Michael stood over Gretchen's bed and watched her as she slept. He'd gotten up far earlier than usual. The absolutely normal and yet boring day that they had the day before had perked up by night time. She called his name. His name. Why did that make him extremely proud? It almost made it worth it, staying home. No, not almost. It did make it worth it. But, next time, he'd let her rebuff him once, maybe twice depending before taking control. Despite her protests, there was this calmness after, as if she needed him to be the bad guy and not listen to her. That was a role he could easily take.
Those looks she gave him after. He had half a mind to stay another day, but this time to really make it a day of fucking her. Half a mind. The other half was antsy, itching to get some blood on his hands.
You had your fun last night. She wasted the day she could have had. Another time. Not like she's going anywhere.
Turning on his heels, he stalked out of the room. When she'd come back with a bag of chips and a glass of water, she had specified what items she wanted him to bring her. He had to give her that look that told her he wasn't going to do it. Watching her sigh and wave her hand in the air in a dismissive manner was rather enjoyable.
He wasn't going to tell her he had a lot of those items in her car. When he went to visit her apartment he had come to a decision that he wasn't going to go back. He took what items he figured she'd eventually ask him for and placed them in her car. He wasn't quite sure he had everything she wanted, but it didn't matter.
Walking down the stairs, he paused by the console table. The little bundle she'd made was set there. She wanted him to get rid of it. He had a feeling that the items inside had been given to her by her boyfriend. The man he killed. That made him smile. He never really thought about the fact that she probably had items that belonged to another man. Items she may have been wearing.
Jealous? He could already hear her say, and that look she'd give him as she studied him. Searching for his tells. He snorted. Hardly. She wasn't going back to him. He was dead. Plus, she said Michael's name. Oh, she was very much Michael's now.
Although, if she expected him to replace those items with gifts of his own she was in for a major disappointment. It surprised him that her birthday was coming up. He frowned. Had his own passed? Her one request, the present that she wanted was to call her uncle. Simple, yet, he couldn't let that happen. She was crazy to think he'd let her leave his house. Risk her trying to escape? He was no fool. She may have called his name, she may be more willing, but she was still his prisoner. She would try to escape the moment she got the opportunity to. The only gift she was getting was his cock.
His cock twitched at the image of her staring at him with a hunger in her eyes. And that way her ass bounced with the couple of hits he gave it with his hand, the redness, and then, just to top it all off, the way his name left her lips with pure ecstasy.
Okay, maybe we should fuck her before we kill anyone. The killer side of him seemed to begrudgingly agree. But first, he'd get some of her items from the car. She was asleep and it was the perfect opportunity to bring them in. She wouldn't see him do it. She could never see him actually do things for her. Especially something she asked for.
Michael quietly walked out of the home, bundle in hand. Her car was parked in the middle of the driveway. Far enough for her not to see it, but deep enough in for no one else to see it either. Although he wouldn't mind unwelcomed visitors, he didn't want to have to deal with that. Yet. He enjoyed the quietness of returning home.
His mind started to plan out his day. Bring some of her items in, wake her up and fuck her, and go see if her dead boyfriend's body had been found. Gone or not, what a fitting place to leave the bundle of items she wanted to get rid of. And then, he'd go into town. Someone was going to die today.
Jethro tapped his glass of bourbon and stared out of his home office window as the morning sun started to peek through. His heart drummed loudly in his chest. His anxiety had gotten worse as each day passed.
Can you hold on just a little bit longer, Gretchen? We're going to find you soon. Everything was almost set into place. There was just one last piece needed.
Setting his glass down on his desk his eyes stared at what he had laid out. A book of the family genealogy, a dagger, a lock of hair, a scarf, a cameo, an old diary, a photo, Gretchen's sketchbook that Nathan had found in her apartment, and the damn pills. He hated being passive, sitting on the sidelines, helpless as events unfolded.
Things had been going fine, would have been fine had Clark not messed with Gretchen's pills. She hated them. Only once did she stop taking them. It led to near-disastrous consequences. He had struggled with that event. A part of him wanted to tell her, while another was glad that her mind protected itself and made her forget. There was no telling what she would have done, racked with guilt. And Nathan didn't want her to know.
Jethro picked up the pills.
She hated them because they didn't feel right to her. She used to complain about how she felt as if she was incomplete while taking them. As if a part of her was being suppressed. He assured her that it wasn't the case. But she was right. Finding the right dosage took some time. Not strong enough she might as well not have been taking them. Too strong and she stopped taking them. Either way, the outcome was the same.
She didn't even realize it. She had yet to connect the dots that her poor health when she was a child was due to her innate abilities. Her boon. Her curse. Her body, her mind didn't know how to deal with it as it wore her down, day by day. The herb was a blessing. It suppressed Gretchen's abilities. It gave her a fighting chance. If only they'd found it sooner.
Turning the herb into a pill was the easiest way to get Gretchen to take it. Jethro didn't want to use his friend. But Gretchen would have asked questions that he couldn't answer. He needed a real doctor, one he could trust to give her the pills. But Clark had to go and fuck it up. Most likely more in fear of retaliation from the family for having broken the one main rule, if they found out his role in all of it. Do not interfere. But, Jethro would have protected him. He had a lot more resources than the family realized. They were complacent in their old ways, thinking that no one would dare try and step out of line. But, Jethro started building up to protect her the moment they found out she was a girl. Because she had been born to the right family with the right people interested in keeping her alive.
Jethro eyed the items again. He was only missing a few. His obsession with collecting all the items belonging to the women of the family had been found out before he could collect everything he wanted. But he did get the most important ones, in his opinion. Each of the items on the table belonged to one of the women who had been born into the family. Few and far between, all of them like Gretchen. Abilities that weren't normal, that they couldn't handle. And all of them died at far too young of an age, Between the ages of fourteen and twenty-one. Gretchen was almost twenty-three.
He stared at her sketchbook. He didn't want to add it to the pile of tragedies. He wasn't entirely sure if she was actually safe once she hit her twenty-third birthday. It was just a theory. One that one of their ancestors wrote in their diary. She had been the closest to making it prior to Gretchen. She strongly believed that once she hit that age she would be alright. She just had to make it.
Unfortunately, she had been burned at the stake for being a witch, at the age of twenty-one. Betrayed by her own husband while her family tried to save her. At least, that's the tale they were told. Her diary hinted at a different story.
Jethro hesitated, but then reached out and picked up Gretchen's sketchbook. He flipped it open, passing the nice drawing of the sky or scenery she'd made. Finally, he stopped. Another hesitatant moment and then he flipped the next page over. The edges were shaggy and ripped from his attempt at opening up the two glued pages a couple of days prior. He always looked out for those pages now. Glued together signifying a special event dark event. Most of the time there was a clue, a hint, a date, a time, something that he could use to gauge when or where.
Regret momentarily hit him. Had he found out she started doing that he would have been able to stop her last episode. And Nathan wouldn't have almost died. He pushed those thoughts out of his head. What happened happened. Nathan lived. He focused on the drawing again.
Gretchen had drawn herself, kneeling on the ground. Her hands pressed against her head, tears streaming down her pain-filled face, and her mouth was open in a silent scream. There were no real distinguishing features about the room she was in for him to know exactly where she was at. Except, it looked barren, with a single empty metal shelving unit against one wall and a tiny window on another.
She had drawn someone beside her, crouching over her in a protective manner, hand on her back. It seemed like they were trying to comfort her. A man, he assumed by the shape of the body. She had drawn no other features. It was just a black shadow. He could only hope that it was one of his men, come to rescue his niece. She wasn't dead, that he knew. Unfortunately, that didn't mean she wasn't suffering. That didn't mean her mental state was sound. He clenched his fists in frustration. All he could do was hope they'd get to her before she was too far gone. Hope that twenty-three was the magic number and she would be fine.
A knock on his study door forced him to look up. "One moment," he called out. He quickly, but carefully placed all the items into their protective cases, leaving Gretchen's sketchbook out.
"Come in," he said.
"Sir, your guest is here," his maid said. Jethro nodded his head to her. She opened the door wider. A man, who easily could have been Jethro's father's age, walked into the room.
"Dr. Loomis," Jethro said pleasantly as he walked around his desk to shake the man's hand.
"Mr. Carter," Dr. Loomis said a bit warily.
"I'm glad you came," Jethro said as he motioned towards a chair. "Please, call me Jethro."
"For the amount of money you offered me just to see you, I would have been a fool not to," Dr. Loomis said. He hesitated for a moment before slowly sitting down. "You know I'm not practicing."
Jethro nodded his head. He followed Dr. Loomis's vision and picked up the old photograph that had been taken around the mid-1800s. He'd forgotten to put that away. "Magan," he said as he passed it to Dr. Loomis. "One of the family ancestors. She went crazy. Killed her fiancé before killing herself when she was sixteen."
The doctor looked at it for a moment, before placing it back on the desk. "I'm not practicing anymore. I can recommend someone if you're looking for-"
"I didn't ask you here to take in a new patient. Actually, I asked you here to take on an old patient," Jethro said.
"Oh?" Dr. Loomis asked.
"I need you to return to Haddonfield. I will pay you, of course."
Dr. Loomis's eyes narrowed. "Why?"
"It seems that you and Michael Myers have an interesting rapport."
"I wouldn't say that," Dr. Loomis interrupted.
Jethro smiled, taking a sip of his bourbon. "Drink?"
"No, thanks." Dr. Loomis studied Jethro for a moment. "You think he's going to return."
Jethro shook his head. "He is back," he said.
"Impossible," Dr. Loomis stated, his muscles tensed as if he were trying to stand up, but he didn't. "He always pops up at the end of October. There's still a bit of time left."
"He's early," Jethro said.
"How do you-" Dr. Loomis stopped himself. "Why me? I'm not as young as I used to be. Hell, I wasn't young back then either. If you think I have the energy to stop Michael now-"
"I've read your books," Jethro said setting his drink down and leaning against his desk. "Know about your interactions with him. You and Laurie Strode both survived him. He likes you."
Dr. Loomis snorted. "I don't think-"
"He's injured you, but never a lethal wound. He either likes you enough to wound you and not kill you. Or he likes taunting you. Doesn't really matter what his motives are with you."
Dr. Loomis shifted uneasily and looked away for a moment. "You think he's going to have the same affinity towards me now?"
Jethro didn't answer immediately as he stared at the old man. "Possibly."
Dr. Loomis studied him. "You want to use me. To distract him?"
Jethro quirked a smile. "Yes," he said, nodding his head. "You don't have to worry about him killing you. I have a team set up down there. A good team. Their orders are to protect you at all costs and hopefully take down Myers."
"They can't stop Michael Myers," Dr. Loomis said with confidence.
"And yet you've stopped him a few times. Caused him to disappear for long periods of time," Jethro pointed out. "My team knows who they are up against. They're good."
Dr. Loomis looked at the desk then back at Jethro. "What's it to you? You're not from Haddonfield. I looked you up. Your family. What's your interest in Michael Myers?"
Jethro didn't answer immediately, resting his chin on his hand as he thought. "It would be easier, taking him out with you around. I believe you're his weakness. His kryptonite so to speak. I hope he'll make a mistake. I think it's high time he moved on, don't you?"
Dr. Loomis gave him a wary look, then he looked at the ground, before nodding his head. "Even hell doesn't want Michael Myers, Jethro," he said. There was a little bit of silence before Dr. Loomis let out a sigh. "I'm not afraid to die," he said. "If you're so sure your men can kill Michael Myers, evil incarnate itself, then I'll happily help."
Jethro smiled, shaking the doctor's hand. "Good. Arrangements have already been made."
"I do expect all my expenses to be paid," Dr. Loomis quickly added.
Jethro chuckled. "I'm asking you to risk your life, doctor. The least I can do is make sure you don't lose any of your money in the process."
There was no time to waste. Jethro led Dr. Loomis out of his house into a waiting car that would take him to Haddonfield. He waited till the car was out of sight of the driveway before walking back into his home. The last piece was about to be set. Or so he hoped. His heart pounded in his chest at the thought. No, this had to work.
He returned back to his study and stared at the items again. It was still quite early in the morning, his son probably wasn't up yet. Despite that, he pulled out his cellphone, sending a quick text to his son, not expecting a reply.
Any luck?
NoThe reply came back almost instantly, surprising him. It shouldn't have. Nathan was taking his apparent failure, in making sure that Gretchen didn't go anywhere, hard.
Where are you?
Springfield Jethro's heart pounded harder after seeing the word.
Think she's still in the State?
Unsure
We'll find her, he replied back. Jethro hesitated then started to write -She does like Lake Michigan. Maybe you should...-
Sorry Nathan's reply interrupted his typing.
Jethro paused. "Oh, Nathan," Jethro said softly. He deleted his message. He desperately wanted to send his son away, just in case. But sometimes people met their destiny while trying to run away from it. I should have expected it too. But, we'll find her. Love you.
His son just replied with a thumbs-up emoji. Jethro set his cellphone down and then stared at Gretchen's sketchbook again.
"What's your interest in Michael Myers?"
He flipped to the first set of pages she'd glued together. The house was old, falling apart, in the middle of nowhere. Forest surrounded it. A small barely visible beaten path of what was once a dirt driveway and a little dirt trail. Gretchen was clearly in distress. Her hand was reaching out towards nothing. She had tried to get away, but her captor had her hoisted on his shoulder as he took her back to his house.
"What's your interest in Michael Myers?"
"Well, Dr. Loomis," he said softly. As he pressed his finger against the familiar-looking body of Haddonfield's boogeyman. "He has my niece. And I need him distracted to rescue her."
Gretchen sat up and stretched. She felt good, better than good. The day before, no, the night before had been amazing. He did it. He took control like she needed him to and by the gods was it amazing.
You said his fucking name. She didn't expect it. But, he had started to slow down when she needed him to go faster. He'd gotten angry, annoyed for some reason. She wasn't quite sure why. The begging that came out wasn't what even she expected. But her body was pulsing, demanding, and in desperate need of a good pounding. And the fucker chose that moment to slow down.
Grabbing her pillow, she wrapped her arms under it and let out another muffled shriek. Crazy fool. Just sex. Keep that in mind. Just, slowly building up to mind-fucking-blowing sex. With a loud sigh, she relaxed and turned her head towards the door. Michael had changed their sleeping arrangement, taking the side closest to the door. She reached out, placing her hand on his empty side.
And of course, he is gone. Just sex. He can't love. Remember?
With a loud sigh, she turned onto her back and looked up at the ceiling. Actually, he does love. He just doesn't realize it. He loves murdering. Can't expect anything more from him. It is who he is. Was she really okay with that?
If I need him to kill, he'll probably do it for me.
Chills ran down her spine at that thought. She would never need him to kill anyone. She sat up, shaking her head at herself. Never. She scooted out of bed and set her feet on the ground. It was time to face the day. Mentally and physically she felt better and stronger. Strong enough to take on whatever the Presence-Brandon or her own mind threw at her. Hopefully.
She stood up and let out a loud yawn. A thought popped into her head. She always somehow managed to see Michael before he left for the day. What if he was around?
"Mi-" A sharp pain zapped through her brain, making her put her hands on her head. Shit. She groaned loudly. It'll pass. It wasn't as intense as the other day immediately dying down just as quickly as it started.
She inhaled and exhaled deeply as she waited. Once her body settled and the headache became a dull throb, she lowered her hands. "Calm. You'll be okay," she whispered to herself.
She took a step forward and immediately regretted her decision. The headache spiked up again. She should have just stayed in bed. The pain paralyzed her as it expanded, rushing down her body as if it were flowing through her veins. She pressed her hands against her head and waited for it to die down again. She just needed a moment to drop back down into bed.
It didn't let up.
"Michael," she managed to whimper. She wasn't sure how he could help, but at least he could hold her. Maybe. Would he? Or would he watch?
"He's never here for you when you really need him. But don't worry, baby," Brandon's voice said soothingly in her ear. "As I said, I'll always be here for you."