Chapter 2: The Second Visit

"Please hand over your purse and any other personal belongings."

…

"Thank you. Step through the metal detector please."

…

"Everything seems to be in order. Here's your visitor pass. Keep it clipped somewhere in sight. Danny here will take you to the visiting room."

…

"Just a minute, Mrs. Lloyd. The buttons on this one always stick. …There we go. Ladies first."

…

"Yeah, it jams when it opens. Sorry about that. Place is a little old, you know."

…

"Just ignore them, Mrs. Lloyd. Most of 'em are coming back from lunch, it gets some of them a little hyper."

…

"Gonna need you to put your purse in here, like last time. …Okay, let's go on in."

…

"Man, I just wanted to say… it's really amazing to me to see you here. I mean, I read Dr. Loomis's book, and geez, the things that happened, even here…"

…

"Yeah, I knew Loomis. He was a pretty decent guy, pretty good doctor, before he got hold of Myers. Kind of got obsessed with him. Scary guy. One minute he'd just be sitting there, you know, like a bump on a log, then suddenly he's murdering your friend…"

…

"Yeah – well, not a friend. Acquaintance. He was a lot older than me; I'd only been here a few months when he died, and I wasn't here when it happened. But he got started as an aide, got promoted to security guard. He knew Myers since the day the kid got brought in. Actually seemed fond of him. Called him 'Mikey'. Can you believe that? But we all called him Mikey back then… still, Ismael was closest thing Mikey had to a friend. Then he broke out and we find Ismael's head crushed by a television. Guy was just a couple of months from retiring, too. Nobody went around calling him Mikey after that. Oh, here we are…"

…

"Whoa, watch it there. Doors get a bit heavy in this wing. Should be right up here. Lemme check them… the doctors are using a few of them today. …Yeah, think it's this one."

He heaved the door open and let Laurie step inside.

She saw him. He was sitting at the table, dwarfing the chair he was in. He was wearing sanitarium-issued robes and an orange, handmade mask, exposing his mouth and eyes and long hair – but all Laurie could see was him standing over her in his mechanic's uniform, peering through the eyes of his mask and holding a bloodied butcher knife, bringing it down on her –

Her head was ringing. The room spun around her. She clutched at the door and hurtled back out, waves of nausea roiling in her gut, and slammed into the furthest wall, gagging. She was dimly aware of a thud, of hands around her shoulders, a voice echoing into her fogged brain –

"Mrs. Lloyd-"

"Get her some air-"

"Call a doctor-"

"Just give her some space, for chrissakes!"

Time passed; how much, Laurie wasn't sure. What she did know was that the humming in her ears and the erratic beating of her heart continued, long after the nausea had passed. It took slow stages for her to become aware of herself, grasping at little irritants – the prickle of the wall against her cheek, the cold floor under her leg, her fingers curled tightly into her shirt, a voice repeating her name like a broken record.

"Mrs. Lloyd? Mrs. Lloyd? Are you all right?"

Lynda's naked body hovered under her eyelids, a red bruise ringing her neck. Annie's slashed body lay on the floor, blood trickling from her nose and mouth.

"Mrs. Lloyd?"

They hadn't shown her parents' bodies. Later, in a drug-induced daze, she had heard a careless technician say that her father's face had been slashed, her mother's neck broken after a long struggle.

"Stay back. Mrs. Lloyd. Can you hear me? Focus on my voice."

Perhaps the only survivor of the Halloween massacre was 17-year-old Laurie Strode – an extraordinarily lucky thing. For young Laurie was none other than the only survivor of Michael Myers's first series of murders: his sister, Angel Myers, adopted after Deborah Myers's suicide by the murdered Strodes…

"Focus. Center in on me. That's it. Hold onto that sound. Follow it up, Mrs. Lloyd. Take your time…"

Her breathing steadied. She was aware of a tight ache in her hand where it was fisted into her shirt. With painful effort, she released it, loosening each individual finger.

"It's all right. Everything's fine. Keep breathing like that, Mrs. Lloyd. Calm, steady…"

I'm Michael Myers's sister.

Laurie opened her eyes.

She was curled up against the wall, in a hallway of the sanitarium. Above her was a barred window, dull winter light reflecting off the white walls. Dr. Beckett stood over her, thick brows furrowed with concern. Further down was a security guard and a nurse, watching her with concern.

Dr. Beckett extended a hand. "Are you all right, Mrs. Lloyd?"

Laurie searched his face for the inevitable pity that always accompanied her attacks, but could see none in his eyes. He simply waited with calm tranquility, seeming to not care if she took his hand or not. After a second's hesitation, she did, stumbling to her feet.

"I'm sorry," the doctor said before she could speak. "After last time, we thought it might be best to have him in the room before you, rather than making you wait."

She shook her head, not feeling well enough to speak. Annoyance, mingled with the urge to be understanding, pricked at her – that they had noticed her reaction, that they had wanted to help, that none of them had thought to warn her before walking into the room, to prepare for him –

"If – if you would like to reschedule again-"

Humiliation replaced the annoyance – she could not keep doing this, could not keep backing out – and that prickle of shame and anger helped Laurie to find her voice. "No. No, I can – just give me – give me a second."

"Of course." Dr. Beckett nodded almost too eagerly, taking a step back. He was rather short, she noticed inanely; maybe just a few inches taller than her. This was her first time actually seeing him; she had only spoken to him on the phone before. She couldn't help comparing him to Dr. Loomis, the other psychiatrist in charge of Michael Myers. Dr. Loomis had looked like a hero when they first met, the shock of white hair and the intelligent, craggy face. That had changed later on… but the first impression lingers. Dr. Beckett, however, looked quite normal, even nondescript: maybe in his forties, with dull brown hair turning a dark gray and the kind of face that would be quickly lost in a crowd, forgotten in just a few moments. As she watched, he coughed quietly and took off his glasses, wiping them on his coat. "Whenever you're ready-"

"I'm ready." Laurie took a shaky step towards the door. Heat pooled in her, making her skin tingle. "I want to go in now." Do it, she told herself, prickling with sharp anticipation. Get it over with. Go in and let him attack her and have them all decide that no, no Mrs. Lloyd, this was clearly a big mistake, you don't ever have to come back again…

Dr. Beckett did not try to stop her. He nodded at a nearby nurse, who unlocked the door and swung it open.

Laurie hesitated just one more moment, averting her eyes from the man inside. "Will there be-?" Her hand waved feebly at the entrance.

"Any – oh." Dr. Beckett shook his head. "Aides will be waiting outside, and we'll have cameras on at all times, but there won't be anyone inside… privacy reasons."

She swallowed. Hadn't he said there would be guards? She could not remember, and could not summon up the energy to demand it. "Okay."

Another step, and another, and then the door was swinging shut behind her, closing with a dull thud. In the sudden quiet, she heard it locked outside.

And now she was with her brother.

It was her first time getting a close look at him, she thought dully. He had been a panicked blur her first visit, a black form hiding in the shadows in her memories and nightmares, a bloody, brutal figure the night of his escape. He had been more of a shape than an actual person, an implacable threat chasing her down.

Except… except for that one time, in the cellar of the Myers house, when he had pulled off the mask and sat, docile and quiet, before her. She had to close her eyes a moment to get rid of the memory.

She could not decide what he was now. He was still wearing the orange mask she had seen last time, a hole carved out for the mouth and two smaller ones for eyes. It looked to be made of newspaper strips plastered over a mold and colored in with orange marker. They gave him markers? Like a child? A half-hysterical laugh threatened to bubble out of her. She tamped down on it furiously, certain that if she gave into it, she would go as crazy as the rest of the sanitarium's inhabitants.

His dirty brown hair was still long, hanging down to his shoulders. It looked like he was dressed in hospital scrubs, a white shirt and tattered gray robe. Sitting at the table (bolted down and tiny), facing her, she could not see the rest of him.

Laurie realized she was still pressed up against the door. Her legs had gone numb, holding her fast. The distance to the chair, to the man sitting there, felt suddenly insurmountable, then all too close.

Move. Go sit down. Her nerves were jangling, hands shaking once more. It's pointless if you huddle here. Move.

It was only a step.

One step. Then another. And another.

She gripped the chair with shivering fingers and collapsed on it. Like the rest of the furniture, it too was attached to the floor, which was probably the only reason why it didn't topple as she sat down.

Now only the length of the table separated her from Michael Myers.

As mysterious as the motivations for Michael's massacre are, they pale in comparison to his motivations for who survived them. Psychopaths, by definition, are incapable of empathy, compassion, or pity; unable to understand that there are creatures besides themselves capable of reason and emotion. They are motivated purely by their own pleasure: that is, what they can gain from a situation.

We can then, perhaps, deduce a few reasons for why he murdered those he did. The schoolyard bully is obvious – having caused emotional and physical distress, his death was well-deserved (would be Michael Myers's reasoning). His mother's abusive boyfriend would have similar motivations behind his death. Judith Myers's brutal stabbing is murkier, but as explained in the previous chapter, their relationship had deteriorated considerably from their former closeness. Another likelihood n was that Michael was jealous of the attention she received from their mother, and thought that ridding himself of her would benefit him in that way. Judith's boyfriend is perhaps the most random, as interactions between him and Michael appear to have been infrequent at best. Perhaps the only explanation is that he was unlucky enough to have been in the house at the time.

And so it is that the only two survivors of the Halloween massacre were Deborah Myers and Angel Myers, the latter the younger sister of Michael. Recorded footage of visiting hours at Smith's Grove shows a fairly close relationship between Michael and his mother, but we must remember that psychopaths are capable of great charm and deception, especially if after something they wanted. In Michael's case, he continually asked to go home, and his seeming innocence and fondness for his mother was probably intended to gain his mother's sympathy. But we are getting ahead of ourselves. Why did Deborah Myers survive? Perhaps affection on Michael's part, but it is more likely that Deborah Myers was only ever valued as someone who could provide something for Michael – food, shelter, the occasional attention. Her survival hinges more on the fact that she just happened to be out of the house on Halloween night than on any bond with her son.

And Angel Myers? Little Angel was conceived shortly before the death of Deborah's husband. At the time, she was only a few months old, sleeping obliviously in her crib as Michael slaughtered their family members. The reason, then, is clear: a complete non-entity to her brother, she survived simply because she was not a threat.

She breathed in deeply, forcing her body back into steadiness, but Michael drew her attention like a magnet, compelling her to look at him. But if she did, she would break down completely – she wasn't ready yet to face him. Eyes flicking around the room, the furniture, she saw a small crack in the plastic of the table. It caught her gaze, the sharp black line of it, and she found herself picking at it, letting the roughness anchor her.

Now just one quick glance up. That was all.

Laurie did. Held it. Stared straight at her brother.

He wasn't looking at her – she thought. His shoulders and arms were straight, almost held back, but his face – what she could see of it – was inclined slightly to her left, as if he was looking at something particularly interesting over her shoulder. Laurie resisted the urge to glance behind – more than anything, she did not want to turn her back on this man. She was glad she was the one sitting closest to the door.

After another second, she dropped her gaze. The silence was oppressing, the only sound that of the heater running in the room. She knew that trees and a large lawn surrounded the sanitarium, that there were probably birds chirping in them or wind rustling through the branches, but none of those sounds penetrated the white walls of the sanitarium.

Still rubbing her finger along the crack, Laurie dared a second glance, this time leaning slightly to her right to see under the table. She was relieved to see the restraints promised by the doctor – cuffs on Michael Myers's wrists, forcing his arms behind his back, which looked to be chained to a wide leather strap around his waist. He probably could not get up from his chair. Another chain ran down his legs, manacling his ankles. These were further locked to the table legs, so that he could not get up or move at all.

When Laurie looked up, Michael was staring at her.

A strangled gasp escaped her, and she instinctively pushed back against the table. Her body slammed into the chair back, making it shudder against its bolts.

Shit. Shit.

She scrambled up, hands scrabbling along the back of the chair. Her breaths were coming quick and fast, and –

Michael sat there.

Little tremors rocked her torso. Even across the table, she could see his eyes, how black they looked, how… flat, almost.

She hadn't ever seen his eyes, had she? They were always half hidden behind the mask. Except for that one time… but then he had stared at the floor the entire time.

Breathe. Breathe. He wasn't doing anything. Not yet.

Laurie slowly sat back down, running her hands nervously over her jeans. Michael was still staring at her. The intensity of it was unnerving – she couldn't meet it again, and she found herself staring at everything but him, flicking to the walls, to the camera, to the clock that showed she had fifteen minutes left… was it fifteen? Hadn't she asked for only half an hour of visiting time? She couldn't remember.

When she looked up again, Michael was still gazing at her. She thought that, maybe, there was a bit of tension in his body. Perhaps holding himself ready to attack when she let her guard down. Bile began creeping up her throat, and she clenched her hands against the table legs. There were guards just outside. People watching on the security feeds. And if he did it, she wouldn't ever have to come back again.

She almost wanted him to. Waited for him to spring up, rip off his shackles, and grab her.

Minutes passed.

Laurie breathed, waiting for the sound of heavy footsteps, of the chains breaking.

Nothing happened.

They waited, both of them.

It had almost been 15 minutes, and Laurie felt as if there was an electric wire running through her. The anticipation was exhausting, and still Michael just sat there, looking at her.

Like he was waiting for something too.

But what?

Laurie stood up with a bang. A throbbing pain shot through her right leg – she had cracked her ankle against the chair leg in her haste – and the shock of it seemed to loosen her tongue.

"I-" Her voice floundered as Michael's gaze shot up, following her. "Michael-" Fuck, why was she talking to him? Fuck, fuck – "I-"

Her voice was squeaky and too loud after the silence. Her tongue rasped over dry lips.

"Michael-" She was backing away, fumbling for the door, and there were words on the edge of her lips wanting to be spilled out, but nothing coherent in her head - "I – shit!"

Need to go, need to get out –

She almost cracked a bone slamming her palm against the door. A scream was building in her throat as she heard the lock being turned – it was so goddamn slow, what the hell was taking them so long?!

When it opened, she practically fled the room, not looking back.

Michael's doctor was waiting outside, looking as nervous as she had felt. As she flew past him, she heard him say, "Mrs. Lloyd – wait! Are you-?"

She spun around. "I just – I-" She couldn't find her words, couldn't decipher what she was thinking or feeling except that she needed to leave - "I need to go – I have to-"

"Yes, of course, but I was wondering if you wanted to schedule the next visit-"

No! No, she wanted to go, she hadn't wanted to come in the first place, why couldn't he just leave her the hell alone?!

"We can schedule that for you right now…"

She shook her head frantically and flinched as the door to the visiting room slammed closed. They were alone, the guards inside probably readying Michael to go back to his cell –

Or maybe being attacked right now so he could come after her. Her knees buckled and she felt herself sliding against the wall.

"Mrs. Lloyd!"

The doctor grabbed her arm, hoisting her back up.

"Mrs. Lloyd, it's all right. You're safe out here…"

A laugh was bubbling up. Safe? She could never be safe, not when he was still alive, when he still knew she was alive…

"No, that's not true," the doctor said, and Laurie realized she must have said all that out loud. "It helps, Mrs. Lloyd, I truly believe that your visits are helping…"

But I don't want to help him…

"Then it is helping you. Helping your family. Mrs. Lloyd, believe me, if he realizes that your visits will become a regular occurrence, it might compel him to stay here."

A desperate little shriek escaped her. "A regular occurrence?" As if she would ever come back here. "Why? I don't want to be here! He doesn't care, he doesn't give a fuck about me, he went after my fucking friends, my parents-"

… a complete non-entity… not a threat…

"That is not true, Mrs. Lloyd – well, that is true, part of it… but I do believe… you've read Dr. Loomis's book, surely? I'm sorry, of course you did – but Dr. Loomis had his own preconceptions, and I feel he was wrong in that regard. I do think Michael Myers feels something for you."

And that was more terrifying than anything that had happened.

"I don't want him to!" Laurie screamed. She wrenched her arm back. "I don't want him here, I don't want him, I want him to stay here and never come out – I hate him! I hate him and I hate his fucking obsession with me and I just want him to fucking forget about me-"

"But he won't," said the doctor, implacable for once. It shook her out of her hysteria. "And you must decide for yourself how to use that." He sighed, taking off his glasses and wiping them once more. "We've been keeping him here for over eight years, and our security is at its tightest, but if he should take it in his head to escape once more… we might not be able to stop him." He replaced his glasses to peer at her. "And there would only be one reason for him to escape."

Me.

My children.

"I won't force you," said Dr. Beckett, "but please… think about it."

"Where'd you go today, Mommy?"

Laurie looked up from where she was washing dishes. Jamie and John's homework was spread out over the dining table. John was absorbed with spelling, but Jamie was anything but focused.

She smiled wanly. "Just… same place as last month, Jamie."

"Oh." Jamie scratched at her math homework. "Where'd you go last month?"

"Out of Haddonfield."

"Why?"

"I had to see someone."

"Who?" That was John, leaning forward in his chair until it tilted off his back legs.

"Just… someone who needed to… see… me."

Jamie frowned, the picture of adorable concentration. "Who needed to see you?"

"Hey! Focus on your homework!" was Laurie's response. She wiped soap off her hands. "That stuff is due tomorrow, and I don't want to hear Mrs. Chambers complaining about you guys in the teacher's lounge."

They groaned, but as hoped, turned back to their work. "But I don't like learning about numbers," John complained.

"And we have to copy down all these letters!"

"And reading!"

"And science!"

"Well, I'll be sure to bring that up to your teacher tomorrow when I see her," Laurie replied. "But now… do… your… homework!" She tapped on their papers to emphasize the point. "And stop sitting in your chair like that!"

With exaggerated grumbling, they did, John thumping the legs of his chair down. Laurie glared down at them, only half-mockingly, and only when it subsided did Laurie put down her washcloth and go upstairs.

Her head was killing her. The long drive, her children's whining, and the stress of the visit had combined to give her a terrible migraine. She gulped down some pain relief in her bathroom and splashed cold water on her face. The pain eased slightly as she gazed at her reflection in the mirror. She fingered the long scar that still cut across her forehead and down her cheek, then pushed aside her straggly blonde hair.

You know, whoever sewed that up did a terrible job. I'd have done it so that you'd barely notice it.

Right Jimmy, you the ambulance driver.

The ambulance driver slash paramedic, thank you very much.

Hmm. So you think something's wrong with my face?

Nah.

Think it makes me look badass, then? Makes me look tough?

If you want.

Jesus, Jimmy…

Hey, look. We use the same bathroom, you know. I see you look at it, and you always look sad. Why'd I want that? I know it doesn't work that way, but if getting rid of it could make everything better, I'd do it. That's why.

Laurie banished Jimmy's voice from her head and leaned against the mirror. She had a ton of grading waiting for her downstairs, a meeting coming up next week, and she had to go over what the substitute had done with her class today… did she even have a lesson planned –

A thud made her leap up, alert for noises. A shrill scream – and she was hurtling downstairs, heart in her throat. The yelling continued and she almost slid on the floor, turning to go into the kitchen and screaming her children's names – shit, why hadn't she listened to the news today, maybe they would have said – or did she miss a phone call, Dr. Beckett saying that he had – he had –

Almost sliding on the wood floor, she came into the kitchen, gasping, "Jamie! John! Are you-"

John groaned from the floor. "I fell over."

Laurie came to a halt. "What?"

"He didn't do like you said Mommy, and he fell off his chair," Jamie immediately ratted him out.

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

"Did not!"

"Stop it, both of you!" Laurie held up her hands. Her head was pounding again. With the fear gone, all she could feel now was irritation. "John, do not ever do that again, do you hear?"

"But Mommy-"

"Did you hear me?"

Stunned into silence, he only nodded. Jamie mimicked his motion beside him, equally quiet.

Oh God, what am I am doing? Laurie cradled her head in her hands. Deep breaths. Center yourself. Nothing had happened. Nothing had happened. But it could happen. What if visiting Michael would just set him off? Make him remember he had a little sister out there? Spur him into coming after her? He could be breaking out and making his way to Haddonfield right now –

Her breath was picking up, and Laurie had just enough presence of mind to get out of there – she could not let her children see her having a panic attack. She ran back up to the bathroom and locked herself in, gasping as her lungs compressed on themselves.

Breathe, you have to breathe. She grabbed at the sink, bending over it and fighting to get air down her throat. Don't think about, don't think about it –

"Miss, you all right? …Hey now, it's okay. I work in a hospital; I know how to help. Head between your legs now, and focus on your breathing… Yeah, just like that… you're safe here, you know… Breathe… see, getting better? Yeah. Still need to go to the hospital? I can take you there, free of charge. Serious!"

"Do you remember me? Sorry, guess you wouldn't want. But I'm Jimmy. Jimmy Lloyd."

Laurie opened her eyes, chest pumping for air. The bathroom light shone down on her, making her eyes water. With a sigh, she placed a hand over her face.

She missed Jimmy so much. His steadying presence, the way he had anchored her, his wry sense of humor. He hadn't even blinked when she told him who she was. S'okay, Laurie, we all got some bad seeds. My uncle, he got jailed six times for public urination. Really!

Slowly, she stood, legs shaking as they always did after an attack. God, she had forgotten to take her medication for it.

But then, she didn't think there was any pill that could stop the attacks she got when she had to face the man responsible for them in the first place.

Her children were speaking in whispers as she came down. Laurie wiped her face, hoping she wasn't too much of a mess – she hadn't gotten a good look at herself in the mirror before leaving. Both looked up as she entered.

"Hey," she said with a weak smile. She sat next to John, stroking his head. He didn't wince, which meant no bruises – the fall could not have been too bad. "I'm sorry, sweetie. Mommy's just a little tired and worried." John nodded solemnly. Jamie imitated him once again. "You okay?"

"Yes, Mommy." John gnawed his lip. "'M sorry I didn't pay attention to you."

"It's okay, honey. I'm just glad you're not hurt." She stroked his cheek a moment, then reached over to Jamie. "You too, Jamie." She ran her fingers through her thick, dark hair, and continued even as the twins went back to their homework, jabbering to each other with their usual animation.

You have a family, Mrs. Lloyd. His obsession with you might extend to them.

She shook them away and grabbed one of her papers, trying to focus on grading and her children's questions, but Dr. Beckett's plea was too forceful.

There would only be one reason for him to escape.

Fuck him, she thought to herself, abandoning the pile of papers. He wasn't going to lay a hand on them. Not if she could help it. Even if it meant seeing him every month, for the rest of his life, she'd do it. If it kept him in there, and far away from her children, she'd do it. Murmuring something, she went into the hallway and picked up the phone.

"Is Dr. Beckett there? Yes, I'll hold… Dr. Beckett? This is Laurie Lloyd. I know, it's late, I'm sorry, but… I just wanted to… schedule my next visit. Yes. Yes, I know. I'm sure. …Next month, please. The 1st. Same time."

Twenty-nine days left.

A/N: One of the more fun things in this story is writing Dr. Loomis's kind of self-aggrandizing and misinterpreted version of events.