CHAPTER 7: Family

Laurie had thought she would be afraid. The entire car ride, she was preparing herself for this moment, to see him head on without any protection… simultaneously trying to relive, and then to forget, each memory of that night over ten years ago – Lynda lying naked in front of a tombstone, Annie, brutalized on the carpet while her boyfriend's body hung over her, Dr. Loomis as his head was crushed – her parents dead, her life shattered, her identity gone –

She had thought she would be as anxiety-wracked as the first time she had visited him, three years ago – yet now that the moment had come, she didn't feel afraid. She didn't really feel much of anything.

One way or another, only one of them was going to survive this confrontation.

She turned back to the car, to Dr. Sartain, who seemed transfixed by what was happening. "Get them out of here!" she shouted. She might very well die, she knew that now – but she would not let her children die, she would not let them fall victim to her family. Dr. Sartain jerked back to life. She stumbled away from the car, sweeping her arm as if that might push her children out of harm's way. "Get out of here! GO!"

She heard Sartain put the car back into drive. She turned, and ran out of range of the headlights, ran towards the forest where Michael was still walking towards her. She could see the knife in his hand and feel that implacable gaze on her, and the distance was closing, closing.

Thirty feet...

It felt as if her entire life had been leading up to this moment, and she shivered; as if she had been born and survived just to reach this point. A kaleidoscope of memories fell around her, whether real or made-up, she no longer cared: Angel Myers in her crib while her big brother slaughtered her family; Laurie Strode living a happy fifteen years in ignorance of her heritage; Halloween, her friends dead, her family dead, fighting Michael off; Laurie Lloyd trying to build a new family with her husband and children; and now, Laurie alone, her visits a failure, preparing to sever the hateful connection that kept her bound to the shape of a human being that was advancing on her.

Twenty feet...

Do you truly believe he will restrain himself from his deepest instincts, for you?

Fifteen feet...

…the only person he's never shown any notion of hurting…

Ten feet...

You occupy an almost privileged position...

Deputy Hawkins as he was gutted in front of her –

...may well be the only person Michael even listens to...

Jamie and John screaming as he lunged through the window at them -

I didn't want this!

Five feet...

Just do this and she could be free.

Just do this and her children could be safe.

Just do this and she would not have to live with burden of having to watch over her shoulder, of having to watch him, of always delaying the inevitable, of the weight of every injury and death (Judith and Deborah, Mason and Cynthia, Lynda and Annie) on her.

Four...

I would not blame others for doing what is necessary…

Three...

She could barely feel the gun in her hands, and she squeezed her fingers around it tighter, the weight of the barrel, the depressing of the trigger.

Two...

Laurie pushed the gun up and shouted, "Michael!"

The shape stopped.

The world hovered on the edge of her words, his stillness.

...not blame others for doing what is necessary…

He was close, so close to her. She could make out the creases in his clothing, dark stains, the cracks of his mask. She felt as if she were standing over an abyss that was opening up to swallow her. Every nerve in her body was at once on fire and deadened, feeling and hearing and seeing the chill of the wind and the ghostly glow of distant lights and the tiny details of the trees.

...doing what is necessary...

The dark shape took another step. They might have touched each other if they both reached out. Laurie gave a tiny gasp, gun lowering – and saw him stop again.

A tilt of the head. Laurie, swallowing hard, had the distinct feeling of being examined. She held the gun steady, not raised, but not fully lowered.

Apparently finished with that, he moved a further step forward. Laurie's breath caught; she forced herself not to move back. She had to crane her head up to see his masked face now. If she fired, it would be impossible to miss him at this distance.

...what is necessary...

She put her finger on the trigger –

What is necessary.

Laurie closed her eyes. Breathed. And liftd the gun.

Thunk.

The sound seemed to travel through the air, through the ground, through her body, freezing her every muscle. Slowly, she opened her eyes.

He had dropped the knife.

Laurie could feel the air rasping her throat.

He had stopped, perhaps only a foot from her, looking down at her. He had drawn even closer while her eyes were shut, so near to her that, even in the dark, she could see not just the cracks, but the fine lines and tiny wrinkles of his mask, the still-wet blood from where he had been shot. She thought that if she looked hard enough, she might even make out his eyes within the mask.

And he was not holding the knife. He was standing, unarmed, before her, and she could feel the familiar weight of his stare – had the sense that as hard as she had been looking at him, trying to find his eyes under the mask, he was doing the same to her.

Slowly, he moved the hand that had been holding his knife, until the palm faced outward, towards her.

Laurie's chest heaved, a small choking sound escaping her. Still so slowly, almost tentatively, he lifted his hand – just a few inches, but they were so close she could discern every change in posture and movement. And she remembered a day when she and her children had been in danger, and sitting next to a hospital bed with his palm up and she had whispered her thanks to him, and he had responded to her... and visits, so many visits afterwards –

Was this what he wanted?

She lowered the gun, took her finger off the trigger, and closed the distance. Tilting her head up, she looked up at the mask again, quelling the quivering in her fingers. Michael remained still for one second, then bowed his head very slightly.

Laurie let out a breath. Remembered another time when he had done exactly this… remembered so many visits when he had let her look, let her touch. Remembered the way his eyes looked – like he was asking, like he was allowing her. She could feel her grip on the gun loosening.

Was this all he had wanted?

She searched his mask, his eyes, for that permission. Found them, let herself be held for a moment.

All that he wanted…

She let the gun fall, heard its soft landing as if from a great distance.

He was still holding his hand out towards her, just a tiny distance from his body, but she knew. She had not visited him for three years to not know what he wanted. She had always known what he wanted.

Very gently, she took his hand, ignoring the dried blood caking his skin. She thought she heard him breathe out, long and low, and felt his fingers press against hers.

Hesitantly, she took a half-step towards him, then another when he made no move to stop her. She was standing right in front of him now, separated by maybe an inch of space. Her neck ached from looking up at him, but she ignored it. Reaching up, she gripped the mask, felt its texture, rubbery and warm, against her fingertips, and pulled.

It came off in one smooth movement, and she let it fall as well. His long hair fell in strands across his face, but not enough to obscure its outline, not enough that Laurie could not still see his eyes.

She sighed and let her head drop, felt his hand press harder against hers. Her body no longer felt either on fire or numbed. It felt lighter, looser, as if some inner instinct was telling her to just let go. Let it pass. Release it. For a moment she railed against it, the memories pressing against her, but then she let that flow past her too.

Still following that tiny, inside voice, mind empty of anything else, she pressed closer. There was no space separating them at all. She did not think she had ever been this close to him, not of her own free will; even in the institution she had guarded herself from him, kept a safe distance. Standing so near him, she could sense the heat of his body, smell the metallic stench of blood, mixed with the acridness of sweat and oil, but she closed her mind off to that too. In this moment, she just wanted to rest.

So she did, closing her eyes again and just letting herself lean against her brother for a moment. Let herself focus on the squeeze of his fingers against hers, the rough fabric of his clothing on her skin. From somewhere above, she heard another breath, warm against the crown of her head... then a slight pressure against the same spot. She thought that Michael might be leaning against her too.

They stayed like that, for a long moment.

Watching the scene in front of him, Dr. Sartain thought he should have expected this to happen.

But it was ultimately of no importance. It just meant he had to resort to his other plan.

He pushed down the handbrake and turned to the girl and boy sitting behind him.

"Now, children," he said, "perhaps you would like to go for a ride?"

Laurie opened her eyes at the sound of a crash. She tilted her head back, feeling it brush against something hard above her.

"What was-"

A blaring horn broke through the night before cutting off abruptly, and Laurie leaped back, hand coming loose from Michael's. In the distance, she could hear screaming.

"Oh God."

She ran forward, not understanding, not able to see clearly in the dark – but she could see the unmoving headlights of a car, jutting not forward but up into the inky darkness. Laurie picked up her pace, an alarm in the back of her mind – wrong, wrong, wrong – she was coming up the edge of the embankment, following the lights, which were below the rise of the hill -

"Mom! MOM!"

"John!" she shouted, clambering the last few feet. "Jamie! Hold on-"

She halted as she came upon the scene, slipping on the grass and loose soil. The police car had rolled down the hill, falling on its left side. This close to the headlights, she could see cracks webbing the windshield, great dents in the hood and the sides where the car had hit the ground as it went tumbling off the embankment.

"Jamie! John!" She ran forward. In her peripheral vision saw Dr. Sartain push open the right passenger door and heave himself out, pulling with his unbroken arm, but he was not badly injured and she brushed past, she had no time for him –

Laurie flung herself towards the car, banging her legs against the mechanisms on its belly. The car was so big she had to throw herself forward on her stomach to even reach the door – and her children were still screaming –

"Hold on!" she yelled, and wrenched at the handle, but it wouldn't budge.

A warm breath of air brushed against her right cheek. Forgetting what she was doing for a second, she turned.

Horror clenched her stomach. Fire. The crash must have ruptured a fuel tank, or hit an electrical wire, or both, and now there was a small flame burning the grass underneath.

"Get out!" she screamed, and threw herself at the door. "John, Jamie, you have to get out of there!" But the fire was spreading, the warmth growing into a pervasive heat, and she still could not see her children, only hear them howling for her –

Then she felt an arm wrap around her waist. There was no time to struggle; her feet left the ground as she flew through the air. She landed hard on her side halfway up the embankment, and lay there for a second, winded, before comprehending what she was seeing in front of her.

Michael was at the car; he was so tall he could reach the handle, even the window of the door, with little effort. But he wasn't bothering trying to open it – instead, he was raising an arm and –

Glass shattered. Laurie heard one of her children cry out.

She scrambled to her feet and ran to the car, ignoring the growing heat, the fire that was beginning to spread not just across field but to the car – saw Michael plunge an arm down through the broken window – then one of John's hands latch onto the window edge, the other holding his uncle's arm. She hurled herself against the car as far as she could, groping until she felt hair, clothing, grabbing her son by the back of the shirt and tugging –

They collapsed to the ground, John slipping through the window and sliding across the car door to land on her stomach with an oof! She pushed him back, away from Michael and the car, but –

"Where's Jamie?" she said. John was panting, there was a cut across his forehead and a bruise on his cheek, and his costume was torn in several places across his shoulders and arms, but she grabbed him. "John, where's your sister?"

And he cried, "She hit her head – I was trying to get her up but she wouldn't wake up, I couldn't –"

Shit! Laurie pushed him out of the way – Jamie unconscious, probably lying all the way at the bottom of the car and she wouldn't be able to get out, and neither she nor Michael could reach her –

She ran back to the car, felt another wave of heat but did not think of it. Michael was wrenching at the door now, metal bending with the force of his grip.

The wave became a blast of heat. Laurie let out an exclamation, forced away from the passenger door. The fire had bloomed, was spreading in thin lines all over the dead grass, up the hood of the car. There was no time, she thought frantically, no time to force the back door open, no way to get in through the front because of the grille, no means to open the door because it was a police car, couldn't get in or out without –

"The keys!" she shouted, and remembered – Hawkins tossing the keys to Dr. Sartain – and she spun, ran back up the hill where Dr. Sartain was standing, watching the fire, the car, motionless from what she could only assume was horror.

"Dr. Sartain," said Laurie as she reached him, "please, I need the keys..."

She stopped. Dr. Sartain had retrieved the gun she had dropped.

He was pointing it at her.

The gunshot cracked the air. Laurie's side jerked as if she had been punched.

Surprised, she looked down, but it was so dark she could not see anything wrong. It just felt… bruised. She touched her side. Her legs felt like jelly. She staggered slightly as she brought her fingers up. It was sticky. Wet. There was a metallic smell.

Blood.

It was at that point that her legs became incapable of supporting her.

Sartain stood over her. "So that's what it feels like."

John was frozen where he stood, unable to decide what to do. His mother was gone, had pushed him away from the car and run off. Jamie was in the car and he hadn't been able to wake her up before his uncle had pulled him out. He should go to her, he should have helped – but the car was far and high and there was a fire spreading and also –

His uncle was there.

His uncle was Michael Myers, just like the kids at school had said, and he had killed someone right in front of John and tried to take Jamie.

But just like before, he had saved him.

John still could not get it all clear in his head. First he was running, then he his mom found him, and a doctor and the officer coming and shooting his uncle, and arguing, and Jamie had been crying, saying their uncle was dead, but John had just felt nothing, nothing…

And then his uncle had woken up, and – he had tried to take them. He had broken the window with just one arm and grabbed Jamie. She had screamed so loudly and John had been so terrified all he could do was hold onto her, and he had been yelling too, and all he remembered thinking was that he could not take Jamie, he could not have Jamie –

But then they had escaped, and during the drive he had told Jamie everything. She had told him about the Boogeyman. She said their uncle had been following her before the police came. And then Mom had told them to leave, but they hadn't, which confused him, and then something had been happening between Mom and Uncle, and the doctor had also been so strange and scary too, but he was driving away, until –

He remembered seeing the hill – thinking that they would stop but instead going over it. The car had rolled and flipped, like a rollercoaster John had been on once but so much worse – the sky and grass all a blur – banging his head and his arm against the seat and the door and Jamie.

The next thing he knew was seeing the doctor crawling away and finding himself lying on top of Jamie, whose head had been bleeding, who had been lying on the broken window against the ground and who hadn't moved at all –

He had thought she was dead. But Jamie couldn't die. She couldn't be dead. She was just sleeping like he had been, so he had shaken and shaken her until he heard the window break – and seen his uncle at the window.

The funniest thing, he remembered now, was that his uncle had not been wearing a mask.

And maybe that was what made him grab onto his uncle's arm. He had tried to grab Jamie too, but his uncle had pulled him out of there so fast he couldn't, and then Mom had been dragging him out, and here he was, scared for Jamie and for his mom and of his uncle.

Metal screamed and John leaped back, thinking – the car is exploding! But it was his uncle was still trying to get the door open.

Because Jamie was in there. He was trying to reach her.

And if he was trying to do that, then John had to help. He couldn't leave Jamie in there! But he did not know how to help, the car was so, so tall, and where was his mom? She had said she would get the keys, but she wasn't here!

Maybe she needed help too, or maybe she was already coming to them. Spurred by that thought, he turned and scrambled up the hill until he saw two figures. One he could see was the doctor, and the other his mom – but why was she on the ground? And why was the doctor pointing a gun at her?

He stood, totally confused, and called for his mother.

Laurie clutched her side, trying to stem the pain, the blood. She felt, once again, the sense of being a watcher in her own body, her brain unable to comprehend anything happening to her. The crackling fire, the screaming, and Dr. Sartain, still with his gun trained on her – none of it made sense, none of it fitted with any conception of the world as she knew it.

"You appear surprised," Dr. Sartain said. He was breathing heavily. "Michael Myers has been my inspiration my entire career, essential to my understanding of the predator. The true predator, Ms. Strode: remorseless, pitiless evil." He let out a deep sigh. "No understanding, no mercy. No feeling. I wanted to know what drives them. What it feels like. What pleasure they gain from it."

Laurie pushed herself up on her elbow and gasped as pain lanced up her side. But she had to chance a look back, had to see if her children had made it out. She tried desperately to find their tiny forms in the darkness, but with the car below the embankment, she could see nothing except the lights and the flickering of flames.

"I studied so many candidates, but all for nothing. You do not realize how ordinary evil can be, Ms. Strode, not until you have seen what I have. So easily comprehended. Driven by greed, or warped by abuse, seeking attention or satisfaction for their sexual perversions. So unsatisfactory, so fathomable – until Michael. I looked into those black eyes and saw nothing but pure instinct. No taint of compassion or empathy, not even the capacity for it. Only ruthless immorality."

His eyes were distant, enraptured. Then he looked at Laurie, and what she saw there sent a chill through her. "Until you came. The sister. And there it was. The flaw of feeling. A mar on that perfect blankness. The way he looked at you… I half believe this man might try to do good, just for you."

The pain wasn't just spreading; it was metamorphosing into a weakness in her legs, in her arms, her hands. Feeling the beginnings of panic once more, she tried to look back again. The glow was burning brighter than ever; the fire was spreading fast, and if it continued – if the car began to burn, with Jamie trapped inside, John so near –

And if they survived – if she didn't make it – there was Dr. Sartain, whom she had liked, had spoken to, and who had turned out to be... this. And what would he do to her children?

"I suppose I should have expected it," the doctor was musing, more to himself than to Laurie. "The mother... I knew she had had some influence on him. Dr. Loomis too, before he left. But you remained. You insisted on coming to visit him every week, reminding him. Keeping him quiet. Allowing him to remain caged. So you see," Dr. Sartain said, now examining the gun with a clinical eye, "I had to remove this taint. Like a surgery to rid the body of a tumor, to allow it to return to a healthy state."

A feeling quite foreign from anything Laurie had ever felt bloomed in her chest – a burning hot coal that damped down the pain, cleared her mind. As long as he was talking… as long as she kept him here… if she could keep him away from Jamie and John… if Michael could get them out...

"I had hoped you might do it yourself, of course – that given enough of a push, you might be driven to attack him first. Michael's feelings for you may run deep, but even he has his limits... and your death at his hands would solve my problem with little work on my end..."

Laurie felt nausea creeping upon her, a heat. I would not blame others for doing what is necessary, he had told her… all for this purpose…

"Your children might remain a problem, but..." He shrugged. "If the accident has not killed them, they will not survive long at Michael's hands... not once you are gone. He only refrains from attacking because they are extensions of you, after all..." He aimed the gun at her. "Now then –"

Laurie backed away, still clutching her side, but Sartain's movement had made her notice something – something lumpy in his left coat pocket. The keys...

"He'll kill you for this," she gasped, speaking for the first time. And oh God, she could not believe what she had just said, that she was relying on her brother for protection just as much as she was trusting him to free Jamie and John. "Michael – he won't – he won't let you –"

"Oh yes, I am sure I will meet my fate at his hands," Sartain said. He seemed to savor the words. "One can only imagine what he will be like, unfettered by his bond with you… He will want his revenge."

He had not lowered the gun. Laurie tried to crawl further away – but her arm struck something hard.

"But before he kills me –"

She reached out.

"– I want to look into those eyes –"

Grasped something rough.

"– and see... true evil."

Wrapped her hand tight.

He aimed the gun and Laurie tensed her arm, curling tight into her own body –

"Mom?"

For a moment Laurie thought she had only imagined hearing that word. A tiny, dark figure stood on the top of the hill, outlined against the orange glow.

"Mom? What – what's going on?"

Sartain looked up.

Laurie didn't.

Gathering up all her energy, she threw herself forward, burying Michael's knife in Sartain's calf; in the same instant, a wave of agony knifed up her entire left side. The doctor howled, kicking, but Laurie, anticipating that, released the knife and lunged up at his arm – the arm holding the gun.

She grabbed at his wrist, latching onto his sling and wrenching. Sartain's shout of pain was even louder, his flailing stronger, but Laurie clung on with a strength she did not know she possessed. The gun went flying.

Sartain kicked out. His foot caught her in the stomach just as she grabbed hold of his coat. For half a second her world went black – she thought she might have gone blind from the pain – there was nothing except a pulsing stabbing hurt from her pelvis to ribs and a hot wetness spreading down her abdomen, and she fell from him, still clutching his coat –

She heard a rip, a jangle of metal, and then something hard and bumpy plopped onto her waist. Panting, she grabbed it, turned to where she knew John was waiting, and hurled it with all the energy left in her.

"John!"

The keys flew through the air, shining a brief yellow from the growing fire. She saw John leap forward –

And catch it.

"Run!" she screamed. "John, GO!"

It was the crash that awoke Jamie.

She tried to move, but it was strangely hard to do so. Her arm felt terribly heavy; actually, her whole body did. Her head felt much bigger too, so that even though she wanted to get up, because whatever she was lying on was awfully hard and bumpy, she couldn't. Really, everything was a lot warmer and heavier… which almost made her want to lie down and sleep...

Thump.

Jamie opened her eyes.

For a second, she had no idea what she was seeing. She thought she was looking out a window, but all she could see was the night sky. But how could that be when she was lying on her back? When she looked to her right, she could see the backs of the car seats, but they were all tilted in the wrong direction. In fact, she seemed to be leaning next to the part of the seat she should sit on.

When she looked to the left, she saw a fire, crawling up the hood of the car.

She gasped, tried to get up, but her head spun so badly she collapsed back against the – what was she lying against that was so hard and crackly? She tried to roll, and only then did she see she was pressing on stone and sand – she was lying on the ground.

"Jamie!"

She fell back on her side, head aching, arms shaking. Why was this so hard? "John?" she called, recognizing her brother's voice. Her voice was all croaky, like when she'd get sick with a cold. She felt sick, and moaned as her head thudded with pain again. She could hear crackling, and it was getting very warm now…

"Jamie! You have to get out! Jamie!"

She heard a swoosh! Her eyes widened as she saw the fire again, now at the windshield. She tried to get up – but how could she get out? The door she was closest to was lying on the ground, she couldn't push that open – the window! She had to get to the window! But it was so high, and she could barely even sit up. But she had to try! If she didn't, she would die, she knew she would… She attempted to get up, to pull her heavy body by grabbing the seats, but the leather slipped from her fingers.

"I can't!"

"Hold on!"

The fire hissed. Jamie shrieked – the fire had not just reached the windshield, it was covering it – she couldn't even see anything outside of it, and the car was getting hot, hot enough to make her sweat –

Metal jingling. She saw the door lock flip – a creak, then a bang! The door above her flew open.

But filling the opening was her uncle –

And Jamie remembered everything, remembered him shattering the window and his hand grabbing at her, remembered his fist tearing her dress as the glass cut against her skin and face, and she screamed, high and long, pressing as far back into the ground as she could –

"Jamie!" John was yelling, she could not see him, but she could hear him, just out of sight. "Jamie, get out!"

The fire roared like an animal about to swallow her up. She saw her uncle, mask-less, reaching down through the opening for her –

And she remembered one other time when her mother had taken off his mask.

And she remembered when she had walked right up to him (are you the boogeyman?) and he had touched her hand.

And she remembered hiding in the alley until he had reached for her, just like now.

Jamie made her decision. Between the fire and her uncle, she'd choose her uncle.

"Come on!" John yelled once more, and Jamie pushed herself up – her head was swimming – clambering up the seat by grabbing the headrest – fingernails tearing – and throwing herself towards the reaching hand –

Which grasped itself around her wrist and hauled her up, up, out of the car.

Jamie saw seats fly past. Her legs were so heavy, dangling in the air, her head was whirling, everything a dark blur. She felt wind on her face, hot air against her cheeks, whipping her hair. Still clinging to her uncle's arm, she felt him halt, adjust his grip – then pull –

And then she was free, save for a big hard vise pressing on her, and she grasped frantically to the body holding her, watching the world spin and turn.

"Come on!" John was shouting, somewhere below her. Jamie felt herself being dropped to the ground, and she fell to her hands and knees, but then someone grabbed her by the back of her collar. The ground fell away, wind in her eyes as she was launched up the hill –

She hit the ground with a whoof! Coughed, tried to get in air, a wave of sickness passing through her. Behind her, she could hear the car creaking, the fire sizzling. Fast steps, and then she heard John yelling, tugging at her. Jamie was blind, could not focus, could do nothing but feel dry grass and dirt, but she climbed – she grabbed and climbed and felt John keep pulling at her, heard his footsteps and another beside her, much heavier…

Uncle.

A brush of air past her cheek, and Jamie heard and felt him moving, moving fast, up the hill beside her and passing her. She rubbed her eyes and looked.

Her uncle was rising over the hill, and with the fire backlighting him, she saw his head turn and fix on something further away… something too high up the hill for her and John to see.

And then he was moving.

The fire lit up the sky.

Completely aflame, the light of the massive car fire illuminated the meadow, the forest, the house. Then it shrank, sinking back into a low burn, before soaring upwards, then dying down. Laurie paused for only a second of shock – her children, where were her children, had they gotten out?

She rolled over and, hand grasping her throbbing side, pushed herself to her feet. Muscle tore with every movement and she had to bite back a scream. Staggering away from the still-screaming doctor, she began to stumble towards the burning car, each step sending further lashes through her torso –

Then, heart in her throat, Laurie saw two small figures scrambling up the hill. Her children had made it.

And were running straight for her – straight for Dr. Sartain.

"Mom?"

"Mommy!"

"John, Jamie, run!" Laurie screamed, but her voice sounded weak even to her… No, not here, don't come here! she could only think, pushing herself forward even as her strength left her.

A crack broke the air, and this time Laurie could not hold back a cry as she felt something explode into the back of her thigh. She fell half-down, knees and hands catching the ground, and she could feel it, feel something hard and foreign rubbing against muscle and bone but kept scratching through grass and soil to keep going – she couldn't stop – had to keep moving –

Another crack. This time it was like being punched in the lower back – she pitched forward, hands out, landing on her stomach and her already-injured side ablaze with the worst pain she had felt yet –

Shuffling footsteps behind her. Panting. A wet ripping sound and metallic clink as a knife was tossed away. Then a click.

Laurie, vision gone white, knew without looking that the doctor was behind her, that he had retrieved his gun, and that it was now aimed at her head.

She tried to stand, to face him, but could not, there was no strength left in her limbs. There were dark spots clouding her vision now – the adrenaline of the last few moments was leaving her. A haze was settling over her brain, bringing a calm numbness that not even her last thoughts could dissipate: that her children had survived the accident only to die at Sartain's hands. And all she could think that it was merciful, a mercy to not see her own children die in front of her –

"So they got out," said Sartain calmly, watching the two figures. He brought the gun down for the last time. "But it does not matter. Once it is over, I will understand... I will be able to see the eyes of –"

A wet thud. Sartain stopped mid-sentence, a look of vague surprise coming over him.

Laurie flinched back as a gray mask loomed out of the darkness behind the doctor. For a moment it seemed to float, disembodied – then it coalesced into a black form, a shining blade.

Michael had returned. He had retrieved his knife from where Sartain had thrown it and she did not need to see to know that he had lodged it down to the hilt in Sartain's back.

Sartain made a tiny choking noise. His arm dropped, the gun falling from his grasp.

Laurie knew she should move, but she was too transfixed by what was happening in front of her to do so. As Sartain began to sag, Michael grabbed him by the back his neck and turned him around to face him.

"Michael..." Sartain said weakly. A ragged breath. "Look… look at me…"

Michael dropped him.

Laurie gagged as he fell, turning away – tried to find her children in the darkness. She heard steps, more gasping, and looked back almost against her will. She saw Michael, head cocked, staring at the dying doctor, and Laurie could only wonder what Sartain was seeing right then, as he looked up into that blank mask, into those eyes. Was it that pure, remorseless evil he had spoken about? Was it rage?

Was it nothing at all?

Michael leaned down then, grabbing Sartain by the collar and hauling the man up. He did not raise his arm to stab him. He only drew it in a slow horizontal movement across Sartain's abdomen. Laurie could not see what he did, blocked from view by Sartain's own body. But she heard it – a slow ripping of cloth and flesh. She lay frozen – then turned away in horror and disgust as she saw something glistening start to fall from and out of Sartain, piling on the ground in long hanks.

She crawled now, though her entire body felt like a lead weight, leaving her brother to his task – moved toward her children, standing frozen several feet in front of her.

"Hey…" she whispered, and reached out for them, not caring if her hands were bloody, just thankful they were safe, alive.

"Mommy..." Jamie's eyes were wide. Her forehead was bleeding and the hair on the back of her head looked matted, and Laurie didn't want to think what had happened to her – even as she watched, Jamie swayed, struggling to keep balance.

John tentatively tried to reach out to her. "Mom, are you –"

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Laurie lied, and tried to smile, knowing that bloodied as she was, it had to be frightening; that she was fooling absolutely nobody. She felt so tired, but she had to get out of here, had to get to the road. From somewhere behind her she heard a thud. Jamie and John started to look up, but Laurie grabbed their hands.

"No – no – focus on me, okay?" Some remnant of her sanity knew she had to do that – had to maintain the little bit that remained of her children's innocence. "Come on… to the road… come on…"

Obediently the twins turned around, following her instructions like robots. Laurie thought they might be in shock. Behind them there was a heavy thump. A shudder ran through her and she closed her eyes briefly. Sartain had gotten what he had expected. Even he had known that he would not have survived Michael's rage for what he done to his little sister.

The fire from the car was still going, and she thought vaguely, Good, somebody has to have seen that, somebody will come. The numbness remained, beckoning to her to just give in, calm, serene.

But her children… she could not abandon Jamie and John here, not in their state. She had to get to the road, which was so far, and her injured leg could not support her. So she shook back that soothing cloud and crawled, on her hands and one knee, dragging the other leg. Dimly, she was aware of pain, but it was like she was not fully registering it, like her mind had detached itself from her body.

As she pulled herself, inch by aching inch, John came out of his own shocked state for a second and tried to lift her arm, but she shook her head, pushed him back.

"No, help your sister –" Jamie had stumbled to her knees, her chest heaving, "– take her – get her to the road –"

Then, in the distance, she saw the flash of police headlights.

"Come on!" she gasped. The cold air stabbed her lungs. "Come on, we have to get back to the road, come on –!"

And she stumbled, lurched, crept up the hill, grasping grass and clods of dirt, one hand held on her side, the other stretching for each patch of ground. John was pushing up Jamie, who wobbled like she was half drunk, but still he tried, tried to hold her up while giving his mother a push, give what little help someone so young and small could give.

Then John went pale. He fell back, eyes riveted to something – someone – high above him.

Laurie did not need to look to know who it was.

She felt, more than saw or heard, that presence – Michael – lean down. His arms slid under her, brushing against her wounds. He rolled her over, so for a moment she was staring straight up at him. It was so dark he was only a faceless outline against the starry sky, and for one terrified second she wondered if she was about to become one of his victims – if this was the last thing her parents had seen, Lynda had seen –

But then he tucked his arms under her and she felt the solidness of the ground leave her as he scooped her up. Every muscle in her body went rigid as he shifted her so that she was lying on her back. If she stared straight ahead, she was looking directly at his mask, and she was so startled at what was happening she forgot all about the pain of being hoisted and moved about. Another second passed, as if he was letting her settle. Then he began walking across the field.

And Laurie, now on the edge of hysteria, knew she ought to be terrified, but could only muster up a surreal gratefulness.

They strode in silence towards the road; Michael was so tall and unencumbered by his own injuries that they were soon almost there. Laurie was beginning to feel very light-headed, the pain less noticeable, even though every one of her brother's steps should have been agony. There were a few seconds, or perhaps moments, when she would lose track of herself, slipping into a kind of half-daze. Sometimes she would spot Jamie and John hurrying in his wake, so small they could barely keep pace, though she thought at some point that Michael slowed down just enough for them to catch up.

The flashing lights were definitely drawing nearer by the time they reached the edge of the road, and she could discern the wailing of the sirens. Laurie lifted her head from where she had been resting (against his shoulder, one arm hanging about his neck, she had been resting against her brother's shoulder). Her entire left side of her abdomen, and the back of her right side, was sticky with blood, her fingers stiff with it.

"Let – let me –" she started to say, but either Michael knew what she wanted or had already anticipated her, because he started to lower her down – no, she realized, as she felt a pressure beneath her, against her back – he was kneeling down, still carrying her, so that she was half sitting, half lying on his legs.

Jamie and John collapsed beside her. John was breathing harshly from having to support Jamie almost the entire way; Jamie herself was all too pale in the moonlight, her head wound livid and dark.

The sirens were coming closer. She could make out the beams of their headlights, round yellow circles growing ever larger.

And Michael remained, simply kneeling there with Laurie resting against him. Even as the wails grew louder, as she began to make out each separate car, he made no move to rise. Made no indication that he was going to do anything other than remain here, waiting, with her. For her.

I half believe this man might try to do good, just for you…

She knew then, with that inner instinct that she had trusted back in the field, that he was going to stay with her… stay until the police came or she told him differently...

And when they did come, when they did take her… what might happen? What would they try and do to Michael? Arrest him? Kill him? And what would he do to them?

And Laurie saw with sure clarity what would happen: Michael not comprehending, not letting them take her… not returning quietly to the institution, but resisting, slaughtering as many officers as he could… or the police might not even giving him that chance, seeing only a murderer holding a woman and children hostage. And they would open fire, or he would attack them, massacre as many as possible until he or the police were dead, while Laurie and her children could only watch, trying not to become collateral damage.

And she knew, from some deep reservoir of emotion, what she had to do.

She half pushed, half slid herself away from Michael, sharply aware of the approaching police cars, and told him, "Go."

He seemed to be staring down at her.

"Go," she said again. "Michael, they're coming. Go."

She knew this was wrong. She knew that by all rights, Michael should be incarcerated, that he had killed several innocent people that night, people she had known, that she was letting a serial killer go and placing the town she had grown up in in danger, that she was putting herself and her children at risk.

But she knew – she knew also she could not let him stay and be shot down by the police. Not after what he had just done tonight. Any other time, any other place, she would let him be caught. But right now, just this once, she would let him go.

Perhaps he read all this on her face. Perhaps he was only doing as she said. Or perhaps he simply knew that he could not take on the entire Haddonfield police force. Whatever his reasoning was, he let her move away, and started to stand.

Laurie grabbed his arm, checking his rise. She had just remembered something.

Pulling the two photos from her pocket, trying not to smudge blood on their edges, she pressed them to him. He glanced down as he took them, but if he was surprised or confused by the gesture, he did not show it. She let go of the photos, and saw him place them in a pocket on his uniform. Satisfied, she moved off of him – and then he grasped her wrist.

She stared at him, eyes a little wide, but it didn't hurt, he wasn't squeezing or pulling at her. He was just... holding her arm.

Perhaps he was asking if she would be all right.

She looked into the dark holes of his mask and nodded. He continued to hold on for a moment, and Laurie had that sense once more of being examined. But then, seemingly content with her answer, his grip loosened, allowing her to roll all the way off him. He stood. Laurie thought his hand lingered for a moment over hers, but it might have been her imagination.

He loomed over her for one moment longer, over her children who were crouched next to her, just watching them. Yet for the first time in quite a while, Laurie did not feel intimidated or fearful.

"Go," she said.

He turned and walked off into the darkness. Laurie watched his form striding away, kept looking as the police cars pulled up to the road... did not turn away even as their lights bathed her and Jamie and John in shades of blue and red, until his dark shape had faded into the night.