A/N: Warning for mentions of PTSD, panic attacks, flashbacks, and hallucinations, as well as discussions of psychopathy and antisocial personality disorder. Plus the usual amount of gore and violence one would expect from a slasher film.

The story is an AU based on Rob Zombie's Halloween (2007) in which H2 (2009) never took place, though there will be elements taken from there. Characters have also been drawn from the original Halloween II (1981), the Halloween 4-6 timeline, and the H20 timeline. Also note that each chapter will jump between different time periods: things under the past take place directly after Halloween (kind of paralleling H2), while things under the present are in the present, with some jumps to events in the immediate past (e.g. a few weeks or months before). And now that I've thoroughly confused you all, let's go on to the story!

Chapter 1: The First Visit

The past

Her hands were wet.

"I killed him."

The rocks dug into her feet.

"I killed him."

Water sprinkled down on her head.

"I killed him."

Lights flashing.

Stopping.

Footsteps.

"Laurie? Laurie, sweetie, stop. Stop."

Hands on her shoulders.

"I killed him."

"Look at me, Laurie. Look at me."

Red haze.

"I killed him."

Fingers numb.

"Laurie, give me the gun, okay? Here you go."

The gun dropped.

"Who'd you kill, sweetie? Who'd you kill?"

The boogeyman.

"I killed him."

The present

A thread was coming loose on her sweater.

Laurie fingered it nervously for a few seconds before zipping herself up, chilled by the constant blast of the sanitarium's air conditioning. A faint, antiseptic-like smell tickled her nose. She raked her fingers against her jeans, forcing back memories of blood and pain, the blurred out contours of her hospital room…

A clock on the far wall showed that it was ten minutes past one o'clock. She glanced at the door – her tenth time in the five minutes she had been sitting in the visitor's room, waiting for the patient.

Waiting for Michael Myers. Her brother.

Her fingers had stopped raking and were now digging into her leg. Visiting hours began at one, which was when she had scheduled this visit. Her gut twisted, chest growing tight, as the clock ticked inexorably away. What was taking so long? Had something happened? Was he coming for her -? No, there would be alarms going off, right? Unless he killed them – but there were cameras…

A delay. That's all. Delays were good. They could take as long as they liked – the more time they wasted, the less she had to spend with him…

She watched a camera in the corner of the room spin its slow semicircular rotation about the room, feeling slightly reassured by its presence. If anything happened, here or elsewhere in the sanitarium, it would be caught on film. There were surely guards watching as well, making sure the patients and guests were behaving.

The camera hit its furthest point, then came grinding back around. It took in a medium-sized room, some feet larger than the cramped reception area that had been the first room of the sanitarium that Laurie had entered, but far smaller than the visiting areas she had seen on her way through. The security aide accompanying her had said that it was actually one of the rooms the doctors used when talking with their patients – particularly doctors working in the high security ward. As such, there was minimal furniture (true – Laurie was sitting on one of two chairs, at the only table in the room, all of which were bolted to the floor), no windows (also true), no utensils, tools, or any items other than what Laurie had carried in (very true – her purse, the only thing she had brought, had been searched thoroughly while she was run through a metal detector, then taken away from her), and a heavy, steel door kept locked except when entering and exiting.

Which Laurie was staring at right now.

1:15. She had unraveled an inch of thread on her sweater.

The camera had begun its fourth spin around the room when she heard the door creak. Laurie found herself on her feet, goosebumps crawling over her arms.

The door heaved open, and Laurie felt a prickle down her spine.

Four security guards, dressed in their blue uniforms, entered, guiding in a massive hulk of a man.

All of the oxygen seemed to have been vacuumed out of the room, the walls shrinking in around her as she fixated on him, that one point, that one person. The guards were speaking, but she could not hear them over the pounding of her pulse in her temples. The room was swimming in a haze, and she was trapped in that tiny, enclosed space with a serial killer, the murderer of her parents and friend – her brother –

She bolted.

The aides were just swinging the door shut, but she flew past them – did not even register their shouts of dismay – brushed past the form of her brother, close enough to touch his robe, to smell the sharp, chemical scent on him –

And then she was flying through the tiled hallways of the hospital, grated windows a blur. She hurled herself into the nearest bathroom and vomited into a toilet.

"I'm not doing it."

Laurie's fingers were twisted into the spirals of the telephone cord. The handset was pressed hard against her ear.

"Mrs. Lloyd, there's really only two options available for your brother: long-term confinement at Smith's Grove-"

"And I hope he rots th-"

"-or release, for good behavior."

Laurie felt all her words dry up in her mouth.

"Mrs. Lloyd?"

She whispered, "Good behavior?"

"Yes." Dr. Beckett sounded tired even through the static of the phone. "Deinstitutionalization is the way many hospitals are going. Has been for decades now. Besides the benefits on patients, our overdrawn budgets, we have too many patients coming in… prisons foisting their worst offenders on us… abuse of the insanity clause… we're overcrowded. Even some of our highest security patients are being considered for release."

"You can't," she choked out. Her tongue felt was too large in her mouth, strangling her words. "You can't."

"Obviously we don't want to," replied Dr. Beckett. "However, should he remain here at Smith's Grove for the remainder of his life, you may be asked to be his legal guardian."

"His what?"

"A person in charge of medical, financial, and possibly personal decisions. When his – well, your mother-" Laurie flinched minutely at the mention of the mother she had never known, the mother who had committed suicide rather than face up to the fact that she had raised a monster, "-when she committed suicide, he became a ward of the state. Even when you were discovered to be his sister-" another flinch, "-you were too young to be considered. But now…"

Laurie curled her hand ever tighter around the telephone cord. Now she was twenty-six, with a steady job, a stable home. She could be considered. "But – if he – if he is released… then he'd-"

"He would have to live with you, yes, for an initial period."

Her lungs compressed. She dropped the phone as if it were a poisonous spider. One hand slammed into the end table as she bent over it, gasping for air. There was a faint buzzing in her ears, pulsing out all other noises as her vision blacked in and out – Michael Myers, in his mask, a bloodied knife, in her house, with her children –

"Mrs. Lloyd? Mrs. Lloyd!"

Her face was resting only an inch above the glossy surface of the table, her gasping fogging the surface. Slowly, she stood, swiping off her glasses and rubbing hot tears off her cheeks. Her heart was still pounding against her ribcage, hard enough to send an ache.

"Mrs. Lloyd? Are you still there?"

A tremor ran through her body as she tried to pull herself upright. She had to steady herself against the wall for a second, still breathing rapidly.

"Mrs. Lloyd?"

Weakly, she reached over and picked up the phone, pressing it against her ear. "I'm here."

"Are you all right?"

No. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

No. "Sure."

"…Okay. Just – just to let you know, whether you become Michael Myers's guardian or not, we will do everything we can to prevent him from leaving, legally or… otherwise."

Laurie could not help laughing, the sound hysterical even to herself. "Escaping."

"Yes. Which… which actually gets me to the topic at hand-"

"No."

"It need not be long, or even all that often – only half an hour, once every few weeks-"

"I can't-" She was sucking in air again. "I can't – he killed – he killed my parents, my friend-"

"Believe me, we are all of us aware of that. We would do everything to make sure you are safe. It would in the high security wing, guards inside and out, restraints-"

The room was pulling itself in on her once more. "No. No." Even the mention of his name sent a buzzing through her skull. She closed her eyes, forcing it back.

"I understand what you've gone through, truly. But I believe your visits might be one of the only things that could prevent a recurrence of your ordeal."

She stopped. "Recurrence?" The word repeated itself in her ears, like a murmur.

"Yes. He broke out once before, and while we have upped security – particularly every time Halloween comes around – we can't really know what he's thinking. I've been his doctor for the last nine years, with access to Dr. Loomis's files for the other seventeen, and ninety percent of the time, I don't know what he is thinking, what he might be planning."

The image she had seen flashed through her mind again – Michael Myers coming at her, grabbing her, attacking her, but with a sick, twisted feeling of guilt overlaid.

"You can't be serious."

"You have a family, Mrs. Lloyd? And they're still living in Haddonfield?"

"Yes," she whispered.

"Then his obsession with you might extend to them." A pause. "It is difficult, I understand. I will give you time to think… and we can reduce visits to once a month, once every three months, even-"

Laurie let him ramble on about security precautions and accommodations for her while the pulsing in her eardrums continued. Her eyes fell on the two books hidden in the highest shelf of her bookcase: The Devil's Eyes and The Devil Walks Among Us. Along their spines, an etched image of Michael Myers glared out at her, one of him as a boy, the other as a man.

A shiver trembled its way up her neck as she averted her eyes. She let her glance travel instead down the shelves to the small portraits. The photo of a man with dark curly hair and a friendly smile, she avoided as well. But the photo of a girl and a boy, both around three years old and with the same dark hair, grinned happily out at her.

"- cameras will also be watching, and aides will be on highest alert-"

Laurie interrupted him. "I'll come."

Another pause. "You will?"

"Yes." She fixed her eyes on the photo, even as her mouth went dry with the finality of what she was saying. "Yes, I'll – I'll see him. Just once. I'll come."

"Mrs. Lloyd? Are you in there?"

Laurie jerked her head up from where it was bent over the toilet. An acid-sweet smell was invading her nostrils, bringing back the nausea. She gulped and spat out a last, bitter stream of bile.

"Mrs. Lloyd?" A tapping at the bathroom door. The voice was female, probably a nurse.

She stood, legs shaking with effort. "I'm here." Her voice was hoarse, vision blurry without her glasses. She flushed the toilet and stumbled out of the cubicle, falling against a nearby sink. It took a few tries for her shaking hands to turn on the faucet, and when it did, water came spraying out too hard, splashing her face and neck. "Shit!" She grasped clumsily at the handle, turning the water down to more manageable levels, and began washing out her mouth and nose.

"Mrs. Lloyd… Dr. Beckett says if you're feeling up to it, he's still waiting for y-"

Laurie choked on water. "No. No, God, please-"

"Mrs. Lloyd?" Apparently the nurse had not heard; it sounded like she had to shout just to be heard through the thick door.

Laurie said, in a louder voice, "No. No, this – I'm not ready." Wouldn't ever be ready. "I – please, I can – can I-"

"We can reschedule your visit, if you want."

"Yes." She grasped at that option, anything to prevent her from going back in. "Please, I just – I can't go back there, I can't-"

"That's fine, Mrs. Lloyd, perfectly understandable. I'll let the doctor know." The footsteps echoed away, leaving Laurie momentarily alone.

With a sigh, she pressed her head against the mirror, hoping its cold surface would quiet the buzzing in her head. She wished Jimmy were with her. He'd know how to handle this. He wouldn't have let her go to the sanitarium alone.

As always, her shaking hands steadied as she thought of her late husband, of his voice, his eyes. Jimmy had had the sweetest face, like he was always thinking friendly thoughts. It had been helpful for him as he worked as an ambulance driver and, later, a paramedic, reassuring panicking patients just with his presence. It had certainly reassured Laurie on multiple occasions.

A knock at the door startled Laurie from her thoughts. "Mrs. Lloyd? It's Dr. Beckett. The nurse said you would like to reschedule the visit?"

Laurie splashed her face one last time before grabbing a handful of paper towels. "Yes," she replied, glad that her voice was less rasping. "I-"

"We can have you come back next week, during normal hours."

No. Laurie's hand went back to the sink, the porcelain cold under her palm. Her breathing was picking up again. No, not next week, next week was too much, too early –

"I don't-" She swallowed back a tremor. "Maybe – maybe later."

"Two weeks, then?"

Two months, she wanted to beg him. Six months, a year, never. She didn't want to do this, she wanted to go home, she wanted her parents back, her friends back, she wanted Jimmy to put his arms around her and soothe away her fears like a bad nightmare.

"Or perhaps a month?"

She closed her eyes. "A month-" Not enough, still not enough, she thought, but she had to do this, she had to protect her children even if everything in her body rebelled against it. She hated herself for quavering, tried to summon back up Jimmy's image. "A month is – is fine."

"Same time, same day?"

Laurie nodded, wanting to scream at herself for this. A month – a month was too soon, was only five weeks, thirty days, 240 hours…

"All right Mrs. Lloyd, we have you scheduled for February 1st at one o'clock, is that all right?"

She began to nod, then remembered she was still hiding inside the bathroom. "Yes, it's fine."

"We'll see you then. An aide will be waiting to escort you out."

As the footsteps disappeared, she began trembling once more. She remained in the bathroom a very long time.

She managed to calm herself during the long drive back to Haddonfield, though perhaps it had more to do with increasing her distance from the sanitarium. Snow still lined the roads, and she turned the heat up, warming her chilled body against the vent. The fields that surrounded the little town were blanketed in white powder, the homes distant, blurry boxes surrounded by fog. As she reached the small town, she slowed down, going through the smaller, winding streets. Many retained their Christmas decorations, reindeer and elves prancing around their lawns while Santa Clauses blinkered on the house rooftops.

She did not turn down Lampkin Lane.

After making what was essentially a giant circle, she finally turned into her neighborhood and parked by a neatly painted, two-story house, festooned with Christmas ribbons and a giant nativity scene in its yard. Before she had even turned off the engine h, the door opened, and out sprang two children, closely followed by a teenaged girl.

"Mommy!"

Jamie ran to the car, backpack bouncing frenetically with every step, practically a little ball with her coat, scarf, mittens, and hat all crammed onto her tiny body. Behind her followed John at a more sedate pace, his dark hair falling into his eyes.

She was so glad his hair was dark.

Jamie practically crashed into the car door, her jacket taking the brunt of the impact and prompting her babysitter to shout, "Slow down Jamie!"

Laurie suppressed a smile as her daughter flung her pack onto the seat. "Hey sweetie." To the teenager, she asked, "Everything go all right, Rachel?"

Rachel smiled, ruffling John's hair as he passed her. "Oh, terrible. Absolute monsters, both of them. I so deserve a bonus for tonight." Her breath puffed into the cold air.

In the back, Jamie stared at Rachel in horror. "What?! Mommy, we were good! Really, really good!" She tugged at John's arm. "Tell her, John!"

Laurie only laughed, pretending to ignore her daughter. "I'll be sure to punish them thoroughly. Early bedtime-"

Rachel joined in. "Only vegetables for dinner-"

"No TV-"

"No allowance-"

"Mommy!" Jamie shrieked. John was watching his mother and babysitter curiously, detecting their light-hearted tone but not quite able to guess that it was a joke.

"We're kidding!" Rachel exclaimed, still giggling. When Jamie pouted at her, she added, "Yes, you guys were great. Best kids I've ever babysat. Happy?"

Her reward was a winning smile. "See Mommy?"

"Fine," Laurie said with exaggerated defiance. "I guess I believe you." To Rachel, she said, "Thanks so much for doing this on such short notice."

"Oh it was fine," Rachel replied, waving away Laurie's words. "Anytime you need me, I'll do it."

Laurie felt a familiar lurch of her stomach. "Yeah… well, I'll let you get back inside. Take care, Rachel."

"You too, Mrs. Lloyd. Stay warm! Take care, Jamie! John!"

The kids waved goodbye as Laurie shifted into drive and pulled back into the street. Rachel was a sweet girl, one of the children Laurie had babysat on a regular basis before… Well, she was a good kid, and one of the few who didn't seem to mind or care who Laurie was related to –

"Mommy, where'd you go today?"

Her daughter's voice broke into her increasingly morbid thoughts. Laurie shook herself briefly, turning down the corner. "Um… oh, just up to… just out of town for a bit. Nothing important."

"Oh. Okay." Jamie settled in her seat, apparently satisfied with that answer. Laurie checked the mirror, meeting John's eyes.

"Hey sweetheart," she said in a voice that just a bit too bright. "You haven't said much. How was your day?"

John shrugged. "Okay. We tried making snowmen, but the snow wouldn't pack, so we went inside and watched TV." He regarded the fogged window for a second. "Oh, and Jamie got knocked down by Sundae and started crying. Rachel had to take her to the potty to clean up."

"Did not!" Jamie protested.

"Did so."

"Did not! Mommy!"

"All right you two, cool it," Laurie said from the front. She pulled into the driveway of their house and let her two bouncy twins clamber out and up the steps to the door before locking the door behind her. Her eyes darted to the windows (unbroken), the furniture (exactly the same), and the lights (all on).

It'll be different, Laurie. They won't be like him. Whatever it was that made him do it… you don't have it. They won't have it.

It had taken two years for Jimmy to convince her to have children. She had cried when she found out she was having twins, though not as much when she found out one of them was a boy. For six months, had woken up with nightmares of a blank-faced, blonde boy standing above her, bloody knife in hand.

She had been so happy when she saw her tiny, dark-haired son.

Look, six to seven months is an estimate. An average. Not everyone starts talking then. He's been completely normal in everything else, he's bound to be a bit weird here, right?

John had said his first word at nine months. For two months she had stood over him, mouth drawn tight, her mind flashing to the unspeaking killer who had kneeled in front of her and just stared.

John? John! You don't do that. You never do that again, do you hear me? Look, look at that, you're scaring Jamie! I don't ever want to see you doing that again, is that understood?!

Some stupid older kid had shown John that pouring salt on snails made them shrivel up, and John had come skipping towards her with glee, telling Laurie all about this new way to get rid of the pesky bugs in her garden and look, wasn't it funny how they seemed to fizzle –

I'm sorry, Mrs. Lloyd, but there was an accident on the road…

"Fuck!"

Laurie punched a hand into the sofa, then slammed her eyes and mouth shut in sudden guilt. There was no response from her children, though. Slowly she opened her eyes, saw that she was in the house, had been standing motionless in the living room, that her kids had littered the floor and stairs with discarded clothing and backpack and were squealing somewhere on the second floor.

She collapsed onto the sofa, hands fingering the thread in her sweater again, then hurried upstairs to the master bathroom. Locking the door behind her, she opened the medicine cabinet and pulled out three bottles of medication, dry swallowing them in a rush.

Take once per night to reduce nightmares. Take twice a day to reduce PTSD. Take as needed when you feel a panic attack coming upon you…

A sudden knocking almost made her drop her bottle. She fumbled the caps back on and stuffed them onto the highest shelf of the medicine cabinet, where her children could not reach.

"Mommy?" John said, voice muffled by the door. "It's time for our bath."

She shut the cabinet. "I know, sweetie. I'm coming."

Night had fallen when she made her way to her children's bedroom. Twin beds were pushed up against the wall, separated by a small nightstand. Closer to the window was Jamie, long, still slightly damp hair curling on the pillow. Near the door was John, covers pulled up to his chin despite the heater. Laurie smiled gently as she pressed his covers in tighter and pushed back the hair from his sleepy eyes, then tugged up Jamie's blankets.

"'M warm already," Jamie complained.

"Appreciate it while you can, kiddo," Laurie replied, smoothing her hair out. "Can't keep the heater on all night."

John yawned, tucking his body into a ball and closing his eyes. "Is Daddy going to read us a bedtime story?"

Laurie felt her throat close up, her body freeze with fear. He'd forgotten again, this was twice… no, was it three times now?

Before she could reply, Jamie said, "Daddy's gone, silly, remember? Mommy's told us already."

"Oh yeah."

John snuggled deeper into his pillow, breathing deepening, mumbling a muffled, "Night, Mommy." Jamie echoed him. Unable to speak, Laurie simply kissed them both, got up, and flicked off the light, then closed the bedroom door. Outside, she leaned against it, squeezing her eyes shut.

He appears to have no comprehension of what he has done, no memory of Halloween night. He insists that his family members are still safe at home and that he would never have hurt them.

Stop it, she told herself. It's different. Five years old, their father already dead for one year, of course their memories would be fading. She took deep breaths, trying to stop the pounding of her heart.

An hour later, she got into bed, unable to keep herself from thinking:

Twenty-nine days left.

A/N: To be continued.