STR2D3PO: I wanted a convincing reason for why Lincoln and Leni would still be living at home, and Lynn having recently died, and depicting Lincoln as reluctant to leave his family because he feels they need him, seemed reasonable. Also, that all-points bulletin comment made me laugh. Nice reference.

Guest: Not necessarily. The brain is a complex organ, and people have remained conscious through all sorts of injuries to it. She was definitely in the process of dying, though - even if Ronnie Anne didn't hit her again, she was gone.

GuestStereotype: You have to be insane to take their driving courses.

That Engineer: Ronnie Anne just wants the sisters out of the way so she can have Lincoln. She enjoys killing them, but she'd rather dispatch them fairly quickly than keep them hanging around.

TheGreatestWriter: I like the first, it's just I think I've seen it too much. Taken on their own merits, I liked the mobility of the second (Micheal Myers making his way through town on his way to the hospital) and the siege atmosphere of the fourth (which I'm attempting to recreate, in part, here). I haven't seen that movie. Is it any good?


Rita sat on the couch with her arms and legs crossed, one foot tapping restlessly and keeping time with the drumming of her fingers against the fabric of her shirtsleeve. Her cellphone sat dark and silent on the coffee table before her, next to a cup of coffee she hadn't touched in fifteen minutes. Detective Rudd leaned forward, rested his forearms on his thighs, and looked pointedly at Lola Loud. The girl, her previously done up hair hanging free and spilling over her shoulders like summer wheat, stared ashamedly down at her lap, her face a wan mask of worry.

Rudd lowered his gaze when Rita shot her daughter a tight-lipped expression of annoyance. "I know you know where she went," she said sharply, her self-assured tone that of a mystic who has seen into the future.

"I don't," Lola said without looking up. "I swear."

It was closing in on 9pm and Rita's concern for Lana had been steadily building over the past hour until she paced the floors and raked her fingers through her hair. Rudd tried to allay her fears by telling her that if Ronnie Anne Santiago did indeed come here, her daughter would be safer elsewhere, just like Lily. I know where Lily is, she snapped at him, I don't know where Lana is.

She did have a point, he supposed.

Lola, Rita realized, most likely knew where this party was, since she and Lana had been known to cover for each other. From what Rita said, Lana liked to drink and sometimes smoke dope - as a lot of teenagers do...hell, as Rudd himself did when he was a kid - and usually left her information with her twin in the event she needed help of some kind. A few times in the past, Rita caught Lola trying to sneak a drunk Lana up the stairs after fetching her from where ever in the family car. Lola, however, wouldn't talk; Rudd suspected she was afraid of breaking her sister's trust and getting her in trouble.

Drawing a deep breath, Rudd returned his eyes to the girl and said, "Look, your mom's really upset and...for Lana's own safety, it'd be best for her to be here where we can keep an eye on her." Lola looked up at him, anxiety written across her delicate features. "I know you don't want your sister getting in trouble, and I'm sure that this one time, your mother will let...let things slide if she has to."

He turned to Rita. Her face was drawn and haggard, her skin sallow and her eyes seethed with brooding unease. "I just want her home," she said to the mug on the table. He nodded and turned back to Lola, who flicked her eyes down.

"Where is she, Lola?" he asked softly but firmly.

For a long moment, Lola stared at her feet, then sighed. "Steve Pace's house."

Good. Now they were getting somewhere. "What's the address?" he asked and took out his phone.

Lola hesitated. "I'm not sure. It's on Maple Lane. Last house on the right."

Rudd called up Google Maps, and an image of Royal Woods filled the screen. Holding his thumb and forefinger an inch apart, he scrolled to Maple, a narrow side street off a slightly less narrow side street and flanked by houses with wide yards. The ones on the right bordered a vast field that terminated at a dense stand of trees clustered along the Royal River. Rudd zoomed in on the last one and looked at Lola. "Is there a barn behind it?"

"I...think," she said uncertainly.

That was good enough for him. Getting to his feet, he wandered to the window as he dialed the station. While he waited, he pulled the curtain back and nervously scanned the dark street. "I'm sorry," Lola said lowly.

"I'm not mad," Rita said, her voice tense with foreboding, "I'm just...I'm scared." The last two words came as a shameful admission. She hugged herself, and Lola watched her with gloomy eyes, then touched her leg. To her surprise, Mom took her hand and held tight.

"It's Rudd," Detective Rudd said into the phone. Lola could sense his agitation, and while she expected her mother to be afraid, she did not expect it from a cop; that he clearly was scared her greatly. "I want a unit to 735 Maple Lane. There's a...a party going on. I want Lana Loud picked up and brought to me." He stopped and listened for a moment as the person on the other end spoke. Lola's heartbeat sped up at the mention of her twin's name and she squeezed her mother's hand. The danger of the night was beginning to finally sink in, and nauseous dread flooded her stomach. Lana might be in trouble and it was her fault for not saying something sooner...her fault for not taking this seriously.

A shiver went through her at the thought of Lana being hurt, and sudden, stinging tears welled in her eyes.

"1216 Franklin," Rudd said, waited, then hung up with a sigh, his hand absently shoving the phone back into his pocket.

Outside, the squad car was still parked where it had been all night, and Rudd hated himself for wanting another, two more, three. He pressed the tip of his tongue against the inside of his bottom lip and wondered if he should request a second car. No, he was letting himself get unnecessarily ansty - Santiago weighed 105 pounds, she was no bigger than a fifteen year old girl, if that. She was dangerous as all hell, but only if she got the drop on you. She had the element of surprise on her side when she killed Palmer, the orderly, and the people at the gas station; she didn't have that anymore.

His eyes went to the car again. In the glare of a porch light across the way, he could just make out a figure behind the wheel. Probably Scott. Johnson was lost in shadows. He briefly considered calling them and having one walk the parameter of the house, but, damn it, he didn't like the thought of them splitting up.

Sighing, he went back to the chair and sat, his elbow propping on the arm and his fingers massaging his aching temple. After this, he decided, he was retiring. He was fifty-six and he'd been in the fray since he was nineteen. He was entitled to a pension - he wanted his nest egg to grow a little more but fuck it, he was too old for this shit anymore.

Rita's phone buzzed and he glanced over as she snatched it off the table; a look of relief crossed her face and she let out a deep breath. "Thank God, it's Lana," she said. She read the message then typed out a response, Lola and Rudd both watching curiously. "She's at Flip's and she needs a ride." She got up and went into the kitchen. Lola ran her fingers through her silky blonde hair, her expression one of a woman rescued from Old Sparky at the last possible moment. Rudd didn't show it, but he was glad too.

Reaching into his pocket, he took out his phone and canceled the unit, hanging up just as Rita came in with her purse over her shoulder, her movements jerky and rushed. "I'll be back in five minutes," she vowed and crossed to the door, turning to rummage in her bag, then taking out her car keys.

Her hand touched the handle before something occurred to Rudd. Even though he didn't want them to split up, he asked, "Would you like me to send Officer Johnson with you?"

"No," she said instantly, "I'll be fine, I'd rather he stay here." She looked pointedly at her daughter, then, "lock the door behind me."

Lola got up and walked over, closing the door and locking it after Rita slipped out. She lingered for a moment, then took a deep breath and turned away, going up the stairs and leaving Rudd by himself.

At least things were still going right, he thought.


Outside, Rita paused on the front step and checked her pockets for her phone, then dug in her purse by the faint glow of the porch light when she didn't find it. Her fingers closed on it, and, satisfied, she went down the steps, the soles of her shoes slapping hollowly. A symphony of crickets serenaded the night, and a chilly breeze roared in the treetops like the voice of an angry giant. Her steps were light but hurried as she crossed the lawn to the driveway; she was frankly frightened to be out right now, away from the lighted, fort-like safety of her home, but she felt as though a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She was beside herself with worry the whole evening - she called and texted Lana two dozen times, and every you have reached a voice mailbox that has not be set up jagged her throbbing heart like the cold blade of a knife. When she saw her daughter, she was going to hug her fiercely and cover her face in thankful kisses...then give her the scolding of a lifetime for scaring her like that.

An owl hooted forlornly from the oak tree dominating the yard, and she whipped her head toward it - a dark shape with shining yellow eyes perched upon a high branch and watching intently like a demon eagerly awaiting a dark repast. She swallowed thickly and looked away, her gaze landing on the police car parked at the opposite curb, the harsh orange glare of a streetlamp falling across its hood and pooling on the pavement. She could make out two dark forms inside, both leaning back in a relaxed posture. She was so worried about Lana that it completely slipped her mind to come out and ask if they wanted coffee; they could certainly use it.

She reached the driveway and walked to the exterior door along the side of the garage, her footfalls echoing on the cement and playing on her nerves. A gust of wind swept over her; somewhere, a loose shudder slammed, and she startled, a tiny, muffled cry escaping her constricted throat. She tried to laugh at her own jumpiness, but couldn't. Even if Detective Rudd didn't think so, her family was in grave danger, and she wouldn't feel at ease until Ronnie Anne was in jail again.

At the door, she peered through the grimey segmented window, her heart starting to race at the deep blackness beyond, in which anything could be lurking...like a crazed woman with an ax. She caught her breathing before it could get away from her and called up a vision of Lana sitting on the curb in front of Flip's, her head hung and rolling drunkenly.

That was allt the exhorting she needed. She took the knob in her hand, twisted, and pushed the door open, a warm rush of stale air redolent of earth and motor oil breaking across her face. She felt for the lightswitch, found it, and flicked it.

Nothing.

Damn.

The shudder slammed again, and she jerked a fraught glance over her shoulder; the house next door was dark, its lawn shaggy and a FOR SALE sign creaking rustily back and forth. She spotted it, second story, back bedroom - another gust drew it away from the wall, then a third drove it against the siding with a whip-crack that affrighted her even though she was expecting it. The McKenzies moved out almost two years ago after Mr. McKenzie lost his job, and never once in that time had Rita seen anything but a simple house. Right now, in the dusky star-shine of a bleak night, it transformed into a phantom-haunted ruin, and though she absolutely did not believe in ghosts, she was suddenly and utterly certain that if she allowed her eyes to tarry on the windows, she would see a glowing white face staring back at her. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up and she turned briskly away, the overwhelming sensation of being watched settling like dampness into her bones.

Ignoring it, she crossed the threshold and closed the door behind her. To the right, the washer and dryer sat against the north wall, wedged between a chest freezer on one side and an upright tool cabinet on the other. A wooden work bench flanked the far wall - before he died, Lynn would come out here and tinker around. He wasn't a very mechanically inclined man, but with so much noise and activity in the house, he needed the occasional respite, just as she herself did. She had her office, and he had the garage. It was his domain and though it was always a confused mess to her, he knew where everything was, and if you moved something, God help you.

A wistful smile touched her lips as she shuffled to the car, ware for unseen obstacles. Sometimes she came out here during the day and sat on the stool before the bench just to feel closer to him; it was as though his animating spirit remained, and as she ran her eyes over his things - kept just the way he left them as if in anticipation of his eventual return - she could almost imagine it wrapping itself around her in a tender embrace.

She missed him so badly her chest clutched, and she dearly wished he was with her now. With Ronnie Anne escaping and Lana being missing, she was so knotted and scared, but if Lynn were here, he would take her in his arms and make everything better, for with him, she had always felt safe, and all of life's troubles fell short of their bond.

Feeling her away along the hood, she rounded the front end, fumbled for the door handle, and opened it. Something clattered to the floor behind her and she spun on her heels, her heart smashing into her ribs. Her dark-adjust eyes detected a long, thin shape lying on the concrete floor. She twisted around to see a cluster of rakes, shovels, and brooms leaning against the wall. She must have bumped them with her purse and knocked one over.

She exhaled through her nose and pursed her lips in annoyance. She was letting this whole thing get to her far more than she should. If she wasn't careful, she'd be a flighty wreck by the end of the night.

Shaking her head, she climbed in behind the wheel, dropped her purse in the center console, and yanked the door closed. She pulled the seatbelt over her chest and clicked it, then jammed the key into the ignition. The engine turned over and the dash panel lit up, illuminating her face in thin, sickly green. She reached for the garage door opener clipped to the visor and caught a flash of movement in the rearview mirror.

Before she could react, a cord tightened around her neck and pulled her roughly back; her air supply cut sharply off and her eyes bulged from their sockets. Panic burst in her chest and she frantically clawed at the rope, her mouth working in a silent, gasping scream. She kicked her feet and thrashed her body left and right in a desperate attempt to break the hold, but the rope pulled tighter, the back of her head drawing flush with the headrest and the material digging painfully into her soft throat. Her vision tinged with gray and she realized with bursting horror that she was going to lose consciousness if she didn't breathe.

Mindless in hysteria, she let go of the cord and threw her right hand back, her hooked fingers questing for an eye to gouge or hair to pull, something, anything to save herself. Her nails skimmed loose flesh and in the mirror, she saw the thing strangling her, its sagging, blood splattered face and its wide, black eyes burning with deranged fervor. She was sinking, numbness stealing across her oxygen starved brain; surely that's why she could have sworn it was Lana's pale countenance staring back at her.

The thing tried to moved back, but Rita gripped its cheek, dug her nails in, and pulled; it came off in her hand like wet leather. In the eerie luminescence, Ronnie Anne Santiago was revealed, her eyes narrowed and her teeth gritting, her bony, blood slicked features screwed up in satanic rage. Rita's wildly pounding heart sputtered and she felt herself draining away; her ears rang, shadows covered her eyes, and her panic ebbed beneath the warm flood of anesthesia drowning her body.

An image of her family flickered across her dying mind. She was going to hurt them...she couldn't let her hurt her babies.

She lifted her arm again, meaning to jam her thumb into the bitch's eye, but it weighed a thousand pounds and wouldn't budge. Her eyes started to roll back into her head and her muscles grew weak. She...couldn't…

Summoning every bit of energy she had, she gave a feeble body-wide jerk and arched her back. Ronnie Anne, panting obscenely, pulled the rope even tighter. "Mine," she hissed.

Rita's hands fell away from the rope and landed limply in her lap.

God...don't...d-don't...hurt...please...my...children…

Darkness closed over her like the tide over the head of a swimmer grown weary, and Rita floated in its depths forevermore.

When Ronnie Anne was sure she was dead, she pulled the rope over her head and tossed it away.

You're still not his sister, the corpse mocked.

Reaching between the seats, she retrieved the shopping and ragged flesh that once constituted Lana's face and stared down at it, cold and lumpy in her palms like dough.

You'll never be his sister…he'll never love you.

She pressed the bloody skin to her face. "I am his sister," she croaked, "and he will love me." She picked the ax up from the floor and gripped its smooth, wooden handle.

"Or else."

Throwing open the door, she got out and slipped through the garage like a shadow. Outside, a cold breeze blew and a thousand tiny noises came together to form a gruesome nocturn. She cocked her head slowly to one side and listened, but heard nothing singular. Holding the ax tight, its weight and shape comforting in her hands, she turned left and followed the garage to the backyard. A tall wood fence enclosed it, and a shed sat in the western corner, its roof sagging and its facade crisscrossed by thin, creeping vines. To her left, and above ground pool sat near the back porch, its bottom skimmed with green, scummy water. She reached the steps and paused, her breathing coming faster at the promise of more victims. Lincoln had ten sisters, and she killed one, so that left nine...nine girls to hack, slash, choke, and cut. His father too, but she wasn't looking forward to murdering him the way she was the sisters.

Unless Lincoln was gay now too.

He fucks my ass, Lynn Sr. said from the center of her skull. And we laugh at you...how we laugh…

She bared her teeth.

We all laugh, a chorus of voices sang, we laugh at you.

"Shut up."

Not one of us, they chanted, not one of us, not one of us...

A tight ball of fury knotted in her chest, and she climbed the the steps, bent forward as if against the barrage of the Loud family's taunts. She was going to make them pay, and when she was done, she was going to become them.


Lincoln came languidly awake in the warm spill of the bedside lamp, his eyelids fluttering open and his face wincing when something tickled his forehead. Leni leaned over him, her palm resting flat on his chest and her eyes shining with radiance. "Good morning, sleepyhead," she grinned.

Morning? Was it morning already?

His next thought was: Did they get Ronnie Anne?

"What time is it?" he asked and drew himself to a sitting position. His neck was stiff and his lower back sore; he hissed over clenched teeth as pain shot up the back of his head and plunged into his brain.

Leni stood to her full height and glanced at the clock, her hands up in front of her and curved down. "9:31," she said.

Lincoln's heart leapt into his throat. Oh, shit, he was late for work. He fell asleep in Leni's room and missed his alarm, now he was an hour behind and God only knew what the foreman was going to say. Jesus, he could lose his job over this.

Hyperventilating in his panic, he started to get up, but stopped. No morning brilliance pressed against the window pane, no birds sang. Now he was so confused his head spun. He looked up at Leni and tilted his head. "Is it morning?" he asked.

Leni's eyes clouded like two tide pools filling with silt disturbed by the passage of a thought and regarded him as though he'd grown an extra head. "No," she drew at length, "it's nighttime." She pointed to the window. "See?"

Relaxing, Lincoln let out a deep, thankful breath. "You said it was morning,' he said, "and I thought going to lose my job."

I also thought Ronnie Anne was in jail.

His stomach tightened at the realization that it was still happening - he didn't sleep safely through it and wake up on the other side; night held sway and Ronnie Anne was still out there, slinking through the murk like a pale faced vampire in a silent movie. He was not safe, his family was not safe, no one, from what Rudd was saying, was safe.

"Nope," Leni said, and favored him with a serious expression that Lincoln couldn't help but find cute, "it's just an expression, Lincy."

Well, excuse me. "Yeah, I know, I'm silly," he said.

Bending over, Leni pecked him on the cheek. "I was going to let you sleep, but you looked totes adorbs and I wanted to kiss you. Sorry."

"It's fine," Lincoln said and stretched, "I need to get up anyway." He stood and took her in his arms, his hands snaking around and grabbing her butt through her dress. She giggled and slipped her hands under his shirt, her delicate fingers kissing his skin. Their gazes locked, and deep, tender-hearted affection swelled in his breast.

How did he get so lucky? He asked himself that time and again over the past ten years, but he never came up with a satisfactory answer, so he just accepted it, the way a child accepts that the sky is blue. Leni was everything he had ever hoped for in a woman and more: Kind, loving, sweet, and, of course, physically beautiful. Her looks did not matter to him - he would love her just as dearly if she was 500 pounds and bald - they were just the icing on the cake. Every once in a while, he would try to imagine himself with another woman, but he couldn't - Leni was all that he wanted and all that he needed.

Bending over, he kissed her, and she kissed him back, pushing up on her tippy toes and throwing her arms around his neck. He threaded his fingers through her silky hair and wrote a gentle love letter to her tongue with his. She smiled against his lips and pulled away. "I took a pregnancy test," she stated.

"Uh, it's a little early for that," Lincoln said.

She sighed and hung her head. "I know. I'm just really excited."

Hugging her tight and rocking her back and forth, he said, "I am too." And he was; so excited that he could barely contain himself. He imagined a large family full of cute, ditzy blondes just like their mother, and a wide, beaming smile spread across his face.

"I need to get back to the blanket," she said suddenly, as if just remembering. She pulled away and went to the vanity. "I'm gonna have to make a blue one too," she mused, then looked at him over her shoulder, "just in case."

Lincoln chuckled, crossed to her, and laid his hand on her shoulder, "How about one that's pink on one side and blue on the other? That way we can just flip it over according to the baby's gender."

Leni's jaw dropped and she sucked a sharp gasp. "Lincy, that's, like, genius! I'll do that right now." She turned away and dropped into the chair, returning to her work with renewed vigor. For a moment, Lincoln simply watched her, so happy he felt like he was floating on a cloud, then his bladder twinged.

"I have to use the bathroom," he said.

"Okie dokie," Leni sang.

In the bathroom, Lincoln snapped the light on and closed the door behind him. As he did his business, he decided to talk to Detective Rudd and see if Ronnie Anne had been caught yet. Maybe the nap helped, but the shock and superstitious terror had worn off and he was able to look at it clearly. She was deranged...dangerous as she may be, she couldn't evade capture for long. Maybe someone can go on a protracted rampage in a movie, but this was real life, and running around killing people indiscriminately will lead only to a swift arrest.

She got lucky with the first couple people she killed. She fooled the hospital into thinking she was harmless, so they weren't expecting her to strike. The ones she murdered on the road weren't anticipating it either. Since then, every police department in 200 miles had been alerted, patrols increased, and an army of cops, civilian volunteers, and elements of the Michigan National Guard swept the night. If anything moved out there, they would know.

A surge of confidence went through him. It was going to be okay. His family would be okay, Leni would be okay, and the new life hopefully forming in her womb would be okay too.

Done, he zipped up his pants and flushed, then went to the sink and washed his hands. He cut the spray, wiped them on a cloth, then opened the door, starting when he got a face full of Lola - she wore a long silky robe over her pink night dress and curlers in her hair. He grinned at his own jitteriness and moved aside. "All yours," he said.

"Thank you," she said and went in, turning. "Lana texted Mom, by the way. She just went to go get her."

Lincoln blinked. He completely forgot about Lana and the party. Mom was worried because of course she was, but he wasn't - Lana and Lily were the safest ones in the family right now. Well, aside from everyone who didn't live in Royal Woods. Luan and Clyde were safe too. Ronnie Anne wasn't after any of them - she was after him and Leni. "That's good," he said, then snorted to himself. "Hope she's not drunk or Mom will throw a fit."

"Probably," Lola said and started to close the door, "and she'll ground us both."

"Price you gotta pay for covering."

She hummed and shut the door.

Feeling much better than he had all day, he went downstairs. Detective Rudd was slumped in the armchair, the side of his face resting in his upturned palm and deep, sawing snores rising from his twitching nose. Lincoln stood over him for an indecisive moment, his innate politeness at odds with his innate wanting-to-know-if-the-danger-was-pastness. Finally he leaned over and shook the cop's shoulder. "Detective?"

Rudd jerked away and whipped his head around, his right hand fluttering to the gun under his left arm. Lincoln's heart burst. "It's just me, it's just me," he cried and threw his hands up, palms out.

Relaxing, Rudd fought to catch his breath. "You scared the shit out of me, kid," he said and shifted his weight, a look of discomfort flashing across his face.

"Sorry," Lincoln said and shoved his hands awkwardly into his pocket. "Have you heard anything?"

With a bear-like yawn, Rudd shook his head, and Lincoln's budding hope crashed to earth like a dead airliner. "Not yet," he said and smacked his lips, "I haven't heard anything in a while and you know what they say about no news being good news."

Actually, and maybe he was just pessimistic, Lincoln had always considered no news bad news. Especially in a life or death situation like this.

Noticing his apprehension, Rudd waved his hand dismissively, "Don't worry about it. She'll be picked up sooner or later."

Lincoln figured, but still...why was it taking so long? And even though he didn't think she was going to explode through the wall like a bloodthirsty version of the Kool-Aid Man, every moment that passed with her free was a moment that he and his family were in danger. He couldn't say he was shaking in terror, but he sure as shit wouldn't be able to rest easy until she was in the back of a police car.

Or in a body bag.

That thought struck him like a sniper's bullet and made him stumble. God, what a terrible thing to think! Ronnie Anne was sick, and despite it all, there was a time when he cared for her almost as deeply as he cared for Leni. Even today, with everything that had happened, if she was getting better and wanted him to visit her and offer support, he would in an instant. He would happily forgive her and be her friend again.

He didn't think that was feasible, though. He was the reason her mind snapped and his being around her would probably do her recovery more harm than good. He wanted to see her get well, he did not want to see her die.

But...God help him...if she did, he would breathe a sigh of relief; she would never harm or threaten his family ever again. Leni would always be safe, and so would their children.

A shiver went through his soul and his stomach turned. It was cold and callous, but right now, he did wish for her to die...and he meant it.

Rudd leaned over, picked his coffee up from the table, and took a drink. "I say go about your night like normal."

This was not a normal night, but Lincoln recognized good advice when he heard it. Nodding, he turned away and went back upstairs. A shower, he needed a shower. He went into his room, grabbed a pair of plaid lounge pants and a white T-shirt, then went to the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind him. He dropped his things onto the closed toilet lid, stripped, and turned the faucet on, the splash and gurgle of water flowing down the drain enough to mask all but the loudest sounds...


I listened to the theme from Halloween (1978) while writing Rita's scene. Her death pays direct homage to a death in that movie. There's a death later on that pays homage to one from Halloween 4: The Return of Michael Myers. One of my all-time favorite horror movie kills: It involves a shotgun.