Michael Myers: Final Girl

Let It Die

He managed to track down the Oldsmobile without trouble. However, she wasn't in it. He wondered if he was already too late. She probably knew better at this point than to take her time. She knew he would come for her sooner or later. His hand glided along the side of the car as he thought of his options. He wasn't sure which house she was in, surely she wouldn't have parked right in front. She was smarter than that. He could just barge into each house, however that would most likely cause more trouble than necessary. He would have to wait for a give away. For screams or some indication where she was. Or for her to appear. He wasn't sure he would be able to stand the sight of her after a kill. Especially her first. He thought back to his and how quickly it had altered him. His eyes weren't always reminiscent of the devil, he knew well enough what gave them that eerie gleam. He was frightened her's would bare resemblance to his own. Becoming the monster in him wasn't a choice he was really free to make, he wasn't aware of the consequences at the time. She seemed to know what her path entailed and cared not about the repercussions of murder. Being locked away or killed wasn't the worst punishment, it was losing your soul. He couldn't remember what it was like to have one, but he had felt bits of it returning each moment spent with her. Perhaps that was her own touching his, without it what would she be? No different. Soulless, heartless, everything he was. And he hated himself. Would he hate her?

He could hear the faint sound of a woman sobbing. He followed it to a house just a few doors down. There were hardly any lights on, but the closer he crept he could hear her voice. He slowly began to make out the words she was saying. He realized he had never heard her speak about her life before. He had seen most of it from her window, but to hear was she saw through her own eyes, what he did. Her heartbreak was more evident than before. He could almost hear it in each syllable she uttered. He hated to think that maybe he had broken her, but when he peered through the window and saw her pained expression he knew he had. There was no fixing what had been done to her or what she was becoming. A silence followed for a moment while he watched her hide her tears. He could see she was trying desperately to essentially push them back in, determined not to let any fall. Her refusal to let them out couldn't be helping what she was feeling. Even from a distance you could feel she was wound dangerously tight by pain, unable to prevent whatever destruction came when she finally broke. And she was breaking.

The red headed woman began to speak, too softly to hear, but whatever she had said seemed to seal her fate. (Y/n)'s hand raised for what he knew would be the final time. This wasn't just a threat anymore, she was going to do it. It was now or never. He lost sight of her while he moved towards the front door to barrel through it, ripping it off it's hinges. When he regained sight of her, she had her gun aimed not at the woman, but at him. He almost thought it was just blind reaction at first, but then she looked right at him.

"Not this time," she said with determination.

He was almost enraged at her confidence that she could stop him. In a way, she could. He wouldn't be able to hurt her, he couldn't. He was weak in that regard. He didn't want to believe she was using that to her own advantage. That she was using his love for her against him. But that look in her eye, it wasn't good. He shook his head, pleadingly. But her aim never faltered.

"Michael, we both know this is how it has to be," she said, the faintest glimmer of sympathy in her eyes, "you can't save me."

He wanted so badly to speak, to be able to reason with her, but her eyes implied that there was no reasoning. She was speaking to him through them, conveying that everything he had been so frightened of was true. Those last pieces of her he had hoped to preserve were no longer there. She was completely altered and almost unrecognizable. If he weren't so stubborn he would have decided to let her go, but his heart wouldn't let him. It had finally found something it wanted desperately to cling to and he couldn't give up.

She stared him down begging with her eyes for him to relent so she wouldn't have to do what she was about to do. It was a gamble, but it was the only way to get him out of the way. She knew it wasn't something he would expect from her at all and it pained her. He would probably never forgive her, that is if he came back.

"Michael, please just go," she pleaded one last time.

It took everything in him, but he knew of all moments, this was the right one, "I won't let you," he said in a strained voice.

If her heart wasn't already breaking, she was about to put the final cut in, "I love you, Michael."

He tilted his head, confused for a moment until he realized. He didn't know what heartbreak felt like until then, but it wasn't a pleasant feeling.

"I'm so sorry."

Her finger pulled tight on the trigger and a bullet hit him square in the chest. She knew he wouldn't go down with just one, but she couldn't look as she unloaded the rest of the rounds into him. Each one that pierced him in turn wounded her. To be sure she had time, she reloaded and went over to him only to unload it again into his seemingly lifeless body. Her tears stung as they silently poured out onto him. She could only hope he would come back when this was done. It was a risk she had decided to take. His knife lay next to him and she relished the feeling of the handle connecting with her palm once more. She had promised she would be the next one to offer it a drink. She turned it in her hand until she could see Scarlett's terrified face reflected on the blade.

"You're a murderer," Scarlett whimpered.

"No," (y/n) said as she gazed at the knife's glimmer, "but I'm going to be."