Chapter Text
The tale that they were researching had been so ingrained in Haddonfield that it might as well be folklore, and Aaron and Dana were the ones who were investigating it all.
The two of them, true crime podcasters. Dana had first gotten her interest just reading about unsolved cases even from the time she was a child, and being frightened by the unsolved nature of them, but nonetheless being fascinated. Michael Myers had been captured proper in 1989, after his attempt to kill his niece Jamie Lloyd. Jamie Lloyd, who was married to Billy Hill now, just to begin with, both of them in their late thirties. That was just the tip of the iceberg, of course. There were rumors that Jamie had been the one victim of Michael’s who had seen his face, but who knew if they were true? Wishful thinking. Everyone loved a good villain redemption story, after all.
Dana knew it wasn’t that simple, naturally.
***
The current administrator of Smith’s Grove was Doctor Terrence Wynn. He was pleasant to them, Dana thought, but there was something subtly unsettling about him. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but it was like he was too friendly. Never trust somebody who seems too good to be true, Dana’s mother had once said. But still, she couldn’t afford to be paranoid. Not really.
”Dawn let me know that you arrived,” Wynn said. “It’s an honor meeting you both.”
”Honor, is it?” Aaron said, wryly. "That’s a new one. People don’t often say that about true crime podcasters. Usually they say much harsher things.”
Wynn actually laughed. "Well, maybe that’s quite the generalization.” Then, “People say what they will. When Sam tried to publish his memoirs about the whole thing, people accused him of trying to get blood money from it. If they’re willing to say that about one of Myers’ most devoted nemeses…”
”I remember that,” Dana said. "Doctor…we were thinking of talking to you first and foremost. I mean, not to disrespect Myers, but he is, well…” Even saying “selectively mute” still felt like an insult.
”He doesn’t speak,” Wynn said. "And given his current status, I don’t think he’s up for signing autographs any time soon. Or, for that matter, taking what your generation calls ‘selfies’.”
Despite herself, Dana almost burst into hyena-like giggles at the mental image.
***
”We don’t want that, exactly,” Dana said. "It’s more…you’re good as Michael’s voice. His translator. Especially after Loomis’, well…”
”I know.” Wynn actually did seem to look more melancholy.
”Did Loomis mean something to you?” Dana said.
”He did. As did Marion Chambers, Jennifer Hill, Jonathan Carpenter. We were close-knit, that group,” Wynn said. “And Loomis was so…bright. Most of Haddonfield thinks of him as this serious, Ahab-like figure, but there was a time that he started out as an idealist. And then after Jennifer Hill’s death…”
”I heard,” Dana said. “He was going to marry her, right?”
”He was,” Wynn said. "He saw her as an equal. Both of them were…quite liberal for their time, including advocating for better understanding of mental health. It wasn’t just them falling in love. It was a meeting of equals. Sam never would have loved someone he didn’t see as his equal, who couldn’t somehow compete on his level. And just finding his equal…well, it made him happy. One of the few moments of happiness working in Smith’s Grove, and he was very rarely a happy man. At least I could make him smile when I was able to. Jennifer too."
”That, well…that’s actually quite sweet.” Dana had to keep her professionalism, even if she mentally wanted to smile extremely widely, just touched overall at the idea of Loomis and Hill. It was…romantic, for lack of a better word. The Byronic hero, Doctor Sam Loomis, mad, but not dangerous to know or truly bad. Bearing the burdens of the world, but not bad. And Jennifer Hill, his equal, but not as burdened, who could carry him when he needed it, and he could carry her. It just hurt even worse knowing that Hill had died.
Dana could imagine that it was like the gender-inverted version of Leia Organa having to deal with her husband’s death. Complete with realizing that Michael was beyond redemption. She wondered if Hill’s death was just one of many factors that made Loomis think that Michael wasn’t worth saving, that nothing he did mattered. It was no wonder he allegedly went mad in 1989.
“It was,” Wynn said. Then, “I suppose this is the part where you start the interview?”
”Pretty much. It doesn’t have to be too polished,” Dana said. “It really doesn’t. We can edit when we need to.” It wasn’t exactly necessary to tell Wynn that, not really. Still, it was a technique Dana had to put her guests at ease. Keep them from worrying too much. If she didn’t put her guests at ease, she wasn’t good at her job. Aaron shared the same sentiment.
***
It was a relief, being far away from Myers. Though if Dana was to be perfectly honest, she could still imagine him watching, if subtly, even if he looked away. She had seen the pictures, and been disturbed not at the subtle burn scarring on one side like Two Face from Batman or the fact he still looked quite beautiful (in an eerie, unearthly way), but how he looked almost like a kicked puppy, or like he was emerging from a trance. Jamie Lloyd as well as her sister Karen had visited, of course. They still loved him, of course. It was unknown how he felt; Michael would never tell a soul even if he could speak, but it didn’t change anything. Not really.
”You don’t have to worry about him,” Wynn said. "He’s extremely docile. Hasn’t really tried to break out in years."
”That’s…fortunate,” Dana finally said. Then, "I guess it’s time we start the interview?”
”Go ahead."
***
In the courtyard of Smith’s Grove, the Shape, Michael Myers himself, stood deathly still. After 1989, he had waited. He had come to terms with the fact that he had driven Jamie and Karen Lloyd from him long ago. It was necessary, of course. The reason why was burned into his skin. Thurisaz. Thorn.
It wasn’t just a symbol or a curse. It was an oath you took, even if others hated you for it.
He could still remember Jamie’s voice, her visiting when she was seventeen years old, about to graduate, and he remembered how he had been proud of her, in the cold, shriveled husk he called a heart. Of course he knew she could do it. He knew how intelligent she was. How bright she was, not just in her sharp mind, but how she all but seemed to shine with sheer brilliance. He didn’t know why she would try to distract him from Tina Williams that awful night, why Billy Hill would live and die for her. But you didn’t need to understand somebody, did you, to be impressed? If anything, that lack of understanding…it made you all the more caught by them, it made you wonder what it was like to be like them.
Michael was evil incarnate. Not even a boast, but a statement of fact by someone who knew it to be so. It didn’t mean he couldn’t be awed at finding his opposite yet equal. He had felt that way about Laurie. He had heard rumors that she had suffered a mental breakdown, and if he felt a twinge of guilt, it was the sort of twinge where he felt like he had damaged something rare and beautiful. Like somebody carving their name into the Grand Canyon, or drawing awful faces on the Mona Lisa. It was wrong. It felt wrong for it to even happen.
Perhaps when he inevitably broke out, he could try and knock some sense into his poor, living-below-her-potential sister. Yes. Having her remember her potential…it was another reason in his long list of reasons to break out and return to Haddonfield.
Michael’s face remained expressionless, but something resembling life seemed to ignite in him even contemplating the idea. Yes. After all, he always wanted someone to be his equal. Laurie, too; after all, she always wanted someone to understand her, to not cut her down like the proverbial tall poppy, didn’t she?
He was ready. That much was clear.