Chapter 3: The Third Visit

The past

There was pain. It was all she could feel. Pain in her face, in her hands, in her leg.

"Shh. Lie back, Miss Strode. There you go. Try not to move too much, all right honey? You've just come out of some pretty extensive surgery, and we don't want to ruin all the work the doctors did, right? Yeah, like that. We've got you on heavy painkillers, so you're going to feel a little funny sometimes, okay?"

"…Lynda?"

"Sheriff Brackett's here, dear. He can talk to you."

"Laurie, honey? Can you hear me?"

"…Lynda."

"Laurie… I'm so, so sorry, but… we found Lynda. She's… she didn't make it."

"…Lynda?"

"Shh, don't move, Laurie, don't move. It's okay, it's okay."

Gasp. "…Annie?"

"…Annie's still in surgery. She's… she's hanging on. Doctors think she might make it. She's tough. She'll, um… she'll pull through."

Breath. Breath.

"W-where…"

"Don't overdo it, we can talk about this later."

"W-where… where… Mom and Dad? W-when will they… come?"

A silence.

"Laurie…"

He was looking down.

No…

"Laurie, we went to your house…"

No…

"He'd already been there…"

No.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry to tell you this… but they… they're both gone. I'm so sorry, Laurie."

"No… no… no…"

"Shh… Laurie… Laurie, no, sweetheart, stop, stop… someone get me a nurse. Get me a nurse! Laurie, Laurie, you have to stop, stop – where's the nurse?! We need help, get her a sedative, get her something-!"

"No."

"No…"

No…

The present

"Please," Laurie pleaded, "just let me take it in with me." She clutched the small bottle in her hand, knuckles going white. "I – it's just in case something happens."

The nurse exchanged a glance with the reception clerk, and nodded. "Yeah, she's allowed," said the nurse. "Dr. Beckett said she could."

Laurie let out a sigh of relief as they let her through. She pocketed the small bottle but kept fingering the label as they led her down the endless hallways, the layers of doors. It would probably come off entirely if she kept doing that. Didn't matter, though; its instructions were burned into her mind (take as needed when symptoms arise).

She was prepared this time, though her stomach was fluttering with nervous dread. She knew what was waiting for her on the other side of the door. The guard paused before letting her in, asking if she wanted some time to ready herself. She nodded, thinking that this was probably Dr. Beckett's idea as well, and feeling a tiny kernel of gratefulness to him for it. One breath. Two. Letting a moment pass.

"Ready, Mrs. Lloyd?"

At her reluctant nod, the guard unlocked the door and swung it open, and Laurie stepped inside once more.

"Mrs. Lloyd? Is there – did you have a question?"

Laurie's fingers threatened to rip out the telephone with how hard she was gripping the cord. "I – I want to reschedule. Another time. I'm not ready to come again, I need more time-"

"Oh. We'll see what we can do, Mrs. Lloyd, but if I could ask why-?"

Her voice shook. "You don't know everything that happened. He tried to kill me. Whatever he feels, it's not there-"

"Mrs. Lloyd-"

"I'm not helping; I'd only make him want to break out even more-"

"Mrs. Lloyd-"

"Please, just – I don't need to come anymore, I don't-"

"Mrs. Lloyd, do you have a therapist?"

The apparent randomness of the question threw her off. "What?"

"Do you see a psychologist or psychiatrist?"

"I – no. I did, for a couple of years, but eventually I… stopped." She had been put on medication and had, in her therapist's words, "stabilized". And she had not regretted stopping. Why bleed all her crazy shit over someone else?

Whatever the doctor's intentions in asking her, he did not intend to let on, because he switched to an entirely different subject. "Can you tell me what happened Halloween night, when Michael Myers came back?"

She rubbed her eyes, not sure what his point was, but knowing that she did not want to revisit that night. "It's in the book. We don't have to talk about it."

"Actually, this is what Dr. Loomis wrote. 'Having killed Lynda van der Klok and mutilated Annie Brackett, not to mention terrorizing two children and murdering two police officers, Michael made off with his sister, trapping her in his family's old pool. If he was planning on a family reunion – or a repeat of his first family massacre – he was to be disappointed. I came upon the pair and attempted to rescue young Laurie, shooting Michael repeatedly, then sacrificing myself to keep him from reaching her. Perhaps it was not in vain, for when I came to in my hospital bed, I was informed that Laurie Strode was alive and hospitalized and Michael captured. I could breathe easily.' From The Devil Walks Among Us."

That's… not what happened.

Laurie was silent, long enough that Dr. Beckett asked, "Mrs. Lloyd? Are you still there?"

"Yes."

"Is that really what happened?"

She cradled the phone close to her ear. "Why… why wouldn't it be?" And what's your point to all this?

"A number of things. For one, Dr. Loomis was unconscious for part of the story. For another, police officers reported evidence of a struggle in numerous places in the Myers house. And there are time gaps between when Myers kidnapped you, when Dr. Loomis managed to get to the house, when the police got to the Myers house…"

The cellar, we were in the cellar with the gravestone and Lynda and he gave me a photo and just sat there until I stabbed him and he came, he followed and followed –

"That's what happened."

"Mrs. Lloyd-"

"It's what happened. He killed my friend, my parents, and he was going to kill me-"

"Mrs. Lloyd, did you know that the police recovered an old photo in the basement of the Myers house?"

She stopped, words drying up. "W-What?"

"An old photo, of Michael Myers as a young boy, holding a baby."

She knew what he was referring to. Even if she had not seen it, had it pushed in front of her face, held it, it had been in Dr. Loomis's book, with that damning caption: Michael Myers with his younger sister, Angel, followed by: Angel Myers at age 17, several months before Michael Myers's escape (adoptive name: Laurie Strode).

"We gave a copy of that photo back to him. I admit, I was hoping for a reaction when I allowed it, and, well… He still has it in his room."

Laurie didn't think she could speak, even if she wanted to.

"I think it still means something to him, that photo, and you."

No. No, that doesn't mean anything.

"Knowing that, I would hazard to guess that, whatever he wants, it might not be to attack you. Perhaps you might change your mind…?"

She dropped the phone before he could finish and huddled against the carpet, hiding her face in her hands. The kids were at a friend's house, so they would not stumble upon their mother having a breakdown.

Change her mind? She would never change her mind about him. Not when she continued to have nightmares of Michael, staring down at her through his mask. Not when she could not drive down Lampkin Lane without having a panic attack. Not when she could not go to the Doyle or Wallace house, or see her old home, without feeling like vomiting. Not when she was afraid to see some reflection of her brother in John's face, in John's hands, in John's movements.

Where is Laurie Strode now? As far as I know, recovering in Haddonfield, under the care of Sheriff Brackett. She has not survived unscathed – she had to spend several days in the hospital recovering from her wounds, and no doubt the psychological trauma will run deeper. Whether she is aware of her relation to her town's most infamous resident, nobody knows. Yet her brother is safely confined in Smith's Grove Sanitarium, where he will stay for the rest of his natural life, far away from his baby sister. That can only be a good thing.

His baby sister, the non-entity, the non-threatening one of his family.

But that wasn't right, was it?

He had given her the photo, expecting her to remember. He had taken off his mask. He had even gotten on his knees and sat quietly. As if waiting for something.

But she had stabbed him, and perhaps he saw it as betrayal. She was not his baby sister anymore. Not a non-entity. A threat.

Then why did he still have the photo in his room?

Laurie stared at the phone a long time, but made no move to pick it up. Evening had fallen over the room before she got up and stumbled to her car to pick up her children. The photo weighed in her mind; Michael holding the baby; Michael coming down the pool after her; Michael grabbing the pistol as she aimed it at his head; Michael sitting, waiting for her to give him something she did not have.

She did not reschedule.

He was looking straight at her as she came in. It stopped Laurie in her tracks, pinning her against the closed door. Her hand automatically went to the bottle, gripping its ridged cap. The feel of the grooves provided a tiny measure of reassurance, steadied her just enough that she did not bolt.

Slowly, his head tilted, like a curious animal regarding her. A shiver went down her spine at the horrible familiarity of the movement. Deciding if she was prey or predator. Threat or… something else? Her legs trembled with the urge to run back outside, but with his eyes on her, her mind had gone blank, unable to send commands to the rest of her body, to do anything other than look right back at him.

He stayed in that position for one long, paralyzing moment, then straightened. When Laurie made no move, his eyes went past her, drifting towards a spot on the wall behind her.

Only then did she find the courage to walk towards the table and sit down.

The room did not look the same – smaller, less bright. Classical music was being piped into it, though it sounded rather tinny and distant. But there was still only one table, with chairs at each end. They were still bolted to the floor. She could see, if she leaned over towards the edge of the table, the same restraints on him.

His mask was different though. It looked rougher, maybe uncompleted – newspaper strips not painted with any colors, distinguished by their photos, half covered up with other strips, some of them poking out haphazardly. She felt stupid for wondering if there was any significance to that – like maybe he would dress up for the occasion.

She pulled her hand out from her pocket and sat on the chair, breathing deeply. Michael remained staring at the far wall. A glance at the clock showed that less than five minutes had passed.

"Mi-"

Michael's head shot up at her word, staring straight at her. The movement cut off anything else Laurie might have said, words strangling in her throat. She pressed back against her chair, mouth going dry. Her fingers found the bottle again.

Somehow, under the gaze that now felt utterly oppressing, she summoned up her words. "Michael…" She licked equally dry lips, not believing herself… but she needed to – to – to figure out what he wanted from her, if he was biding his time, waiting for her to let down her guard, or –

Her brother's head tilted once more, and then she doubled up and dry heaved as –

– the masked man bearing down the hall towards her, watching her scream –

– staring at her, sobbing on the ground, begging for her life, for Lynda's life –

– "…he was nuts, he was – was – insane – he just kept staring at Paul – at Paul's body – like it was – a fucking toy! A toy or something and he was just – just playing with it, playing with me, Laurie, oh God-"

– coming at her, bearing down at her, body smashing into her and over the balcony –

"Stop it!"

She was out of the chair, its edge hitting the back of her knees. Michael's head jerked up, following her.

"Stop – stop looking at me like that!"

"I'm so sorry, Laurie, but your parents… he came to their house sometime after you left…"

"…looks like he strangled her to death…"

"…numerous stab wounds to her body-"

"You – you-" Michael's gaze was penetrating her, and she felt her tongue unravel, everything coming out. "You motherfucker!"

"…stabbed seventeen times, and was found in the upstairs hallway-"

"- beaten to death with a baseball bat-"

"…found with his throat slit wide open…"

"-committed suicide, shooting herself in front of her television screen…"

Her hands were gripping the edge of the table. "Stop sitting there, stop being so – so fucking silent and say something, goddamn it!"

Michael tilted his head back an inch, and before she knew it, she was screaming.

"You killed them, you killed my parents – my parents, you fucker! They never did anything to you, they were-" She was almost sobbing. "You killed Lynda and you would've killed Annie – you tried to kill me! Stop staring at me! Say something!" Her voice was cracking, rending her screams; tears were blurring her eyes. "I never did anything to you, I didn't even know you! But you – you killed everyone around me, you killed them, and I had to – I had to-"

Live with it.

You're Laurie Strode? Oh… oh wow. So, um… you're – you're his sister, right?

So what it's like having the boogeyman as your brother?

I'm sorry, Mrs. Lloyd, you really seem like a good fit at our school, but… you know how kids are… their parents all know, and once they know… might affect classroom management and such…

No, no, it's fine Laurie, I've already got another babysitter, really… yeah, well, I've, um, got someone else I like to call on more, that's all…

"Fuck you! Fuck, you son of a bitch – why did it have to be me?! Why did you come after me, I didn't want you, I didn't need you-"

Her sobbing had become gasping, and – oh God, not another one, and she grabbed for her bottle, but her fingers were shaking so much they slipped on its surface –

And then, Michael twitched.

It was just a movement of his arms, his shoulders pulling forward an inch against his restraints – but his eyes were still fastened to her face, had not moved since she began her tirade –

Laurie screamed and almost fell over her chair. Scrambling back up, she ran for the door, pounding at it, crying incoherently – finally it opened and she tumbled out into a hallway was full of aides and nurses and doctors, but she rushed past all of them – crashed into a bathroom, and hurled into a toilet.

"I'm not helping."

"I beg to differ."

"He'll come after me now. I just – screamed at him – called him names-"

"He hasn't made any move to do so in the last eight years."

Laurie laughed wetly. The sound echoed in the bathroom, which she remained in long after the visit was over. "Why the fuck not?"

"As always, I can't be sure." The doctor leaned against a sink, not perturbed at being in a women's restroom.

She blotted her eyes on her sleeve. "He tried to – to move towards me."

The doctor nodded. "I know. But he did stop as soon as you backed away. We don't know what his intentions were."

"To kill me?" Laurie suggested caustically.

The doctor shrugged, and Laurie felt the rage beginning to build on her again. He "saw" it, he said – then why was he so dismissive? Why did he keep trying to get her to come back?

As if reading her thoughts, he said, "For the next visit-"

She shook her head mutely. The doctor actually sighed.

"Mrs. Lloyd, however you feel about it, it is helping him."

She snorted. "Yeah? How?"

He raised an eyebrow. "As his doctor, I am around him far more than you. Of course, I might just be projecting my own hopes onto him," Laurie wanted to ask him why the hell he should have any hopes for the man, but decided to remain quiet, "but… he does seem less… tense, perhaps, after your visits. And marginally more responsive." He shrugged. "Not that he is very responsive in the first place, but… I think he does react more easily, in the days after you come. Or reacts at all."

This just made Laurie feel queasy. She didn't want him opening up; she wanted him full-on catatonic and dead to the world. Dead to her.

"Listen," the doctor said quietly, "how about you call me to arrange the next visit? Perhaps give you time to think about it?" He smiled reassuringly when she nodded with seeming reluctance, and left her, indicating a nurse to stay to see her out.

Privately, she was grateful. No visit coming up. None she would ever make of her own will. Whatever Dr. Beckett said, this was not helping her. And if it was helping Michael, then she wanted it even less. He could stay where he was for the rest of his life, for all she cared.

The warm shower spray pelted her body, soothing away the migraine and the backache from the long car drive. Laurie relaxed in it, running her tangled hair through the stream. Steam soon filled the room, while water soaked the tiled floor, warming her even down to her toes. There was a constant chill in the sanitarium that was harder to dispel, like it had seeped under her skin. The smell of it also lingered, and she scrubbed hard with the soap, making sure to get all of it off.

"Mommy!"

Laurie dropped the soap back on its shelf. "Jamie, I'm in the shower!"

"But someone's at the door!"

She groaned. Just when she was getting comfortable. "Okay. Hold on, let me get out."

"Can I open it?"

"No. Just wait for me to get out."

She turned off the spray with some reluctance, shivering as she stepped into cold air – even with the heater on and the steam of the shower, it was still terribly chilly in their house. She dried her hair and tied the towel around her, then wrapped another over the rest of her body. If she was going to have to open the door, it'd be even colder.

Her daughter was not outside. A peek into the other bedroom did not reveal her either. "Jamie?"

Downstairs, she heard a door open.

No.

Laurie ran down the stairs, dripping water over the carpet. "Jamie!" She hit the landing and turned, saw the door open, a dark shape looming over her tiny daughter. "Jamie, close it-!"

Jamie turned. "Mommy, it's Mrs. Elrod."

The shape morphed into that of a little old lady, wearing a pink bathrobe. Mrs. Elrod peered in, smiling vaguely. "Oh dear, did I catch you at a bad time? I'm sorry. I was just going through the mail and realized that we got one of your letters by mistake." As proof, she handed over a letter, clearly stamped with Laurie's name and address.

"Oh-" Flustered, Laurie pulled up short, and was hit by a blast of cold wind. "Yes, I – thank you, Mrs. Elrod." She took the letter.

Mrs. Elrod nodded, still wearing that slightly confused smile. Her eyes ran over Laurie, still in her towel. "Well, cold out! I'll let you get on with it." And she tottered down the steps back to her house.

As soon as the door was closed, Laurie grabbed her daughter. "Jamie! Why did you do that? I told you to wait for me to open the door!"

"But Mommy-"

"There could be strangers at the door! People who might want to kidnap you, or rob us, or-" Murder you, a little shiver passing through Laurie – Michael standing over her daughter's bloody body, Michael grabbing John –

"But Mommy!" Jamie protested loudly, breaking through her thoughts. "The door was unlocked, so I thought it was okay…"

"What?!"

Laurie stared at the door, then grabbed it and turned the locks. Had she done that? Forgotten to lock it? Or…

She wheeled around the house, pulling Jamie with her. The dark corners of the room were suddenly foreboding, hiding strange shapes in them. Still dragging her daughter, Laurie flicked on all the lights, feeling a prickle.

"Where's John?" Laurie demanded.

"In his room." Jamie was pale and wide-eyed, her mother's fear infecting her.

"Go up there. Close the bedroom door, you hear me?"

Jamie did as she was told, rushing up the steps on all fours. Laurie whirled around the house, heedless of the cold, of her dripping hair, checking all the windows, the back door, pushing open closets. Her heart was pounding loud enough that she was sure her children could hear. Upstairs then – and she ran, looking out the balcony, throwing open closets and riffling through clothes, looking under the beds…

"Mommy?"

Laurie jerked, narrowly avoiding hitting her head on the frame. "John, stay in your room."

"But – what're you doing?"

"Nothing," she said confusedly, brushing past him. "Nothing – just stay there, let me go – do something-"

She rushed back down and picked up the phone, dialing a number.

It rang once. Twice. Laurie began twisting her fingers in her towel, which was now damp and cold. On the third ring, it was picked up.

"Dr. Beckett's office."

"Is he there?" she demanded.

"Who is this?"

"Is he there?"

"Mrs. Lloyd?"

"Has he escaped? Is he still there? Is-"

"Mrs. Lloyd, if this is about Michael Myers, then I can assure you, he's still here."

She released her breath. The tension drained out of her, leaving her leaning against the wall for support. "You're sure?"

"Absolutely. No breakouts, no alarms, no emergencies all day. Just normal activity. I'll even call the guards to check the feed."

Laurie kneaded her forehead, heart still thumping. She felt as if her ribcage might break from how often it had been doing that. "Don't. I just… got scared."

"It's understandable." He did not ask for further information, which she silently thanked him for.

But could it happen? Maybe he was stewing, waiting for the right opportunity. Maybe she'd set him off today and he was already planning how to find her. Her breathing picked up again at the mere thought, thinking of him in her house, coming after her children, her neighbors…

And it would be because of her. Because of her fucked-up family bloodline, her messed up mind, her stupid decision to scream at him.

"Dr. Beckett? I want to – to schedule my next… visit."

"Really – I mean, of course Mrs. Lloyd. Would the 4th work for you? Same time?"

She didn't even know what day that was, she just wanted to fix this horrible situation. "That's fine. See you then." Without waiting for a response, she hung up the phone. The familiar nausea was building up in her again. Push it down, she told herself, getting up. Push it back. This will help. It had to help.

It had to work.

The door to the children's room squeaked as she opened it. Inside, Jamie and John were huddled together under the blankets, a scared and very obvious lump.

"Jamie? John? Everything… everything's okay. Come out. Let's talk about this."

Twenty-nine days left.

A/N: After two chapters of having Michael Myers be around for all of 10 seconds, I finally have him in the scene for about a minute! Go me.