CHAPTER 3: Escapee
Laurie was not surprised that she woke up Halloween morning groggy, tired, and snappish at every minor thing that went wrong. (Seven o'clock – god damn it, she had to stop.) Jamie and John giggled and chatted through breakfast; Laurie had burned the pancakes, but they were so excited about the prospect of free candy that they didn't care. A quick check of their backpacks ("Mommy, we never forget our homework!") and the small family piled into the car, Jamie and John off to school, Laurie to make the long drive to the new facility.
She drummed her fingers along the wheel as she drove into the morning sun, turning on the radio to drown out Jamie and John's continuous arguing over their costumes. ("Princesses are dumb. I can have bugs crawling out of my mask!" "Princesses are not dumb. They're pretty and smart! Mommy!") Her fingers only shook a bit as she found the news station.
The transfer must have gone successfully – had to have. It if hadn't, she would certainly have received a call, right?
"...clear skies if slightly chilly weather for Halloween tonight, so you kiddos should have lots of fun. Just don't forget to put on those jackets, even if they do mess up your costumes a bit."
Of course she would have, Dr. Sartain would have let her know if anything had happened (if, she repeated to herself, if, not when). It was past seven-thirty in the morning now. Another half-hour and she could check in on the new facility with a call.
"Mommy! Tell John princesses aren't dumb!"
"Princesses aren't dumb, John," Laurie said absentmindedly, pulling up to the school.
"...traffic still heavy on the 220, lighter on the 116, so for you morning –"
John leaned back discontentedly. "Princesses don't get masks though, so mine's still better."
Laurie paused momentarily. "That's nice, John." As usual, there was a line of cars dropping off students down the entire block, intermingled with yellow school buses pulling into parking lots. She waited for an opportunity to slide in. "Be good at school, okay guys? Rachel's going to be picking you up –"
"I know, Mom," Jamie sighed, sounding more like her teenaged babysitter than an eight year old.
"– and taking you trick-or-treating. I've already told her you can't stay out past eight."
"Aw, Mom…"
"You know the rules, John. I'll be back before evening. Don't eat all your candy!"
John was already sidling for the door. "Won't, Mom."
"Won't, Mom," Jamie repeated, following her brother.
"And hang on a sec, I haven't even pulled –"
"– police have not been able to determine the cause of the accident on Marla Road late last night. The accident involved a transfer bus from the nearby Smith's Grove Warren County Sanitarium –"
Laurie brought the car to a screeching halt. Jamie and John, taking this as their cue to get out, shoved open the door and hopped out with a chirpy "Bye Mom!" Laurie did not answer, could not answer. All the air seemed to have jammed itself in her throat.
"– was believed to have been transferring over a dozen patients to another facility. Police have not provided any details on possible fatalities or on the likelihood of escaped or injured patients –"
Oh God.
No, please, God, no.
"– has stated that families will be notified –"
A black hole opened up before her eyes.
He was out. Michael was out.
She could not remember how she managed to drive back to her house. She did not know how fast she drove, how many illegal turns she made; it was probably a miracle she did not hit anything on the way. But all she could hear was that radio broadcast, saying again and again: the bus had crashed.
Moments flew by like frozen snapshots, without any transitions between. First she was pulling up to the driveway, turning the wheel so hard the tires squealed – then fumbling with the doorknob – then almost dropping the phone from nerveless fingers. She dialed blindly, a distant part of her shocked to hear the familiar voice of the receptionist at the sanitarium.
"Smith's Gr–"
"I need to speak to Dr. Sartain!" Laurie gasped into the phone.
There was a momentary silence. "Dr. Sartain is currently unavailable. If you would like to leave a –"
"What?" Laurie's fingers were snaking along the curls of the telephone wire. "Where is he? Please, I need to talk to him!"
Another pause. When the receptionist spoke, there was a distinctly cautious note to her voice. "Dr. Sartain is currently involved in a transferal of patients. We do not expect to hear back from him until tomorrow morning, at the earliest."
Transferal –? Then Laurie figured it out.
"He was on the bus." Something else clicked. "Dr. Sartain was on the bus, and now he's..." Injured? Unconscious? Dead?
The receptionist's voice took on a still more guarded tone. "Ma'am, we are not answering any questions about the accident at this point –"
"I don't care about the accident!" Laurie exclaimed. The wires were twisting against her fingers, cutting into the skin. "Michael Myers was on that bus! Please, I need to know or talk to somebody –"
"Confidentiality laws state that we are not permitted to release patient information –"
"I don't give a shit about your fucking confidentiality laws! I'm his goddamned sister!" The receiver was rattling in her hand. Laurie could hear her own heartbeat thumping along her temples. "Was he on the bus? Is he out?"
It was the longest silence yet. Then,
"Mrs. Lloyd –" Laurie sucked in a breath. The entire world hovered on the crackling sound of the receptionist's voice. "The police are still attempting to locate all the patients. Most were found within a few miles of the accident, but... they say three are still missing. And… we believe Michael Myers is one of them."
Laurie let the phone drop.
"What a fucking mess."
Sheriff Barker shook his head as he stepped away from the embankment. Deputy Hawkins could only concur.
Under the noonday sun, the accident looked even grimmer, the brightness of the day throwing into sharp relief the indents in the bus sides where it had rolled down the hill before hitting the bottom. The blood splattered along the gray metal doors was a dark rust-brown, but the splashes on the grilled windows, the drops seeping into the spider web of cracks on the windshield or hovering, dew-like, on the grass, were still a bright shining scarlet. Then there were the bodies, left where they had been found save for a white sheet to hide them from viewers.
And were there viewers, a small crowd of onlookers, rubber-neckers, and of course, the media circus. As soon as the sheriff stepped out from the confines of the yellow police tape, they swarmed him.
"Any clue on what caused the accident?"
"Can you confirm that the bus contained dangerous mental patients from the nearby mental institution?"
"Do we have reports on who has escaped?"
Hawkins turned away as the sheriff gave his rehearsed spiel. Whatever the sheriff's faults, he was at least good at handling PR, and Hawkins was perfectly happy to let him have it. If that was a perk of the job, the sheriff could keep it. Hawkins's job, the only one he was interested in, was to figure out what in the hell had happened here and what their next steps should be.
"Sir," a junior policeman had appeared at his elbow, brandishing a clipboard. "Just came back from Smith's Grove, sir. List of the patients on the bus."
Hawkins took it without a word, glancing down the typed out names and identification numbers and offenses. Most were unfamiliar, committed for minor infractions or because their illnesses had been too severe to be handled by their families. They were more a danger to themselves than to others, and the majority had been found already, wandering not too far from where the bus had crashed.
His cursory glance stopped, though, at one name, still unaccounted for.
Myers, Michael.
Michael Myers. Haddonfield. October 31st. Halloween.
Shit.
Hawkins shoved the list under his arm and looked around frantically for the sheriff – the man would be pissed that this was kept from him, a PR nightmare in the making – but was distracted when he saw a car come screeching past, make a sharp and very illegal U-turn between the two lanes, then park off the side of the road.
A woman came flying out the door: small, blonde hair a mess, to join the crowd of gawkers. Hawkins stiffened, recognizing her – but of course, she would come, given how intimately she was involved with this most dangerous of patients…
Laurie Lloyd, nee Strode.
Hawkins began to make his way towards her, only to be accosted by a reporter.
"Sir, can you give any credence to the rumors that several mental patients are on the loose?"
Jesus, had the word spread that fast? Then Hawkins forced himself to think logically. Everyone knew the bus was coming from the nearby sanitarium, so of course the media would want to make as much of a shitstorm as possible over it. Anything for more views.
"We are not releasing any information at this time," he said brusquely. "This is an ongoing crime scene and families will be informed first."
It was not said with as much panache as Sheriff Barker would, but it got the job done. He shoved the reporter aside and made his way over to the Lloyd woman. She did not even seem to notice his approach, and he was struck by the paleness of her face, the glazed look of her red-rimmed eyes.
She turned away abruptly, stumbling from the crowd before half bending, back heaving with gasps he could hear even from where he was standing.
"Ma'am?"
She jerked upright before he could place a hand on her, her own arms coming up defensively. Hawkins wanted to swear at himself, stupid idiot that he was. The woman was clearly having a traumatic reaction, and touching someone undergoing one was not recommended. They'd all had that mandatory training over it.
"My apologies ma'am…" He peered at the woman, who was staring at and yet through him, her whole body pulled tight around herself. "You are Mrs. Lloyd, aren't you?"
The woman looked at him, wide eyes going a little wider, and nodded.
"Figured you'd turn up." He gestured forward, trying to get her away from the mass of people. Yes, he knew her. He had not been the one to find her that Halloween night, but old Sheriff Brackett had, and he had mumbled, just once, about the state she'd been in when found… dazed, wandering the streets, still gripping a gun, claiming to have killed a man… a man whose name was whispered and feared by the residents still…
Last thing the crowd needed was to know she was here. Last thing she needed was to have them know.
He moved back to her car. Mrs. Lloyd followed after him like a zombie, her body swaying as she stepped over a lump of grass.
"Mrs. Lloyd-"
"You haven't found him, have you?" she said abruptly.
Hawkins glanced back at her, surprised the woman could even speak in her state, or that she sounded so coherent. Whatever issues she had – understandable ones, given her background – she was at least pushing through them, he observed with some appreciation.
As for him… well, there could be one him she was concerned about. Keeping his voice low, he said, "We got most of the patients located. Just found two others at a nearby flea market. And the doctor–"
"You mean Dr. Sartain?"
"Yep. He was on the bus." Mrs. Lloyd just stared, eyes going glassy. "We found him in the back. He's currently unconscious, recovering in a nearby hospital. Hard to tell what happened – he might've been attacked and thrown against a wall, or might've hit his head when the bus rolled over. But him..." He blew out a sigh, rubbing his eyes. He probably looked as bad as Mrs. Lloyd, given how long he'd been up. "No, we haven't found him. And with him out on Halloween... there's going to be panic."
And he was witnessing the start of one right now, observing Mrs. Lloyd's sharp inhale, the tautness of her shoulders. You complete moron, he berated himself again. As if she, of all people, needed reminding.
"He's going to come to Haddonfield," Mrs. Lloyd said. Her fingers were curling against the edges of her coat. "He's going to come after me, my children..."
Of course, Hawkins realized with an uncomfortable start. She wasn't just here because of everything that had happened to her with that the Myers bastard. She was here because the woman, Mrs. Lloyd… she was Michael Myers's…
"He might already be there, he might –" Her sharp breaths were becoming even shorter. "Fuck. I have to – I have to go, I have to –"
Hawkins began to put an arm around her, then recalled his training and stopped. "Sure, you go on home, don't stick around here. We've got everything handled. Wherever that Myers… I mean, wherever he is –" better not say the name, he remembered that much, try not to set off the panic and all, "he's not going to stay here." He jerked a thumb up the road and started walking with her to his car. "I'm heading on back to the station, Mrs. Lloyd, so if you want to just follow me there, we can pick up –"
But she only shook her head. Hawkins could see a fever-like flush suffusing her cheeks. "That won't stop him. And he won't – he's not coming to –"
"Listen, Mrs. Lloyd, if this guy's out there, the police aren't going to leave you on your own. Sheriff Barker's putting a curfew on the town, getting everyone in by dark." He held up a hand, forestalling her questions. "He's not saying why. Just letting people know that there's a possibility of a dangerous person or persons around. We'll have men patrolling the streets and surrounding your house if you'd like. We'll even take the three of you into the station for the night."
She bit down hard on her lip and flinched away. Hawkins would have gone after her, tried to persuade her, except that his radio chose that moment to crackle to life, demanding his attention. He sighed, flipping it open with a muttered apology to the distraught woman near him. "Hawkins."
He blanched as he listened. All units needed… a civilian had stopped by a gas station only to find a massacre, at least two bodies, suspect unknown… and the call had been made at a small town right between here and Haddonfield…
One look at Mrs. Lloyd's face, and he knew she had heard as well.
They reached the scene together, though once again too late to avoid another crowd of gawkers and paparazzi. While Mrs. Lloyd parked off in the shadows under a tree and stayed hidden near her car, Hawkins drove right up to the police tape, brushing aside the onlookers and cameras as he stepped onto the crime scene.
Another fucking mess.
And not two bodies, he realized as he pushed open the bathroom door and saw the shattered mirror, a pair of legs lying outstretched beneath a stall, a body next to sink. Four. Four deaths. And unlike the case of the bus, this could not be attributed to an accident.
The afternoon sun had started to fall when he emerged, speaking quietly to the ambulance drivers, watching as they zipped up the bodies into their black bags. One of his men came up to him, murmuring something he had noticed but had pushed to the back of his mind – that one of the mechanics had been stripped down to his underwear. The policeman pushed a bag into his hands. Hawkins, turning it over, recognized the gray robe and institution-issued shirt and pants.
Myers.
It was only then that he noticed that Mrs. Lloyd had disappeared.
For a brief second, he panicked – entertained the thought that Myers had just swooped in and killed her right there, not fifty feet from over a dozen policeman – before he saw her emerge from behind her car, wiping her mouth.
Aw, shit. He rushed over, berating himself for being so careless as to have the bodies out in full view. He reached his own car first and pulled out a water bottle from inside before proffering it to her. He could smell where she'd been sick but ignored it; he'd had over ten years on the job, he was used to green cops emptying their stomachs all over the ground after their first major crime scene.
"Here Mrs. Lloyd, here, take this…"
Mrs. Lloyd accepted the bottle wordlessly, flushing out her mouth and nose. "Thanks," she muttered hoarsely.
"Sorry you had to see that," he said awkwardly. "Should've covered them up inside."
She just shook her head, grasping the water bottle like a lifeline. For a moment she leaned against her car, taking small sips. "How –" She swallowed. "How did they–?"
Hawkins gave her a once-over. Besides the fact that this was an active crime scene, Mrs. Lloyd didn't look nearly well enough to take any sort of gory details. She caught his eye, and possibly registering his hesitation, straightened.
"I need to know," she whispered. "Please. He's my… my…"
He held up a hand, backing off from that uncomfortable thought. Everyone in town knew about her… relation, but that didn't mean they wanted to think about it. Especially now, of all days.
Not that Hawkins cared; he was part of the police, and their job was to protect people. Besides, from what everyone – Brackett, the other cops, the hospital workers – had said, Mrs. Lloyd had been as much a victim of Myers as anyone else.
"Mechanics look like they were thrown against the wall," he said tentatively, watching her reactions closely. "Broken bones, one of them had their skull shattered. The other two... the woman was strangled until her neck snapped. Looks like she might have tried to put up a fight. The man too... seems he was smashed repeatedly against the mirror, and then a piece of glass–"
Mrs. Lloyd held up a hand. "Okay. Okay, that's all... It's just..."
He nodded, backing off as she pressed her head against the car. He did not mention that the man had died with his hands near a tire iron. Evidently, he might have been trying to defend himself or, more tragically, his partner. He'd never had a chance, of course – according to eyewitnesses and doctor reports alike, Myers was a seven-foot hulk of a man who also happened to be completely insane. Nobody could withstand him.
Except, of course, for the woman trembling near him. The only survivor of his attack in a hundred mile radius. Supposedly she'd shot Myers in the head, and that still hadn't killed him. Hawkins wondered if he could ask her to do it again…
Mrs. Lloyd spoke then, voice a rasp. "I saw them. Two of them. I… knew them."
Hawkins stared, not comprehending for a moment. Then – the journalists?
She began to speak. About visiting Myers – to keep him quiet, she insisted, a pleading look in her eyes that kept Hawkins from asking any further questions. Meeting two journalists who had demanded to speak with her. How one of them had had a mask. The mask, made infamous on Halloween night.
Damn, was all Hawkins could think. Damn, damn, damn it. This was going to be shitstorm indeed. All of it was pointing to Myers going back to his old habits: ridding himself of his uniform, finding his old mask, and murdering everyone in his way as he moved steadily towards Haddonfield.
He shook his head. "Fuck." Mrs. Lloyd had lowered her gaze. He shook his head again. "Fuck. Listen, we're keeping this under wraps, but you of all people ought to know – we did find his hospital gown in there. State-issued, we're making sure it matches, but I'll bet anything it does."
Mrs. Lloyd barely seemed to hear him. Her nails were scratching against the metal of the car, hands white-knuckled. "I have to go," she said. She shoved herself upright, fumbling for her keys, almost dropped them, still not looking at Hawkins. "I'm sorry, I have to – I need to see Jamie and John, I can't –"
"I'll come back with you –"
"No." Mrs. Lloyd wrenched open her car door; it had taken two attempts for her to unlock it, her hands had been shaking so. "No, I can't let you – he can't see you –" She shook her head, strands of hair catching in her mouth. "Please, it just – it needs to be me –"
"Then at least come to the station with your children." God, her children – how old were they? Couldn't be more than nine, ten years old… and if they were targets… well, of course her first thought would be to protect them, not herself… "Mrs. Lloyd, we can protect you –"
"No." She shoved the key into the ignition, missed, tried again. "No, you can't. Just – keep looking for him, please – and tell me if anything – you find anyone –"
"Yeah, of course." Hawkins backed away. He wondered if he should offer to drive her back; she looked in no fit state to be on the roads, but he did not think she would even hear him – did not think she would take him up. "Mrs. Lloyd, just know – we've only got two jobs, far as I'm concerned: hunting this thing down, and keeping you safe. There'll be police checking in on you all night, you hear? And I'll have them all over the streets." It was the least he could do in the face of this woman's damnable independence, her insistence on stopping Myers herself.
Then again… and he thought back, for the first time in a while, to arriving at the Myers house, finding the broken balcony, the destroyed remnants of rooms, of walls, of the goddamned ceiling… and Myers's body, lying prone on what had once been the front lawn, a great bloody gouge in his head, while his intended victim walked down the street… injured certainly, but just able to walk where Myers had been blown unconscious…
So then again, maybe she was the only one who could.
Hawkins could not let Mrs. Lloyd leave without one last attempt at reassurance. "Mrs. Lloyd." She looked at him. "Please. Keep yourself safe. We'll catch him. He won't hurt you."
She glanced back at him, and this time, the look on her face was one of pity – for him. "Oh Deputy, I really wish I could believe you."
And Hawkins could only watch as she turned onto the road, driving back to town, and was gone.
Laurie could only think of two things during the frantic drive back home: her growing headache, sending stabs of pain shooting behind her eyes – and that bus. She'd almost driven past it in her panic. She kind of wished she had. The police tape… the flashing lights… and the bodies, blood soaking through their white sheets, on the bus, on the door that had been prized half-open…
She turned the wheel of the car sharply, trying to take deep breaths. Her head was pounding so hard she could hear it, a drumming in her ears. She could remember the aghast murmurs of the crowd – wondering if anyone would recognize her – wonder about her – about him –
Deputy Hawkins knew. He knew about the visits now. He was kind, even though she had seen the judgment forming in his eyes, his discomfort whenever she brought up Michael and their… their relationship. Had only thought to protect her. But she could not put him in danger, not after seeing those two, what had their names been… Aaron and Dana?
She had seen their bodies at the gas station. She had passed right by it while driving away from Haddonfield to the site of the accident, but when she heard Hawkins's radio, when they had reported the site of the crime – that thought had just kept pounding at her – that he was drawing closer, ever closer to her. And those two… they were dead, their bodies zipped up into those anonymous black bags, but not before she had seen them, seen the gaping wounds in the man's head, the woman's neck flopping horribly. And all because... because –
(Because of her, because she had not done her job right –)
Because they had his mask, and he wanted it back. He had followed them and killed them. And now they were dead, they and all the people at this station, and it was because –
(Because of her –)
Laurie had just enough presence of mind to hit the brakes, because she could not see anymore, could not see anything except for a body hanging in front of her and blood spurting from a policeman's mouth – a white-haired doctor, bleeding from his ears, his eyes – and Lynda's battered body, Annie slashed on the carpet –
(Because of her.)
Laurie leaned forward, pressing her head against the car wheel. The engine was still on, and she let the rumble of it soothe the pressure against her forehead. Her stomach was roiling, and though she had already thrown up all of breakfast, she still felt the urge to vomit. Groping blindly, she found Hawkins's water bottle and took a swallow, still keeping her head pressed against the wheel.
Three years she had seen him, three years she had taken liberties that, according to everything she was told, he had killed others for – so when Hawkins had offered to protect her, she had turned him down not just to keep him away from Michael – keep them all away – but because –
You may well be the only person Michael even listens to...
… only person he's never shown any notion of hurting...
But how correct was that? All their interactions in the last three years had been in relative security of a mental institution, under the watchful eyes of cameras and guards. Without those restraints on him… without anyone to stop him… it was just like the last time he had been out...
When he would come for her.
Her, and now her children. Who he knew existed solely because of her, because she had insisted on taking them to see him…
Michael was coming home, and (fingers clawing at the leather wheel) she needed to get back to them, not sit here – needed to see them around her, to keep them safe –
She raised her head, noticing with a start how low the sun was. Stupid, how stupid could she be to just be sitting here when –
A flash of gray.
Laurie hit the brake, forgetting she was still parked. The figure remained, unmoving, gray mask and dark coveralls.
Frantically, she wrenched at the door handle – or was it the door lock – then looked back up, peering into the dark trees around her, looking through each window, each mirror.
There was nothing.
Laurie twisted in her seat, looking behind her.
Still nothing.
Paranoia.
No, not paranoia. Not when he was out. Not when he could really be there.
"Fuck." Her own voice sounded loud in the small car. She closed her eyes. Waited several moments. Center yourself. Breathe. Keep breathing. Opened them.
Nothing out there.
She rubbed her eyes, almost catching an eyelash in her shaking fingers. Despite the breathing exercise, her entire body was still trembling so hard she almost couldn't shift back to drive. Her car jittered as she swerved back onto the road. At least the actual act of driving only required her to press her foot on the gas and to go, to keep going – to not wonder if she was seeing things, if his brand of insanity was infecting her. Just like the first year, when every snap of a branch was his footstep; every flash of sun against glass his mask.
Sucking in a breath, Laurie slammed harder on the gas, determined not to look right or left until she got back home.
It was nearing evening when she returned and practically dove out of the car.
"Jamie! John!"
She shoved open the door and bolted it behind her. The twins should have been home long before now, Rachel looking after them...
"Jamie! John! Answer me!"
But no lights were on in the house, no signs of dinner being made. There was a distinctly empty silence descending around her, a stillness to the air that suggested that nobody had been inside for a while. Laurie dashed up the stairs, looking, though her mind was saying, useless, useless…
"JAMIE! JOHN!"
Only silence. Too late, her mind hissed, too late…
"Shit, shit – Rachel, if you're down there, answer me-!"
She came to a flat stop when she saw something fluttering in the kitchen.
"No – no –" She squeezed her eyes shut, waiting.
Nothing, it was nothing. It had to be nothing.
She opened her eyes and let out a small sigh. The fluttering wasn't the movement of curtain against an open window – or the shape of a mask – it was just a piece of paper, taped to the fridge.
And on the paper she could see something written, in Rachel's familiar scrawl:
'Hey Mrs. Lloyd! Took the twins trick-or-treating early, since there's a curfew and all. Will get them home in time for dinner! Hope you're back by then! – Rachel'
Laurie let the paper fall.
It was Halloween. Michael was loose in Haddonfield. And her children were now out there with him.