ONE DAY LATER

Pebble Creek, Illinois

June 21, 2010

Because Heather fell asleep so early the night before, she woke up before the crack of dawn. She doubted anyone else in the household was awake, yet. Even so, she reached for her eyewear just to be safe.

Once Heather completed her transformation, she quietly put her jeans back on. However, she exchanged her navy t-shirt for a green one. She then crept out of her bedroom. She headed directly downstairs to the bathroom, cursing her overzealous bladder.

After using the facilities, Heather tiptoed into the kitchen. She grabbed her usual yogurt from the fridge and a plastic spoon from a box in a cupboard. She didn't want to eat inside or wake up Millie, so she snuck outside, heading towards the woods behind the farmhouse.

The sun had yet to rise, but the air was already thick with humidity. Heather sat down on a dead fallen tree. Her eyes instinctively drifted up to Michael and the Tool's bedroom window. Like the entire house, it was dark.

Whether Heather wanted to admit it or not, each time the couple fucked, a sliver of her heart broke. She hated that the Boogeyman had chosen to use another girl to hurt her, yet she still couldn't find it within herself to hate him personally. And, honestly, she didn't hate his tool either. Diane had no idea of her role in his diabolical plan. Heather couldn't hate someone for their ignorance.

The ginger finished her yogurt and set the cup on the ground by her feet. As she raised her head, she caught sight of a shadowy figure striding towards her through the moonlit haze. She released a heavy sigh. Just for once she wished the Boogeyman would give her some much desired privacy. "I'm fine, Michael!" she called out to him, her voice sounding eerie in the dense air. "I promise I'm not running away!"

The figure suddenly stopped moving. Heather's breath hitched in her chest. It was Michael, wasn't it? It wasn't close enough, yet, to see its face.

Then, a bark sounded and another dark shadow came racing towards the teenager. She barely had time to brace for the impact as Millie leapt up onto the fallen tree and excitedly began licking her face. Finally, Heather firmly pushed the canine away from her. "Okay, Millie, that's enough," she commanded, her heart still beating hard.

"You nearly scared me to death," she scolded both her dog and the Boogeyman. The latter steadily approached the dead tree with a large knife gripped securely in his hand. He simply stared at her while Millie sat down on her haunches.

"You're up rather early," Heather noted.

He shrugged and pointed to her.

"Hey, I got plenty of sleep," she said. "Probably more than you."

The Boogeyman's gaze shifted down to the empty yogurt container.

"I know it isn't much, but it tastes good to me right now," Heather explained. "I'll eat more later at Tracy's house."

He gave his head a curt nod.

"What about Millie? Has she eaten, yet?"

Michael shook his head and raised his knife.

"Oh, are you out hunting?"

He nodded.

"May I come with you?" When he hesitated to respond, Heather said, "Please? I won't be any trouble. I promise. You won't even know I'm around. Besides, after yesterday, I'd say you owe me one."

The killer audibly sighed but then gestured for her to follow him. Grinning, she obeyed. Millie also joined them, choosing to walk at Michael's side.

"She's done this with you before," Heather whispered.

He turned his head and glowered at her.

"Sorry," she mouthed.

All at once, Millie tore through the trees. A few minutes later she returned carrying a dead rabbit in her mouth. She promptly dropped it at Michael's feet and then sat down. Panting, she stared up at him. The corners of her mouth were lifted almost as though she was smiling.

To Heather's utter surprise, the Boogeyman reached out a hand and patted Millie on the head. He then used his knife to cut the rabbit in half. After tossing one piece to the dog, he knelt; lifted his mask off his head; and began eating his share of the kill.

Heather watched in stunned silence. Not only had Michael let her go hunting with him, but, once again, he had allowed her to see his face. However, instead of drawing attention to his actions, she quietly stepped away from both him and Millie, letting them eat in privacy. She sat down on the ground a few feet from them and gazed up at the brightening sky.

One moment Heather was admiring the sunrise, the next she was staring into Michael's pubic area as he pressed his cock's swollen head against her lips. She gasped from sheer surprise, and that was when he shoved his entire length into her mouth. Sean had forced her into giving him oral countless times, but it had never made her instantly wet with need.

The killer crouched down, and Heather had to lie back onto the ground to keep his erection in her mouth. Sucking hard, she grazed its veiny surface with her teeth. He repaid her affections by rapidly fucking her mouth until he climaxed hard.

Even before Heather had completely swallowed all of Michael's cum, he stood to his full height and zipped up his uniform. Being used by men was nothing new for her, but this time hurt like hell. Well, what did you expect? her inner voice sneered. It's not just meaningless sex to you. You love him.

Heather shamefully wiped a drop of Michael's cum from the corner of her mouth. She couldn't even look at him as he put his mask back on. He started walking away from her. When she remained sitting on the ground, he turned to face her.

"I'm fine," she said, though there was a slight tremor in her voice. "You go. I'll catch up to you later." Or not. She didn't even feel like going to Tracy's. Maybe she would just spend the day out in the woods with Millie.

Michael cocked his head. He obviously didn't believe her either.

"I'll be okay," she said, more confidently this time. "I have Millie here."

He offered her a short nod and then quickly vanished into the shadows.

Millie trotted over to Heather and laid her head on the teenager's lap.

"It's my fault," Heather said. "I should have fought him." She sighed heavily. "I'm definitely not as strong as I want everyone to believe. I should have known better after what I let my fiancé do to me."

Heather glanced down at her ring. "He broke me, Millie," she said. "I had never felt that hopeless in all my life. And then Michael came along…" Tears started to fall from her eyes, landing on the dog's head. "I love him, Millie. I love him so much. Maybe I shouldn't, but I do. And you know what, I think he still loves me, too. That's what makes this so damn hard."

Millie suddenly jumped up and licked Heather's face.

"It's okay, Millie," she insisted, pushing her canine friend away. "I'm not going to give up. I can't give up. Not now."

Heather wiped her eyes and inhaled a deep breath. "I never realized loving someone would turn out to be so difficult, but I guess that's what I get for falling in love with a killer, huh?"

Millie suddenly whipped around and let out a series of loud ferocious barks. Heather jumped to her feet, her face paling as a burly man appeared through the trees. One look at him and she knew he was not a man to be messed with.

He offered her a smile, but it was far from friendly. "Hello, little lady," he sneered above Millie's low growls. "I see you have found my missing dog."

Heather instinctively took a few steps backwards. "I didn't know she was your dog."

"Well, she is, and I want her back."

As much as she loved Millie, Heather couldn't risk the well-being of hers and Michael's babies for a dog. "Then take her," she firmly commanded. "I don't want any trouble."

The man's frosty cobalt blue eyes slowly traveled down the length of the teenager's body. "My-oh-my," he said. "You're a pretty little thing, aren't you?"

Heather self-consciously folded her arms over her racing heart. "Listen, I gave you what you wanted. Now, go."

The man licked his lips in a suggestive manner. "Not yet you didn't, but you will," he warned. He lunged for Heather. Without thinking, she raised her foot to kick him. Instead, though, he caught it and maliciously twisted it between his hands. Heather shrieked loudly in pain just as Millie bit the man's calf.

Cursing, he released the girl's foot in order to deal with the dog whose sharp teeth were tearing into his flesh. Heather instantly fell to the ground, gripping her throbbing ankle.

"You stupid mutt!" the man angrily shouted at Millie. To Heather's horror, he pulled out a pistol and cocked it.

"NO!" she yelled.

However, before the man had the chance of firing his gun, he swayed precariously on his feet. Heather instinctively looked up and screamed. The Boogeyman was standing directly behind the man gripping the handle of his knife, which was protruding grotesquely out of the man's crown. The killer held her gaze while he yanked his weapon free. Then, he effortlessly tossed the victim's body away from her. She stared at the corpse in complete shock, unable to comprehend what had just happened.

A sharp slap on her cheek forced Heather back to reality. Michael was kneeling at her side. She promptly flung her arms around his neck and buried her face into it. He noticeably stiffened, yet that was not nearly enough to discourage her from hugging him. "I'm sorry," she sincerely apologized against this mask's latex ear. "I should have gone with you."

The killer pulled back slightly, and Heather instantly withdrew from him. He rose to his full height, his black eyes burning with rage. The hand gripping his knife flexed as he turned them onto Millie, who was sniffing at her previous owner's lifeless body.

"No! Michael, don't!" Heather exclaimed, assuming he was going to take his anger out on her dog. She hastily jumped up to stop him only to have her ankle buckle under her weight. Tears stung her eyes as pain shot through her leg and foot.

The Boogeyman immediately abandoned his mission. He pocketed his knife and dropped to his knees at Heather's feet. To her sheer astonishment, Millie trotted over to him. She sat down on her haunches right at his side. While he reached to examine the teenager's hurt extremity, Millie's tongue darted out. He promptly stilled his hands, letting her lick his bloodied fingers clean.

A blush of embarrassment crept up to Heather's face as she watched their interaction. "Michael, you were never intending to hurt Millie, were you?"

He met Heather's steady gaze and deliberately shook his head.

"I should have known," she bashfully uttered. "She's your companion, too."

The killer didn't respond other than carefully removing Heather's tennis shoe and sock. She winced hard when he gently probed her already discolored ankle.

"Do you think it's broken?" she asked through gritted teeth. "He wrenched on it pretty good."

Michael's fingers momentarily paused before pressing down on a spot that made Heather cry out in excruciating pain, giving her the answer.

"That bastard!" she hissed. "Now what am I going to do? Should I risk going to a hospital?"

The Boogeyman gave his head a sharp shake.

"So what? Leave it on its own to heal?"

Again, he shook his head, his eyes lifting behind his mask. It was then that Heather knew what he had in mind.

"Oh, hell, no, Michael," she spat, trembling slightly. "No way. I'd rather be laid up for weeks than subject myself to that kind of torture."

The kiler impatiently sighed but did not attempt to push Heather into consenting, even though they both knew he very well could have.

"That's how we ended up in this predicament in the first place," she curtly reminded him. "You couldn't keep your hands off me, and I was unable to say no." She remembered that day like it had happened yesterday but for all the wrong reasons. Sean and Michael had each used her for sex, and it had turned out to be a game for them both as evident by their lack of commitment to her. Her life had been reduced to one big joke, except she wasn't laughing. In fact, she was very close to tears.

Heather abruptly cleared her throat and said, "Michael, can you just take me to Tracy's house, please? Maybe they'll be able to figure out a way to help me that doesn't include me being laid up for weeks or being defiled by a known serial killer."

The Boogeyman expression turned to one of pure anger.

"Great, Michael," Heather seethed. "Now you know how I feel every time you fuck Diane. I hate that you brought her here, and I hate that you can't accept your love for me. But you know what I hate most? That no matter what you do to me, I will always love you. How fucked up is that?!"

Before Heather knew what was happening, Michael's body collided with hers. Their anger only fueled their passion for one another, and each was powerless to fight it. Hell, neither of them ever even tried.

They haphazardly undressed each other, both of them yearning for a release that only sex could provide. Once their genitals were bared, Michael parted Heather's legs with a knee and plunged his extremely stiff cock into her dripping pussy. He relentlessly fucked her, forcing her to endure multiple orgams in quick succession. Yet after each one, he denied himself his own release. She assumed that was punishment for her earlier outburst since it was only through his seed that her broken ankle could be healed.

Heather suddenly moaned as the killer struck a sensitive nerve deep inside of her. She opened her eyes to find him staring down at her. She boldly raised her hands to his face. She traced the outline of his mask's closed lips with the pads of her thumbs before moving them up its smooth cheeks to its eyeholes. She dipped her thumbs into the vacant spaces and lightly touched the skin underneath his eyes. She was certain he never allowed Diane to get this close to him, and that just raised even more questions. However, now was definitely not the time to dwell on them.

Sighing gently, Heather leaned forward and kissed each of the Boogeyman's eyes. His cock twitched hard. Then, a familiar warmth traveled down her leg to her cracked ankle bone. Within seconds, the throbbing in her ankle ceased. She had finally made the killer come, and he did not look at all happy about it.

"Don't worry, Michael, there's no reason for anyone to ever know about this," Heather said as he yanked up his zipper and leapt to his feet. She would have liked to give her ankle bone a bit more time to strengthen, but she hastily mimicked the Boogeyman's actions. "We both faltered," she continued. "It happens."

His hands clenched tightly at his sides.

"What, Michael? You want to hit me? Would that make you feel better?" Heather goaded, her own temper rising. "Well, go ahead. I'm used to people taking their anger out on me."

The killer's fingers instantly fell limp. Heather merely shrugged and started walking towards the farmhouse. He inquisitively cocked his head as he and Millie followed suit.

"I don't feel like going to Tracy's," the ginger stated in response to Michael's nonverbal question. "I just want to be alone right now."

His eyes lingered on her for a long moment before shifting to the clearing in front of them. Heather didn't bother guessing his thoughts. Instead, she headed straight for the barn.

Michael loitered in the doorway while she used a hose to fill Millie's water bowl with fresh water. Then, Heather sat down on a bale of hay and absently scratched the dog's head. Tears threatened to fall but she held them at bay. She refused to cry in front of the Boogeyman. "Michael, you can go now," she told him. "I'm not going to do anything stupid."

He simply stared at her, clearly not intending to leave her alone in the barn.

"Michael, please, just give me some space," she begged. "I'll come in soon. I promise."

He nodded once and finally moved away from the door.

Heather ran to a window and peered out of it. She was relieved to see that the killer was walking up the driveway towards the house. Now that she was truly alone, she dropped to her knees and let her tears fall at last.

Millie instantly came to sit directly in front of her. Heather wrapped her arms around the dog's shoulders and sobbed uncontrollably into the crook of her neck. The teenager wasn't entirely sure why she was crying, but the release of emotions lightened the heaviness in her heart.

Eventually, she rose to her feet and used the cold hose water to rinse her hot face. Although she felt better, she still was not in the mood to see Michael and the Tool together. She climbed up a rickety wooden ladder to the loft. She hunkered down by a window. As she stared out of it she couldn't help but wonder what her life would have been if her father hadn't been killed. "Dad, I miss you so much," she whispered. "I wish you were here."

Heather folded her arms on the windowsill and rested her chin on them. The world outside was so big, yet for the last two years she had been trapped in such a small space within it. For once, she just wanted to be allowed to live.

Now, Heather had a decision to make. Was she going to remain caged up and hope she would be given the key to her freedom, or would she run, because in the end, Michael was most likely going to kill her, anyway? What was the chance that he would accept his love for her and dump Diane? And how much pain did he intend to make her suffer through in the process? Would fighting for his love be worth it?

Heather drew a heart in the dirt on the windowpane and wrote hers and Michael's initials in its center. She was not going to give up on him. His reaction when she had kissed his eyes proved that his love for her ran a lot deeper than she had originally thought. She didn't know what that meant as far as her livelihood was concerned, but as long as hope remained, she would stay.

Heather descended the ladder. Once she reached the floor, she dusted off her clothes. "Come on, Millie. I've moped out here long enough. Let's go to Tracy's." When the dog looked towards the doorway, the teenager said, "Don't worry, Millie. Michael will know where to find us."

Together, the human and canine hiked to the Hoffman's house. Heather rang the bell. They were instantly greeted by Tracy, who beamed at them.

"Hey, Ashley! I was wondering when you would be over. My mom and I already ate breakfast, but if you need something -"

"I'm fine," Heather curtly interrupted. "I actually woke up really early this morning and was wondering if I could just sleep for a bit."

Tracy nodded. "Yeah, of course. You can rest in the guest room. I'll take you there."

"Thank you."

The brunette led Heather down the hallway to a small room that was designated for houseguests. "I know it isn't much, but feel free to sleep as long as you need. I'll take care of Millie for you."

"Thanks, I appreciate that."

Once Tracy and Millie left, Heather laid down on the full-sized bed. She was physically and emotionally spent. Not only that but sleeping now would also give her foot the chance to properly heal.

Heather didn't bother removing her eyewear, thinking that she was only going to take a short cat nap. However, when she next opened her eyes, the clock on the wall showed that over four hours had passed. "Shit," she hissed. She hastily rolled out of bed and left the guest room.

Heather used the bathroom. Then, she headed to the kitchen. Both Tracy and Clara were sitting at the table eating a batch of homemade chicken soup and grilled cheese sandwiches.

"Hi, there, Sleepyhead," Tracy teased.

In contrast, Clara's expression turned serious. "Come, Ashley, eat with us," she said. "You're looking rather pale."

Heather reluctantly walked to the counter where she grabbed a clean plate and bowl. After filling both with food, she joined the mother and daughter. "I feel like such a mooch," she muttered.

"Please, don't," Clara insisted. "You are always welcome here."

"Thank you," Heather said, though it did not change her opinion.

Clara gave the ginger a long look. "All right, Ashley, what's going on? And don't bullshit us."

Heather sighed heavily and then shamefully recountered the morning's events. "I should have just dealt with my broken ankle myself," she concluded.

"And be laid up for weeks?" Clara asked. "No, Michael did you a great favor by healing it so quickly."

"Except he didn't want to heal it at all," Heather replied. "He just wanted to prove that he can use my love for him to manipulate me."

"Perhaps so, Ashley, but at the same time, he obviously did not desire to leave you a cripple."

The ginger frowned. "He was so angry afterwards, though."

"Yes, because you made him reveal that he is still vulnerable to your affections."

"Which will just make him that much more determined to get me to hate him," Heather glumly stated. "I'm scared of what he'll try next."

"Whatever it is, it won't work," Tracy said. "You love him too much."

"I really wish I didn't," Heather snapped. "I wish I could just hate him and be done with all of this." She stood to put her dirty dishes in the dishwasher.

"You are destined to love him," Clara calmly voiced.

The ginger glared at her. "Why? Just so he can torture me like my mom and fiancé did? You know he'll end up choosing Diane over me for that very purpose."

"No, his heart won't let him," Clara disputed. "You have to believe that."

Heather shook her head. "Honestly, I don't know what to believe anymore. My main focus right now is to remain strong for the babies. They're the ones who really need me."

"So they are," agreed Clara. "In fact, we should probably set up a time for you to be seen by my midwife."

"I'd like that," Heather said.

"Good, I'll go call her right now."

When Clara left the kitchen, Heather asked, "Don't you guys have cell phones?"

"Yeah, we do, but coverage here is sketchy," Tracy replied. "Texts go through all right, but if you need to make a call, it's best just to use the landline. There's a phone in the den and in each bedroom, just so you know."

"Samantha has one, too, but I don't know her number," Heather said. "I suppose I should ask for it, huh?"

"That probably wouldn't be such a bad idea all things considered."

Clara returned to the kitchen and said, "You're all set, Ashley. Hannah will be over on Wednesday morning at eleven."

"Thanks, Mrs. Hoffman. I'm sure the babies are fine, though. Michael would be all over me if they weren't."

"I'm sure you're right," Clara said, "but it's best not to take any chances, especially since you are carrying twins."

Heather simply nodded.

"So, what do you want to do this afternoon?" Tracy asked.

The ginger blushed. "Well, honestly, I was hoping I might be able to take a shower. I'm really uncomfortable taking one at Samantha's with everything that's been going on."

"Of course you may take a shower here," Clara interjected. "Ashley, I want you to think of this as your home."

"Yeah, come on," said Tracy. "I'll show you where everything is."

Heather felt so much better after getting cleaned up. Now that the excess dye had been washed from her hair, she and Tracy were given permission to go swimming in the pool. Millie periodically joined them in the water as they dove for rings and shot some hoops together.

Although Heather had a lot of fun hanging out with her new friend, Michael was always lurking in the back of her mind. She thought she saw a glimpse of him hiding amongst the trees, but after one blink, he vanished, making her believe she had imagined him spying on her.

"Hey, you okay?" Tracy asked, clearly concerned.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Heather replied, feigning a smile. She picked up the foam basketball that was floating beside her and swished it into the net.

Tracy grinned. "Show off," she teased.

The two teenager's continued throwing baskets until Clara made an appearance.

"You girls might want to start drying off," she said. "My husband will be home from work soon, and then it will be time to eat."

Guilt suddenly took hold of Heather. She felt as though she should have been helping Clara in the kitchen or watching Jane for her instead of playing in the pool with Tracy.

"Ashley, what's wrong?" Clara implored.

"I didn't realize it was almost dinnertime," Heather replied. "I should get going."

"No, please, you are welcome to eat with us," Clara insisted.

Heather shook her head. "It's okay, really. I don't want to intrude on your family time." She exited the pool and quickly dried off using a beach towel. "It will only take me a few minutes to change."

Clara frowned. "Ashley, wait. We don't mind you spending the evening with us."

"Well, I do," Heather said as she wrapped the towel around her torso. "It shouldn't be your responsibility to take care of me."

"Perhaps not," agreed Clara, "but my family and I want to help you, Ashley. Please don't push us away."

"I need to get going," Heather mumbled. With that, she hastily retreated into the house and into the guest room.

After switching her wet swimwear for her dry jeans and navy t-shirt, Heather carried the bathing suit and towel to the backyard. She pinned them both to the clothesline. She then called for Millie. They left the backyard through the unlocked gate.

Millie eagerly ran ahead of Heather obviously excited to return to Samantha's house. The teenager, however, was not feeling so joyous about going back to her prison. In fact, she stayed up in the loft for a couple hours just staring out the dirty window, wishing she had an actual home to retreat to. As much as Heather liked the Hoffmans, they were not her family, nor did she think it was fair to put that type of pressure on them.

And Samantha was far from the motherly figure the ginger had first hoped her to be. The woman had her own agenda, which was to help her nephew in his mission to destroy the love that had sprouted between him and Heather. Neither he nor Samantha wanted the Boogeyman's legacy to end. They were both fighting together to keep it alive, even though there was a new generation of Myers that could very well take over his role should he choose true love instead. Or maybe he didn't wish to pass that burden onto his offspring and that was why he wished to sever his love for Heather.

The idea that Michael was trying to save their babies from inheriting his fate helped ease the pain in her heart. Even though there was a chance that her theory was wrong, the teenager refused to believe it. Instead, she held onto the belief that he thought their children growing up without their biological mother was better than them growing up to be methodical killers. That alone made going inside the farmhouse a little easier.

Samantha, Michael, and Diane were sitting in the living room watching T.V. together. Heather wanted nothing more than her presence to go ignored, but, of course, she wasn't that fortunate.

"Have you eaten?" Samantha asked. "If not, there's lasagna in the fridge."

"I'm fine," Heather politely replied. "Thank you, though." Michael gave her a stern look, but she paid it little mind. "I'll be upstairs, if you need me."

Samantha curtly nodded. "Very well."

Heather promptly trudged up the stairs. She quickly used the bathroom before settling down in Michael's old room for the night. Her tummy growled in protest, but she didn't feel like eating while everyone was still downstairs. She hated seeing the Boogeyman and his tool together and wanted to avoid them as much as possible.

After finishing her nighttime routine, Heather laid down on her bed, waiting for the inevitable to happen. However, sleep found her first, though it was far from peaceful. Images of Sean filled her subconscious mind and the numerous ways he used to torture her. He had enjoyed striking her with many devices such as whips, canes, and paddles. In this particular dream, she was gagged and suspended from his basement ceiling with her toes barely able to touch the cold concrete floor.

Sean held a cane in his hand. It had already left three rows of fresh welts across Heather's belly. Tears of pain and humiliation fell from her eyes.

"Stop your crying, Girl," he sternly demanded. He struck Heather's belly again with even more force than before. "Trust me, you'll one day thank me for this."

Heather allowed herself a small inner laugh. Trust Sean? Yeah, right. That would never happen.

He sneered at her. "I think it's pretty funny that I know your body better than you do, or maybe you're just in denial. Is that it, Girl? Huh? Well, I got something for you that will help with that."

Sean abruptly dropped the cane and freed Heather. He then carried her to the bathroom. While she relieved her aching bladder, he washed his hands at the sink. Once they finished their respective tasks, he laid her on a worn sofa. "Here, take this," he ordered, handing her a small pill. "It will soothe your pain."

Heather didn't possess the strength or willpower to fight Sean, so she swallowed the pill without question. It made her drowsy but not enough to keep her from being aware of his fingers assaulting her vulnerable pussy. He pushed them in and out of her body several times, forcing her to come. Soon after that her menstrual cycle started. She fled to the bathroom embarrassed by the heavy blood flow.

"Hey, are you all right?" Sean asked through the door.

"Yeah," Heather replied. However, that was far from the truth. Her stomach really hurt, and she was expelling a lot of blood - a lot more than usual. It was obvious that Sean had really hurt her, yet she was too terrified to say anything about it. "I'll need some tampons, though."

"There's a bag of sanitary napkins in the vanity underneath the sink," Sean said. "Just use one of those for now."

"I'll need my panties, then," said Heather.

The door opened a crack, and her undergarment landed by her feet.

"I'm sorry I soiled your couch," she apologized, reaching for her panties.

"It's fine, Girl. It's an old couch, anyway."

The teenager frowned as she unwrapped an overnight pad. Why was Sean suddenly being so nice to her? It was not like him at all.

Heather stuck the thick sanitary napkin in the crotch of her panties. After pulling the soft material up her legs, her eyes strayed to the contents in the toilet bowl. She almost fainted at the sight. The water was bright red with a few small clumps of blood in it. What did that mean? Should she show Sean? No. Trembling, she flushed the evidence of his abuse down the drain.

"Oh, god, Michael, YES!"

Diane's boisterous scream of ecstasy jarred Heather awake. Just like in her dream, she was shaking uncontrollably, which triggered her bladder. She swore under her breath as she reached for her contacts and glasses. Then, she dragged herself out of bed.

Instead of using the bathroom at the end of the hall, Heather crept to the one downstairs. However, she quickly discovered that she couldn't escape Diane's screams of ecstasy. They followed the ginger into the bathroom, taunting her.

"That's it, Michael! Fuck me! Fuck me hard! Fill me with your hot cum! AHHH!"

After Diane's cry, silence fell over the house. Heather quickly finished in the bathroom and slipped outside. She sat on the front porch just staring into the darkness as she contemplated her dream.

Sean was an abusive prick, but the fact that Heather hadn't done more to stop him gulled at her. She should never have signed the contract, though she wasn't sure if her signature on it really mattered. She suspected it had been more of a power move than a legal one.

Looking back, Heather wondered if she should have simply run away and have taken her chances living on the street. Would that life had been any better for her? She guessed probably not. Being only fifteen at the time, she would have been very vulnerable to rape or even human trafficking. Her last night at Sean's house had been horrible enough. She couldn't imagine having to endure that or worse every single day with very little hope of escape. At least with Sean she had only been contractually obligated to deal with his abuse on the weekends.

The sound of the front door opening caught Heather's attention. She didn't need to look to know who was joining her on the porch. The Boogeyman's familiar footfall gave him away. However, she still turned to properly greet him. "Hi, Michael."

The killer pinned Heather under an intense stare as though he was trying to figure out why she was not in bed.

"I had a bad dream, and it woke me up," she said.

Michael eyed her left ring finger, obviously knowing who was to blame for her distressed state of mind. Heather didn't offer any details about her nightmare, and of course he didn't ask for any. After a few moments of awkward silence, she returned to staring down the unlit driveway consumed by her own wayward thoughts.

For whatever reason, Heather couldn't stop thinking about her dream. Reliving the events of that particular day with Sean had shaken her more than she cared to admit, yet she didn't understand why. At the time what had happened seemed inconsequential, especially since her mother had made light of what had happened. Heather specifically remembered her mother saying that it was not unusual for girls to start their menstrual cycles soon after or even during sexual stimulation, so the fifteen-year-old put the entire incident out of her mind. However, once the bleeding stopped, her mother had insisted that Heather start receiving birth control shots to prevent such a heavy blood flow in the future. It worked. The teenager never experienced anything like that again.

A firm hand on her shoulder startled Heather. She had been so lost in her memory that she had completely forgotten all about Michael. Embarrassed, she faced him, hoping he was unable to see the blush that warmed her cheeks. "I'm fine," she said. "I was just remembering something about my past, but it's unimportant, or at least I think it is. Either way, it's nothing you need to concern yourself with."

The killer's grip on Heather's shoulder tightened.

"Ow, what?" she snapped. "You don't need to know everything about me, Michael - no one does. There are some things I'd like to keep to myself, and this is one of them."

The front door suddenly burst open and out stepped Diane. "Oh there you are, Michael!" she exclaimed. She looked between him and Heather, her brows knitting together in obvious disdain. "What the hell is going on here?"

"Nothing," the ginger casually replied. She shrugged off the Boogeyman's hand and said, "Absolutely nothing. I was just leaving to check up on Millie. I'll see you two later. Oh, and, Diane, green is definitely not a good color on you."

The blonde girl frowned. "I'm not wearing any green."

Heather bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from laughing. "Right," she merely said. "Must be the light or lack thereof." She then leapt down from the porch and headed towards the barn.

After trekking halfway down the driveway, Heather risked glancing behind her. Michael was still standing on the porch watching her. "What do you want from me, Boogeyman?" she muttered out loud. "You're the one who decided to move on. If you're unhappy, then dump Diane. Simple as that. I'm done being everyone's plaything."

Heather entered the barn. Millie stayed sleeping as the teenager climbed up to the loft. She made herself a bed out of hay. It wasn't the most comfortable, but it was better than sleeping in the house. She really didn't feel like listening to Michael and his tool having sex. In fact, she considered making her current sleeping spot a permanent one. Then she wouldn't have to deal with Samantha or the Tool. However, she doubted Michael would approve of such a move, especially since she was carrying his heirs.

Heather touched her belly. She didn't want to do anything that would harm the twins, yet she was certain sleeping in a barn would cause her more discomfort than them. Besides, staying away from the inhabitants of the farmhouse would give her some much needed mental reprieve, which would benefit the babies. She knew they had to be feeling her stress. Maybe that was the reason behind Michael's concern.

Heather took a deep breath, attempting to calm her nerves. Not only was living at Samantha's stressful but now she had her memories of Sean to deal with as well. She hadn't dreamt of her fiancé once since leaving Haddonfield, so why suddenly now? And why that particular memory? Surely there had to be some meaning behind it.

Stop overthinking it, Heather, her inner voice scolded. You need to relax and go back to sleep.

That was a lot easier said than done. Every time Heather closed her eyes she saw Sean and blood. Finally, she just gave up the idea of sleep all together. She just laid in the darkness until a flash of lightning lit up the inside of the barn. It was quickly followed by a low rumble of thunder. "Uh-oh. I don't think I want to stay out here during a storm," she said to herself.

Heather hastily descended the ladder. "Millie, come. We have to hurry if we're going to reach the Hoffmans' before the storm hits." The canine whimpered but refused to obey the teenager's firm command.

"Millie, come," Heather urgently repeated. The dog rose to her feet with her tail lodged between her legs.

The ginger sighed in resignation. "Okay, fine. I'll stay here with you, you big scaredy cat." Just as she sat down next to her companion, the Boogeyman briskly strode through the threshold.

"Michael, don't bother," she said. "Millie's scared of thunder, so I'm going to keep her company until the storm passes."

He stared down at the dog.

"It's not her fault," Heather quickly added. "A lot of dogs don't like thunder."

The killer gave his head an impatient shake and reached for Millie. She whimpered softly as he hoisted her up into his arms, but after she got settled, her shaking stopped.

"For someone who hates dogs, you sure do have a way with Millie," Heather noted.

In response, he sharply turned on his heel. Heather followed his brisk pace. The storm was fast approaching, and judging by the strong gusts of wind, she suspected it was going to be a doozy. She was very glad she wouldn't have to wait it out in the barn.

The heavens burst open just before they reached the porch, soaking them both. Once inside the farmhouse, Michael carried Millie directly upstairs to Heather's temporary bedroom. He gently lowered the dog onto the floor. She immediately vanished underneath the bed.

Heather crouched down and ducked her head under the box spring where a pair of pale eyes met hers. "You are so funny, Millie, seriously. A gun doesn't bother you, but a little thunder does? It's not going to hurt you, you goofy dog." When the canine refused to budge, the teenager admitted defeat and sat back up. She hadn't realized Michael had been watching her the entire time.

Heather tried to act nonchalant about it. She took off her glasses and used an edge of Michael's quilt to dry the wet lenses. She moved to put the frames back on when he suddenly caught her wrist, stopping her. "Fine," she sighed. "I guess I don't need them anymore tonight, anyway." Her answer clearly satisfied him, because he instantly released his grip so that she could place the frames on the nightstand instead.

"I take it you don't like my new glasses?" she guessed.

He shook his head.

"Well, I don't especially care for your mask either, but I know that's not going to keep you from wearing it," she retorted. "I need the glasses just like you need your mask."

The Boogeyman offered her a short nod before walking to his closet. He opened its doors and chose a random dry uniform to wear. When he began unzipping his wet one, Heather's eyes widened.

"Oh no you don't," she firmly voiced. "Michael, you did your good deed for the day. You can leave now."

Except the killer didn't listen to her. He remained exactly where he was. While staring her straight in the eye, he tugged the zipper down even further.

"Fine, you can sleep here with Millie, and I'll sleep with Diane," Heather threatened.

The Boogeyman's expression instantly lit up.

"Typical man," she scoffed. However, despite everything Sean had done to her, he had never brought another woman into the bedroom. Heather honestly would have preferred that over the three men though. She shuddered at the memory.

Michael cocked his head at her.

"Nevermind," she uttered, again keeping her thoughts to herself. More loudly she asked, "Are you going to leave or not?"

The Boogeyman had the audacity to tell her no.

Beyond irritated, Heather grabbed a dry gray T-shirt from the dresser and said, "I'm going to change in the bathroom. I'll be right back."

To her surprise, Michael let her go. He had probably noticed how often she was peeing nowadays and didn't want to stand in the way of her full bladder. Relieving it felt ridiculously good.

Afterwards, as the teenager washed her hands, she stole a glance at her reflection and frowned. Her face had never regained its color after her initial nightmare. No wonder the killer was showing so much concern over her. She looked as pale as death.

A loud crack of thunder made Heather jump out of her skin. Breathing heavily, she quickly discarded her wet clothes and slipped on the gray t-shirt that barely covered her panties. Between the short shirt and her braless breasts, she resembled a girl on the hunt for sex, which was not .her intention at all. She hoped Michael would have the sense to realize that.

Heather left the bathroom with her wet clothes draped over her left forearm. She paused briefly to eye the closed bedroom door across the way. If the Boogeyman had no reservations about spending the remainder of the night with her, then she figured he must have done something to Diane to subdue her. But what?

Heather suddenly felt inclined to check on the other girl; however, hearing the door to Michael's old room creak open made her hustle down the hallway. At times his uncanny ability to predict her actions frightened her. Was she really that predictable, or did it just come naturally to him? Perhaps it was a little of both.

Heather was pleased to see that Michael at least had the decency to change his own clothes while she was gone. She tossed her wet clothes on top of his. Then, she sat down on the edge of the bed to take her contacts out. After returning the case to the nightstand, she leaned back onto her handmade pillow.

A flash of lightning lit up the room. In those brief seconds, Heather saw that the killer had taken off his mask. Tears instantly sprang to her eyes as he laid down next to her. Whatever game he was playing, she wished he'd just stop. This back and forth was tearing her apart. But what if it's not a game to him? she inwardly wondered. What if he really is torn on what to do? For that reason alone, she decided to cut him some slack.

Heather blinked back her tears and then turned on her side to face her companion. She raised a hand to brush a stray hair away from his left eye. When he didn't discourage her, she tucked it behind his ear. "I wish I understood you better," she murmured. She leaned in close and tenderly kissed him on the lips. He immediately opened his mouth, allowing her to deepen the kiss.

Kissing Michael felt so good - so right - that Heather completely lost herself in the moment. She pressed her body against his, now wishing he was naked. She wanted him inside of her in the worst way.

However, before she could do anything about it, a loud clap of thunder sounded. A moment later Millie bounded out from her hiding spot and leapt up onto the bed. She squeezed herself in-between Heather and Michael and nuzzled right up against the latter. Upon seeing the expression on his face, the teenager burst out laughing, which earned her an evil glare from him.

"I-I'm s-sorry M-Michael," she choked out. "M-Millie, g-get o-off."

Instead of obeying, Millie continuously licked the killer's unmasked face. Heather covered her mouth to stifle her loud giggles. When it appeared he was losing patience with the canine, she regained her senses and pulled the dog away from him.

"Millie, down," she commanded. "That's enough." She firmly urged her furry friend off the bed. Millie sat on her haunches with her nose resting on the mattress.

"Come on, don't look at me like that," the ginger lowly pleaded. "I already have to share Michael with Diane. I'm not going to share him with you, too." Heather bent over the side of the bed and patted the floor. "Now, lay down."

Millie lowered her head as she listened to her owner.

"That's a good girl," the teenager praised. Then she dropped her voice even lower and said, "Don't worry, Millie. You're still prettier than Diane."

A sound slap on the ass caused Heather to spin around. "Hey now. I should really make you kiss that to make it feel better," she teased.

Michael promptly yanked down her panties and dipped his head between her thighs. The moment his tongue touched her clit Heather almost came right then and there.

"Okay, that works, too," she moaned.

The killer suckled her taut nub through two orgasms before sliding his mouth downward to her pussy. Heather fisted his hair as he hungrily worked her to a third orgasm. Not even Sean had devoured her so thoroughly. It felt extraordinary.

So far she had managed to keep her cries of ecstasy to a minimum, but Heather could no longer restrain herself. She grabbed her pillow and screamed into it. When she removed it from her face, Michael was gazing up at her with a smug glint shining in his onyx eyes. In turn, she playfully struck his face with the pillow.

"Yes, you're a great lover," Heather laughed. "Now, are you going to fuck me or not?"

The killer kissed her hard on the mouth while she unzipped his uniform. She wrapped a hand around his erection, enjoying how it throbbed in her fist. Then, she guided it to her soaked opening. With one forceful thrust, he sank down into her. His mouth never lifted from hers as they made love.

And, yes, despite everything, that was exactly what they were doing. Heather suspected they would both regret their actions in the morning, but right now she didn't care. Tonight she needed this special connection with Michael. She needed the assurance that he still loved her. Which he did. She felt his love for her in every deep stroke.

Heather never wanted their love-making to end. She tightly held onto Michael, yet it proved ineffective. After they both came, he dressed quickly and then left her alone with Millie. For a few minutes, the teenager remained motionless on the bed. She was still reeling from her experience with the killer. It was almost as though new life had been breathed into her. She felt good. Really good. And hungry.

Heather was about to leave the bedroom when the doorknob turned under her fingertips. She hastily jumped back, giving the door space to open. Michael re-entered the room carrying a plate of hot lasagna. He obviously had not been pleased that she had skipped dinner.

"You read my mind," Heather told him as he set the plate on his desk. She sat down and began to eat. She was expecting the Boogeyman to leave, but instead he leaned back against the edge of the desk and watched her.

"Michael, if you're trying to make me feel self-conscious, you're definitely succeeding," she said between bites.

To his credit, he promptly turned his head away from her.

Heather finished her food. Then, she leaned back in the chair, fixing her gaze on her silent companion. "Okay, Michael, what's going on?" she asked. "Does this have anything to do with my nightmare?"

His eyes met hers, and he nodded.

The teenager released a heavy sigh. "Michael, you know my fiancé was not a good man. At some point my memories of him were bound to make their way into my subconscious mind. I'm really sorry you felt the need to intervene, though. If I have any more nightmares of him, I'll try not to dwell on them, all right? I understand that the added stress isn't good for the babies."

The Boogeyman didn't respond other than holding Heather's gaze.

"I'm seeing a midwife Wednesday morning," she said, changing the subject. She had meant to sound excited about the appointment, but her tone came out just the opposite.

The images of her dream replayed in Heather's thoughts. Suddenly, she was dreading the appointment, because she knew exactly what the midwife was going to tell her, and, frankly, she did not want to hear it. Any of it.

Michael dropped to his knees before Heather so that their faces were even. He raised a hand to her cheek in a comforting manner, yet his motives were so unclear that she did not feel comfortable talking to him about her predicament. Or maybe she was just too afraid to confront the truth. Living in denial was so much easier. But not better, her inner voice chided.

"Michael, there is something bothering me," she honestly admitted, "but I don't want to speculate about anything until after my appointment. And I don't want you there. At all."

The killer's black eyes narrowed behind his mask.

"It's nothing against you," Heather quickly assured him. "It's just that I know I'm going to have to tell her some stuff that I don't want you to hear. But, I'll be sure to keep you informed about the babies as long as you make time for me to do so."

Michael continued to stare at the teenager and slowly nodded.

She breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Michael."

He coaxed her into his arms. They didn't kiss, but Heather felt extremely close to him in those few minutes. She laid her head on his shoulder, wishing with all her heart that the Boogeyman would let her live. She wanted to spend the rest of her life with him and their children.

As Michael held her, Heather's eyelids began feeling very heavy. She wanted to stay awake to savor this special time with him. However, her eyes eventually fell closed and would not open again until morning. By then, all evidence that he had been in her room would be gone.