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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.
This must be hell.
No other place could be as terrifying. He cocks the. 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. 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. 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. After everything I saw that night-after everything he did-you can't-you can't blame me! 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 Michael myers and jamie lloyd fanfiction 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.
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? 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. 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 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.
It's been almost ten years.
He found you immediately. You and your sister-your foster sister. She realizes that she has no idea if Rachel's even still alive. Unfortunately, no one will be looking here. They have to be looking from top to bottom in this place! Michael was in his cell when they looked. You really think you're going to get away with this, don't you?
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?
Chapter 1: prologue/chapter one
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.
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 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!
She doesn't know if she's getting through at all to him, but she feels Wynn's grip tighten in her hair. 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.
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.