Hello! It is kind of crazy to think that I started writing this story in notebooks over 15 years ago. A great deal has happened in my life, but I have always considered revisiting this story. Recently a friend encouraged me to get back into fan fiction and so here I am again. I can't promise that'll update regularly but I will try. My trigger warnings for this chapter are mentions of sexual assault, medical testing, and possible illegal age-gap/coupling. To write this I had to go back and read my original story which I'm still pretty proud of but at times I had to put my morals slightly aside for the sake of Angie and Michael. Fair warning the purpose of this chapter is to bring us up to speed on where Angie is, to understand her physical and mental state. I am trying to figure out where or how to reintroduce our masked friend but I know he's out there. I can feel him watching...can almost hear his heavy breathing. Maybe that's why I'm back, no matter how fast I run, Michael Myers is always somehow right behind me.
Thanks for waiting and happy reading! *~* Petite
I spent two days at Sacred Heart—two exhausting days of tests and terribly awkward and uncomfortable conversations.
After I gave my statement of events to two deputies from the Haddonfield Police Department sent by Sheriff Brackett, more tests were conducted.
My parents and Christie arrived in separate cars, checked into a hotel near the hospital and took turns staying with me.
Mom held my hand as I submitted to being swabbed for traces of Michael's DNA. Someone photographed every scrap, cut, bruise, and abrasion. The pronounced bruising on my thighs and hips from where Michael had held me as we lost our virginities together was of particular interest.
I told the deputies that Michael had taken me to his old, abandoned house and there we had sex. Around me, I heard adults muttering about statutory rape because I was seventeen and Michael was ten years older. Typically, I would agree with the law; I know children cannot consent, but I did not feel like a child.
My father paced the linoleum floor of my room and kept barking at the deputies trying to question me. He vehemently disagreed with anyone asking me to relive the recent trauma I had survived.
Dad ran his hand through his thick black hair shot through with graying strands. He had not shaved and his eyes-brown like mine-were bloodshot. As he paced, I watched him from my bed and realized he had not changed his clothes from the ones I had seen him wearing on the morning of Halloween.
Without a doubt, I knew he loved Christie like his own, but I was his only biological child. I was born when he was forty-seven-years-old and he had told me that until he met my mother and Christie, he never thought to have a family of his own, that he could love so fiercely. When he held me in his arms the first time, Kenneth Ramsey understood the lengths and depths he would go for me.
"She has told you over and over again that she thinks an old woman helped her. That she isn't sure what happened between Michael Myers abducting her from that house and showing up at the hospital." Dad said, after whirling on the deputies who looked worn out.
They had lost colleagues and friends to Michael's carnage too, but in that moment they were trying to carry out their duties, to be professional.
Dad simply did not care.
"My daughter was beaten, abducted twice, raped, and subjected to all kinds of psychological torture."
"Mister Ramsey, we understand. But we need to record what happened," said Deputy Marcia Byrd.
Dad pinned her with a withering look. "Right so that the next time a homicidal maniac breaks out of an insane asylum, you all might act faster to stop him from killing half the town?"
I gripped the blanket that covered my legs now wrapped with splints. What I wanted was to will it all to end.
"Sir, please, try to understand-"
"Oh, I understand! None of you listened to Doctor Loomis, none of you warned the residents in town. You keystone cops are so goddamn incompetent."
"Daddy, please," I whined. "Please let's get this over with. I'm tired."
Tears stung the corners of my eyes; I had tried to stop crying to prevent dehydration but it was nearly impossible. All I did was cry and hurt.
Dad unfolded his arms and crossed the floor to pat my knee. He leaned close and his gaze softened with his tone.
"Don't worry, honeybee. The doctor said they can discharge you. We'll go home and start to put all this behind us, okay?"
I stared at him. Again, he patted my knee but when he turned back to the deputies his fatherly demeanor shifted to protective and vitriolic.
"I will not let my daughter sign off on any statement today. You can type it up and send it to my office. Once I and some trusted colleagues read it through, we will send you the signed version."
The deputies exchanged a look. Dad may appear to be a small-town suburban man but he was an educated and whip-smart lawyer.
"Will that be a problem?" Dad asked, folding his arms.
"No, sir," said Deputy Ido Renn with a snap of his notebook shut. "We will talk to Sheriff Brackett and send the statement soon."
Dad gave a curt nod.
Deputy Byrd mumbled a "Get well soon" to be as she and her partner moved to leave. Something in her gaze told me she wanted to say more, perhaps that she was sorry. Even though none of this was her fault she was probably sorry. But to say so could be interpreted as an admission of wrongdoing and Dad was very litigious.
"Oh, and tell Brackett that if he's planning to retire to do it quickly. He won't win reelection."
The deputies looked pained and quickly departed.
Left alone, I pushed myself further up into the stiff pillows and attempted to avoid tugging the saline drip taped to my arm.
"Daddy..."
My father turned to me, his expression and body language told me he was not sorry.
"Yes?"
"You didn't have to say all that."
He shrugged and shook his head. "I am a pretty progressive guy but moderate in some things. But for what Brackett and his department let happen, I will defund them with a lawsuit so huge."
"Daddy! No one could've stopped Michael."
"Oh, but he was stopped. We all saw him go down in a hail of bullets. If Brackett had gotten in gear sooner, maybe more lives would have been saved. And maybe my baby wouldn't be suffering now."
A sob leapt into my throat. I did not deny what he said. I was for sure suffering and yet not in the way he understood. To my father, his innocent daughter had been violently attacked and assaulted. He would not allow himself to believe that I had bonded with Michael, fallen in love with him, let him take me, and let him be my first in the most intimate way. When I tried to tell him, my mother, and Christie, no one would entertain that.
So, yeah, I was indeed suffering.
Later Dad went to the hotel to shower, take a nap, and change clothes. Mom and Christie were with me after I was freed of needles and tubes and allowed to change into a light blue sweatsuit and a pair of sneakers.
"Are you ready to go, Miss Ramsey?" asked Doctor Adiche who had overseen my care.
Her brilliant and comforting smile made me sheepishly smile and nod in return.
"Yeah, and sleep for a few weeks."
Doctor Adiche looked at her chart and cautioned my mother to plan a follow-up appointment with my primary care physician and cautioned me to not put too much weight on my legs for the next week.
"And if Haddonfield Memorial is still closed in two weeks, I want Angie back to check on how her rib is mending, okay?"
Mom sat on the hospital bed next to me and squeezed my hand. Unshed tears shone in my eyes, and she blinked them away before agreeing to the doctor's plan.
Christie was out in the hall on the phone with her husband to brief him on all that was happening. She had just ended the call and reentered the room when Doctor Adiche made a hard suggestion.
"I think it best if I and some of the orderlies escort you to a rear door of the complex."
All three of us looked at the doctor confused and I instantly felt on edge.
"W-why?" Mom stammered.
Doctor Adiche sighed and let her shoulders sag under her crisp white lab coat.
"Media crews have descended near the patient departure doors."
"What?" Christie demanded. "Are you serious?"
Doctor Adiche sucked in a deep breath and said, "They arrived not long after Angie was admitted. First, they tried to cluster in the emergency room, but hospital security forced them back. We had to call Chicago PD to keep any reporters from trying to slip in to get to you."
"Unbelievable!" Mom said, throwing up her hands.
"That's totally illegal. To block the path of an ER." Christie said.
Dad had tried to get her to go to law school to become a hot-shot prosecutor or corporate lawyer. Christie had gone to law school, but she chose to work for a public defender's office in Modesto. She was always on the side of the underdog, the marginalized, and the voiceless.
Doctor Adiche shook her head. "No, hence why we took measures to relocate them. But I think you all leaving out the back will make things easier."
Mom took my scraped and bandaged hand and kissed my knuckles. "It'll be okay. We'll be all right."
I was sure she was trying to comfort herself as much as me. She was a strong woman but the events of the last few days would test anyone.
"Police and hospital security guards will be in place so no one will obstruct your vehicle."
"Can you show me where to park?" Christie asked.
She had driven Mom in a rented sedan from the hotel.
"Of course. Follow me."
"I'll be right back," Christie promised and trotted after the doctor.
After the door closed, I turned to my mother and tried to appear more brave than I felt.
"Have you talked to Laurie?"
Mom shook her head. "Not to her but I spoke to her aunt. Her parents are on their way back from their trip."
"Did her aunt say how Laurie was doing?"
Mom sighed and a few tears finally escaped to trail down her pale cheeks until she wiped them dry with the sleeve of her sweater.
"There was so much that you kids didn't know. We kept so, so many secrets. Now it's all gonna come out."
I furrowed my brow and leaned closer, mindful of my bound torso to keep my rib set. "What do you mean, Mom? Tell me."
She shook her head and glanced at the ceiling as if begging God to help.
"Mom?"
A tear slid back to her ear and without looking at me, she said, "Michael Myers killed several people that Halloween night all those years ago."
Confused, I asked her who else had Michael killed aside from his sister Judith and her boyfriend.
Mom threw her arm around me and pressed a kiss to my forehead with trembling lips.
"Mom-"
"Now isn't the time but a lot of people suffered after that night."
I pulled back so I could look her directly in her eyes. "How? Tell me how."
"I can't, the time isn't right."
"When then?" I sounded frustrated and anguished because I was. She was talking in scattered riddles and it was driving me crazy.
"Don't you think I've had enough of secrets?"
"Angie-"
"No!" I said, my voice heightened. "No, Mom. People keeping secrets is what got us here. I'm sick of secrets."
Mom's eyes widened and then she said something I did not expect.
"Secrets are sometimes necessary for things to get back to normal or to help people survive. You might not understand now but you will soon."
"But Mom-"
"You tried to save Michael in the cemetery. We saw you. Your dad thinks Michael forced himself on you. He will make sure that that's the story in your statement to the police. It's the story we will stick to. But if it's not true, well it is better to keep that truth secret."
"Please," I pleaded, my voice shrunken.
She smoothed one loose curl behind my ear and her smile looked forced and then faltered.
"Michael killed a lot of people, some of the most important people in the world to me." I began. "But we shared something. Something that is hard to explain. I just know it was real."
Mom's throat constricted before she spoke; this was probably the hardest conversation we had ever had.
"Mom, I love—"
She clapped her hand to my mouth and shook her head hard.
"Whatever you do, don't say that! Not here, not to your father, not to the sheriff, or Doctor Loomis. Not to anyone."
I pried her hand off and pushed myself off the bed. My balance wasn't great but I managed to not topple over.
Facing the door so she would not see my own angry tears, I took some calming breaths. It didn't work.
"Angie, when you're older you'll understand. When you're a mother you'll know why I said what I said."
When I was older? When I was a mother? Though I had been a virgin and got most of my sexual education from reading spicy books and listening to Annie and the other girls detail their after-school escapades, I wasn't stupid. One thing I had not said aloud because in ways it was difficult to comprehend the consequences, there was a chance that Michael and I may have created more than just controversy at his old house…
"I am afraid and so is your father."
"Of what?" I asked, not turning around. "Michael is dead."
Dead and gone and never coming back. More tears fell and I clenched my fists at my sides to stabilize myself but the pain was constantly renewing itself.
"We are afraid that if you confess your true feelings and tell what all really happened that they'll take you from us."
I turned and Mom was dabbing at her wet eyes and cheeks.
"Who? Where?"
"Sherriff Brackett. Doctor Loomis. Child Protective Services. Smith's Grove Sanitarium."
A lump of ice formed in the pit of my stomach. The idea that I would be locked away in a facility, a high-security prison for the criminally insane, the same one that had held Michael for years…
"No," I whispered.
"That's why you can't tell anybody!" Mom cried.
"What about Laurie?" Could I confide in my best friend? Possibly the only living friend I had left?
Mom shook her head and rose to envelope me in her arms. With her mouth close to my ear, she said it was not safe. Truthfully, there was a chance telling Laurie could leave to both us of spiraling out and getting taken.
"What about Christie? Can I tell her?"
"You can tell me anything."
We glanced up to see Christie just inside the door. Her expression was sad but the set of her shoulders and the way she looked at me said she was resolute.
"But Mom and Dad are right. It's crucial to keep facts straight and hold secrets."
I shifted my gaze between them and though it felt like a betrayal to myself, I slowly nodded.
Christie let go of the door and flew to join us in a group hug. When I winced from the pressure on my side both apologized and snuggled me close. After we broke up, Christie said an orderly was outside my room with a wheelchair. Doctor Adiche was waiting with discharge papers at the nurse's station.
We grabbed our things and accepted surgical masks from the orderly to further disguise us. Flanked by more orderlies and guards, we followed the doctor out of the unit to a freight elevator. No one spoke as we descended but Mom and Christie held my hands.
Once the doors opened we found ourselves in a dimly lit loading dock. Christie's sedan was parked near a ramp. The orderlies worked quickly and quietly to help me into the backseat and buckle me in. Mom slid into the front passenger seat and Christie turned on the ignition.
Before we pulled away, Christie hit a button to roll down my window. I lowered my mask to speak to the doctor.
"You are a very brave girl. No, young woman." Doctor Adiche said, her voice as soft as her smile. "Take care of yourself, Angelina."
"Thank you, I will."
I settled back in my seat and pulled my mask over my nose.
Doctor Adiche and her team drew back from the car and waved as Christie pressed the gas. As we pulled away I noticed a lone ambulance sitting near the far wall. A man was languidly using a green hose to wash the vehicle's exterior. He looked over his shoulder and waved. It was then I realized he was David, the friendly paramedic who had comforted me on the ride to Sacred Heart. I waved until he disappeared as we curved up the ramp.
As we pulled out and onto the road behind the hospital, Mom and Christie sighed in relief as no reporters were trailing us.
"We'll pick up Dad and then head home, finally." Mom said.
Reclining into the buttery soft leather upholstery, I tried to relax. My eyelids suddenly felt very heavy and I gave myself over to my exhaustion. My last thought that I remember before sleep came was, 'What was home like now?'