Michael and Laurie: The Cost of Redemption

Chapter 13

Laurie cries in pain and squirms out from underneath her brother's large bulk. She risks a glance to Loomis and decides the best course of action would be for her to go find a real doctor to help him. She crawls to her bed, spamming the call nurse button and awaiting her help- going to the bathroom to step over Michael and press her sheets against Loomis's multiple wounds. She ties the sheet tightly and eyes the scalpel on the floor, debating. Reaching forwards, she grips it in her hand; long fingers tensing around the sharp blade's handle. She twirls it in her fingers, uses her gown to clean it off and stares long and hard at Michael. Quiet whispering beginning behind her eyes. She nearly drops the scalpel in disgust; silently cursing her newfound knowledge that he's her brother. She decides to never be like him- but in this moment she needs this. 

Laurie slides forward on her knees, blue eyes watching the stiff form of the shape closely. She rolls over him, staring down at the masked face with a great amount of hatred and rage. She hates him, she despises him. She wants him dead. She plunges the scalpel into his throat. 

Michael jumps awake, a surge of pain stinging his throat. His hands grab at Laurie's, pulling the scalpel out of his throat and throwing it to the side. He sits up, then tries to stand but falls over again. He gurgles blood as he looks at his sister with helpless eyes. His mask is now completely covered with his dark red blood, and blood from his throat spills onto his jumpsuit and on the white floor, leaving the bathroom floor a pool of blood. 

Laurie gasps in surprise, deft hands pushing forward to push him back to the floor. She straddles him- Loomis's empty gun held steady in her hand as she whacks him across the face with it; multiple times. Each whip followed directly by another, the butt of the gun smashing into his face repeatedly. She needs to see. She has to see his face, and needs to see his eyes. Her hands peel the silicone from his face before he can blink, the gun coming down and smashing his nose into his skull with a sickening crack, the squealing of blood happening at every hit she does. She stops to stare, and she hates what she sees. She used to love her hair, now she hates it; because it's his hair too. She used to love her nose, now she hates it because he has it too, she hates him. She can't have anything without him taking it from her. Her chest heaves with a great effort to calm herself down, awaiting his retaliation. Defiant. She's not afraid of him. 

Michael lets her take his mask off, laying dazed on the bloody floor. He groans in pain as she breaks his nose; his face covered in blood, making it hard to see his true features. He reaches up and grabs Laurie's arm, pulling himself up. He looks her straight in the eyes and his mouth moves. Almost like he's mumbling something but no sound comes out. 

Laurie rips herself away from him and finally finds the strength to move. She slams the gun onto his face one final time to send him back to the floor, debating if she should beat him more. Maybe overdosing him on the many types of medicine, but decides to leave him to the law, and to leave him to karma. She steps from the bathroom and meets with the nurse and security guard coming to check on her buzzer. She limps out of the way, nursing her wounds and watching as Michael is easily handcuffed behind his back. The good doctor being moved by a few other nurses who appear on their own time to help. Michael is then forced to be chained to the metal bar embedded into the wall. Leaving him stuck, loopy, bloody, and maskless. 

Laurie watches from her bed, eyes taking in every detail of his being. Commiting his face to her memory. She's a smart girl, she knows what will happen. He'll be labelled 'unwell' and be considered 'mentally unstable' and will be sent back to that damn sanitarium to be 'fixed.' She looks over everything, taking it all in just in case he ever gets out again. She'll never forget his face. Laurie's hands clench around the mask in her hands, it's sticky and tacky with his blood. She resigns herself to keeping it, tucking it into her pillowcase to hide it from the doctors and nurses. 

Michael wiggles around, struggling to free himself from the chains, but at the moment he's too weak. He knows where he'll be going. Back to the sanitarium, back to his stupid doctor's care, if you can even call it that. His gaze doesn't leave Laurie's as they stare at each other silently. His bloody face and dark eyes stare at her, studying her. If he can't kill her, he at least wants to remember her. It fuels his rage. He thinks of one last thing he could try, knowing that it's risky but doing it nonetheless. He softens his eyes and speaks quietly, though not quiet enough to be a whisper. Laurie should be able to make out his very raspy voice. 

"L.." He stops, trying to figure out how his vocal cords work again. "L..Laur..ie." 

Laurie doesn't listen, now she hates her name. She stands, grabs her pillow and storms from the room. Michael has failed. She relates to the nurses that she'll be moving to a different room of the hospital. Before she leaves, she stares at Michael from the doorway; turning off the light and shutting the door behind her, leaving him alone in pitch darkness. 

Michael's head droops down, seemingly defeated. He's hated. By everyone. What has he done? Are the voices worth this pain? Is killing the answer to his problems? He doesn't know anymore. Laurie is his family, his only family. He remembers kissing her cheek when she was just a baby and he was six. A tear from his good eye rolls down his cheek as he sits silently in the blackness, awaiting the police to come in and take him back to Smith's Grove. 

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