Hearts and Daggers

Prologue part 2

DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Halloween series in anyway =(. But I DO own Katarzyna and my other OCs.

Prologue part 2

Italics- Flashbacks

Bold -Underlined- Michael’s writing

//oo//

 (Eleven years later)

 Kat=18

 Michael=21

I always visited him on the days his mother and Dr. Loomis weren’t there. My visits were our well-kept secret; it was far too easy to get the staff to keep their mouths shut, though I never understood why. It wasn’t hard to get to the sanitarium either: daddy dearest never noticed the money in the savings jar disappearing and my appearance made it simple to take the bus.

 At first, he was happy to see me and we would sit in the cafeteria for hours. Every week, he had a new mask for me and was pleased when I wore it. But soon, he began to grow distant and eventually he shut down completely, never talking and rarely showing emotion. Then, he killed a nurse and at that moment, the Michael Myers I grew up with ceased to exist. But I never left him, and not once did he push me away.

 As the years passed, I watched him grow up behind a mask that, no matter what design or creation, always showed his stormy blue eyes that would sometimes turn black, but would always soften when I was near. It was no secret that I had fallen in love with him, even he knew it. I didn’t care how wrong or inappropriate it was, he was still the boy who protected me from bullies, taught me how to fight, and spent weeks saving money so he could surprise me by buying a dagger that I wanted because it looked just like my grandmother’s.

It was on my 18th birthday that I found out his true feelings for me…

//oo//

I came in not long after Dr. Loomis left. A nurse named Sally, who had long since become a close friend to me, informed me that it had been a tough session and Michael was NOT in a good mood. He sat in the empty cafeteria, still chained to the table, by his wrists and ankles so he couldn’t lash out. Again.

“Hey Michael,” I smiled as I sat across from him. He seemed to relax as he stared, vacantly, at me, “Sorry I’m late. My aunt decided to visit and spend the weekend for my birthday. I had to wait until she went to bed before I could sneak out,”

He motioned for something to write with and I took a pad and pen from my purse, handing it over. He scribbled out his response and handed the pad back to me,

I remember
I have a gift for you

“You made me something?” I asked in shock at his uncharacteristic gesture. His response was a simple nod as he handed over a wad of napkins he had kept hidden under his folded hands. I couldn’t contain my excitement as I pulled away each napkin until I found a small, crimson, paper-machete ring that would fit perfectly around my finger. I was speechless as I watched Michael write something down,

 Happy Birthday

“I don’t know what to say,” I whispered, “It’s even my favorite color,” I slipped it on my left ring finger where it fit flawlessly, “What does this mean?” his gaze hardened on me and for a minute I thought I had angered him as he quickly scribbled something down,

 You’re mine

My heart skipped a beat as I read those two words over and over again, thinking of a response. Was this his way of saying our feelings were mutual? Looking back at his face, I saw him looking at me intently, waiting for a reaction. The chains on his wrists jingled as he tried to move his hands forward. Letting out a soft laugh, I hesitated before deciding to lean over and take one of his much larger hands in mine. They were cold, but not freezing. Was it wrong to love holding the same hands that murdered five people in cold blood?