"No."
Dr. Carpenter strolled through the Smith's Grove Atrium, Loomis in hot pursuit. "Why the devil should we have a Halloween party? Come on, Dr. Carpenter! Don't you know what today is?"
Carpenter nodded uncaringly. "Yep. It's the day that you move on. He's a hopeless case, Sam. Just let him stay here until his term runs out."
Loomis scoffed in disbelief. "Excuse me?" he demanded. "I have dedicated my life to helping people as best I can, and you're telling me to quit? Give up?"
Carpenter turned to him, stopping dead in his tracks. "Sam, that boy has been nothing but trouble. He's injured two kids and killed another. Nothing is getting to him. I know that you're persistent. That's why I hired you. But neither you nor I can do anything about him anymore."
"So why the party, then?"
"Because. The Illinois Mental Patient Aid Association is on my rear end about neglecting these children and I don't want any more lawsuits. We're going to have a party tonight, whether you like it or not."
The juvenile hall was full tonight.
The patients were dressed up in various costumes. Their parents had been able to drop by and supply them, having cleared out two party stores to do so. It was spectacular; cobwebs were hung on the walls, pumpkins were everywhere, and the staff (sans Loomis and Dr. Wynn) were also dressed up. At this particular moment, some of the kids were playing musical chairs. Even Michael had been dragged from his room to participate.
The kids were walking around the circle of chairs. Michael had easily been able to stay in; he bulldogged his way onto a chair, anxious to return to his room. Now the number of chairs remaining numbered seven.
The girl behind him, Nancy, was dressed as a witch; her bulky hat and dress enabled her to wrestle her way onto a chair. As they walked, suddenly the music turned off. Nancy hastily pushed Michael out of the way, causing him to get out.
"Ha, ha!" she cried in triumph. "Poor Mikey can't even play musical chairs!"
Michael threw her a horrible glance.
Meanwhile, Loomis and Hill were chatting. Hill was dressed as the Bride of Frankenstein; her wig was itchy, and she spent a majority of the time scratching her head and adjusting her ridiculously high heels. This caused Loomis to chuckle. "You know, I think you look rather attractive like this, Jennifer," he remarked.
"Thanks. Who are you dressed up as? A grouchy old grandpa?"
"No. I was going to dress up as a tool, but I couldn't find a suit in Wynn's size that I could wear."
Hill cracked up laughing, nearly falling backwards. "I swear, this thing must be three feet tall and ten pounds," she said as she adjusted her wig for the umpteenth time.
Suddenly, the lights began to flicker on and off. "The generator," Hill said to Loomis, who nodded solemnly. Hill sighed. "What's your problem?" she asked, noticing his unblinking gaze in the direction of the musical chairs.
"Him."
"Sam, you did your best. For once, I agree with Dr. Carpenter - it's time to move on-"
The lights shut off entirely. Grabbing a flashlight, one of the staff members gestured in Hill's direction. "Mrs. Hill! We need you to come help us!"
Hill limped over to the beam and out of sight.
After ten minutes, the lights went up. Screams issued from the corner of the room, near the apple-bobbing contest. A body was draped over the side of the barrel, unmoving and still.
"Oh, my..." Loomis said to himself. "Somebody! Call an ambulance!"
He and another staff member dragged the body out of the water. It was a small girl; she was cold and pale.
"She's dead."
The staff member looked up. "Finger marks around the neck," he said. "Someone held her in - Doctor! Where are you going?" he asked as Loomis took off.
Dr. Hill stumbled back towards the juvenile hall. She had removed the devil spawn from her head, throwing the wig back in her room. The generator had taken longer than usual to turn back on; one of the wires had come loose from its socket. Hill had always had to take care of it, and years of doing so had made her quicker.
A small, lithe figure darted through a door and up the stairway at the end of the hall. "Michael?" she said, following the figure. She ran up four flights of stairs, which was an accomplishment in and of itself in six-inch heels, and came upon the roof.
Michael was indeed waiting.
"Michael, please get down," she asked, holding her hands out in front of her. "Go back inside."
The boy shook his head.
"Michael, please," pleaded Hill.
There was a large, thick chimney on top of the building; Michael disappeared behind it. Hill strode over to it - but Michael was no longer there.
He darted out from around the chimney, shoving her with all his might. She toppled over the edge of the roof, holding on with one hand.
"Michael!"
Her pinky slipped off.
"Michael, please!"
A curious thing happened next; the murderous gaze dropped from the boy's face, and he tilted his head to the side. By now, Hill was holding on by her first two fingers.
"Help me!" she cried as she plummeted down to the ground.
.
