Officer Hawkins drove his squad car down the tree-lined streets of suburban Haddonfield, searching for a deranged serial killer. Dr Sartain rode shotgun while wielding the side-mounted utility spotlight. Sartain turned the powerful spotlight back and forth through an almost 180-degree arc, from the front of the car to the back, piercing the darkness across yards and between houses.
They were both confident they would recognize Michael Myers if they saw him on the street. Assuming he hadn’t changed out of his dark coveralls—and still wore the deathly white mask. With Sartain surveying houses on the right side of the cruiser, Hawkins focused on everything in front and to the left of the car, where he’d set his spotlight at a forty-five-degree angle.
For a moment, he glimpsed two shadowy figures turning off the sidewalk toward one of the houses, but when he got close enough to the area where he’d seen them, they were gone. Other than general concern for their safety, he had no reason to suspect them of anything but breaking curfew. Myers was a loner. If they spotted him on the street, he would be alone or in the act of breaking into a house. Not walking with a buddy.
Hawkins decided to break the ice with Sartain by tackling something they had in common. “From a clinical perspective, would you say that Laurie Strode has lost her fucking marbles?”
Sartain gave the question some thought. Not that he had much to go on to form a professional opinion since he’d only met her once and that meeting lasted a matter of minutes. “There are many ways for tragedy and violence to change a victim,” he said. “They can grow accustomed to always being afraid. In constant fear. They can become weak or they can become strong. But there is also the other side.”
“What side is that?”
“The effect on the victimizer,” Sartain explained. “This is what has intrigued me through my studies. How does a crime like Michael’s change him? What is he feeling? Is he on a random path or is he emotionally driven? Triggered by something. Some unheard marching order imprinted on his very being? Evil incarnate.” He paused for a moment, hand resting on the spotlight control handle. “Michael and I had a special connection, but without his verbal participation there was an aspect of his emotional journey that I could never understand.”
“Walk a mile in another man’s shoes, or something like that, right?” Hawkins wondered and shuddered at the prospect. “Not for me, brother. That old man has some boots he can keep.”
Obviously, Sartain’s job was to understand patients like Myers, and that was fine with Hawkins. As a cop, he had to deal with some gruesome vehicular accidents and the victims of crimes committed by those like Myers. He doubted Sartain would have the stomach for some of the visuals that plagued Hawkins’ nightmares.
“Tell me what became of his childhood home.”
“That place was a shrine kinda thing but for serial killer groupies and death metal bands,” Hawkins told him.
“Interesting,” Sartain said, nodding as if he could envision it.
“Vandals got the best of it,” Hawkins continued. “A local organization that I work with tore it down and turned it into a community garden. Turned tragedy into beauty, if you can believe it.”
Since they left streets and sidewalks behind to cut through backyards, their progress slowed to a virtual crawl. At least that’s how it felt to Allyson. Tired and irritated, she had no idea what the future held. A promising night had fizzled to a bunch of uncertainties. She’d grown comfortable and happy with Cameron but now was unsure if she even wanted to see him again. Betrayed and embarrassed in front of everyone at the dance. A confrontation with belligerent cops. A boyfriend who maybe had more baggage than she could handle. Every step forward now felt like two steps in the wrong direction. More than anything she wanted to get home, crawl under the blankets and sleep, to shut down and stop obsessing over every little detail. Of course, Oscar offered canned oblivion, but she was at least smart enough to know his option came with a hangover price tag.
They came to a dead-end of sorts; they needed to climb over a retaining wall topped by an abbreviated black wrought-iron fence into the Elrods’ backyard to avoid having to circle back around several houses. Emotionally, she couldn’t deal with having to go backward to get home.
Oscar scrambled over the fence, hampered by the case of beer clutched to his side. He dropped down on the other side, overbalanced for a moment, almost dropping the beer, then almost face-planting on top of it, before regaining his balance. Turning, he looked across the yard of the large property. Allyson followed his gaze. In the moonlight, she could make out the opposite side of the iron fence in the distance.
Allyson started to climb the fence to join him on the other side, grateful that her costume for the dance featured trousers instead of a dress or something even less conducive to nighttime trespassing.
“Watch out for the poison ivy,” Allyson said as she threw one leg over the top of the fence. “It’s all over. This is a dumb shortcut.”
“Extremely treacherous,” Oscar said. She couldn’t quite tell if he was sincere or making fun of her. “Apologies. Let me give you a hand.”
He reached up to help her down from the top of the fence and the cement wall beneath it. With her second leg clear, she almost slipped but Oscar caught her, hands around her waist, and lowered her safely to the ground.
“Thanks,” Allyson said, grateful that she wouldn’t need to hobble the rest of the way home on a sprained ankle—or worse.
After an awkward moment of silence, Oscar continued to hold onto her.
“What?” she asked. “What are you doing?”
“You deserve better,” Oscar said, echoing his earlier sentiment, from before they ditched the police. But this time he leaned in to kiss her on the lips.
“Ew. Oscar. What the fuck?”
She pushed him away, almost a knee-jerk reflex, but Oscar seemed caught off guard by her reaction. “Wait, I thought you said you weren’t with Cameron anymore.”
“Doesn’t mean I want… Get away from me.”
“I thought you were sending me signals.”
“Definitely no signals,” she said. “Just go!”
While he stood there, she brushed past him, crossing the property to get to the other side and out of the yard. She hadn’t made up her own mind about her relationship with Cameron, let alone announced that she’d broken up with him.
And besides, she thought, who does that? Cameron is Oscar’s friend. And I barely know him.
Oscar sprinted to cover the distance between them. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Please don’t tell Cameron I did that. I didn’t feel anything either.”
“Don’t tell Cameron.” So, it wasn’t a misunderstanding. He’s just a terrible friend. She stopped walking to face him. “You’re disgusting,” she said. “I’m going home. You can figure your own shit out.”
Tired of his lame excuses, Allyson stalked off alone.
The second time Allyson walked off without him, Oscar hesitated to follow. Better to let her cool off, he thought, then I’ll catch up.
He planned to stay back a bit, to keep her in view but wait for the ground to thaw around her. Suddenly, a motion-sensor light activated, and he was bathed in a powerful backyard spotlight. Just what I need. Some nervous homeowner calling the cops on me.