AN: I just wanted to thank everyone who has been following this story. The end is in sight, but I'm struggling. This has never been such a problem with me, and thought I might ask my readers for a bit of help, so....

Do you want a happy ending or an unhappy ending? I can't decide. I know it seems like a stupid question, but I need help! Please review and let me know! If more readers prefer a happy ending, I can do that. If you guys would rather an ending that more accurately follows the movie, I can do that, too.

Please let me know!

-

Emory pulled over and parked on the side of the road opposite the Strode house. She'd been following Mason Strode all day, convinced that Michael would go after Laurie's father first, since he had killed his stepfather first seventeen years ago. The day had been miserably uneventful. Every other man she saw was Michael, waiting patiently for his chance. Waiting for her to let her guard down.

She watched as Mason walked up into his house, and instantly she felt a chill run down her spine.

He was near. She couldn't in a million years have explained how she knew it, but she knew. She could feel the weight of his eyes on her like a physical force, pressing down on her, heavy and cold.

Still she waited, because it would not be wise to confront the Strodes with Laurie still in the house. Michael would wait until Laurie left, so that she would be spared any traumatization that would inevitably occur from his confrontation with her adoptive parents.

Emory could wait, too.

An hour passed, and children began wandering past the car, dressed as ghosts and princesses. Emory kept her gaze trained on the windows and doors of the Strode house, ready to leap from the car the instant she saw that hauntingly familiar figure moving through the darkness to attack.

But she saw nothing. And finally, Laurie and her mother came out to sit on the front porch with a bowl of candy. They chatted for a bit, doled out Halloween treats, while Emory watched like a hawk. Every movement, every shadow. She waited, as Mason joined his wife and daughter on the front porch.

A sporty little red Nissan pulled up in front of the house, and instantly Emory was moving. She slid out of her car and watched as Laurie jumped into the red car's passenger seat and drove off. Mason and Synthia Strode sat watching her departure in peaceful silence.

Emory moved quickly, crossing the street and approaching their front porch. When Synthia Strode saw her, she tilted her head and gave her a small smile.

"A little old to be trick-or-treating, aren't you?" She asked with a friendly laugh. Mason had an expectant expression on his face.

Emory realized she was still wearing her lab coat. She sighed.

"I'm afraid it's not a costume. My name is Emory Brighton, I'm a psychologist from Smith's Grove Sanitarium." She paused to see if the name or the hospital would ring a bell. Neither registered. She breathed a quick sigh of relief; that meant that Loomis hadn't pasted her picture in the press as an accomplice for Michael's escape. "I need to talk to you. Inside. Right now."

Mason frowned. "I'm sorry, I don't think…"

"It's a matter of life or death, Mr. Strode." She knew how ridiculous this sounded, of course. But it was the only way to get their attention. She could feel her shoulder blades itching, Michael's gaze bearing down on her with physical force. He'd be upon them soon.

Shit.

Synthia and Mason exchanged confused glances. But Synthia stood.

"All right, come on in," she said softly. Emory followed them through the front door and into the warmth of their living room.

She immediately locked the dead bolt behind her, even though a part of her laughed at the absurdity of it; Michael was the strongest man she'd ever met, a mere deadbolt would stop him about as long as a door made of cotton balls.

"Hey, now what the hell is this about?" Mason demanded in that casually worried tone of someone who'd never truly been in danger in his entire life.

Emory met his gaze and let that mask of steel slide down her face. "Michael Myers has escaped. He has come for his sister."

The change was instant and drastic. Mason tensed as if he'd been slapped, and Synthia's face drained of all color. They looked at each other for a long moment, and then Mason sat down very slowly.

"Oh, sweet Jesus," he murmured. Then his eyes snapped up to Emory's in sudden comprehension. "How did you know who Laurie was?"

"That's not important," Emory said instantly. "We need to get you to safety."

"What?" Synthia whispered. "But… why us? What about Laurie? We...we have to help Laurie!" As she spoke, her tone became more strained, more hysterical. Emory held a hand up to silence her.

"Right now, Laurie is safe. Because rght now, he's coming for you."

"But… but why?" Synthia cried.

Emory opened her mouth to speak at the same time the door exploded inward in a spray of splintered wood, and Michael walked calmly into the living room. Synthia screamed and Mason backed away, but Emory moved forward, blocking him from the Strodes. Her thoughts were whirling around in her head, a mile a minute, a vortex of pain and hurt and anger.

Michael tilted his head at her, and behind that eerie white mask, his sharp blue eyes were blank. Emory felt a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. He was gripping his butcher's knife so tightly his knuckles were turning white. And there was blood on it.

Emory knew she had to choose her words carefully. Simply saying 'don't do it' or 'leave them alone' would not suffice. Michael was in the grip of something dangerous and bloodthirsty, and there wasn't much she could do to get through to him.

Except, perhaps…

"They are innocent, Michael," she said softly. His eyes flickered down to her, and locked onto her as if she was a beacon. He took a step back, as if physically shoved. He glanced back to the Strodes, and life flickered in his eyes. They were so expressive, his eyes. How was she the only one who could see that? "Bonnie has grown up strong and happy with them. Don't take that away from her."

He looked down at her, and the look in his eyes was accusational. Don't use that ploy against me, his eyes warned. But Emory only raised an eyebrow. All the pain that coursed through her threatened to burst out at any moment, in a fit of tears and rage. But she couldn't let him see that.

"I'm not going to let you kill them," she said softly. God, she just wanted to hold him again. She wanted to kiss him.

Michael moved so quickly he seemed like a blur, slipping past Emory and bringing the handle of his knife down on Mason's temple, knocking him out instantly. Before Emory could move, he'd done the same to Synthia. He stared down at them, then looked back up at Emory. His eyes were sly, rebellious. Emory frowned. Now the Strodes were unconscious. But at least they weren't dead.

He started to move towards her slowly, confidence etched in every step. Emory refused to back away from him, despite the fact that her common sense screamed at her to do so. Pride kept her in place. Pride and anger. She would not back down from this man. She couldn't feel fear, but by God if she could have, she would not have feared him.

And he knew it.

He slammed the butt of the butcher's knife into her temple, and her knees went out from under her. She felt warmth surround her, gentle strength. He smelled like blood and insanity. She couldn't see anything, but she clung to him as tightly as if he were her last link to life itself.

"Thank you," she whispered.

And then everything went black.