The rest of the week proceeded as it normally would. She woke up went to work and then caught a ride home from Janet. Every so often though she would feel like someone was watching her but when she looked around no one was there. Eventually she just ignored the feeling all together. The bruise on her throat was also vanishing. Faint outlines could be seen but other than that it was practically healed.

Sam was sitting behind the front desk setting up the schedule for the rest of the week when Janet walked over and leaned against the counter.

"Hey you almost ready to go?" Janet asked.

"You can head out. I need to finish this up then take out the trash and close up," Sam responded remembering that Mondays were her day to stay late and shut everything down.

"I can wait for you," Janet told her friend but she shook her head saying that she wanted to walk home anyway.

Janet nodded and waved bye before leaving with the rest of her co-workers. Sam waved them off and turned back to her computer. Once she had finished with the schedule she collected all of the trashcans and brought them out to the dumpster at the back of the building. She looked up at the stars overhead. The moon looked like it was just over half full and cast a fair amount of light over the town.

She smiled and moved to go back inside, but heard a noise from behind the dumpster. As she turned a man appeared and pushed her against the brick of the building and held a small blade to her neck.

"Don't make a sound and you'll live through this," the man said. Sam nodded showing she understood as fear crept into her brain. "You and me are gonna go inside, you're gonna open the register, then I take the money and you go home. Got it?" he said, pushing the blade harder against her skin. Sam moved to nod again but something stopped her as the feeling that someone was watching her returned but it felt much closer than usual. Carefully, she scanned the darkness and saw a familiar silhouette.

"Help me," she whispered and the man pinning her to the wall realized they were not alone. He spun quickly holding his blade at length hoping to cut whoever was there but the shadow was faster.

The figure had the man pinned to the brick wall in seconds. A single hand was wrapped around the man's neck and held him several inches above the ground while the other hand took the blade and tossed it. Sam moved to avoid the thrashing man as he tried to fend off the newcomer. He could not scream, as the pressure on his throat was too great. Instead there was a barely audible gurgle that came from his mouth, but even that stopped when the hand around his throat closed in even more. Soon Sam heard a loud crunch as his throat finally collapsed and his flailing stopped. The hand was removed and the man slumped to the ground.

Sam looked up at her rescuer. He stood tall in the alley and the limited moonlight reflected off his white mask. Neither of them said anything until Sam noticed a red gleam running down his arm.

"You're bleeding," she stated and gently touched his arm below the fresh cut. "Come inside," she said and led him into the parlor by his arm. She pointed at a chair and told him to sit as she walked to one of the workstations and pulled out one of the bandages used to cover new tattoos. She returned to Michael who had been watching her the whole time.

"Let me see your arm," she said taking a seat next to him. He reached up and unzipped the front of his uniform and pulled his arm from his sleeve revealing the bloody mark on his bicep. Sam couldn't help but notice the outlines of the strong muscles under the white shirt he wore. She let her eyes scan his body then turned her attention to his newest cut. It wasn't deep but it still left a red trail as blood ran down his arm. She took a towel and wiped away the blood and cleaned up the wound. Michael didn't even flinch as she wiped directly over the cut. She opened the bandage and taped it into place. Her fingertips lingered for a moment on his skin before she let them slip back into her lap.

"That's twice you've saved me now," she said quietly. She looked up into his black eyes and, as usual, couldn't read them. A small smile scratched its way onto her lips and she stood up to finish closing up the store. Michael watched her quietly then stood up, adjusted his uniform, and went outside. Sam watched him go. Deep down it made her sad to watch him leave, but she knew that there was little she could do to make him stay.

It didn't take long for Sam to clean up everything and set up the stations for tomorrow. She grabbed her things and left out the back door. As she pushed open the door she saw a familiar figure leaning against the wall across the alley. Sam paused not expecting Michael to be there. Another smile showed up on her face as she looked at him.

"Are you going to walk me home?" she asked and smiled even more when he nodded. She looked down to where the man had slumped against the wall and saw that he was gone and realized why Michael had left.

Sam let the thoughts of where he stashed the body slide and moved toward the end of the alley. Michael followed closely behind her acting as a second shadow. The two walked in content silence; Michael always staying just behind her as she walked to her house. Sam had honestly never felt safer as she walked home. Every so often she would look back to see that he was still there.

When they arrived at her house, Sam ascended the stairs leading to her front door with practiced ease, leaving Michael on the sidewalk. She took out her key to unlock the door and only then seemed to realize Michael was no longer beside her. As she pushed the door open she turned and looked back at the man in the mask.

"Do you want to come in?" she asked.

Michael stared up at her home. It had changed since he had last visited. The yard was neatly decorated for the upcoming holiday with several fake spider webs covering the row of bushes out front and orange and purple lights were strung over her doorway. In the corner of her small porch was a skeleton covered in a cloak and loosely gripping a scythe. Her lawn was littered with styrofoam headstones and one had a decayed hand sticking up from the grave. Lastly, on the top step of the stairway, sat an uncarved pumpkin. He never understood the point of decorating houses, but he had to admit that Sam had put a great deal of effort into her design. He started up the lantern lined stairs and slipped into the house as she held the door open for him. She smiled as he passed then closed the door behind him.

"Can I get you anything?" she asked and he shook his head no. "Alright," she said and headed toward the kitchen.

Her cat trotted down the stairs and meowed at Michael before flicking its tail at him and following after Sam. Michael glared at the tiny feline, silently cursing at it for interrupting him the first time he was here. The cat however paid him no mind and moved to the kitchen where his owner waited. Sam fed her cat and made herself a cup of tea and sandwich before returning to the living room.

Michael was standing in the same spot she had left him. She took a seat on the couch and motioned for Michael to sit next to her, which he did. She turned on the television and saw that one of her favorites, Dracula, was already in progress. It seemed to capture Michael's attention as well. As he watched the screen Samantha watched him. It was weird being so close to him again and yet at the same time she enjoyed his company. Part of her was terrified of him and the things he had done, while another part saw him as a kind of strange protector and remembered the look of guilt in his eyes after he hurt her. In her mind, she knew the dangers of being near Michael Myers, but she couldn't keep away.

After a moment of her watching, Michael felt her eyes on him and turned to look at her. Sam immediately shifted her gaze to the TV. She noted that Michael didn't look away and turned her gaze back to him. She watched as he lifted his hand and placed his fingers under her chin, tilting it up. His fingers left her chin and traced over her neck. The whole time he watched her face, making sure that she wasn't afraid of him. Michael froze as her hand came up to meet his. She wrapped her digits around his hand and pulled it away from her exposed throat.

"I'm fine," she assured.

He let his eyes linger on her for a moment more before standing abruptly and heading to her kitchen. Sam quickly stood to follow behind him. Michael made a beeline for the small metal cup containing an array of pens, pencils, and a few other office supplies. He pulled a pen from the container then grabbed the magnetized pad of paper off the fridge that Sam used for her grocery list. The first page was quickly torn off before Michael scribbled a message on the now blank pad. When done, he slid the paper over to Sam who was now sitting on a kitchen stool across the island from him.

Sam glanced at the pad and saw printed in large letters, "Forgive me?"

Sam smiled down at the writing before looking up at Michael. "I… I do," she replied hesitantly.

Michael took back the pad a wrote another message before showing it to Sam, "I won't hurt you again."

She frowned at his words before responding, "Don't make promises you can't keep, Michael."

"I won't," he wrote quickly on the pad and emphasized it with a sharp underline. Sam regarded his words then looked up at his face. His dark eyes met hers almost pleading for her to believe him. She sighed before letting her head fall into her hands. Running her fingers through her hair, she thought about all the events that had led up to this point.

Finally, she looked up at the man in front of her. "When you hurt me last time, it wasn't on purpose, right?" she asked and he nodded in turn. "Then how can you be so sure it won't happen again?"

Michael readied his hand to write a reply, but froze when he realized he couldn't give an exact answer. He didn't want to hurt her, but even he knew that there were parts of himself that he couldn't control. Sam watched his shoulders fall as he tried to find the words he needed. She thought back to the day he had grabbed her. She remembered how distant he had been, like he was trapped in his own head.

"Michael," she said getting his attention. He looked up at her before she continued, "do you ever get lost in your thoughts? And not like the normal kind where you just sort of daydream, but the kind where it's all you can think about and everything else, like, fades away until you become almost obsessed with what you were thinking about. You get stuck in a memory or something and try to think what you could've done different or how what happened shouldn't have happened. Then when someone tries to bring you back out of it, you snap at them. You ever get like that?"

Michael stood there marveling at this woman, it was like she went into his head and pulled everything he was thinking out and said it perfectly. All he could do was nod at her.

"Yeah, I figured. I was like that a lot after my parents died," she explained. She looked down at her fidgeting hands before she continued, "My aunt put me in all kinds of therapy, which is where I started drawing. It helped to pull me out of those moods. I would sit in my room for hours drawing whatever I felt like and it always made me feel better."

Michael jotted something down and slid it over to Sam, "I hated art therapy."

Sam pursed her lips and was about to feel insulted until she looked up at Michael and saw that he actually looked happy.

Instead she grinned over at him, "Yeah you don't really seem the artistic type."

"I used to draw and make masks all the time. I just hated people judging everything I did. Oh, he drew this person slightly taller than this person, clearly he has a complex. No- I was ten and drawing people is hard," he scrawled.

Sam laughed at the joke and Michael smirked under his mask. He liked her laugh, it was cute.

"So, they had you doing art therapy at the asylum?" Sam asked.

Michael nodded and wrote, "It was one of many attempts to analyze me."

"Really? What else did they make you do?" Sam asked leaning closer to him.

Michael started writing a list of the various treatments he had to go through. Sam moved to his side so that she could read as he wrote. She chuckled at music therapy and could picture a less than enthused Michael sitting is a circle with a tambourine. He was quick to inform her that she pretty much hit the nail on the head. Some of the other treatments were much bleaker, though. She frowned as he wrote electro shock and sedation, which seemed excessive to Sam. She looped her arm around his and let her head rest on his shoulder. She quietly read his list again in her head and wondered at how they could do all of that stuff to a ten-year-old. Michael tried to ignore the gentle touch of her fingers as they absently traced over his forearm. His wandering mind was suddenly interrupted when, without meaning to, Sam yawned loudly then quickly apologized.

"Tired?" he asked.

"Yeah, a bit," she replied, adjusting her head so that she could more comfortably rest against him. He looked down at her and couldn't remember the last time he had someone so close to him. His heart beat just a little faster. He knew deep down he wouldn't let anyone hurt her again, even himself.

"You should go to bed," he advised.

"That sounds like a good idea," she said and was about to head up to her room, when a thought stopped her. "Are you staying?" she asked.

"Do you want me to?" he wrote.

Sam read his words slowly, then nodded. Michael left the pen on the counter and followed behind the young woman as she went back through the living room, turning off lights as she went. Sam led him up the stairs then into the first door on the right. She flipped a switch and the overhead light came on.

Her room was small and a bit cluttered, but comfortable. The walls were painted a pale green and had several of her drawings hanging on them. Her bed was against the wall across from the door and was essentially the focal point of the room. On one side was a small table supporting a lamp and alarm clock. To the right of the bed was a large chair littered with stuffed animals and pillows, which made it look particularly comfortable. A second table stood next to it and was covered with a stack of sketch pads and many pencils. On the other side of her bed was her closet, dresser and a mirror.

Sam moved to her dresser and pulled out a tank top and a pair of flannel pants before turning to Michael, "Make yourself comfortable, just no shoes on the bed, please."

Michael nodded then watched as she hurried across the hall to her bathroom. He walked over to her bed and sat down on the edge. Bending over, he unlaced his boots before kicking them off. He let himself fall back onto her bed. It was far more comfortable than the one he was used to. No lumps or springs poking into his back. He let his eyes close and he could feel himself already starting to drift off to sleep. However, before he could fall asleep, a change in the room jarred him back to consciousness. When he opened his eyes the room was dark save for a small amount of light coming from the lamp. Sam climbed into her bed and tried to get comfortable, however, Michael's position at the foot of her bed kept her from stretching out fully. He could feel her trying to wiggle her toes under him and finally decided to sit up. He moved so that he was lying next to her on his side.

"You don't want to get under the covers?" Sam asked when she saw that he had settled on top of her comforter. He shook his head and she shrugged before leaning over and turning off the light.

Michael could only make out her outline as Sam shuffled down into her covers. She rolled over so that she faced away from him then scooted backward until she pressed against him. She waited a minute then reached behind her for his arm. Michael let her move it so that it draped over her frame. As he had done previously, he pulled her tightly to him. The only difference was that tonight she welcomed it.