"You do realize it's a Sunday, Rachel?" Isaac Miller teased.

Rachel chuckled as she filtered through the bills that were on her desk. "I leave for vacation for two weeks and come back to this glorious mess." She motioned towards the stake of unopened letters that had piled up during her absence. "Weekdays are too busy to sift through everything."

"Well," Isaac said, sounding defensive.

"Honestly, what would you guys do without me?" she teased before he could make up an excuse.

"Probably close down," Isaac said.

Rachel sat back in her chair. "What are you doing here this fine Sunday?"

Isaac shifted a little. "Saw your car. Just wanted to make sure you were alright," he said.

Rachel rolled her eyes. "Ben's patrolling around here somewhere." She had managed to find enough funds to hire a security guard, much to the relief of the staff. Especially considering recent mysterious murders.

"True," Isaac said. "But, you can never be too careful. Especially if Michael-"

"I'll see you tomorrow, Isaac," she interrupted, returning her attention to the pile of letters. "I have a lot of work to do."

She gave him an absentminded wave of her hand but didn't look up at him. She had been a godsend to them. The clinic was on its last legs before she was hired to take over. It was the kind of job she enjoyed. Figuring out how to save a life or in this case an essential business. But, going on vacation had been a much-needed necessity for her and her family.

Haddonfield was the perfect town for them: simple and safe. A perfect little town to raise her son with just one caveat that she didn't take too seriously until recently. The town was obsessed with a ghost of a man. A serial killer who had haunted them at a point or two during the town's history. What did her son call him? The Shape?

It had been quite a bit of time since he'd last been "seen". And in all the five years that Rachel had lived in town nothing had happened. There were rumors that ended up just being pranks, always the most active during the month of October.

She tapped her foot on the ground as a chill ran through her body. The rumors had picked up again. Only this time, the normal pranks had escalated quite a bit. A few people had been found murdered and a couple of dogs. And the name, Michael Myers, had started to be more than whispers.

It was almost fascinating, watching the town split into two sides. Half the residents seemed convinced that Michael Myers was back. Even her own son claimed to have seen the killer staring at their house. A shape in the shadows, but for the white mask that he wore.

Child's imagination.

She was on the side that it was a clear wanna-be. More so because of the time that had passed, and the fact that the injuries he supposedly received should have killed him already. The myth and legend of Michael Myers had become so overblown it made him seem immortal, superhuman. And she didn't believe in the supernatural. Those who were more familiar with the lore of Michael Myers pointed out that the first couple who had been murdered didn't fit his MO. The young man's body had been found in the forest, partially covered. His girlfriend had yet to be found, although they all suspected she was somewhere in there as well.

Rachel let out a sigh. Two young lives had been cut short by a blood-thirsty killer.

She tossed a couple of junk letters into the trash. At least, the police of Haddonfield hadn't been useless. They had increased their patrolling over the last couple of days. And, she couldn't help but notice certain residents were much too eager to walk around with concealed weapons.

The sound of a metal tray crashing to the ground alerted her.

"Hello?" she said as she cautiously got up. "Isaac? Ben?" She left her office, walking into the brightly lit hallway. Her heart pounded in her chest. "Guys? Honestly, this isn't funny. We aren't children." Her brain screamed at her to run away, that something was wrong, and yet, the idiot part of her pressed on.

A light was on in one of the exam rooms, peaking from under the door. "This better not be a stupid prank," she said as she turned the doorknob and pushed in. A high-pitched scream ripped out of her throat as she stared at a very dead Isaac who sat slouched on a chair. There was a large dark patch of blood on his shirt around his heart. A metal tray and a couple of instruments were scattered on the ground before him.

She quickly turned around to run to her office to call for help, but then her world froze. There he stood, watching her in the shadows: Tall, white mask, dark blue coveralls, Haddonfield's boogeyman. The Shape. Michael Myers. Another scream came out of her mouth, only it was quickly silenced as he clamped his hand around her neck. He pushed her back against the wall, easily lifting her up with one hand. Impossibly strong.

This was it? This was how she died? Had he come to prove to her that he wasn't just a rumor, a myth?

Her brain desperately sought an answer to why he was there at the clinic. Didn't he usually visit homes? She wasn't sure. She didn't believe in him. She hated talking about him so much that she actively discouraged it. Especially since her son's new fear and obsession centered around the legend. How old was he supposed to be?

Yet, the myth stood before her. Knife in one hand, her neck in his other. The blade was coated red with blood. How in the world did he hold her up so easily? Her toes barely brushed the floor. She grabbed onto his wrist with both of her hands, staring down at him in absolute horror. She should have listened to her instincts to run away instead of investigating.

I'm sorry! I love you! She cried out to her family. The knife moved and she closed her eyes. She didn't want to see it. Her chest heaved with sobs. She hadn't expected to die so young. For what felt like minutes, they stood there. She couldn't help but shake. Did he want her to see her death? She wasn't going to give him that satisfaction.

"Just do it already," she found herself saying. Despite her attempt at bravery, her voice was barely above a whisper. She opened her eyes.

His dark eyes studied her. His knife was still close enough to end her life, but it didn't seem like he was going to. Why? He waited a moment longer before slowly loosening his grip. The thought and action to scream were almost immediate, only to be quickly silenced when he brought his blade to her throat, making a shallow but clear cut. A warning.

He pulled the knife away and took a step back, releasing his hold on her throat. She dropped to the ground. The fall had come as a surprise, and she wasn't able to completely stop herself. She roughly hit the ground, pain shooting up from her knees. She stared at the ground, at his shoes. She was kneeling in front of him. Her body shook with fear.

"What do you want?" her voice came out in a whisper. She cautiously looked up at him.

He didn't answer, not that she expected him to. He was supposed to be a silent killer, wasn't he? Did he rape people? No. She was pretty sure he didn't. The lack of knowledge about him made her regret not being curious enough to know.

"I-" A little cry of surprise escaped her lips as he roughly grabbed her hair, causing pain to shoot through her. He half dragged her away.

"What do you want?" she asked again, half running, partially stumbling to keep up with his quick pace. She wrapped one hand around his wrist to help the strain on her scalp from his grip. He was unphased by her desperate attempt to minimize her pain. He gave her no chance to figure out what was going on.

For the briefest of moments, she remembered the security guard they had hired. He was around. Maybe- Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed a body on the ground. Her hopes of someone saving her were quickly dashed.

He threw a door open and practically shoved her into another room. A woman lay on the examination table. Her eyes were closed and she was pale, but her chest moved with each breath she took. Alive. For now. She was just wearing silk pink pajamas. Her body trembled with shivers. Of course he hadn't bundled her up. Why would he? Wasn't like it was a cold October night, she thought sarcastically.

Rachel frowned. There was something familiar about her.

"How long has she been like this?" she asked as she started to examine the woman. Her eyes fluttered open for a brief moment and she moaned before closing them again.

No answer. But of course. She glanced at The Shape then at the woman. Victim or accomplice? Gretchen Avila. The name popped into her head suddenly. The missing young woman! Everyone had assumed she'd been killed as well and her body dumped somewhere in the forest. No one thought she was alive.

The things the killer must have done to her. Clearly, he wasn't quite ready for her to die yet. Upon closer inspection, Gretchen's stomach scars were old, so not caused by him. But, maybe she'd been sick for a while and he wanted her stronger so he could really harm her.

Michael moved, raising his knife in a threatening manner.

"You're going to kill me anyway," she snapped. Despite her words, she did what she shouldn't and turned her back on him. She was a doctor. If the woman was suffering, the least she could do was manage her pain. She couldn't be like the serial killer.

She could immediately tell Gretchen had a fever. Her head was hot and her body shivered and her skin looked a little sweaty.

"Some privacy would be appreciated," she growled, not that she expected him to move. And he didn't. She glared at him. She was going to die anyway. Might as well show him her clear disdain for what he'd done and planned on doing.

On the plus side, there was no indication that she was outwardly bleeding. Except for a little bit of blood on her upper lip from what was clearly a small nose bleed. Rachel did her best to examine Gretchen without fully undressing her, looking for bruises or marks, indications that she may be bleeding internally, but she didn't find anything.

"Jesus," Rachel said as she looked at the thermometer. "Her fever is incredibly high. How long has she been like this?" She looked at the killer, hoping that he would answer that at the very least.

He didn't. If anything, he was starting to look like he was getting impatient. She saw his arm move as he tightened his grip on the handle of his blade. Then, oddly enough, he relaxed.

"Where am I?" Gretchen asked. Her voice was weak.

Rachel immediately turned her attention to her patient. "You're in a clinic. I'm Doctor Amelaner," she said.

"Clinic?" She started to sit up, causing Rachel to help her. "Why?"

"You're sick, dear. You have a very high fever."

Gretchen dangled her feet off the side of the table. She looked up at Rachel before cringing and looking away. "Fever," she repeated.

"Yes, a fever. Can you tell me any other symptoms you suffered? Coughing, abdominal pain, vomiting? Could you have an injury that's infected?"

"Gretchen," Gretchen said, looking up at Rachel again. "You're real?" Gretchen pressed her fingers against Rachel's skin, testing her.

"Yes," Rachel said. She thought she was hallucinating?

Gretchen looked confused and suspicious. "Um." Gretchen whimpered and pressed her hands on her head. "My head hurts. It's been coming and going for a while. I think I threw up? Maybe? I-"

She looked behind Rachel, clearly spotting the killer. Wondering what she could and couldn't say? It wasn't like Rachel could tell anyone.

"I need you to be completely honest with me so I can help you," Rachel said.

Gretchen returned her focus to Rachel.

"Any drugs you may be taking?"

"Drugs?" Gretchen asked. She looked at the ground and frowned. "I used to-" She whimpered again, pressing her hands on her head. "It's too much. Too much. I can't make sense." It was almost as if she were talking to herself.

Rachel turned and let out a startled cry. Michael Myers was directly behind her, far closer than she had thought. His eyes were fully focused on Rachel. Swallowing back some saliva, she moved past him to the light switch and dimmed the lights.

Her skin crawled at being so close to him. On top of that, now instead of a nice brightly lit room, she'd darkened it. It only added to her fear.

"I used to take something," Gretchen said softly.

"What?" Rachel asked. Michael Myers had quietly moved, placing himself in the corner by the door. It wasn't as if she were trying to escape. Gretchen was in no condition, and Rachel knew she couldn't get away. But he stood there, like a statue.

Gretchen tilted her head up and then gasped, jerking back. Her eyes were wide with terror as she looked at Rachel. She was already looking pretty pale and yet somehow she lost even more color.

"Miss-"

"Don't move," Gretchen stated. Her throat tensed as she swallowed and her breathing deepened. She looked terrified. Rachel kept as still as she possibly could. Finally, Gretchen relaxed. She put her hand on her forehead for a moment and closed her eyes.

"I don't know," she continued as if she hadn't momentarily freaked out. "Just pills my doctor prescribed to me."

"Did you stop taking them?"

Gretchen nodded.

"How long ago? About the time your symptoms started?"

Gretchen's head shot up, her brow was furrowed. She looked disturbed. Her eyes shifted around the room as she thought. "Yes," she finally said. "I think so."

"You could be suffering from withdrawal. Or, if you're out in this type of weather dressed like that, you could have come down with something. Any idea what the pills were for?"

Rachel reached out and Gretchen jerked back again. "Sorry, just," Gretchen mumbled, shaking her head. "I've been hearing, um, seeing things. Am I really here?"

Rachel smiled. "I'm far too real for you not to be here," she said, trying to lighten the mood a little. Not that it seemed to help. Gretchen appeared lost. "Miss-"

"There are so many voices. Too much information." Gretchen covered her face with her hands.

"Okay. Why don't you lay down for a moment and relax? I'm going to see what I can get to help lower your fever and to deal with withdrawal," she tried to reassure Gretchen. "But, really, it's all about getting plenty of rest, staying hydrated, and eating light food. I'll be right back."

Gretchen's hand shot out, gripping her forearm almost painfully. "Bandages too. Items I'll need to stitch a deep wound." There was a desperate look on her face.

Rachel nodded her head. "I'll see what I can find. Try to relax." Her heart twisted slightly at the request. Gretchen knew what kind of fate was headed her way from the killer.

Gretchen reached out then hesitated. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

Rachel gave her a strained smile. "Not your fault, dear," she said.

Gretchen glanced behind Rachel, clearly locking eyes with the killer. Whatever she seemed to be thinking or felt was a mystery to Rachel. However, Rachel couldn't help but try to reassure her by gripping her arm. Gretchen raised her eyes to look at Rachel, cringing again she shook her head. With a groan, she laid back and placed one arm over her eyes.

"The words are in the wrong order," Gretchen muttered.

Rachel turned and headed toward the door. Michael's dark eyes looked down at her with anger, as he brought his knife up.

"You brought her here for me to treat her, right?" she asked. "She has a fever. I'm going to get some medicine that can hopefully help bring it down. What I need isn't in this room. And I can't magically conjure up items." She squared her shoulders against the killer, pretending to be brave, while her insides quivered like jelly.

Gretchen let out a low chuckle. "I like you," she said softly.

Michael's eyes seemed to lighten a little as he glanced at his victim. Or at least, that's what Rachel had sensed for the briefest of moments. That was confusing.

"It's getting worse," Gretchen mumbled, her breathing came out staggered a little bit. It seemed as if she were trying to stop herself from crying. Michael's eyes narrowed with hostility as he focused on Rachel. But, he took a small step to one side so she could get out.

Rachel didn't bother entertaining the thought of trying to run away and escape. Which was a good thing as she turned to look behind her and noticed he was stalking her. Of course, he couldn't trust her. She was much more mobile than his very sick victim.

She walked into her office and grabbed her set of keys from her desk and then her coat. Her eyes landed on her desk and she stilled. Several days ago, she'd been contacted by a lawyer of a family. The niece had gone missing. A Gretchen Carter. Were the two the same? Just because they shared the same first name didn't mean they were, but what if?

Rachel opened the drawer and took out a small bottle of pills. The family doctor got into contact with her shortly after, sending her a small bottle of pills. There was fear that Gretchen had gone off her much-needed meds. If she ended up at the clinic then the meds would help her. The doctor didn't specify what they did, he hadn't had time. Apparently, he was contacting every hospital and clinic in the entire State.

The pills themselves, Rachel had never heard about them. She had started to do a little research, but, quite frankly, she was far too busy. At least, Gretchen would have some of her meds to hold her over. And hopefully, she'd be rescued before they ran out.

She let out a little scream of surprise as she nearly bumped into the killer. How the man was ridiculously silent was beyond her. Although, now that she was focusing on him. His breathing was clearly audible because of the mask he wore.

"If you're trying to keep her alive you should make sure she's more bundled up in this type of weather," she snapped, holding up her coat. She had to give Gretchen every chance she could to survive. Her hand tightened around the pill bottle, but she didn't bother telling him what it was. She couldn't give him that power over Gretchen. Hold her medicine hostage.

He didn't move, forcing her to pass far too close to him and his deadly knife. She went to the room that held their medical supplies. Putting her key in the lock, she paused. A thought popped into her head. The room had a second door on the other side that she could escape through.

She turned and looked at Michael. Her body pulsed with fear, but she had nothing to lose. "It seems like she's suffering from withdrawal. Since I don't know what she was taking previously I can't tell you how bad things will get. And without the proper care, it could very well get much worse. The worse that requires a hospital visit. I know you're not going to do that. So, unless you want her to die-"

Michael didn't move, but, oddly enough, she could have sworn he tensed.

"I will give you the medical supplies that you need to help manage it. Hopefully, that's all she'll need. But, you have to let me live. Which means, I'm going to go into that room alone. I'm going to put all the items you need into a bag, throw the bag out and close the door. And you will leave."

With each word that came out of her mouth, she felt as if she was sentencing Gretchen to a short and miserable life. But, the fact was, Rachel knew that once Michael got what he wanted he would kill her. There was no reason to keep her alive. All he wanted was for his victim to stay alive. At least this way, Rachel could inform the police, and get in contact with her family.

Emotions shifted. Rachel's heart pounded hard in her chest. Her senses, her whole body, screamed with fear. She thought she was afraid earlier, but this was something else. There was a deep hostility that enveloped her. A horrible truth settled in her brain. She automatically took a step back, hitting the door. What she felt before wasn't him wanting to kill her. It was him scaring her. Now, he wanted to kill her.

Michael raised his knife. Her eyes focused on the dark red blood from the two men he had killed.

"Go ahead! Kill me." The words and the strength behind them surprised her. "There's no one else here to help you. You'll have to wait for tomorrow, but who knows what state she'll be in then. I doubt you even know how to take care of a sick person. Sure, you could go to a pharmacy but I have a feeling you know you need more than over-the-counter meds." Oddly enough, she felt more in control with every word she said. She had him. She had the knowledge and resources he needed. Maybe he could get his victim to find what could help her. But then again, Gretchen didn't seem completely there.

She felt a little guilty, using his victim as leverage to get what she wanted. But, she had to think about herself. She wanted to live. And she had to take every chance she could to survive her new situation.

Michael took a step closer, bending down a little. His eyes blazed with anger for a moment, before that anger disappeared. His eyes creased as if he were smirking. She gulped as he moved his free hand. He raised it so that the item he held was at eye level with her. Her heart plummeted.

"Don't hurt my family," she whispered as she stared at her driver's license that was between his fingers. "I'll do whatever you want."

He palmed her license, standing up straighter. Her shoulders sagged with defeat. His threat to her family was loud and clear. She was going to die, but her family didn't have to. At least, she hoped that was his message.

She opened the door to the supply room and entered. She found a bag and started putting in medicine that she figured would be helpful, as well as the bandages and other items needed to stitch wounds. She wasn't going to risk angering him again. Her fate was sealed, but her family was hopefully not. Whatever the case was, she didn't want to risk it. All she could do was hope that he'd be satisfied killing her. Satisfied that she gave him what he needed.

Making sure she had everything she thought would be needed, including adding the pills that Gretchen's doctor had sent, she headed toward the door. He stood there, breathing heavily through that white rubber mask. He looked at the bag that was on her shoulder, then at her. Dark, cold eyes shone under his mask. He was quick, faster than Rachel could comprehend. His big hand wrapped around her throat, squeezing it. She grabbed his wrist with her two hands, but it was no use.

"I-" she couldn't finish the rest of her sentence as her oxygen was cut off. She'd done all he wanted, and this was the thanks she got. Not that she expected to live anyway. She wasn't quite sure which was better. Getting stabbed or lack of oxygen. She sent out one last prayer to her family before her world went dark.