Gretchen stared out of her hospital room window. Her arms wrapped around her chest as she hugged herself tightly. She was going home soon. Not her apartment in Chicago. Nor the house she had inhabited with Michael. Not that she could go back there even if she wanted too.
She bit her lower lip at the thought, fighting back the tears. They'd let it burn. They had let the house burn to the ground, leaving basically only a skeletal structure in its place. There were so many people there, watching: Firefighters, police, reporters, curious citizens. Brandon had tried to take her to see everything. But Jethro wouldn't allow it, much to her relief. He didn't want her anywhere near the police. He didn't want to give them any more ammunition to build up a case against her. Because, apparently, that's what they wanted to do.
It was the reason why she was cuffed to the hospital bed when she woke up a day ago. That was one of the first things Jethro made sure to take care of, admonishing "Nathan" for even allowing the police to handcuff her in the first place.
"Victim", "Stockholm syndrome", and "threaten legal action", were some of the words that she picked up while Jethro laid it in on "Nathan". It partially amused her, the look of frustration and anger on Brandon's face as he tried to keep himself calm. But then the other part wanted to scream and shout that it wasn't Nathan but a ghost in his body who was in control. It was oddly curious why he decided to play along and pretend to be Nathan. Maybe he hoped Jethro would leave the two of them alone for a longer period of time.
Her uncle didn't. She wasn't entirely sure why. Maybe her evident distress and pain about the whole situation made him regret keeping secrets. But then again, he did put her back on the pills to suppress her powers. That was why she was still in the hospital instead of a hotel. He wanted the doctors to monitor her. Whatever lie he told them worked. As well as a psych evaluation or something like that. She wasn't entirely sure. She had kept her mind distant, uncaring of what her eventual fate would be. She wasn't quite ready to live again.
The sound of an ambulance siren caused her to clap her hands over her ears. Her mind flashed back to the video Brandon had shown her the day before. It was of the police and firefighters, sifting through the charred rubble of the place she was starting to call home. She had closed her eyes for the rest of it, unfortunately, she couldn't close her ears. Gods, damn him. She tried to be brave. Tried to hold back her emotions, but the sound of their excited voices as they found his charred body broke her.
Luckily, she didn't have to hear much more. Jethro had stepped back into the room at that moment and yelled at "Nathan", smacking him on the back of his head.
"Gods, Nathan. You're being childish and an asshole. Your cousin is hurting. Delete that video and go get us something to eat."
Nathan. Was he still in there? A part of her hoped he was. Hoped he was fighting to regain control of his body. While a smaller part of her hoped he wasn't. Because, if he couldn't regain control and was watching what Brandon was doing with his body it would destroy him.
Chills ran through her, causing her skin to rise. For now, she was safe from him. Safe from his advances, but that wasn't going to last long. For whatever reason, Jethro kept himself close by, showing up at random times, making it impossible for Brandon to find the right moment to accost her.
"Still feeling sorry for yourself?" Nathan's voice cut into her mind.
Brandon. She had to keep reminding herself of that fact. She heard Nathan. She saw Nathan. But she knew it was Brandon.
Gretchen focused on the outside. The sun was slowly setting, it was going to be dark in an hour or so. From her vantage point, she could see families already setting out, turning from one residential street to another. All dressed up for Halloween. Even the hospital staff had dressed up.
"What do you want?" she snapped.
His fingers brushed her arm and she jerked back. "He's fucked you up so bad, baby," he said.
She glared at him. Brandon let out a sigh as if he was disappointed in her.
"Well, I brought someone. A real expert about the man who you think you love."
Gretchen slightly turned. Her eyes landed on Dr. Loomis. She'd never met him before, but she was familiar with his face. It was featured on the inside cover of the book he'd written about Michael Myers. A book she owned, having bought it shortly after moving to Haddonfield. Gods. How didn't she see it then?
"Dr. Loomis," she said.
He was in a wheelchair wearing a hospital gown. Brandon moved away from her and leaned against a wall, crossing his arms over his chest. He clearly planned on observing.
"Michael do that?" she asked. Her voice surprised her with how casual she sounded.
Dr. Loomis nodded. "He came to his old family house and attacked an innocent couple who lived there."
She snorted. "Innocent?" she asked. "I won't deny that Michael's a killer." Was. "And that he's killed innocent people before. But I highly doubt, in your case, they were as innocent as you want me to believe."
Dr. Loomis studied her for a moment. "They would have been innocent," he corrected. "Michael is not the man you think he is."
"And who do you think I think he is?"
"A man who can love. Who can care. He can't care, Miss. Carter. He can't love."
She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the window, turning her full attention on the old man. "I never said I thought he could love," she said.
"But you think he can care," Dr. Loomis stated.
Unfortunately, she couldn't deny that, as much as she wanted to. She did believe that he did care about her in his own way. He wouldn't have done the things he did if he didn't care. Love? Her heartbeat picked up at the thought. No, she couldn't even entertain that thought.
Dr. Loomis shook his head. "He can't care."
"You're the expert," she said.
He nodded his head in agreement even though she was being sarcastic. "I've known him since he was six years old. I worked with him for fifteen years. And what I quickly came to realize is that there is nothing inside of him. You can't rehabilitate him. You can't change him. He has no conscience. No understanding between life or death, good or evil, right or wrong. I spent eight long years trying to reach him. Searching for what you thought you saw. A scared, scarred little boy who just needed the right tools to find that humanity in them. He doesn't have it in him. Didn't you see? His pale, emotionless face with the blackest of eyes?"
Blue. Blue eyes. She didn't answer.
"When I realized there was just nothing I could do it hit me that he needed to be locked up, forever. He's evil. It's really that simple. He doesn't know how to love. The first time he escaped, he proved it. Killing all those people until he was too injured to continue. I thought we put a stop to him. Hoped that his disappearance was because he was dead."
You're going about this conversation all wrong, Dr. Loomis. She wanted to say. I did not once say I tried to change him. I knew who he was from the start. Do I hate that he kills people? Of course. But my heart loves him. And we both know that love isn't logical. Maybe he didn't care. But he accepted me for who I was without question. That's all I wanted. All I needed.
Her eyes traveled down to Dr. Loomis's lap. The man had a folder in his hands. He looked down, his fingers tightened on the folder for a moment before he let it go. He glanced at Brandon.
"I shouldn't have these. And I shouldn't show them to you. But, I talked to your cousin and we think that this will help you. Help you understand the kind of man who kidnapped you. I understand that he killed your boyfriend in front of you. And that perhaps your brain had to switch into survival mode. But you're free now and maybe this will help you realize what kind of monster had you living with him."
Dr. Loomis hesitated then pulled out a photo. Gretchen let out a sigh and took it. A picture of Brandon no doubt. Or maybe one of the many victims that Michael had killed over the years.
Her heart plummeted as she clenched her jaw. Dr. Amelaner was it? The woman was lying on what appeared to be tile floor, covered in blood with clear knife wounds in her chest. She did recognize her. Sort of. Her brain was still a little fuzzy from that day. She liked her. She asked Michael to let her live. A silent plea. He had. Did he go back to kill her later?
"No," she said, shaking her head as she handed him back the photo. "He didn't do that." It didn't make sense. Why would he let the woman go just to kill her later? Wasn't like Gretchen would have left him if he had murdered the woman in front of her.
"I interviewed her. She said Michael let her go, but that's not like him, Miss. Carter. I don't know what his reasoning for it was. Perhaps he enjoyed the thought of her living in terror for a little while before finishing what he had started. She lived in terror. Her idiot of a husband thought they were safe. He found out the hard way." Dr. Loomis pulled out another photo. "As did their son."
Gretchen straightened her shoulders. "Michael doesn't kill kids. You even wrote that in your book."
"He didn't. But clearly, he did this time," Brandon said.
She glared at him, shaking her head. Dr. Loomis gave Brandon a look as well. A shut-up-and-let-me-hand-this look.
"It is possible for serial killers to change and Michael has no remorse, Miss. Carter. He has been gone for almost nine years. He doesn't understand morality. I believed he didn't kill children before because he didn't see them. Clearly, he saw this boy. Maybe the kid tried to defend his parents. We'll never know."
"Show her the others as well. Victims I'm sure she didn't know about." Brandon didn't wait, grabbing the folder and pulling out two photos, putting them in front of her face.
"Mr. Carter-" Dr. Loomis interjected.
"Your dead boyfriend's parents, if I'm not mistaken," Brandon said, knowing the answer.
She didn't grab the photos, leaning back as her eyes stared at the gruesome images. His mother looked as if she'd been strangled before her throat was slit. His father looked as if his neck had been snapped.
"Mr. Carter!" Dr. Loomis said firmly. "This is not-"
"I think you've done enough, Dr. Loomis," Brandon interrupted. He forced the pictures into Gretchen's hands before turning. Done enough? More like, Brandon was done with the doctor. He'd brought the man because he knew Gretchen wouldn't believe him if he brought the photos himself. He used Dr. Loomis to get the information he wanted her to know. Lies?
"When did they die?" Gretchen asked just as Brandon opened the door to her room.
"A couple of days ago," Dr. Loomis said.
She nodded her head and turned her back to look out the window again. Was it possible? She tried to piece together a timeline. Did he have time to make it to town and do the murders before coming back? Maybe? With all that had happened, she lost all concept of time.
The door closed, but she wasn't alone.
"You killed them, didn't you?" she asked, turning to face Brandon. She couldn't trust him, and having her back turned to him while alone with him was a very bad idea.
"God, Gretchen. You're so stupid," he snapped, placing his hand on his face. He groaned in frustration. "Still refusing to see that serial killer for who he really was? I've never met the doctor chick in my life. And why the fuck would I kill my own parents? What would that do for me? Cause me more pain than anything else. And make you suspicious. Can't you see, baby? He's trying to get between us. Even in death, the bastard laid enough seeds of doubt to ruin my credibility."
"You lost all your credibility when you decided to haunt me," she said, feeling no sympathy for him.
He studied her. Suddenly, the mood shifted. He sauntered over to her, forcing her back until she hit the wall and window sill. He set one hand on the window sill by her side and the other on the window beside her head. His body and warmth were far too close to her.
"Move," she said, pushing his body back. He barely budged.
"My love," he whispered, dropping his voice to sound more soothing.
His constant shifting of moods was giving her whiplash. He seemed to be trying to find the right thing to say or do that would win her over. But nothing he did was genuine. It was all an act, a ploy. He spoke half-truths, manipulating them to whatever light he needed them to be viewed at. But in the end, it didn't matter what he said or did.
Gretchen searched his face for a moment. He didn't get it. He didn't understand. "Brandon. There is literally nothing you can do or say that will make me love you," she said, speaking the thoughts instead of leaving them in. He could have been truly the nicest guy in the world. He could have had a heart made of gold for her. Self-sacrificing. But none of that would have mattered. Her heart had set itself on one person and refused to budge.
His countenance changed again. His lips pressed into a thin line and his muscles flexed. Without warning, his hand wrapped around her neck and he forced her head to twist up. Her bruises screamed in pain, but she managed to give him a look of contempt. His thumb pressed against her jawbone for a moment. For once, the eyes looking back at her were Brandon's, dark and emotionless.
"There you are," she said.
"Here I am," he replied. "You could have gone along with the act. I was more than happy to pretend to be a caring boyfriend/husband for you. Both in public and private. Shower you with praises, be the gentleman that other women would die for. But I can see that you won't change. I won, Gretchen. He lost. You're mine. When we leave this hospital, you're going with me. And you can forget having any form of freedom. Clearly, being the nice guy in this situation isn't going to help my case. So I guess I'll just have to be the bad guy." A cruel smile crossed his face as his eyes glistened with joy at whatever he was thinking. "I'm going to break you, Gretchen."
She glared at him, refusing to give him any satisfaction of fear that he was clearly aiming for. He could try, but she wasn't going to let him succeed.
"You think I can't?" he asked, reading her defiance correctly. "I have an entire lifetime to dedicate to making you realize you are mine. Always have been and always will be."
Her skin went cold at the thought of being stuck with him for the rest of her life. His fingers brushed her lips and then hair.
"You told me before that you would never kill yourself. And you and I both know that's true. You'll be stuck with me. Desperately fighting me a stupid battle because you belong to me. You've always belonged to me. You came to me."
He looked toward the door out of the corner of his eyes before returning his gaze to her face.
"Don't forget. Your uncle's life hinges on your silence. He only lives because he's your family," he warned.
He only lives because he's the only person you can use against me.
Brandon let her go and took a step back. She massaged her throat with her hand. The door opened and Jethro walked in.
"Is everything alright?" he asked, clearly feeling the tension in the room.
"Yeah, fine," Brandon said, flashing Jethro a smile as if he hadn't just shown his real side to her.
Gretchen just nodded her head. Damn him. Damn him and that stupid herb. She clenched her jaw, fighting with her inner feelings of frustration and hopelessness.
Gods. You're being such a baby right now. He can threaten you all he wants. But he's scared of you. He knows you'll never be his. He's desperate.
The problem was, desperate people did desperate things.
"Son, could you get us some food? What are you feeling like, Gretchen? Pizza?"
"Sure," Gretchen said with a shrug of her shoulders. What the fuck could she do? For now, nothing. She tilted her head to one side and grimaced. But, she'd gotten off the pill they gave her before without anyone noticing. It may take some time. She would probably be subjected to things she didn't want to do. But, he wasn't always going to be on guard.
The thing was, Brandon was arrogant. He would slip up. He would eventually lower his guard. Lower it when he thought he'd broken her. It would take some time though. He wouldn't believe her if she suddenly loved him.
Dammit. Why couldn't she have been a seductress?
"There's a mom and pop pizza place down the street. Why not order us a couple of pies? Pineapple and onions on one."
Gretchen felt a smile tug on her face. Her favorite type of pizza. Her uncle was trying to make her feel better. It was a nice thought.
"Sure thing, dad," Nathan said.
She frowned. His voice sounded just a little bit off to her. Gretchen looked up to snap a glare at Brandon. He wasn't looking at her, his focus remained on Jethro for a moment as if he was trying to figure something out. Her frown deepened. Brandon? Nathan's face slowly twisted and morphed into an odd combination of Brandon and her cousin. The pills were losing their effect? Her heartbeat picked up at the thought.
She lowered her eyes to the ground as Brandon turned to look at her. If that was true, she didn't want him suspecting a thing. The door closed a little harsher than it needed to, betraying Brandon's annoyance.
She heard Jethro's shoes tap on the floor as he walked to her and stopped by her side. Her eyes focused on the darkening sky. She saw the same family she'd seen earlier walking out of the street they had gone down to go to another street. From where she stood, they looked like a perfect family. Husband, wife, and two kids. They were probably laughing and having a good old time. The world was at peace without Michael.
Her mind went back to the pictures she'd seen. The poor doctor and her family. She couldn't believe Brandon. Not about that.
You don't know Michael, Dr. Loomis's words repeated in her mind.
But I do know he could have killed her when I was there. He didn't. It doesn't make sense. The only thing that made sense was Brandon had killed her and tried to pin the murders on Michael. Perhaps hoping to finally win her over? Was he capable of that?
Yes. Those eyes he had showed her moments ago betrayed him.
"How are you feeling?" Jethro asked her.
She shrugged her shoulders, refusing to look at him. "Alright, I guess," she said. She tapped her fingers on her skin. Her brain mulled over all the information she'd received. So much to figure out and she felt as if she didn't have a lot of time. She felt it. The slow lifting of the fog in her mind. She couldn't let them know that the pills were losing their effect. Not until she found a way to rip Brandon out of her cousin without killing Nathan.
"Sorry," she murmured. "I don't feel like talking." As much as she wanted to trust her uncle with the truth, she couldn't. What if he didn't believe her? No, he would believe her. He wouldn't side with her psycho ex-boyfriend's ghost. But, how could he help? Maybe her uncle could get rid of the ghost. Maybe, but should you really risk it? She internally sighed. No. She couldn't risk it. She couldn't risk losing the last person who knew her. The last person who cared.
Secrets? Fuck! She hated secrets and now she was going to keep this from him. Because that was the right thing to do, wasn't it? She was alone in this battle.
Her heart dropped at the sudden feeling of loneliness. She never noticed it before. Her own loneliness. Her uncle and cousin loved her, of that she had little doubt. But both, in their own way, still kept her just a little too far, not quite arm's length but might as well be. Jethro with his secrets, both encouraging her to embrace who she was, while also deliberately keeping important pieces of information from her.
Nathan and she were a little bit closer, till one day they weren't. Now she understood why. This was what she told him would happen, wasn't it? That a ghost would take over his body. Did she see him rape her? See her beg for help? Possibly. She probably would have. Not now though.
Gretchen clenched her fists in determination. Even if Brandon managed to have his way with her, she was going to fight him. She wasn't going to beg for mercy. She fought Michael at first. Brandon… well… she was never going to stop fighting him.
Michael.
He had to be the one to not make her feel alone. Brandon didn't have that. What he had was her looking forward to that specific vision. She latched onto him because she couldn't wait for that moment, but she still went home alone after their dates. Hell, she may have mentioned him in passing, but never sat down to tell her family she was dating someone. She convinced herself it was because she was afraid they'd chase him away. She never bothered showing off her art to him because she didn't think he'd care. He made her feel self-conscious about her body, why show him even more of her interests? He clearly wasn't the one. She should have known from the start. Would Michael have cared about her art? He did seem a little bit intrigued, but there hadn't been time to properly explore that.
Time.
Gretchen took in a deep breath and shakily let it out.
"They said you were cursed," Jethro finally said, cutting into her thoughts.
She rolled her eyes. "Cursed because I'm a woman? One of the few who are born into the family?" She did feel cursed in a way. Cursed to be unhappy, to forever be alone. She looked up at her uncle. His face was void of any emotion.
"Do not interfere," he continued. "The family rule. There are consequences, I was warned. You would bring about events that would lead to the death and destruction of our house. They said all we had to do was let your powers kill you. They said it would be better for all of us, including you."
She let out a deep sigh. "I guess they were right, weren't they? Killed my parents. Fell in love with a serial killer. I-" pushed a ghost to possess my cousin. She shook her head.
"Your parents would still be alive if your father hadn't acted so rashly," he said firmly. "He was an idiot. Your mother died because you had no idea what was happening. She didn't blame you. Before she died she told me to take care of you. Protect you. And I failed."
She swallowed, trying to force the lump down that was starting to develop in her throat.
"You and the other women in our family share two things in common. Two things that have always gone against you. I should have told you before. Prepared you," he said. He paused for a moment, meeting her eyes. "Your power and love."
Gretchen looked at him startled. Jethro shifted his stance.
"There are always two who come for you. Two men drawn or bound by fate. One, your soulmate. The other, a rejected suitor. The history goes way back. A legend. An evil man, a killer, his dark soul and possessive nature always searches for her, for you. He kills anyone in his way and does whatever he has to do even going so far as killing her if he can't have her."
Gretchen gulped. That almost sounded like Michael. She could see him killing anyone he thought was a threat keeping her from him. Hell, she could even imagine him killing any previous boyfriend she had if she told him about any other man she'd been romantically involved with. Maybe he would have killed Brandon's parents. Would have, but he didn't. He was possessive. He was a killer. And to the rest of the world, he was evil.
And he would never kill you.
"We have had an entire branch of the family killed off when they interfered. Your father and I grew up being told if we had a girl it would be better to let her die. Let your visions drive you to madness because it was a better death than what awaited you if he ever got to you. Your soulmate never has a chance against this man. But then you were born. Your mother refused to believe that the things we were told were completely true. People have reasons to lie and manipulate the truth. So we went against the family rule. We weren't sure what they would do if they found out, so we worked hard to keep it a secret. That's why we didn't tell you anything then. You were a kid. You didn't have a filter. And, I didn't tell you anything after your parents died because I was unsure."
Jethro ran his fingers through his hair looking uneasy. "Honestly, I thought it was just going to be visions. No one mentioned you could do anything else, not even-" He paused and shook his head. "I'll get to her in a moment. You scared me. I will admit, I did worry that maybe the family was right and I'd fucked up. What you do isn't natural. And in the wrong hands-"
"Wrong hands?"
Jethro turned away. He picked up his briefcase and set it on the bed. Opening it, he placed his hand on a paper. He froze as if he was rethinking his movements. With a sigh, he pulled it out and handed it to her.
It was old and severally creased as if someone had crumpled it up and tried to throw it away multiple times.
"Michael," Gretchen said softly as she looked at the drawing on the page. It was just his mask with a hint of his neck. Not much detail and rather simplistic, compared to the one she had drawn over a week ago. Not that his mask had much detail to being with. One of the drawings she'd made when she was a kid, apparently.
No eyes. I guess I needed to see them first.
"When you drew that, Michael was in the news. Your father asked about him but you refused to answer. He thought you were afraid. Michael was out there somewhere and your father was worried he'd show up any day to take you away despite your age. I think." Jethro paused. "I'm not entirely sure. But I think you may have shown your father you could do more than have visions because he started getting scared of you. I didn't understand it at the time. But he spent more time with you than your mother did."
She nodded. She knew in typical households it was the father who was always gone. In her case, it was her mother. But, if she did show she could do more, she didn't remember it.
"The reason why your mother was gone so much was because she was looking for something to help you," Jethro continued as if he read her mind. "Her family disowned her when she showed her interest in the occult as a kid. Very Christian. It was a taboo subject in her house. She came here fearing for her life when she refused to change her mind. When she had you, well it just confirmed what she believed. She delved into that world looking for a way to help you. And she did. She found that herb that you were taking."
She frowned. Were? For some reason, her brain picked up on that word.
"Even though she found it, she didn't want you to permanently take it. She saw it as a tool to help dampen your powers. To help you learn to better control them. Your visions. But your father wanted a more permanent solution. I'm not trying to get you to hate your father. He was flawed and scared. He attacked you because he feared what would happen to you if you were taken. Having kids with a killer? Damn idiot. But, he started to think we were dooming the world." Jethro let out a deep sigh.
"I should have seen it coming. It makes sense. You can see future events although you can't control them. But, what if you could? What if he forced you to help him, make sure he was never caught. The world would never be safe from him."
If that were true, I would have been able to save him. I would have seen his death coming, she thought. She clenched her jaw. All she saw was a mark that was supposed to be on her face. A mark that was now gone whenever she looked in the mirror.
Jethro pulled out a book from his suitcase and handed it to her. She frowned as she took it from him.
"The family has kept items belonging to each of the women. Mementos. Warnings. When your parents died I dug in deep, searching for all the information I could about them, about you. Gwyneth's diary. She was born at some point in the 1600s. A lot like you. Very sweet, very optimistic, and completely in love."
Gretchen carefully opened the book.
"It's a copy. I have the original safely stored at home," he reassured her. "She's the only one, other than you, who managed to live into their twenties. She was twenty-one before she was killed." He paused and moved to stand by her side and look out the window. "There was only one witness who recounted the tale. Her brother. He ultimately died from his wounds a year later. The family had been looking for her. She went missing five years prior. They knew who had her. A man who was known in the area as a merciless killer. Ruthless. Uncaring. The people feared him. He was the wrong man. By the time they found her she didn't want to go back with them. We call it Stockholm syndrome now. Of course, they didn't know it at the time."
Gretchen rolled her eyes. She wasn't sure why.
"Her brother claimed, that when it was clear she was going to go back with her family her husband, I guess you can say lost his shit. Her family had brought a group with them to help bring her back and he turned them into a mob. Claiming she was a witch. Her brother tried to stop them, but a mob did what a mob did best and burned her as a witch. From there it was apparently a bloodbath."
Gretchen gulped. Her skin prickled as she felt heat wrap around her body. A woman's pained-filled scream echoed in her mind. Her own of her past life? That would explain the rush of past images she had gone through when she was losing her mind. Screams, and voices of people she knew but didn't know.
"Huh," she said. She stared at the book. It would be interesting to read the woman's words. Was she taken against her will? Did she suffer from Stockholm syndrome? Or was this evil man the one she realized she was supposed to be with?
"I have a feeling," Jethro said, interrupting her thoughts. "That you'll find some things in common with her."
Stockholm syndrome? "As in-"
"As in history and the stories we're told are written by the survivors. When you told me you were going to stay with Michael I decided to look back at her diary. I had it in my head, going in the first time I read it, that she probably had Stockholm syndrome."
"Now?"
He didn't answer, studying her for a moment. "Now I think we have a lot more to talk through. A lot more to figure out." He stuck his hand into his pant pocket and pulled out his keys, handing them to her.
She took them, giving him a look of confusion.
"I've left a condensed version of our family history along with some possibly relevant items in the car. I took you off that damned herb the moment I got here. But, it might take a bit to leave your system."
Her eyes widened with surprise.
"I know he's not Nathan. The last time you went off that herb you had a vision when you were alone with Nathan. He told me why you attacked him. You almost killed him, but it wasn't him you were fighting. You told him he wasn't who he claimed to be. I think you told him other things. Things he didn't want to tell me. He just wanted me to know that at some point he might not be himself. Whoever that is, I know he's not Nathan. You're not safe here. Not with him around. You need to get stronger. Figure out how to use your powers. I'm sorry I stifled you. I shouldn't have. Should have really embraced who you are like your mother wanted us to. But we can't go back in time. I'm going to start correcting my mistakes. And the first thing is getting you out of here and away from him."
"But-"
"No, Gretchen," he said firmly, shaking his head. "I fucked up. I fucked up big time. He may have threatened my life to make you compliant, but I'm a grown man. You don't need to protect me. I can handle myself."
She slammed into him as she hugged him, causing him to gasp at the force she used. He squeezed her for a brief moment before pushing her back.
"Okay, we need to go. He'll be back soon. I want you at least out of this building before he returns. I parked the car by the front door. As close as possible."
She nodded her head. She gave him one last quick hug before the two of them walked out of the room.
"I thought you were up to something," Brandon drawled the moment they stepped into the hallway. Both of them froze. Brandon leaned against the far wall. His eyes focused on Gretchen. Jethro stepped in front of her and squared his shoulders.
"We're going on a walk. Just the two of us. We have a lot we need to talk about," he said.
"Sounds good, pops. I'll join ya. I think I need to learn more about our family history anyway," he said as he pushed off the wall. He flashed Jethro the most Brandon of smiles. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw two officers move in. Her heart picked up.
Brandon dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes with a loud thud onto the hallway. His hand pressed against his cheek as he shook his head.
"Gretchen! Go!" Jethro shouted. He'd surprised Brandon with a rather hard punch, apparently.
Don't die. Her flight instincts kicked in. She ran. As much as she wanted to stay and fight. As much as she wanted to kick Brandon's ass, she wasn't strong enough. The haziness in her mind was still there, although it had let up a little bit. Not enough, still need more time. She could only hope and pray that he wouldn't kill her uncle in revenge. Hope that Nathan would be able to keep his father relatively safe.
"Gretchen! Get back here!" Brandon shouted.
She didn't look back, turning down the first hall she came across.
"Hey!" Two more officers ran at her from that end of the hallway. She spun around and ran. The elevator door dinged as it opened. An invitation to get inside. She threw her body at the door to the stairway. Using the elevator was an extremely bad idea. They could stop it and trap her.
Car. Car.
She flew down the stairs, practically running into a man. His fingers grabbed at her, but she pushed away, somehow slipping by. Her mind focused on one thing. Freedom. She just needed to find her uncle's car and then just drive. Where? Didn't matter. She didn't have time to think about that. She just needed to get away.
"Get back here you, bitch!" A man yelled down from the floor she came from.
Yeah, because that will get me running back to you.
Somehow, she managed to reach the bottom floor without tripping or falling, despite having skipped as many steps as possible. To her amusement, one of the officers wasn't so lucky as she heard him cry out and fall down a set of stairs.
One down, who knows how many more to go.
Gretchen threw open the main floor door and rushed into the main hallway. Her eyes spotted Dr. Loomis, who sat in his wheelchair by the front desk. Michael's mask, in an evidence bag, was set on his lap. She so desperately wanted to grab it and take it with her.
No. She needed to focus. She'd think about Michael later. Front door! Car! Dr. Loomis couldn't stop her.
A body slammed into hers, dropping her onto the ground. Her world went black for a brief moment as her head exploded with pain. Her whole body cried out with pain. She groaned as she tried to get her mind to focus again.
"Yeah, that's not happening," a man growled. Hands grabbed her as they tried to stop her from fighting back.
Fight.
She weakly struggled against him. Her mind and body did their best to recuperate from the tackle. Another set of hands joined the first, lifting her to her feet. Clothing wrapped around her arms, making her frown.
No. They were putting a straitjacket on her.
"Let me go," she screamed as she kicked her legs out and rolled her body in an attempt to get away. Perhaps slip under the jacket before it was fully on.
"This is for your own good," one of the men said.
She was too late. The two men tightened the straps of the straitjacket, forcing her arms to wrap around her. Her skin grew hot as rage brewed inside of her. They had no right to touch her. No right to confine her. She wasn't under arrest. She shouldn't even have had to run in the first place. But that son of a bitch wouldn't let her go.
Gretchen screamed in anger, demanding her head clear. Fuck them. Fuck the world. She glared at one of the men. She recognized him. He was part of the group who came to her home and killed Michael.
"Fuck you. Suffer a-" A cloth was pushed into her mouth and the man quickly clamped his hand over it. She couldn't spit it out. That was the bad thing about her power. She needed to speak. Hot tears streamed down her face.
"Stop fighting you stupid, bitch. Hey! Get something to calm her down. Now!"
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a female nurse run toward her with a needle.
No. If they knocked her out, there was no telling where she would end up. The men were clearly working with Brandon. There was no way they weren't. Unfortunately, she wasn't sure what she could do. There was no exit, no escape. She'd tried. She'd failed.
The world around her seemed to slow down as if she were in a movie. Her heart went from rapid pounding to more steady beats as her eyes landed on him.
Michael.
Nobody noticed him. But then again, how would they? He was a ghost after all. She knew that. But, he made her feel more at peace with whatever fate had in store for her. He'd be there, giving her his ghostly strength.
Her eyes stung with tears. Perhaps this was a good thing. Him being a ghost. Michael could have a one on one with Brandon now that they were on equal grounds. She would rather Michael haunt her than Brandon. And Michael would win, without a doubt. He was a killer in life, he would be a killer in death too.
Her fingers itched to run through his short brown hair again. Gods. He wasn't wearing his mask! He wasn't wearing it because it had been taken from him before he was killed. He still wore his same old clothes, dark patches stained his coveralls. Blood? Probably. His right hand clutched his butcher's knife with blood dripping down the blade and landing on the floor. Could the ghost hurt flesh and blood? He could probably possess someone. If Brandon could do it so could Michael.
The female nurse stepped into view and in front of Michael's ghost.
Gretchen watched as his big hand reached out. This next part was going to suck. Her heart dropped as she fought the tears from spilling, still struggling against the two men who held her. She was going to have to watch him realize he couldn't hurt anyone. At least, not yet.
The woman let out a startled cry as she was pulled back. Michael spun her around and then lifted her up by her throat and buried his knife into her chest. She let out a cry of pain and surprise. Everyone froze. Pulling the knife back out, he slammed it back into the nurse. Her body went slack.
Michael callously tossed her body to one side. She landed with a loud thud on the ground.
"Oh shit," one of the men said.
Gretchen's eyes widened. Michael stared at the nurse's body for a moment, cocking his head just a little. Then he raised his gaze and locked eyes with her.
Let the world bleed.