CHAPTER 5: Murderer

When John ran out, ready for trick-or-treating in his skull mask and skeleton costume, the sun was just beginning to set, Jamie was trying to keep up with him, and Rachel was lagging behind both of them.

"Hey!" Jamie yelled as he out-distanced her. He stuck his mask on so that Jamie could not see his face, trying not to laugh as she did a funny run-skip to keep from tripping over her costume. She noticed anyway, and glared.

"Guys, don't go running off alone," Rachel called from behind them. John and Jamie slowed for all of one second before taking off across the lawn, their yells joining that of the other children all out on Halloween. For a few moments, John just observed everyone in their costumes, the decorations on the houses, the cool evening air blowing through the holes of his mask. There was one group with some really cool costumes – he saw a knight whose armor actually looked shiny, a wolf man with real fur glued on, and a girl holding a laser sword. He ran ahead to join them in getting some candy, leaving Jamie with Rachel.

"What a scary bunch of monsters!" the lady cooed, passing out candy – and not just one per person, but two, even three. Grabbing his share, John waved Jamie to come over, then ran on to another house to see what they were giving out. There was some other kids waiting already, and he pressed himself into their group, then looked around for his twin. If this kept up, they would both have enough candy to last them for days. Maybe even weeks.

Jamie was staring at something though, her face all funny. When John followed her gaze, he saw a group of smaller trick-or-treaters, all of them goggline at her. He pushed his mask up – it was hard to see through the eye holes – and ran over to Jamie. But before he could do anything, the little group jerked back, looking scared. Their mother took one look at John, and her face changed. It changed into what Jamie sometimes called a Bad Look.

John just called it the Face.

John felt a heat growing along his ears and cheeks. He had to bite down hard on the inside of his cheek to not say anything. Mom was already angry at him because he had gotten in trouble for talking back at school.

But it only got worse when he saw stupid Kyle – or rather, when he saw that Jamie had seen Kyle.

John jerked his mask back over his face so Kyle wouldn't recognize him, but Jamie didn't have a mask, and he knew Kyle had seen her. He wanted to pull Jamie away, but knowing Kyle, he would probably just follow them. Jamie had told him what Kyle had said to her at school, and asked him not to tell Mom about it. He hadn't, because sometimes there were things you just don't tell your mom.

But Jamie didn't have Kyle in her class. She didn't know what he would say to John.

Your uncle's the Devil!

Kyle made a wagging motion at Jamie, then grinned and hopped off to get his candy. John saw Jamie grab her basket very tightly, her face all screwy, and he felt the heat burn inside himself.

Your uncle is Michael Myers, isn't he?

I heard he killed his sister.

He killed both his parents and his sister!

And then he went crazy and they locked him up!

And the worse thing was that John was pretty sure Kyle was right. And that Mom had not told them, or – much, much worse – that she had lied to him and Jamie about their uncle.

He had not even told Jamie about this.

Wearing the mask had made things a little better for John, because nobody knew who he was with a mask on, but Jamie couldn't hide herself, and whenever someone looked at her with that Face, they would then look at John and notice he was with her and he would get the same Face. The more John saw it, the angrier he felt. This was how it had been since he could remember. Funny looks on his teacher's faces. Classmates whispering about him. Parents frowning when they thought he wasn't looking, with strange smiles when he was. Sometimes even Mommy, though he knew Mommy didn't mean it. Jamie didn't notice, but John always had.

Then he realized he had walked really, really far ahead of Jamie and Rachel, and stopped to let them catch up. Rachel, who had been whispering something to Jamie, smiled as he joined them and pointed them to some more houses. But when more people just kept looking at them, with that Face that made John so mad, even Rachel started getting a bit angry.

"Seriously?" she snapped, when one woman didn't have any candy. "I just saw you holding that big bucket to those kids up there, and now you have nothing left?"

John bit his lip hard under his mask, turning away. The woman was muttering something to Rachel, but John did not really care what she was saying. Halloween had lost its fun for him.

A hand grabbed John's arm, jerking a little harder than necessary. "Unbelievable," Rachel snarled above him.

"What's not our fault, Rachel?" Jamie asked.

Rachel answered something, but John had stopped paying attention. He had just recognized a shock of blonde, curly hair in a group up ahead.

The owner of that blonde hair waved. "Hi John!"

John waved furiously back, the anger disappearing. Now all he felt was a warm flush inside his chest. He turned his masked face up to Rachel's. "Rachel, can I go with Molly?"

"Okay, but stay close, all right?"

"'Kay!" He dashed off, almost bumping into Molly.

She grinned at him; she had dressed up as Red Riding Hood, which did nothing to hold her hair. "Have you got a lot of candy?"

"Kind of." His bag was only half-full, and it definitely looked the emptiest compared to Molly, and even more so with Sarah and Charlie, two other friends of theirs who had dressed up as a witch and cowboy.

Molly wordlessly dumped part of hers into his bag, much to Charlie and Sarah's shock.

"What are you doing?" Charlie yelped.

"You don't share your candy!" Sarah exclaimed.

"But I want to," Molly said. "There's a lot more houses anyway."

Charlie rolled his eyes in a way that reminded John, somewhat unpleasantly, of Kyle. "Well, guess we better go then, before they all run out." Which only reminded John of the nasty woman who had argued with Rachel. It made him feel hot inside – but he didn't like feeling that way, especially around Molly and his friends, so he tried to forget it. He smiled his thanks at Molly, who smiled back.

He was glad he knew Molly. She didn't talk too much, but she always sat next to him at lunch, or picked him for her team for softball, or tried to give him answers on homework, which made him try to share more with her, like when her dad forgot to pack her a lunch, or when she didn't have a pencil or paper at school. She was quiet, like him, and she only had her dad, just like John only had his mom. (He didn't really remember his dad anymore, it had been so long. Now, he mainly remembered... but he didn't quite want to think about that right now.)

"John!" he heard Rachel shout somewhere behind him. "Stay where I can see you!"

Charlie laughed. "Is that your babysitter?"

"Yeah." Which reminded John that his mom was out, visiting their uncle, which reminded him of –

Ugh. He rubbed his head, knocking his mask slightly askew.

"Come on, let's get more candy!" Sarah urged. Mood lifting a bit, John re-adjusted his mask and, after waiting a moment for Rachel, took off with his friends.

The Myers house looked as foreboding as it did in her memories.

Rationally, Laurie knew it had been over a decade since she was last here. She knew nobody had set foot here, apart from dumb teenagers looking to fulfill a dare. Yet a part of her kept expecting to see blood on the front lawn, a gun lying on the ground, a body...

She shook away the memories and pushed open the gate. Night had fallen fast, sending an eerie gloom around the property. Despite the lamps nearby, the house felt like a black hole, sucking in all light. Leaves crunched under Laurie's shoes as she moved across the cracked walkway.

Since that Halloween night, the house had become even more infamous, and with her father's death, there had been nobody to even attempt to maintain it, other than perhaps a lone groundskeeper sent out by the city to do some minor upkeep. The boarded up windows were showing signs of rot, the roof tiles were coming loose and scattering on the dead lawn, and in one corner, she could see graffiti, too faint to make out. And the more the house fell apart, the less likely anybody wanted to buy it. Laurie had some relatives, a cousin or uncle or somebody, who had been interested in purchasing it with his family, but that had fallen through, just like every other offer. They were living in another town now.

She wondered if the house now technically belonged to her…

Laurie took a breath, then another, as she stepped near the porch.

A board shattered beneath her foot, and Laurie leaped back, heart pounding out of her chest. She waited, trembling, for… what? A neighbor to wonder what she was doing? Michael to step out from hiding inside the house?

But nothing happened. The night resumed its eerie quiet.

Laurie let out a shaky gasp, swallowing. She looked up, more to stave off the moment she would have to walk in. Above, she could see the broken balcony where Michael had hurled both of them out of the house. She let out another breath, trying not to let the memories overwhelm her.

She had never known what his intent was then – killing her? Killing himself? Killing them both? Whatever it was, it had not worked… and he had not attempted anything similar in the last three years. Did that have anything to do with her visits? Or had it been a rash – if that word could be applied to him – action, attempted once in a fit of madness – though he was already insane – and then abandoned? Or maybe he had just decided she was too hard to kill.

Once, Michael's former doctor had thought that nobody understood Michael like she did... well, she would certainly contradict him on that point...

And she still had no idea what his intent was now that he was... out. What was he willing to do to get to her? Her children? Would the rush of sudden freedom, after ten years locked up, completely warp the remnants of his mind? Make him pick up where he had left off, murdering her and everyone she loved?

And now that he was... home (but not her home, never her home), how would that affect him? Would it be another horrifying family reunion, down in the dusty basement? Or would he lock her and her children up, trapped forever in this ruin of a house...

Breathe. Breathe.

She stepped back on the porch now (Michael dragging her out of the car, arm strangling the oxygen from her lungs and scared, so scared). There were no signs of forced entry, no broken windows or ripped off handles. She reached for the front doorknob and pulled.

It was locked.

Laurie let out a small breath, but the pressure in her chest only increased. She wondered if it might have been better if it had been open; then she could at least have confirmation that Michael had returned.

"Hello?" she called softly. "Jamie? John?"

Nothing.

Laurie considered just pushing door and going in anyway – the sidings and frame looked rotted enough that she thought she could do it – but she hesitated at breaking and entering when she had no idea if Michael was there, even if it was a long-abandoned house. Instead she left the porch and headed towards the backyard, skirting the empty pool, its bottom partially filled with decaying leaves (kneeling on the dirt, nails cracked from clawing the walls, watching for any sign of the killer, screaming, screaming until her throat burned). There was a back door, but it too was locked. She gave it a good rattle, then let silence fall.

"Jamie?" she called, more desperately. "John?"

Had Michael returned here and left? Had he come here at all? Was he even in Haddonfield, stalking her, tormenting her?

She didn't know. And there was only one place left for her to go.

Laurie moved off the back porch for the walls of the house. Just a few feet away was a small door, set into the dirt and lying at an angle to the ground.

The basement.

She grabbed the handle – there was no lock – and threw it open, sending dust flying into her face. Coughing slightly, she waved it aside, then peeked down.

"Hello?"

It was even darker underground than it was above, so she had to wait to let her eyes adjust – and to calm the pounding of her heart.

(Nails breaking as she scraped at the fence – the wall bursting in a shower of splintered wood – bloodied hands grabbing at her, knife slashing the air –)

Her fingers were digging into her skin, and she had to will herself to let go. Release.

"John? Jamie? Please –" She couldn't finish. And there was no response.

Gingerly, she stepped down the rickety wooden stairs, every creak sending palpitations through her chest. The tight stairway opened to a cavernous room, thick with soil and filth and mold. In the tiny shafts of moonlight that broke through the narrow windows, she could see particles of dust floating in the air. It had a rank, undisturbed quality; the soft dirt of over two decades of lack of care muffled her footsteps. She was glad; she doubted she could have heard anyone creeping up on her over her shaky breaths.

"Hello?" she whispered. Even her voice sounded stifled. "Somebody..."

A creak from above almost made her leap out of her skin. She stared up at the wooden slats, frozen, but heard nothing else, saw no shadow pass between the narrow spaces. Someone above, or just the wind?

There was another set of stairs leading to the ground floor of the house. Shakily, she made her way up them, squinting to try and see through the puffs of dust her footsteps kept sending up. Was she seeing other footsteps imprinted in the dirt, or was it just her fevered imagination? It was so hard to make out in the gloom; every time she tried to focus on some detail in her peripheral vision, it would dissolve into black graininess.

The steps led to an empty room near the front of the house, which she thought might have been a family room or den. At least it was a bit lighter; the windows might have been boarded up, but above ground, they afforded a bit more moonlight to guide her way.

And now she could see – footsteps. Recent ones, large ones, that weren't her own.

He had been here.

Laurie crouched almost to the floor, desperate not to lose sight of those tracks.

"Hello?" she called out once more. "Jamie! John! Are you in here?"

Only the quiet gloom of the house, a groan as the wind blew against the dilapidated structure. She edged along the wall, keeping the steps in sight. They seemed to lead out of the basement, then circle back and return...

"Michael?" Then, louder, "Michael!"

No answer. Not that she expected him to. And if he were here, then surely he must have heard her cries at this point and come seeking her out… would not bide his time, stalking her like prey, waiting to strike…

(A hand grabbing her from the darkness as her back was turned – a shape looming out of the shadows of a basement – standing, watching as she stumbled to her feet, blood in her eyes, blood from her nose, blood in her mouth –)

She blinked, sounds, feelings fading. There was something there... something the footsteps had led to, gleaming white under the faint moonlight.

Laurie moved towards the white thing, breath shivering.

It looked like two scraps of paper, propped up against the wall. Carefully she picked them up and brought them, fingers shaking, as close to the cracks of a window as she could.

She was holding two photos, both of them instantly recognizable. One was a black and white photo of a young boy, sitting on the front steps of a house and holding a baby in his arms. Its edges were brown and crumbling from age. The other was much newer, a color photo. Laurie could still remember the day it was taken. Because it was the photo of her, with Jamie and John near their house.

There was a rising panic in her mind. Why had he left these here? The photo his (their) mother had given him and he had kept for so many years, and the one she had given him – why had he left these behind? Did he mean these as some kind of shrine? Some part of a plan only he understood?

Or was he relinquishing any emotional connection he retained to Laurie? To her children?

Hurriedly, she pushed the photos into a pocket. She couldn't think; the walls of the house were shrinking in on her, constricting her. Mind buzzing, she turned and fled back into the basement, taking the steps two at a time. One of them cracked, bending under her foot, and she let out a yelp that echoed horribly through the house before managing to catch the railing. Frantic now, she ran out into the yard, almost slipping on the leaves, before crashing out the gate.

Breathe. Breathe. This could mean anything –

But he was here. He was here, somewhere in the streets, in homes –

The faces of the journalists came back to her, the man with his face slashed beyond recognition, the woman with her head hanging at an unnatural angle... only now it was her neighbors, her coworkers… Rachel, the Carruthers, Deputy Hawkins… Jamie and John…

Her fault. Because she had not kept him happy. Because he was coming after her, her children, and he would kill anyone in his way.

The pressure on her chest had reached its peak; she couldn't take in any breaths. She leaned against her car, though she had no memory of reaching it – her back was to the house but she was safe under the street lamps. She was trying to suck in air, but it was hard, so hard –

...the only person Michael even listens to...

She pressed fingers to her head, grabbing strands of hair until it hurt, blocking it out, all of it out.

She didn't know how long she remained bent over the hood of her car. What she did know was at some point hearing the silence of the deserted streets broken by faint, pattering footsteps.

She jerked her head up, automatically groping for – God, she didn't even have a weapon. But the figure running down the street was too small, too fast to be Michael –

In fact, was a very familiar figure...

Frowning, Laurie moved forward, steadying herself on her car. "Rachel?"

It was, indeed, Rachel Carruthers, panting, clutching her side as she came up to the car.

"Mrs. Lloyd –" She gulped in air. Under the orange glow of the street lamps, Laurie could see a sheen of sweat over Rachel's face. "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Lloyd – Jamie, John, I can't – I think I lost them! I can't find them!"

The ground seemed to swoop out from under Laurie's feet; without thinking, she grabbed Rachel's shoulders and shook her.

"What?! What happened?!" she shouted. "How could you –" How could you lose them, how could you not have your eyes on them at all times, on this night of all nights? she almost said, but then she saw Rachel's panicked expression, the guilt wracking her face, and stopped herself. "No – I mean – Rachel, what happened? Where did you last see them? Rachel!"

Rachel shook her head, still gasping for breath. "Down – down Southwood – we weren't that far from your place – I just turned around and Jamie had gone – and then John ran off with his friends – I've been searching them for – I don't know how long, but I can't – I can't –"

Laurie's mind was racing – Southwood was near here, she could make it in her car and search for them herself –

But she could not leave Rachel here, alone on the streets – she would have to get Rachel home safely first – and a tiny yet horrible part of her felt angry at the girl for taking up her time, time she needed to be out looking –

Rachel was still speaking, almost crying from fear. "And I know – I know about the curfew – but I heard – Mrs. Lloyd, I heard a woman say that – that it's Michael Myers out here – and I couldn't leave them, but I couldn't find them, so I thought – thought I might come here –"

And Laurie felt a surge of admiration that only made her guilt stronger – admiration that Rachel would brave coming to this house, the specter of Haddonfield, for her children.

"Is it true?" Rachel's eyes were large. "Is it – Michael Myers?"

Laurie could not say a word, could only steer Rachel towards her car. "Listen to me," she said urgently, opening the passenger door, "I'm going to get you back home. It's not safe for you out here. I'll drop you off, and I want you to walk straight up those steps – don't look behind you, don't look around you, don't go anywhere, just get into your house and lock all the doors and windows. You got that?"

Rachel nodded frantically, clicking her seatbelt in place as she settled into the chair. "What about you? What're you going to do?"

Laurie gripped the wheel. "I'm going to find my children."

"You sure you don't want me to stay with you?" asked Molly, her eyebrows all crinkled.

John shook his head. Charlie and Sarah had already gone home, but Molly had stuck around with John to try and find Rachel. But they had reached Molly's home without ever seeing Rachel. "It's okay. I know where she is." He smiled at her, feeling his cheeks go a little warm. "Thanks for sharing your candy."

She beamed. "You're welcome. Bye!" She started to go, then looked back. "Don't let the Boogeyman get you!"

John watched her blonde curls bobbing underneath her hood as she entered her home, then turned around. It was getting pretty dark, he needed to head back. He knew the way back to Rachel, he just had to retrace his steps.

About half an hour later, he had to admit that retracing steps was harder than he had thought. All he needed to do was take a right, cross a street, then take a left. But the bad thing was that Rachel wasn't where he had left her.

"Rachel!" He looked around. Now that it was almost night, all the trick-or-treaters were going home. Only a few older kids were left, and even they were hurrying off with their friends and parents. He was the only one without a group.

"Jamie!"

Some teenagers gave him a funny look, then laughed and ran up to their house. John pushed his mask up to see better. He could still find his way back, if he remembered his landmarks. He was always better at that than Jamie, could find his way back home no matter where he was.

So he trotted up the sidewalk. It was getting colder, and his costume wasn't all that thick, and his bag of candy was heavy, but he kept going. See, there was that big tree on the corner, he would have to turn there. He only hoped Jamie was okay... but she always stuck closer to Rachel than he did. She was probably home right now, eating her candy without him.

He took the turn right at the big tree, trying to do like Mom said and stay under the lights. And now there was the house that never cut its lawn, he would to pass that. He knew where he was; all he had to do was keep going up this block, then turn right at the house with a big fountain in its yard, and he'd soon be at his house. He hoped Mom wasn't home yet. She always got very angry when they came home late.

He wondered if it had to do with his uncle.

Don't let the Boogeyman get you!

Stay inside on Halloween, or Michael Myers will slash you to bits!

Your uncle is Michael Myers! He killed his sister and now he's gonna come after you!

John clutched his candy bag harder. Because he knew that last one was true.

He knew because he had heard his mother call his uncle "Michael".

He knew because, once, when his mother wasn't looking, he had crept up on his uncle and looked at his hospital bracelet. His uncle had definitely noticed – he had even looked down at him and given him that funny head tilt that reminded John of Rachel's dog – but he hadn't said or done anything while John had poked at his wrist and read that his name was "Myers, M."

And he knew because once he had gone exploring his mother's bookshelf, and he had found one of her books, and in the middle of the big, long chapters with lots of tiny words and no pictures, he had found a section full of photos, and one of them had said it was "Michael Myers" in the caption and it had been a picture of his uncle.

And it had said he had killed people. The book had photos of some of them, and little captions with their names. John could even remember seeing his uncle killing people when they had visited him in the hospital and some people had broken in. But Mom had told him and Jamie it was all right, they were bad people and they would have hurt them.

If Uncle only killed bad people, was it okay then? He'd always thought killing anybody was wrong, but he didn't really care if they were people who would have hurt him and Jamie and Mom. But everyone else had said that his uncle had killed other people, and nobody had said those people were bad, which meant it wasn't okay... right? But at the same time, John couldn't really believe it. In all the time he knew his uncle, he had never tried to hurt them. He didn't really move much at all, to be honest; he was just quiet, and still, and always watching Mom. And sometimes them. And not in a scary or strange way, just... his uncle's way.

He knew Jamie didn't believe any of what the kids said at all, and he didn't know what his mom thought at all. The whole thing left him confused and headache-y.

John took one last turn and hurried the last twenty feet or so to his house. But when he ran up the steps, he saw all the lights were out and the door was locked.

"Mom!" He knocked loudly, feeling funny – he had never knocked on his own door. "Rachel?" He knocked again. But there was no answer.

Now what should he do? Were Mom and Jamie upstairs? He could knock louder. But what if they weren't home? Should he sit on the front porch and wait? He dropped his candy bag near the door and poked his head around the corners, but there were no lights there in any of the side windows either. Maybe if he went around to the back –

"Hey, kid!"

John started. A police car had driven up, pulling next to the sidewalk. A young-looking policeman stopped and stepped out.

"This your home, kid?" the policeman asked. When John nodded, the policeman asked, "What's your name?"

"John. John Lloyd."

The policeman waved him over. "You're Laurie Lloyd's son, aren't you? She's not home?" John shook his head. The policeman frowned at him. "You out on your own?"

"No," said John nervously. "I was with – with Jamie, and Rachel – our babysitter – because Mom wasn't home yet, but I got lost…"

The policeman gave a brief nod. "Well, at least you found your way home. Your mom's probably out there searching for you, but we've got men patrolling, we'll bring her back."

He came around and opened up the passenger door of his car. "Come sit in here then. Deputy Hawkins has got us watching your house." As John sat down, the policeman went back to the driver's side, reached through his open window and grabbed the radio. "You can wait here until we find her. We'll keep you safe." He gave a reassuring smile as he clicked on the radio.

"Hawkins, you copy? This is Officer Francis. I've got one of the Lloyd kids, the boy. Over."

In the corner of his eye, John thought he saw movement from across the street. He stared, squinting into the blackness behind the officer.

The radio crackled. "This is Hawkins, I copy. We picked up the girl, on our way to you." A pause. "Might've seen something when we got her, not too sure. Over."

The girl? Was that Jamie? Did they find Jamie? A little trickle of relief flowed through him.

Then he blinked – he was sure he had seen something move again.

"Copy that, will keep an eye out –"

John gasped.

A shape had emerged, just within sight in the shadows of the trees across from them.

"You see anything suspicious, don't hesi-"

John pointed out the window. "Behind you!"

The officer turned – and the shape moved.

It came at the policeman fast, faster than John had ever seen something move. The policeman raised his gun, shouting something.

The shape slammed into him, shoving him into the car so hard John felt it shudder. The policeman yelled, clawing at the figure – but hands wrapped themselves around the man's uniform –

Thump! The officer was hauled back then slammed again into the car door, his head smacking against the top of the frame and sending his body spasming.

John screamed.

A flash of light across the policeman's neck. A choked off sound – and John saw the officer's body seize up and then fall backward, through the open window – his head lolling over for John to see the massive gash on his throat –

The man gurgled as something dark and thick spilled across his neck, down over his chin – pulsing with his strangled breaths – running into the man's eyes, his hair –

Then the shape, the monster, bent, looking through the window, past the body, and straight at John – so that John could see that the man was wearing a cracked and horrible-looking mask and feel his eyes burning into him –

And John recognized that stare.

He screamed again. Then again. He wasn't aware of anything except that he had to run, he had to go – he grabbed for the door –

It flew open and he fell out, crashing his knees against the concrete. Still screaming, he ran down the street, looking back once.

The shape was following him.

Your uncle is Michael Myers! He's going to come after you!

John ran.

He ducked around a corner and ran some more. The cold air seared his throat when he gasped, but still he ran – ran from the shape – ran from the policeman with his throat open, bleeding and eyes wide –

John never knew how far he ran, or where – all he could remember was looking back again and that man (Uncle), that shape (Boogeyman), still pursuing him –

Your uncle's the Devil!

And then he heard a screech. Lights blinded him, and he threw up his arms, stopping in his tracks and falling over backwards. He heard a door open and slam – footsteps – and then arms grabbing him.

"John! John!"

He gasped, opening his eyes. "Mom!" And threw his arms around him, wanting her to hold him tight as possible, to take away the policeman, bleeding, bleeding so much –

Instead his mother pushed him back, then grabbed his shoulders. "Where's your sister, John? Where's Jamie?!" In the lights she looked wild, scarier than he'd ever seen her.

"I don't know, I don't –" His heart was thumping frantically. "I haven't seen her –" He stared all around him, all over the empty streets. "Mom, he killed – he killed someone –"

"What?!"

He tugged on her hand, pointing into the darkness – needing her to understand –

"He's coming –!"

She looked. The shape was there, just outside the beam of a lamp, a dark figure, only his face an ugly cracked gray color. John saw his mom go horribly tense, felt her hands on his arms tighten painfully. She pushed him back, back towards the car. In the faint light, his mother looked very, very pale – yet there was a look on her face, scared and – something else –

Shielding John with one hand, Laurie held up the other.

"Michael!"