Gretchen lay on the couch. One hand pressed a cool damp cloth against her forehead while the other rested on her chest. That was the most intense headache she'd ever experienced. Her brain still throbbed, but to a far lesser extent. She wasn't entirely sure how long ago the Presence in a way attacked her. Or how long it lasted. Was it an attack? It felt like one. But the thing said it would never hurt her. A chill ran down her spine. Why did she not believe those words? At some point, the headache dulled enough for her to crawl her way down the stairs. The further she got from it, the lighter her headache got. It was still there, but not nearly as intense as it had been earlier. The smell of chamomile tea was delightful, but she didn't have the energy to reach out and drink some. She barely had the energy to think. Emotionally drained enough she could sleep, but her headache was just barely strong enough, making that difficult. At least it was dying down. More of an annoying pulse, but still there.

Baby.

Her breathing deepened. That was impossible. There was no sex associated with the Presence. It was neither man nor woman in her mind. Yet. She swallowed. What did it want? It said it was protective. Of who? Her? Michael? Did it think she distracted Michael? Because she didn't. He clearly had no problem killing people. Unless Michael was faking it. But why would he do that?

Calm before the storm. Her heartbeat picked up. Were things about to get worse? A feeling settled around her, one of knowledge and understanding. Yes, was the answer. Something was happening. She could feel it in her body. Something that she had started to feel a couple of days ago, but she'd ignored it. Things were going to get worse, and yet, she had a feeling. She couldn't quite explain it. Maybe a knowledge. She just had to get through the worst of it. Whatever that was.

A hand brushed her cheek, making her gasp, and quickly sit up. Damn Presence was back.

"Shit! Oh, sorry," she said as she gazed up at Michael. Her body was tense and she pushed herself up against the couch. "Didn't hear you come in." Again. Stupidly silent tall man.

He was crouched right next to her. His keen eyes studied her. Her sudden movements caused the headache to worsen slightly. She let out an annoyed moan and dropped back onto the couch, plopping the damp cloth back on her face.

"Headache," she mumbled. She opened her eyes, staring at the cloth for a moment before she took it off to look at him again. "You took it off again," she said. She sat up and reached out, gently tracing his jawline.

His mask and knife were on the coffee table. Once again there was blood on it. He turned his head to look at what she was looking at then back at her. She couldn't help but meet his gaze.

His eyes were a little brighter as if questioning her. Wondering what she thought? Slowly, she reached over him, pressing her shoulder against his, to pick it up. She brought the knife back to examine it better.

The blood of an innocent. And there she was, handling the knife, talking to the killer in such a casual way. How did she feel about that?

"I don't like it that you kill innocent people," she said softly. Her fingers slowly gripped the handle. He rested his hands on either side of her, pushing the couch cushions down. She raised her head to meet his eyes.

They were wide with interest as he looked back at her then at the knife in her hand. Her fingers and nerves tingled with a sudden need. With her attention only on the blade, she raised it and moved it closer to him.

"Hmm," she said, gently running it along his coveralls. His chest heaved slightly, his adam's apple moved as he swallowed, and his nostrils flared. She paused the moment the blade left the fabric and she reached the skin of his neck. She glanced up at him. His eyes sparkled with intrigue at her actions.

"You tried to kill me on this couch," she stated, moving the blade up, getting a little bit of the blood of his victim on his skin.

His breathing deepened with excitement and his eyes danced with interest. An unrepentant smile crossed his face.

"Asshole," she muttered.

She swallowed. An urge pressed on her, she felt like cutting him. Give him a wound like he gave her. Press the blade just strong enough to see a drop of blood seep out. But, she didn't want to mingle his blood with whoever's was on the blade. Although, it would have been fitting, a little revenge for them. She brought the blade back down and rested it on her lap. For a brief moment, panic filled her as her own hands were covered in blood. But then the image disappeared. She moved the knife away and leaned into him to set it back on the table.

Bloody hands. Innocent lives that she could save if she just killed him. She was in such a unique position to do it. But, she wasn't going to. Why? Because I've been waiting for this moment for far too long. She wasn't sure why she felt that way, but she wasn't going to question it.

His left hand pressed against her cheek, forcing her to look up. He didn't give her a chance to think, pressing his lips against hers. Not that it mattered. Her heart began to race a mile a minute as her arms wrapped around his neck. He moved in closer. One of his hands slipped down her back and into her jeans to grab her ass.

Horny bastard. Guess the couch was bound to get fucked on. Despite her thoughts, she wasn't the least bit upset. He placed one knee onto the sofa between her legs, slowly positioning his body over hers.

A loud pop behind her made her yelp and turn, breaking their kiss. She pressed herself up against Michael's hard chest. Something had hit the boarded-up window. She quickly glanced up at him, but he seemed unconcerned. If anything, he looked more annoyed by the interruption.

Still, he got off her and stood up. He picked up his knife and slipped on his mask. Without a word or second look, he left. She sat there for a moment, before letting out a dramatic sigh.

"Would be nice if I could just waltz outside whenever I felt like it," she found herself shouting. She missed almost everything there was about the outside.

Picking up her mug, she stared into space for a moment. What if it was the house that kept him from trying to kill her? What if the moment she stepped outside of that front door the spell would be broken? She would become the victim again, and he'd become the killer. There was little doubt in her mind that he wouldn't stop himself. He wouldn't try to take her back into the house to make sure he didn't hurt her. He didn't love her. And she needed to keep reminding herself of that.

You're just some piece of ass to him, she thought.

"Life sucks," she growled. She got up and walked into the hallway, intent on going upstairs. She took two steps then stopped. Her skin prickled and her senses went on high alert. There was what she could only describe as an invisible darkness on the stairs. It was angry, annoyed.

He won't be there when you need him. The Presence's words echoed in her mind.

She wasn't strong enough to face it yet. Her throat felt dry, making her swallow. "Michael," she said as soft as possible. Her voice quivered with fear. Why did he have to go outside? She wanted to move, wanted to bang on the front door and scream at him to return, but her body was paralyzed.

The darkness seemed to move, seemed to get closer. The door behind her opened and then closed. The darkness stopped in its path then it was gone. She swallowed back some saliva and tried to calm her pounding heart. Michael's hand brushed her arm. Please, prove It wrong, Michael. She half-turned and gave him a strained smile.

He looked at her then down at the hall then back at her. Was that concern in his eyes? Was that even possible?

"Rough day," she said softly. Tell you? She wasn't quite ready for that conversation. Oh, hey, Michael. So, I get these visions of the future. And I get this face wound that I'm pretty sure you do. I may have gotten my boyfriend killed because I followed my vision. I think your house is haunted. And I might be tormented by an invisible spirit that could possibly be my dead boyfriend you murdered. Although why he was after her and not the man responsible for his death was beyond her. If it's really him and not some sort of deceit by a thing that's not happy I'm here.

Didn't matter. It had her on edge still. She wasn't ready to go upstairs. She brought her mug up to take a small sip, gathering up her courage.

It said he wasn't going to be there for you. But he's behind you. He's going to go upstairs with you. He's going to fuck you. Hopefully, stay close for the night. Was it responsible for her nightmares?

Just as her mind started to wonder, her thoughts got interrupted. Michael's hand caught her free wrist as she moved. Her eyes slowly traveled down his other arm. His other hand was on the front doorknob. Her heart picked up its beat. She looked at him in alarm. Much to her stunned surprise, he opened the door.

Why? The fresh cool October breeze entered the house, making her breathe it in.

He opened the door, idiot. Move. She took a few steps forward then paused by the door frame. She tilted her head up to catch his gaze. He was looking down at her, waiting for her next move. His face was unreadable. But then again, he seemed to like being an emotional mystery.

Was this some sort of test? See if she would try to run away? I'm not going to run away. She stared back at the outside and her body went rigid. Her fear was back, but for a completely different reason.

Please don't break the spell, she internally begged. Would she even feel it?

With one final gulp, she squared her shoulders and planted one foot on the wooden deck. Another pause and then she brought her other foot out. Her body refused to move any further. She glanced behind her again, giving him a quick examination. Nothing had changed. At least, nothing felt different. The way he casually rested against the door frame made her heart flutter. There was nothing about his aura that read that he was going to harm her.

She turned to face the outside and walked with a little bit more confidence. Setting her mug on the railing, she bounded down the small set of stairs and stopped the moment her feet hit the cool ground.

She was right. The house was in the middle of nowhere. At least, it seemed like it. From what she could tell, a forest surrounded the house. The grass was overgrown from lack of care, but there was a distinct walking trail and remnants of what was probably a dirt road to get to the house. Her way out. Her escape. Could she outrun him? She wasn't wearing any shoes, just her socks. She hadn't expected him to let her outside.

The answer to her question was maybe. But the real question was, did she want to run? No. Did she feel like Michael was a danger to her? Also no.

She turned around to examine the house. The outside appeared more rundown as if no one was living inside of it. Odd. But then again, she was probably being haunted by a ghost, and the man she was fucking seemed to be immortal.

The sky was dark and clear, revealing the stars and half-moon. It was bright enough for her to make her way through the woods if she wanted. She walked over to a spot where there was more dirt than grass and immediately sat down.

"It's a beautiful night," she commented.

Of course, he didn't answer and she didn't expect him to. She ran her fingers through the blades of grass, enjoying its texture. Taking off her socks, she giggled, digging her toes into the cool dirt. With a satisfied sigh, she leaned back, planting her hands behind her.

Her fingers hit her ceramic mug making her yelp. She barely managed to catch it from spilling. When had he placed it by her side? She wasn't entirely sure, but it didn't matter. He stood near her but didn't look at her. It was almost as if he were some sort of guardian. His eyes searched the tree line.

"Thank you," she said. She brought the mug up and cupped it between her hands, enjoying the warmth it brought to her fingers while the October breeze kept the rest of her body cool.

"You can sit down, you know?" she said. Her neck felt strained, looking up at him. He was so tall.

He didn't move, nor did he look down at her in acknowledgment of her words. She let out a sigh and went back to looking around. The path would probably lead her out of there. It did seem like the house was in the middle of nowhere. So probably a long stretch of road, a freeway perhaps. With just enough traffic that a car could stop to pick her up. Then again, it was dark out. Other than that, a whole lot of nothing.

"Used to live out in the country like this," Gretchen said, breaking the silence. "My parents and I. Didn't have any siblings. But then again, I was pretty sick as a kid. So, they probably couldn't handle a second one." She shrugged her shoulders. "I have one cousin and a lot of extended family. At least, a lot on my dad's side. My mom never talked about her family. I only met dad's extended family once. I had just barely turned five. Huge once-every-decade get-together on Christmas." She let out a bitter chuckle and set her mug on the ground.

Taking in a deep breath, she stretched. "We were planning on going again. We got into so many stupid and silly arguments about the trip that whole year when I was fourteen. I didn't want to go because- Well." She shrugged. "Even though I was just five and my memory isn't so good of that time it was more of the feeling that stayed with me. I just, I felt like they didn't like me. Cold. They'd smile when I was around, but their eyes weren't friendly. My dad said I was being silly. Too young to remember. But I do."

She rolled her shoulders, then stretched her arms. She needed to do something while she talked. Her body popped and cracked at her efforts. "But my parents died just before the trip and I was in the hospital."

She glanced back at him. His eyes were looking over at her, as he waited by the stairs. With another sigh, she focused on the trees again.

"I have two theories on why they don't like me. Neither of which I can confirm unless I see them again. Like I said, the last get-together I didn't go to. Hospital and all. The next get-together is in about two years and, umm-"

Movement out of the corner of her eye caused her to pause. She couldn't help but look over as Michael sat down.

He leaned against the porch, stretching one leg out while the other was slightly raised so he could rest his arm on it. Her heart thumped harder in her chest. Gods damn you. Why am I so attracted to you?

Grabbing her socks with one hand and her mug with the other, she got up and walked over to him. His eyebrows raised in surprise as she sat down on his right side.

"It's cold being alone," she stated as she put on her socks. She set the mug on the porch then let out a sigh and ever so slightly leaned against his shoulder. Just enough to feel his heat. She brought her legs up and hugged her knees.

"You're going to know a lot more about me. I know you don't care," she said softly. She couldn't help but give him a quick glance to see his reaction. He didn't give her a visible one, making her sigh.

Looking back up at the sky, she continued. "Where was I? Oh, yes. My theories. I found out that my dad's side is very picky about who gets to marry who, yadda yadda. Old-timey stuff." She waved her hand in the air. "My dad fell in love with my mom. She wasn't here legally, came from nothing, no family. At least, no family that she would talk about. She got pregnant, dad married her and they had me. You should have seen that get-together family photo. She sticks out like a sore thumb. So do I."

She lowered her gaze and dug her toes into the earth. She couldn't help but entertain the idea of bringing Michael with her to the reunion. What a riot. Hey everyone. This is Michael Myers. The notorious serial killer who comes on Halloween to kill innocent people. And my lover. She frowned and turned her head to look at him. Only on Halloween wasn't it? But, it wasn't Halloween yet. He was early.

He had his head tilted just a little bit. Almost as if he were intrigued by her words.

"Michael? Do you think you could love someone?"

His movements were quick, striking just a little bit of fear in her as his left hand wrapped around her throat. He squeezed his fingers and thumb against her cheeks, making sure she was focused on him. His eyes blazed with warning as he shook his head.

Don't even think about it. Was the clear message? He didn't move, searching her face, trying to make sure she understood. Slowly, she nodded her head.

"I get it," she said. "You can't love."

He hesitated one more moment before letting her go and sitting back. She rubbed her cheeks and then sighed.

"You didn't have to be so rough," she said. Despite her words, maybe it was a good thing. She kept telling herself that he didn't care. And yet her heart was attached to him. He needed to keep confirming he didn't care. Maybe that would eventually convince that silly part of her that believed he did.

Enjoy the outside. He'll probably never let you out again. Now that you asked that stupid question. She leaned back. Tracing each constellation with her mind.

"Oh!"

His body tensed, but she ignored it as she grabbed his arm and put it over her shoulder. Locking his fingers with hers, she forced his index finger up and pointed it at the sky.

"That," she said softly as she traced his hand in the air. "Is Cassiopeia. I don't know why I love that constellation. I always look for it. Maybe it's the name. She's around all year long too up here in the northern hemisphere. When I was younger. I would sneak out at night onto the roof of our house. Used to stare up at the sky for hours. But then we moved and I lost access to our roof."

She tilted her head up to look at him. His eyes were wide almost as if he was slightly alarmed by her actions. His expression kicked her mentally. He wasn't her boyfriend. He literally just made it clear that he didn't care about her. That he couldn't love. That she shouldn't even entertain the idea. Not that she had.

"Sorry," she said, moving her head out from under his arm. She waited for a moment, keeping her hands to herself.

"No." Before he could even try to leave she straddled him. "I'm not sorry," she said firmly, forcing him to return her gaze. "If I'm going to be your prisoner here then you're also going to be mine."

His eyes narrowed in defiance at her words. His muscles bunched as he placed his hands on her hips. She rested more of her weight on him, challenging him. Not that he would have any difficulty lifting her off him.

Just as he started to lift her up, he paused. Slowly his brow furrowed. His gaze traveled down her body, and then his fingers slipped in under her shirt. She let out a gasp and then giggle as he tickled her sides.

His expression changed to one of surprise. And then his lips were on hers. She teased him, rubbing her ass on his lap. He immediately pulled her shirt off. The cool air caused her skin to rise and her nipples to harden immediately.

She moved back. His eyes sparkled with hunger and his warm hands ran firmly along her skin. He sent a fire burning down into her core. He may not love her, but he wanted her. He wanted her bad. He desired her. Even if it was just her body, scars and all.

He moved in to kiss her but she placed a finger on his lips. She leaned forward and pressed her cheek against his.

"It's cold out here," she whispered softly into his ear. Before he could stop her, she got up and walked back into the house.

It was cool outside, but her body was hot with desire and so was his. It would have been fun, fucking under the stars. But she had another idea in mind. Plus, she wanted to frustrate him just a little bit.

The moment she heard the door shut, she spun on her heels. No more thinking. Her primal brain took over. She clutched his clothes to bring his mouth down to hers. Her hands busily undressed him as he undressed the rest of her. Their kisses were a mixture of short and deep.

Steering him to the couch, she pushed him just enough for him to drop onto it. Not giving him time to think, she straddled him. Her eyes stared into his. She planted her left hand firmly on his right shoulder and ran her right hand down his chest until she reached his cock.

His neck muscles strained as she stroked him. One of his hands grabbed her breast while another ran down her stomach. He slipped his fingers into her folds. His eyes sparkled and he smirked at her wetness, not that she cared.

Holding onto him firmly, she lowered herself. A loud moan came out of her lips without constraint as she slowly impaled herself on his cock. Gods damn. He felt just right. His hands roamed her body, as he seemed unable to decide what he wanted to do. Her ass, her hips, her sides, her scars, her breasts, he felt her.

Her heart thumped wildly in her chest. It wasn't just from the sex or him touching her. It was his face. An expression of wonder on it, mixed with lust.

He planted his hands firmly on her ass, squeezing it. Lifting her ass up, he let her go, causing her to slam down on him. They both moaned. She just let the sensations wash over her. Let that primal part of her mind search for whatever sparked it. Whatever made her feel good.

You're wrong, Michael, she thought but didn't dare say it out loud. You love my pussy. And guess what, asshole. I come with that.

He sat up a little bit. One hand squeezed her ass while the other clutched the back of her head, forcing her to kiss him. She more than happily obliged. She didn't stop moving her hips. Her brain snapped as her nerves sent fire through all of her body. She was getting close. She could feel it. His cock was rubbing against that right part of her inside. Faster, more.

His strong arms held her, and she wrapped her arms around his neck for support. She moved faster, harder, bouncing up and down, trying to bury as much of him as possible in her pussy. She couldn't get enough, she didn't want to stop. The two breathed heavily and moaned loudly.

His breathing became erratic and then his grip tightened on her ass, forcing her up and down faster and harder.

Almost.

He let out a loud groan, forcing her hips down to take as much of him as possible and she had no problem trying to push herself onto him. His warm cum made her tighten his grip on him for a brief moment. Finally, her muscles loosened.

She collapsed onto his chest, panting loudly with him as he relaxed back against the couch. Gods, she didn't want his cock to leave her body yet. She didn't want to feel so empty. It was stupid, but she felt safe with him around. Him, a serial killer.

She tucked her head under his chin and let out a satisfied sigh.

Told you, the part of her mind that knew, that acknowledged her own feelings toward the killer that first day, reminded her. She opened her eyes for a moment and stared at his neck. She tried so hard to deny it. She didn't want him, but that insane part of her did. That vision, of him fucking her against the wall. Of her calling out his name with her lusty voice, it hadn't come true yet, but it was going to. And she couldn't wait for that moment.

He wasn't quite sure if she'd fallen asleep on him or not. It did seem like she had. What was he supposed to do? He had no idea. This was all new territory for him. It made him uncomfortable to say the least. But, he did like the fact that his cock was buried inside of her. That wasn't something he expected to feel.

And there was something nice about the way her naked body rested on his. How her hot deep breath brushed against the skin of his neck.

The way she handled his knife, twisting it, running it gently along his skin to not cut him turned him on. For a brief moment, he saw a fire in her eyes. Something that made him believe she was going to cut him. But then she pulled that back.

Taking in a deep breath, he slowly let it out. Securing one arm under her ass, he lifted her up. She let out a loud sigh and unwrapped herself from him. She found her underwear and slipped it on while he partially put on his coveralls.

She crossed her arms over her chest and looked around.

"My shirt's outside," she said softly.

He huffed then smirked at her. She gave him a glare and walked to the hallway, then stilled. A branch was what had hit the boarded-up window earlier. But, when he walked back into the house he immediately felt her fear, the danger. For a brief moment, a thought popped into his head. As if that branch was a distraction to get him out of the house. But, there wasn't anyone in the house that could harm her.

Despite that, he felt the need to let her out for a short while. Maybe the house, or being alone, was making her a little crazy. He loved feeding off the fear of other people. Loved the way they screamed. But, if anyone was going to scare her it would be him. Not whatever her brain was conjuring up.

Plus, it was a good test to see if she'd try to run away. A test to see if the spell between them could be broken and he'd be free of her. But she didn't. And it didn't. If anything, he felt closer to her.

Michael turned Gretchen and then bent down. Placing his arm under her ass, she immediately understood what he wanted. She jumped, wrapping her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck. With her body pressed against his again, he headed towards the stairs. She nuzzled her face against his neck and let out a satisfied sigh.

She made him stop next to the bathroom. She wasn't in there for very long. Her eyes were practically closed when she opened the door, making him half wonder how she even saw. Instead of trying to jump up on him, she gently grabbed his hand and walked to her room.

He stopped in front of her bed and watched her slide under the covers. She lay on her stomach, gathered her pillow up in her arms then let out a content sigh. She opened one eye to look at him.

"Are you going to stay?" she quietly asked. There was a tone of begging, a plea, a request in that question.

No. He teased. He couldn't let her think she'd won. He stood up, but she caught his wrist before he could turn.

"Be there for me," she said. There was something about the way she said it, almost as if she meant to think it. Her already rosy cheeks turned a deeper shade of red. "Good night, Michael," she murmured, turning her head way from him. With one last deep exhale, she fell asleep.

"Do you think you can love?"

He ran one hand through his hair, shaking his head as he stared at her sleeping form. Obsessed, yes, very much so. Loved? With her asleep, he moved around to the other side of her bed. He would have preferred to be facing the door, but he didn't want to move her. Letting his coveralls drop, he slipped into the comfort next to her.

He reached his hand out and stroked her soft skin. I don't love you, Gretchen, he thought. I'm obsessed, lustful for you. But I don't love.