Chapter 2
October 30, 2007, Haddonfield, IL
John pulled up in front of the Strode's home and sat for a moment to think. Something suddenly clicked in his head; Chief Doyle was Thomas Doyle, the little boy who Laurie Strode watched as a teenager. The same little boy she was watching the night Michael first showed up in Haddonfield. He hit his steering wheel with his hand. He couldn't believe it didn't occur to him at the police station.
The front door opened and an old man who had to be somewhere in his 70s. Mr. Strode called to John to come inside and sit down, his wife, Mrs. Strode, had coffee waiting.
"Hello Mr. Strode, I'm…," John was cut off again, this time by Mr. Strode.
"I know who you are, John, your father was a very important man, we're sorry to hear that he died," Mr. Strode said.
"That was a long time ago, but I'm not here to mourn, I'm here to look into Michael's case and interview people who were there," John replied. The older man looked weary, similar to the receptionist at the police station. It was like he hadn't gotten over the fact that his daughter Laurie was gone. Mr. Strode led John to a collection of paper clippings and stories about the past.
There were stories about Michael's first attacks and his attacks and killings during the late 1980's on his niece Jamie Lloyd and her family. He picked up one specific paper. The headlines read "DOCTOR AND MASKED KILLER IN MASSIVE EXPLOSION". The hospital explosion, amazingly enough, didn't kill either although it was assumed Michael was dead. Unfortunate for the townspeople, he wasn't and he committed more atrocities when he learned of his niece.
"Nobody's seen or heard from him since Ms. Lloyd escaped with her child," Mr. Strode said, leaning over John. John turned around and looked at Mr. Strode with a weak smile.
"Yea, so we think," John said. He looked back at the pile of clippings and grabbed his coat. He headed for the door without stopping to say goodbye to the Strodes.
October 30, 2007, Rundown Cabin, Unknown Forest
He had lain on the floor for as long as he could remember. The brain that ran inside his skull no longer processed normal human thoughts. All he saw was blood and horror. He was forced to listen to the voices inside telling him that every last person he knew had to die, including anybody that stood in his way. He could no longer remember childhood; no longer remember the warmth of a mother.
The scar on his left hand burned as if he stuck it in an open flame but it never really bothered him like it did now. He reached for it and held it in his chest. A rusty knife was next to him, the handle worn down to smoothness after being used for more than two decades.
The curse left him mute, unable to reason or function normally. All he knew was that when awakened from a long rest, he knew that it once again needed him to kill. He shot back violently on the floor and his thoughts flashed back to that small town. He saw a man that he strangely recognized, another man in uniform with a small girl who looked like the girl he murdered not so long ago, the one who he seemed to have a connection with. When he came to once again, he stood up and grabbed the knife on the floor. There was a pale white mask with sunken eyes hanging on a hook above a broken counter.
The figure moved towards the mask and picked it up. He slid it over his scarred face and headed for the door. He slammed it open and began walking to the dirt road not far from where he was.
October 30, 2007, Haddonfield, IL
John Loomis stopped his car in front of a quiet ranch home with a police cruiser parked in the driveway. He ran up the walkway and rang the doorbell. He heard a dog barking and footsteps heading towards the door.
"Loomis?" Doyle asked as he opened the door to his home.
"Chief, it rang in my head when I arrived at the Strodes, your Thomas Doyle, Laurie Strode babysat you as a child," said John breathlessly. He stared at the officer for a moment waiting for a response.
"Loomis, that was a long time ago, I don't like to talk about it much," Doyle stared at the man on his front doorstep. He looked at him but it seemed like he wasn't really looking at him at all, like he was staring beyond the man.
"But, you are Tommy Doyle, right?" asked John.
"Yes, I am," replied Tom. He directed John into the house to talk. He shut the door behind him and locked the deadbolt.
John followed Tom into the kitchen where a brown haired girl about 16 sat at the table writing something. John thought the girl looked familiar but couldn't quite remember who.
"Sara, go in the living room, Mr. Loomis and I have to speak for a moment," Tom told the girl sitting at the table. She looked at him and then to John and began to say something.
"Loomis? Are you related to Dr. Sam…?" Sara began but was stopped by Tom. He pointed to the hallway and she got up disgruntled. She slowly walked out of the room and towards the living room. Tom looked back at John and began to recall the story of that horrible night.
"Lindsay and I managed to get away, I thought it was over," he said looking at the floor.
"But it wasn't, right?" John said. Tom looked up and shook his head no.
"No, my parents and I left after we heard what happened, I pretty much forgot about it until I heard what happened to Laurie's daughter Jamie," Tom said to John who suddenly looked surprised.
"Jamie Lloyd was Laurie's daughter?" John said looking aghast.
"Yea, you didn't know that?" Tom asked John. John shook his head and looked at the floor. There was so much that his father never told him.
"Dr. Loomis never told you about that, did he?" Tom asked. "Then you'll be even more surprised to know that we found Jamie to be pregnant about 6 or 7 years after the attacks in '88 and '89."
"No shit!" John said, startling Tom so much that he jumped.
"No bullshit," Tom said between a low laugh.
"If Jamie had a child, where is it now?" John said. He looked at the floor and couldn't believe what he was hearing.
"You're not going to believe this either," Tom said. "She's sitting in the living room."
John looked at Tom with his mouth hanging open. Tom led him to where Sara Doyle was watching TV.