Chapter 5

Christine moaned painfully as awareness returned. She was on her back and someone was patting her cheek gently mumbling something. It took her a few moments to make out what the person was saying. She forced her eyes open. The first thing she noticed was the anxious weathered face above her, the second was the bright stars over his shoulder and the third that she was in a slight ditch on the side of a road. Wonderful.

"Thank God! I thought you were dead. Are you hurt, miss? " The man was kneeling beside her, checking her carefully for broken bones. Squinting up at him, Christine dazedly noted he was an older man, probably in his fifties. It would have terrified her that some stranger was looming over her, but from what she could tell, he had kind brown eyes that clearly showed his worry.

Shaking her head to clear it of the lightheadedness threatening to swamp her again, Christine frowned trying to remember what happened. "No, I think I'm alright. Nothing feels wrong." As he helped her to her feet, she amended with a wince "I'm just a little bruised and scraped. W-what happened?" She was grateful that he was holding her up, she wasn't quite sure she'd be able to stand on her own at the moment.

"I almost hit you with my car. I turned away for a moment to check something and there you were in the middle of the road! If it weren't for him, you would certainly be severely injured or worse. He just came out of nowhere and…"

She wasn't listening to him anymore, Christine wasn't even breathing. She had turned around when he'd motioned behind her, and who she saw lying a few feet away almost made her knees buckle. Oh God! "Michael!"

Christine hardly even realized she'd moved. Falling to her knees beside him, she frantically ran her hands over every inch of his body she could reach, praying he wasn't hurt too badly. She vaguely noticed he wasn't wearing his mask when she felt sticky wetness on the side of head.

She stared with blurry vision, horrified at the blood covering her fingertips. "Michael, can you hear me? Michael please wake up…Please!" Her frantic whisper received no reaction. With her other hand, she measured his pulse, closing her eyes with relief as she noted it was steady and strong. She was startled to realize she was crying, not daring to examine why. Christine jumped slightly as the man next to her plaaced a calming hand on her shoulder as he spoke. She'd completely forgotten he was there.

"You'll wait here while I get some help miss. I'll call an ambulance so they can take him to the hospital and besides-" He gave her bleeding shoulder a pointed look "You need to get checked out too."

Christine whirled around so fast the man had to step back to avoid being knocked over. "No! You can't! I'm fine, really, and he…" He what? What was she supposed to say? He's a mass murder and I don't want him to get caught? Good God, Michael could massacre the whole hospital if he woke up before they found out who he was, before they could restrain him in time. The thought was a sobering one.

She knew what she had to do before she consciously made the decision. Christine couldn't let innocent people die because of her, even it if it meant her life would be in danger. Damn him. She let out a defeated sight, wiping her eyes. So be it.

Stiffening her spine, she put all the authority and conviction she could muster into her voice. "I'm a nurse. I can take care of him until the doctor can come for a house call." Motioning to the unconscious man at their feet, Christine continued, warming up to her lie. "Michael is very nosocomephobic, he hates hospitals. He's terrified of them and he could hurt someone if he woke up there, it's that bad."

The man was skeptical for a few excruciatingly long moments, but then finally nodded after a little more assurances from her "Alright. I'll take you home." Bending to Michaels prone body he maneuvered his arms under his and locked them around his chest with a firm grip "You'll need to help me thugh, he's rather large and I'm not a strong as I used to be."

Nodding gratefully, Christine moved to Michael's feet to help from the other end. It took them more than half an hour, with frequent pauses to maneuver him onto the backseat of the small car. She was worn out by the time they got him as comfortable as they could.

Excusing herself for a moment, Christine ran back to the ditch looking for Michaels mask. She spotted it a few feet away and scooped it up, hiding it in the folds of her blanket, somehow knowing he would want it when he woke up, and hoping the man helping them hadn't seen it.

Getting into the car, she sat on the passenger seat and turned on her side to keep an eye on Michael while frequently glancing out front, giving directions to her cabin. She was glad to note they were still in Haddonfield, glad they were on an isolated road. If she wasn't mistaken it lead to an old saw mill. Christine didn't want to think what could have happened if all this had occurred in the centre of town. It would have been literally a bloody nightmare. Sparing a glance to the man driving, she spoke quietly, laying a grateful hand on his arm "Thank you." Silently wondering if he worked at the mill and was on his way home, but couldn't bring herself to ask.

He shrugged "It's the least I can do considering I almost ran you over. My name is Burke by the way. Burke Tavish."

Nodding, Christine gave a slight smile "I'm Christine Fields and that's-" she faltered for a moment, not sure what to say. Swallowing nervously, she smiled a little more forcefully. "That's my boyfriend, Michael." She noticed him give her a look that said he found that a little hard to believe. Keeping her eyes averted, she mumbled "We've had some problems recently." As if that explained everything. She almost snorted. He had no idea.

Burke frowned "Is that why you you're running around in a blanket? He threw you out, hon?" His hands clenched on the steering wheel and he gave the poor girl a serious look "If he's abusive to you, I'd be more than happy to pull the car over, throw his ass out and leave him there for some animal to chew on."

Wide eyed, Christine blurted before she thought "No! Of course not. I was just…the thing is…I…" She had no idea how to explain. Her mind worked furiously for a plausible explanation, but she kept drawing a blank. She was saved when the dirt path up to her home came into view. "There's my cabin!" As they turned into her drive, she had the panicked thought of how the hell she would to get into her house? She didn't have her keys!

"I'll be right back!" She was out of the car before it stopped fully, running around the smal cabin. She jumped over the steps of the porch and skidded to a stop almost crashing into the back door. Tugging the handle, Christine was thankful for small miracles when the glass panel slid effortlessly to the side. Sprinting to her bedroom, she dropped the blanket she was wearing and practically tore the closet doors off in her haste. Diving in, she grabbed the first thing she found that would cover hear. Christine heard a seam tear as she harshly tugged a dress over her head. She didn't care.

That accomplished, she ran to the front door, turning the lights on in the cabin on the way, and located her keys. It took her three tries to shove the right damn key in the lock, and she almost broke it off when she turned it. Christine flew out the door the second she had it open wide.

Burke already had Michael out of the car. Turning his head to her, he asked "You sure about this miss? I could still take him to the hospital."

Shaking her head, Christine moved to them, bending to grab her "boyfriends" legs. "Yeah, I'm sure. I'll take care of him and call the doctor as soon as I have him cleaned up and comfortable. " She didn't look at Burke, sure that he'd see the lie on her face, instead she put all her focus on the task of moving Michael into her house, and subsequently into her bed. It was not how she'd imagined having him there.

Stumbling, Christine almost dropped him as she realized what she'd thought. Too tired to argue with herself right now, she pushed all though out of her head and worked on autopilot. There would be time for that later, much later.

Both her and Burke heaved a relieved sigh as they left Michael lying stretched out in her bedroom. Her rescuer, and she did think of him that way, moved a tired hand over his face and through his hair, making the salt and pepper strands stand up at all angles. Christine was sympathetic, he was supposed to be home with his family, not hauling an passed out serial killer around in his car. Though on second thought, it's better that Michael's unconscious. "Would you like a cup of coffee, something to eat maybe?" She asked hopefully, wondering how to repay his kindness.

He shook his head firmly, glancing at his watch "Fraid not. It's past two a.m.. I need to get home, my wife's probably in quite a state already." He gave her a playful wink "Don't want to get in danger twice in one night." Moving to the door, he hesitated "You absolutely sure about…" He nudged his head in the direction of her bedroom.

Chuckling, she nodded "We'll be fine Mr. Tavish. Thank you for all your help." Christine stepped up to him, lifted on tiptoe and gave him a grateful peck on the cheek, amused when he blushed to the roots of his hair.

Clearing his throat, he fumbled for the doorknob. "No problem. Have a good night, and promise me you'll be more careful in the future young lady." As he stepped out, he gave her a knowing look that made her nervous "And do call a doctor for your friend, though if I were you, I'd call an ambulance and have them deal with him. Something tells me he's a handful."

After assuring him for what it felt like the tenth time and saying good night, Christine watched him drive off for a few moments before closing and locking the door. Leaning against it, her shoulders slumped in exhaustion. Turning her head, she stared blankly at the thin white wall separating the main room from the bedroom. Michael was there, in her bed, unconscious, vulnerable. She was screwed. Christine debated whether she should tie him down or not. Deciding against it after some thought. It was a good chance it would make him even more dangerous, because eventually, she'd have to release him.

Pushing from the door, Christine moved to her bathroom for a quick shower and to get everything she'd need to take care of Michaels wounds. Turning on the spray of tepid water, she disrobed and stepped into the tub. The gash on his head worried her. He had probably hit his head when he'd tackled her, she just had no idea how hard or how bad the trauma was. It could just be cut skin, but that didn't seem likely since he was still out cold. It could be a concussion, which she'd find out how severe, when or if he woke up. On the other hand, it could be worse…he could have suffered a cerebral contusion, in that case, she couldn't do anything for him, he would need a specialist. The not knowing was killing her.

After drying off, taking care of her own scrapes and putting a pair comfy sweats paired wth a large T-shirt, Christine grabbed her first aid kit and a basing filled with warm water. Grabbing a washcloth on the way out, she juggled the items to her bedroom.

Setting her things on the table beside the bed, Christine turned to her patient and faltered, scowling. Hell, I'll have to undress him! She stared at the zipper of his jumpsuit as if it was a deadly snake. Arriving at the conclusion that she could delay the inevitable, she grabbed up her things and scurried to the other side of the bed. "I'm not a coward." She snorted disbelievingly at the muttered words.

Focusing on Michaels head wound, carefully cutting away a little of his hair on either side of it, as close to his scalp as she dared, she then prepared her sewing kit. Christine washed the three-inch cut with diluted peroxide, glad to find that it wasn't bleeding anymore and that it wasn't all that deep. After making sure with a magnifying glass that the cut was as clean as possible, she picked up the small needle and thread. Glancing at him, she just hoped he wouldn't wake up yet.

Sixteen small stitches later, Christine flexed her cramping fingers, happy with the even result. She was done and thank god he hadn't awakened. Except for a few twitches here and there, he was as unresponsive as ever. Reaching for gauze and a long bandage, she carefully wrapped his head, whispering "Michael? It's time to wake up now…" Nada. Frowning at him, she mumbled "Well, I guess you'll wake up like you do everything else…on your own terms." Getting up, she shuffled to the kitchen.

Ten minutes later, she was back with a steaming cup of coffee, practically moaning as the warm liquid slid down her throat. She stood staring at the bedside clock for long moments; three thirty a.m.. Lord this was going to be a long night. She couldn't even remember the last time she'd slept. Setting the half-empty cup on the table, Christine rolled her stiff shoulders, glaring at his clothing, hoping it just vanish by the power of her will. No such luck. Huffing, she muttered "Better get this over with as quickly as possible. Like a band-aid, just rip it off." Groaning, Christine could have kicked herself. "Damned wrong choice of words."

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