SIX


"If you let her, she can stop the rage-the rage inside." - Dr. Sam Loomis, Halloween 5: The Revenge of Michael Myers.


When Jamie awakens, it's to the smell of harsh ammonia under her nose, making her head shoot back so hard that she gets whiplash. She groans as spots dance across her vision, the dingy room around her filling her vision-there's a small window that she knows she can't fit through and a heavy metal door that must lead to some sort of hallway. In the quiet of the room, all Jamie can hear is her own heavy breathing, her heartbeat, and the distant sound of what must be something dripping. As she awakens more, the prickle of pins and needles fill her hands and feet as she moves, surprised to find herself unrestrained, and when she listens closer, she hears what must be rats or mice squeaking.

Nausea fills her stomach and she remembers Rachel, sees the dried blood all over her hands and the once immaculately white dress.

A chuckle reverberates through the room and Terrence Wynn steps before her, face shrouded in shadow. A gasp escapes her, almost comical, and when she tries to stand he merely pushes her down. She's so weak in the hands and knees that she does so complyingly, and there's a fizzy sensation in her head, like she's got ginger ale trapped in her skull.

"Oh, god-" Jamie whispers, seeing the glint of gunmetal in the dingy red light of the room, and realizes that this is where her worst nightmares take place-in the belly of hell. This must be hell. No other place could be as terrifying.

He cocks the .380 against her forehead and Jamie feels the tears streaming down her cheeks, her lip quivering.

"How does it feel, Jamie, to know that I could take it all away at any moment?"

"Please-please, Dr. Wynn-please don't-"

He cocks the gun and forces her to look him in the face. By now, she feels urine streaming down her thighs, bladder leaking from bone-deep terror that she hasn't felt in a long, long time.

"Look at me, girl!"

She stares at him, hands coming up to try to shove him off of her but unable to do much besides fist into the leather of his jacket futilely, unspoken prayers on her lips as they make eye contact with each other.

Over Dr. Wynn's shoulder, she sees a shape, and it makes her even more sick. The stark white of Michael Myers' mask stares back at her, illuminated even in the darkness of the room around them.

She shrieks as Wynn shoves her back onto the chair, setting the gun on the heavy metal table before her, as he crosses over to the other side to take a seat. She glances at the gun and then back at Wynn, squinting, unable to help but tremble at the way Michael's gaze seems to burn into her even when she pointedly avoids looking at him.

Pushing long hair out of her face, mussed because of the struggle earlier, Jame sniffles, wiping away the tears on her cheeks as she tries to stop herself from hyperventilating on the spot.

In and out, in and out. Slowly. Just like Dr. Elrod says.

"Do you have anything to say, Jamie?"

"Why?"

"Why what?"

Irritated at the coy smile that spreads over Wynn's features, Jamie clears her throat.

"Why have you done this? To Michael, to me?"

Michael's attention seems suddenly fixed on her, at the sound of his name from her lips.

"I've done nothing to Michael that Michael wouldn't want."

"Did he tell you that?"

Wynn chuckles.

"Michael hasn't spoken a word since he was six-a fact I would like to change, but haven't been able to do," Wynn explains, "the only reaction he's had to anyone has been to you. He unmasked himself for you, willingly. And I know of your bond with him. You stabbed your foster mother."

Jamie shakes her head, feeling intrinsically violated, in some way-like her and Michael's bond had been a private thing, only for the two of them to share, alongside Dr. Loomis.

"I-I was in shock," Jamie whispers, shaking her head, "I was only six. After everything I saw that night-after everything he did-you can't-you can't blame me!"

"You stabbed her sixteen times-the same amount of times Michael stabbed his sister. Judith."

Jamie licks her lips, looking from Wynn to Michael, to see if anything about him changes-nothing does, not from what she can see, but it doesn't stop the tension that feels almost palpable in the room between the three of them. She feels nauseous at that knowledge-remembering the photos of Michael at her age, in his clown costume. The black and white photos made his eyes even more black, and she could never see anything in them, nothing that would foreshadow what he was going to do that night.

"I-Where are we?" she asks finally. "We can't be-"

"Smith's Grove."

"Why did you have him bring me here?" she exhales shakily, not realizing she was holding in a breath, "why did you let him escape?"

"Michael is-his potential is unlimited. Sam may have tried to starve out his potential-he kept him drugged and sedated, the entire time he was under his care, but when he's out in the wild, he's an apex predator. Pure evil, pure strength and resilience. I've never seen anything like it before. Why would we waste that when we could do so much more with it?"

Jamie's nose scrunches at the thought.

"Like-doing what?"

"That's why I've brought you here, Jamie. To see."

She shakes her head-all of this is so incredulous that she wants to laugh, but she doesn't have it in her. The stench of blood and urine makes her eyes water and she's filled with a dread that makes her queasy, especially at the way Wynn smiles at her. Michael may have filled her nightmares for the past ten years, but Wynn is far more terrifying than him, and as far as she's concerned, he has it out for her. Michael had merely brought her here.

"You're a psychopath," Jamie says softly, "and if you want to kill me, then do it. I'm tired of hearing your bullshit and I'm tired of all of this."

Wynn's brow raises as he stands once more, inching closer to her. It's as if he's so manic he can't sit still.

"I imagine you've been tired for a long time, Jamie."

"I am. I didn't choose this. I didn't choose to be my mother's daughter-his niece. I didn't choose for all of this to follow me around for the last ten years," she shakes her head, "and t-there's no escape, no matter what I do or where I go."

She sniffles, feeling tears stream down her cheeks freely. Wynn seems nonplussed, and for all Jamie knows, he's enjoying all of this-watching her cry, seeing the fear in her eyes. His face is blurry and unreadable behind the tears that don't seem to stop falling, no matter how hard and how quick she tries wiping them away with the back of her hand. Whatever she's been drugged with tonight has made her like this, she's convinced of it-despite how emotional she usually is, it's never felt like this. She feels like she's been ripped open and Michael hasn't even done anything to her physically.

"I know you're his perfect victim," Wynn whispers, as if it's some sort of personal revelation only to be heard between the three of them, as if Michael won't overhear them.

She guffaws, her heart skipping.

"What?"

"I know you're his perfect victim, and that's why I brought the two of you together again. It's been almost ten years. It's-perfect. He found you immediately. You and your sister-your foster sister."

"Rachel-" she sniffles, tears streaming once more at the thought of her sister-bloody and reaching out desperately for her, the last time they saw each other. She realizes that she has no idea if Rachel's even still alive.

"I'm sorry to hear about your sister," Wynn says, that coy smile spread over his features, "I heard she's in critical condition and the Warren County police are looking for you. Unfortunately, no one will be looking here."

Critical condition. At least she's not dead right now. Oh, god.

"They have to know Michael is gone from his cell. They have to be looking from top to bottom in this place!"

"From what it sounds like, your friend, Billy, is a prime suspect. Michael was in his cell when they looked."

"Oh, god," Jamie whispers, "you-you really thought this through, haven't you? You really think you're going to get away with this, don't you?"

"I don't just think, little Jamie," he says, smiling. His teeth look sharp. She swallows thickly, shaking her head, eyes closing as she hears boots scraping against the concrete floor as Wynn must be walking toward her. Her eyes fly open at the feeling of gloved fingers in her long hair, grunting in pain and surprise as he yanks her head back, exposing her throat and clavicle in what must be invitingly, in his head. God, how did he ever become a doctor?

No longer merely a shape in the foreground, Michael steps out into closer view, as foreboding as ever. His mask is more aged than she remembers it, different, somehow both specter-like and human at once. It's still the same white moon face she remembers, eyes so black it looks like there's nothing in them.

And, to her horror, she realizes she's in the same position as she had been ten years ago-this time, instead of Loomis using her as bait, it's Wynn. And she's just as helpless as she had been, just as terrified, and torn between who to beg for mercy from because both of the men in the room are just as terrifying as the other, regardless of intentions.

No Rachel to protect you now, no mommy. You're hopeless.

"And your work is done now, Jamie," he says in her ear, even softer, reveling in delight as she shudders at the warmth of his breath on her skin, "it's time, Michael."

His head visibly cocks at the familiarity of the statement, and he stares at her, knife glinting in the red light of the room around them. She stares back at him, breath caught in her throat, and feels like she's paralyzed in the attic of the Myers house all over again. Like she's not seventeen, almost eighteen, but a terrified seven-year-old girl completely at the mercy of her boogeyman uncle all over again.

"Michael!" she exclaims. Michael stops again, taking her in, as she keeps on begging, "you-you stopped, you didn't kill me, do you remember that? I know you remember that, Michael. You must remember that. I got through to you and I know I did. Don't do this to me! Please!"

She doesn't know if she's getting through at all to him, but she feels Wynn's grip tighten in her hair.

"Michael!" Wynn exclaims, "get on with it! You know you promised me I could watch!"

Michael steps closer and closer, and Jamie braces herself for the worst-but it doesn't come. Instead, Wynn's grip leaves her hair, and she opens her eyes to find Wynn and Michael struggling, Michael's hand wrapped around Wynn's throat. Michael grunts when Wynn stabs him with something that she can't see but hears the gush of blood that follows anyway.

Jamie screams, eyes finding the gun on the table. She quickly picks it up, standing at her full height to aim it toward them. She's never used a gun like this before-Richard had taken her to a gun range a few times and he and his brothers always liked hunting, but this isn't the same and she knows she's playing a dangerous game, aiming the gun like this.

The safety clicks off and she cocks the gun, aiming it squarely at Wynn. Michael stops what he's doing, watching Jamie with his hand still wrapped around Wynn's throat.

"Stop! Michael!"

"You really-you really think that I'd leave a loaded gun on the table?" Wynn laughs. She knows he's terrified, and she hears herself laugh, knowing she must sound absolutely deranged.

Michael releases Wynn a moment before Jamie shoots, unloading the gun into his chest. The sound is even more distant than her laughter had been, hearing as each bullet shatters his ribs. He gurgles for breath when he collapses on the ground, choking on his own blood. The gun drops from her hand and she looks at him, a horrified, choked out sob escaping as a hand covers her mouth to stifle the ugly noise that escapes.

Backing away, she has to lean on the wall to avoid falling onto the concrete floor right then as Wynn takes his last breaths, unable to process what she's done even as she watches it. Michael's gaze shifts from Wynn to Jamie, and she realizes it's only the two of them now and all of his attention is on her.

Quickly, she swallows back the vomit that threatens to escape, backing up until she feels the doorknob. She twists it, panic replacing whatever disgusted feeling wells up within her, and it takes a moment for it to pull open. It slams hard against the wall as she falls into another wall, running down the long corridor too terrified to look behind her. A spiral staircase leading to an upper level disorients her enough to make her slip and fall, hitting her chin hard enough to crack it open. There's blood in her mouth when she stands, climbing up the steps.

When she slams herself against the door, there's a piercing alarm that's so loud it physically hurts her. She grunts as she practically stumbles out into the pouring rain, hair flying into her face from the gust of wind that follows. Disoriented, Jamie stands and runs as fast as she can even as her head spins, through what must be a back lot. Spotting a hole in the chain-link fence, she immediately squeezes herself through it, her body just small and lithe enough to fit, even as it tears holes in her ruined costume. When she dares to look behind her, she sees the Shape emerging from a basement exit, even more terrifying in the rain like this.

There's an eerie lack of cars on the highway, making her feel comfortable enough to dash across the intersection to her salvation: a well-lit gas station. For a moment, she considers going inside as she approaches, but knows that Michael will do anything to get to her. She saw what happened to the Haddonfield Sheriff Department when Michael first found out about her, what had happened to anyone who got in Michael's way. No, she can't do that to anyone, not anymore-no one can get between them, now, but she isn't sure what to do about it.

When she finds a pickup truck running in front of the store, she nearly launches herself into the driver's seat, relieved to find the key still in the ignition. Her car's tiny compared to this, and she knows she's still in no state to be behind a wheel, but she has no choice.

"Hey-what the fuck!" The truck's owner shouts as she turns the key in the ignition to start it up, dropping his donut in his rush to open the door, "what the fuck are you doing in my truck? Bitch! I'm talking to you!"

She screams as the Shape comes from behind him, snapping his neck easily. Jamie doesn't stay to look, speeding away as the truck's off-road tires swerve on the gravel, out onto the highway. She's grateful there are no other cars on the road, not trusting herself not to crash, but she's grateful to be out of the basement of Smith's Grove, away from Dr. Wynn and, for now, away from Michael.

She thinks about Dr. Wynn-about the way she'd unloaded the gun into him on instinct, after Michael had let him go. About the gut-deep satisfaction when she'd seen him take his last breath. She wants to puke then, disgusted with herself, disgusted with whatever had compelled her to pull the trigger.

Or is this just me now?

Or is it me as I've always been?

Distracted from the metallic taste in her mouth, she wipes at her lips, finding blood on the back of her palm. There's blood everywhere and her head feels like it's splitting open. To try to soothe herself, she buckles her seatbelt belatedly and turns on the radio, finding a jacket hung over the driver's seat that she slides over her arms. It's leather and comically big, but it's good and warm, and it covers the tatters of her costume and her rain-soaked skin.

From the radio, the familiar lyrics make her shudder as she tries to catch her breath, trying to think of where to go next now that she's in the truck.

Although we're apart, you are a part of my heart, but tonight you belong to me.

The shrill vocals become more distant with the rainfall against the windows, and she lets her eyes close for a moment. When she opens them, she's too late to see the van that crashes into the passenger's side, slamming her off the road. She lets out a blood-curdling scream as the trick flips over and over, down the grassy hill and breaking through a wood fence, sending her head slamming against the steering wheel and back against the seat. She hears a loud crashing sound before the car finally stops.

Coughing, Jamie struggles to unbuckle her seatbelt with trembling hands, feeling broken shards of glass scraping against her scalp as she moves. Blood pours down her face, down her nose. Everything hurts and she still hasn't registered what's happened just yet.

Finally throwing the seatbelt off, she pushes the airbag away, then kicks the windshield open, climbing through. No matter how careful she is, broken glass cuts her lithe palms, and she's convinced there's no inch of her that isn't covered in blood. She coughs up a clot of it, struck by a sharp pain whenever she moves her neck and ribs, and she's careful not to jostle herself too much as she stands. From the little she can see in her tunnel vision, she immediately recognizes the backdrop of the Tower Farm.

Her heart skips a beat, gripping at her chest with a groan of pain, and looks away from the broken entrance to the inside of the farm house. She heads toward the inside, using the bales of hay that stack the walls for balance. She hears nothing, nothing beyond the sound of rain and thunder and the crunch of hay under her feet. She's allergic to hay, enough to water her eyes up and make her skin itch, but she barely notices that under the adrenaline that pumps through her. She has no idea what's broken and what isn't, but she still can't move much faster than she does, ambling through the farm. She hears cats meowing in the distance and sighs, catching her breath against a bale of hay.

When she looks up, she sees Michael standing at the broken entrance to the farm, mask illuminating with the lightning that strikes nearby. The thunder that follows is so loud it makes her head throb.

"Michael-" she whispers as he cocks his head. He begins to walk toward her, closing the small distance between them.

This is fitting, she thinks, he kills me the same age Judith was. The same age mommy was. After ten years. It's good.

"Kill me, Michael," she says louder, proud of herself for not taking a step back, for not retreating and running and instead, standing her ground, "I deserve it. After what I did to-what I did to Wynn, after all of this-just do it. Please."

Michael's only a few feet away from her when she finally backs into the bale of hay, a sob escaping her throat as he stops and merely stares at her. She can't find anything in his eyes, no matter how hard she looks.

"I deserve it! Please, Michael! My mom is gone, your sister's gone. It's only me. Me and you," she holds up her hands in surrender as her head spins, registering the distant sound of sirens, "take what you've always wanted. You were so close to getting it that night in the old house, but now you can. I know it's what you've wanted all these years."

She flicks her gaze from his eyes to the knife in his hand, then closes her eyes, bracing herself for whatever ending he has in store for her, heart racing.

The only thing she hears is the sound of something falling to the floor beside them. Her eyes fly open, widening at her uncle, empty-ended-this time, his hands outstretched toward her.

"I-" Jamie's brow furrows in confusion, "w-what? What do you-?"

He has no explanation and she doesn't think he'd offer one, either way. She looks between his hands and his face, skeptical-then, tentatively, steps toward him. Her arms wrap around him, unable to wrap completely around the bulk of his form. She feels his arms embracing her in return, and puts her head against his chest, hearing the steady, strong thump of his heart therein, smells the blood and oil on his coveralls. She holds on tighter.

It'd be so easy, so simple-and Jamie resigns herself to whatever it is Michael has in mind for her, even as he does nothing besides hold her. She trembles all over and she's unsure if it's in fear or relief, or an odd combination of both.

"Uncle-" she whispers. He stills his motions, and she pulls back to look up at him, her hands moving up to cup his face. Quickly, as predicted, his hands move to still hers-and this time, he doesn't abide by her silent request that they both know she wants. Maybe the mask is his face after all. She accepts that readily.

"Boogeyman."

Her head spins and she can't stop herself from falling to the ground when Michael lets her go, landing on the hay that pads the ground. She groans, spots filling her vision as her heart races, hand outstretched toward Michael. Red and blue lights dance across his stark white face as she lies there. His hand moves to support her head and she latches onto him.

This time, Jamie doesn't think she can let go.


Author's Note: a big improvement on the barn scene in H6, isn't it? :) Thank you all for your patience and your continuous feedback, I'm so happy to get to this story even with the brevity of this chapter and last chapter.

Not to plug myself, but if you're a fan of Halloween (2018), I would check out my Michael and Allyson centric story, In the Blood. It's a short piece and I finished it very quickly, and it's basically eaten up all my attention. Reviews are always appreciated! I hope you are all doing well in this craziness we're living in.