Chapter 8: The Eighth Visit

Laurie smoothed down John's hair as she waited for the receptionist to finish the call. On her other side, Jamie was fidgeting, the dress she used for formal occasions itching her. Laurie reached over and adjusted the collar into a more comfortable position.

The receptionist nodded, murmuring words of thanks before putting down the phone. "Dr. Beckett has approved your coloring books and crayons," she informed Laurie, handing them over. "For the purposes of this visit, he has also authorized that Mr. Myers be placed back in full restraints."

She nodded as she tucked the books and box of crayons under her arm, squeezing her children's hands. It reassured her more than she wanted to admit; telling the doctor her children would be coming to see their uncle was far different from being in the actual scenario. A nurse had appeared and was slowly explaining all the rules of the visit: no touching, complete supervision, no loud noises, limited movement, and so on. Laurie doubted her children would remember any of that. As the nurse finished, an aide buzzed open the door and beckoned them in. Laurie grabbed hold of her twins' hands and led them through.

The white hallways were familiar to her by now, but Jamie and John, who had rarely gone to the hospital to begin with, were fascinated, craning their heads to try and look through the doors or whispering questions to each other. What was that funny smell? Why did the windows look like that? Who was that person walking by? Their mother ignored them, intent on following the aide and wondering just what Michael's reaction to knowing he had a niece and nephew would be. She had never mentioned them to him before, for reasons of safety. Knowing the little that she did about his brother's mind, he wondered if he even knew or cared about any relationships she had outside of, well, him. That he might be potentially possessive of her was a niggling worry that had begun ever since calling Dr. Beckett two weeks ago. After all, Michael had certainly been intent on killing all her close friends and family. And while the doctor had thought that his relationship (whatever it was) might extend to her children, she wondered if the information would shock him out of thinking of her as his little baby sister, and into… something else.

The aide stopped, his keys jingling as he pulled them from his belt and unlocked the door. As it creaked open, he said, "In you go, ma'am. We've got a one-way glass here to watch you and he's in full restraints. Shouldn't be a problem, hopefully."

Laurie nodded her thanks, then stepped inside, Jamie and John trailing after her. Unlike her, their attention focused first on the room – the small space, the bolted down furniture (again), and the lack of windows.

Then they saw him. Laurie heard Jamie give a little squeak and felt both of their hands clutch hers tightly.

Her heart was in her throat as she saw Michael look at her, then glance down at them. His shoulders (once again restrained behind his back) twitched, perhaps his only indication of surprise.

"Michael," she murmured, "these are… my children, Jamie and John."

Laurie had spent the first week after her call figuring out how to tell her children about their new, previously unknown family relation, and the second week working herself up to actually doing it.

She knew her children still missed their father, though being so young had helped them to recover better, if only because their memories of him faded quicker than it would if they were older. But they were not completely unaffected, and would tell her about little things that made them stand out: how other kids' daddies would come to the parent conferences, or drive up to the school to pick them up, or how the teacher had to come up with something special for them to do for father's day, or how their pictures only had a mommy while everyone else would draw a mommy and a daddy. She knew that for a time, he had been the only adult male figure in their life – they had no grandparents (Jimmy's parents had died while he was in high school) and no other nearby relatives.

She was afraid that they would think of Michael as a new father, a Jimmy-replacement.

Two days before the visit date, when the small family was finished with dinner, she told them.

"What's a mental insta-insi-insti-"

"Institution," Laurie enunciated for her son. "It's like a hospital, except it's for people who have illnesses in their brains."

Jamie wrinkled her nose. "Why are we going?"

"We're going to visit someone there."

John's eyes lit up. "Oh. Like you've been doing?"

She nodded, not surprised they had figured it out. "The person is a relative. He's been in there a long time."

"How long?"

"Over twenty years."

She saw their eyes widen – twenty years was practically an eternity for them.

"Is he sick?"

"Um, yes." It was one way of putting it.

Jamie wrinkled her nose. "Does he get medicine?"

"Uh… probably." Laurie really had no idea - was there medication for being a psychopath?

Her daughter's eyes widened. "And shots?" Of course, that would be the thing they would associate with hospitals.

"Maybe," Laurie hedged.

"How come he's been there so long? Doesn't he want to get better?" John piped up.

Laurie chewed on her lip. "Sometimes people don't get better when they're sick. Sometimes they just have to stay there so they, um, don't get others sick."

"Like Rachel's grandma," Jamie said, with an air of great wisdom. "She got sick very bad and went to the hospital and never came out."

Rachel's grandmother had died of cancer, but Laurie did not want to debate the point. "Yes, like that."

John was frowning. "Who're we visiting?"

"His name is Michael. He's my brother."

That made Jamie sit up. "Brother? Like me and John?"

"Yes, though we're not twins."

Jamie asked, "Does that mean he's our new daddy?"

Laurie almost choked. "No."

"So then, he's our… our…" Both their faces had screwed up.

"Your uncle."

That made the two giggle, to Laurie's confusion. "Rachel has an uncle," Jamie informed her through little snorts.

"He's ugly."

"And smelly."

"And mean."

"Is our uncle ugly?"

"And smelly?"

"And mean?"

It was a few too many adjectives thrown at her, and she ended the conversation with, "You'll just have to see when we go."

And now here they were. At the distance they were, Michael did not look that big, but something about his presence held their attention.

That, and he had a mask on.

"Come on," whispered Laurie to her two petrified children. "Let's go sit."

Whoever had chosen their room had definitely put some thought into accommodating for more people. Apart from the chair her brother was sitting on, there was another at the opposite end from him, and two along each side of the table. Laurie took one closest to Michael, on his right, and placed her children in some of the further seats – Jamie in the chair opposite her uncle and John on her left, thinking dimly that if Michael did anything, then he would at least have to get through Laurie first. Unfortunately, whoever had chosen the room had not thought as far as her children's age, and the two were almost dwarfed by their chairs. Jamie clambered onto her knees to gain more height, John following suit.

A heavy silence fell over them.

Normally, Laurie would fill up time by talking to Michael, or when that ran out, working on grading. But school had been over for a month now, and the kind of things she normally said to Michael could not be spoken in front of her children.

Michael, at least, after his initial surprise (she thought), had not reacted. Now he was aiming his gaze at each of them, focusing on one member for a few minutes, then slowly turning to regard the next.

"So…" Laurie attempted. Her voice sounded unnaturally high. "This is Jamie and John. They're twins-"

"We're five," Jamie interrupted, looking rather proud; their birthday had been a few weeks ago, so it was on their minds. John stayed silent; Michael was staring at him and he looked rather discomfited.

"Their father died a year – almost two years ago," Laurie went on. She swallowed past a lump in her throat. "I thought, um… you might like to see them."

It was a stupid thing to say, she thought. He hadn't even known they existed until now.

Jamie suddenly spoke. "I like your mask." Michael's glance switched from John to hers with slightly terrifying rapidity. It made the little girl flinch, but she held his gaze with admirable composure. "Did you make it?"

For a moment, Laurie was sure Michael was just going to continue staring then her. Then she saw him incline his head just an inch. Jamie noticed as well, and said, as if it was a normal conversation, "It looks nice." Then, "Can I touch it?"

"Jamie-" said Laurie in consternation, "The nurse said not to-"

But her daughter had already hopped off her chair and walked over. As she neared Michael, her eyes widened, whether because she had realized just how big he was, or because she had seen his manacles. But she didn't say a word, just walked over to Michael's side and reached out with one hand.

Michael looked at her one long moment, during which Laurie was hoping that he would do nothing – maybe some safe middle ground in which he refused to let her touch but did not take too much offense. But then he leaned his body over, as far as his cuffs would allow, until his head was within reach of Jamie's hand, though she had to get up on her toes to bridge the gap between them.

She stroked the ridges with immense concentration. "It feels funny," she declared. Still touching it, she looked over her shoulder at her twin. "John, come touch it."

And Laurie could only watch as her son, who had been viewing the scene with a watchful, waiting expression, dropped off his chair and joined his sister, his brow creased. He was more cautious than his sister, his eyes flicking over his uncle's form for a moment before making his move. When he did, he tapped, rather than touched, the mask, a little furrow of concern on his face that reminded Laurie greatly of his father. "It's hard."

"What's it made of?" asked Jamie – apparently addressing Michael.

Laurie answered for him. "Probably newspaper and glue. You've used it. Remember when Mrs. Chambers had you make that globe?"

"Oh yeah."

"Did you paint it?" asked John, removing his hand and examining the blue and black globs with his own, unconscious imitation of his uncle's head tilt.

"Yes, probably."

The two touched the mask a little while longer before losing interest and returning to their seats.

Jamie pushed herself further up on the table, practically standing in her seat. "Do you talk?"

Laurie tensed. "No, Jamie, he doesn't."

"Oh." Laurie waited for a "Why not?", but it did not come. Instead, she asked, "Do you like coloring?"

But it was John who answered. "No," he hissed at his twin, "he likes to make masks, duh."

"He has to color the masks," Jamie retorted, and Laurie wasn't sure whether to be amused or scared that her children had become so used to their uncle's silence, to speaking for him. "So I thought he might like coloring – DUH."

"Speaking of coloring," Laurie interrupted, "how about you work on that, huh?"

Without waiting for a response, she handed out their coloring books and crayons and watched for a moment as the two squabbled over their favorite colors. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed her brother doing the same, head dipping slightly as if in curiosity.

"I'm going to do the house," announced John to the room at large, grabbing a green crayon and scrawling over the grass.

"That's boring," Jamie declared. "I'm doing the one of outer space."

"Fine, then I'm doing the cat and mouse one."

"You can't do that one before me!"

Laurie let their chatter fill the room, glad for something to break the silence. After a moment, she spoke.

"They both like coloring, and playing in the yard, and playing imaginary games with their toys," she said in an undertone. Though Michael did not take his eyes off the twins, she saw his head incline towards her slightly. "John likes books. He's barely learning to read, but he likes to look at the pictures and make up the stories. Jamie loves animals. She wants a dog – she loves her babysitter's dog, Sundae – but we don't really have the time, or space, or money, for one."

She paused in her ramble. Neither of the children had heard, or if they had, gave no reaction. Jamie was coloring in a scene of an astronaut with furious concentration, turning the entire land blue. (Probably inaccurately, as Laurie thought it looked like the surface of Mars.) John had chosen the more ordinary picture of a cat chasing after a mouse in a field, and was carefully highlighting each of the cat's stripes. Both of them completely ignored their infamous uncle.

And Michael? He just watched them, as always very still, very quiet. But Laurie thought she detected a faint fascination in his gaze, the way he leaned forward just slightly to see what they were doing. Whatever he was thinking, he seemed to have accepted them into the little circle of him and Laurie.

When it was time to go, the twins shoved their crayons haphazardly into the box and leaped off the chair. "Are we going to come back tomorrow?" demanded Jamie.

"No, they don't have the institution open then," explained Laurie. "But I'm coming back in two weeks." She met Michael's gaze for a second. "You can come then."

Jamie made a little mewl of protest. "It's so long!"

Laurie shook her head – did her daughter want to come back? John at least seemed sensible, accepting the date with little complaint. But at the door (Jamie still whining about the long gap between visits), he turned around and said, "Bye, Uncle."

Jamie whirled around too. "Bye Uncle!" And she even waved.

Laurie glanced at Michael again, but didn't say anything, and it was too far to discern any expression. She could not tell if the familial term was endearing or disturbing, or how to feel about her children accepting him so easily. Then the guard was opening the door, and they were out.

In the car, though, they erupted with questions.

"Mommy, how come Uncle doesn't talk?"

"How come he was all tied up?"

"Why was he wearing a bathrobe?"

"Why does he wear a mask?"

"One at a time!" Laurie exclaimed, almost driving into the wrong lane. "John, you start."

"How come he was all tied up?"

Laurie had to think about how to answer it. Well, John, a long time ago, Uncle murdered five people and then broke out and killed another dozen. Or, your uncle is a psychopathic serial killer who might escape again. Or even, he tried to kill me and everyone's afraid he'll do it again and then come after you as well.

But she just said, "He's done some bad things, John, and they don't want him to hurt us."

"But he didn't hurt us."

"I know, but we didn't know that. Next time, they'll probably take it off."

Jamie shoved John out of the way. "My turn! Mommy, why was he wearing a bathrobe? And a mask? And how come he doesn't talk?"

"That's three questions!" shouted John. "And one of them was mine!"

"Stop," Laurie ordered. To Jamie, "He just wears what the mental institution gives him."

"They gave him a mask?"

"No, he made those. He… likes masks." She ran her memory for the last question. "And he doesn't talk because… I guess he doesn't want to."

"Oh." For a moment, there was peaceful silence. Then Jamie piped up again. "When are we coming back?"

"Why do you want to come back, Jamie?" Laurie asked, merging into another lane. "Weren't you bored?"

"A little," she shrugged. "But I think Uncle misses us."

She frowned at her daughter in the rearview mirror. "How do you know that?"

Jamie shrugged. "I can tell."

Laurie looked at John. "What about you, John?"

"I think he misses us too," John echoed, which was not quite the answer Laurie wanted. She examined for a second, but he did not seem unduly disturbed, only showing his normal silence in the face of his twin sister's more talkative exuberance.

"Well, we'll be back in two weeks."

"How about tomorrow?" asked Jamie.

"No."

"The day after tomorrow?"

"No."

"The day after the day after tomorrow?"

"No!"

"The day after the day after the day after the-"

"Jamie, I'm trying to drive!"

A/N: This was a shorter chapter than I wanted, but oh well - the next two will be longer.

Jamie is easier to write than John, since she had three movies that all focused on her, with two of them showing her as a child, while John had one movie, where he was already a teenager, and more of a supporting character in his mom's story than the main protagonist. So it was tougher figuring out what his personality would be like. Whatever, I tried.