her hands. Curious as to what he had given her, she unfolded the fabric. Feeling it out, she surmised that it was a sweater of some sort, probably two or threes sizes too big for her but better than nothing.
"Thank you," she thanked him gently, pulling it on eagerly. It smelled like old man cologne, and there was a pit in her stomach when she put it together.
"You killed that man, didn't you? This is his sweater?" she asked rhetorically. His lack of response was an affirmative. He had killed someone within three feet of her, and she hadn't known it. He had killed the man for her, so she wouldn't be cold. Despite this, the car was still warming her chilled skin and the stolen sweater was still a comfort. Just when she thought the surprises were over, she could hear the sound of rubber being stretched. Moments later, that rubber something was being pressed into her hands, Michael having taken off his mask. She didn't understand why he had taken it off and given it to her for a moment, until she realized that he could go undetected like this, without his mask.
Before she could think it over further, the car was smoothly shifted into drive and glided forward, away from Haddonfield. Away from Laurie, away from her home, away from any help.
