For trope_bingo
Sep. 16th, 2019 08:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ladyofleithianTitle: Weakness
Summary: Because she’s taken up residence in his heart, where nothing else lives.
Prompt: Imprisonment
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
The jail cell almost reminded Michael of one of the rooms he’d had in Smith’s Grove, though the aesthetics were different. He didn’t see his niece’s stare — that steady, cold stare — but he could feel it. She wasn’t even terribly angry; it was the sort of disappointment that someone had for another that they had somehow expected good from —
Of course she was foolish. He was a killer. Anyone assuming he was more than that...they were foolish, at best, needing to be taught a lesson at worst.
Sheriff Meeker was talking. Transferring him to a maximum security prison, where he would be until the day he died.
“He’ll never die,” Jamie said, almost flatly. Now that she was done, no doubt, screaming, running, pleading for her life, pleading for some sort of humanity in Michael that was laughable, she just seemed coldly disappointed, and really, one had to (as Michael understood it) have some investment to be disappointed.
Like she had thought one tear meant the spell had been broken. It had been a moment of weakness. Michael would wait for a long time — he had always been patient — but he would be far from weak again.
***
It wasn’t Michael who killed the police station, in the end, but a figure that Michael was all too familiar with: Dr. Terrence Wynn. A man in black, his face mostly hidden by the brim of a broad black hat. Even as Michael looked up, completely calm at the sound of gunshots — he had taken gunshots to the chest before. They were no more than an inconvenience — Wynn tsked softly.
“We don’t have time to waste. Michael,” and here, Wynn put the familiar inflections of power in his voice that really were no more than a cheap gimmick to control Michael, “Rise.”
Michael did so. They left the police station, leaving the bodies of countless policemen behind. He could feel Jamie approaching even as Wynn forced Michael into the truck. Ultimately, being quick enough was not an option. Michael could swear he felt like something had splintered, their bizarre link that had given her his darkness and him something he couldn’t bear to think about...
Of course she would go after him. She had tried and failed to rescue Tina Williams. This was no exception.
***
“Michael,” Wynn said, “How the mighty have fallen.”
It was under the mask that Michael could feel his hands curling into fists. How dare Wynn, a stupid, foolish old man, even presume to know what that meant? He was Michael Myers, Thorn’s scion, as Wynn had once put it. He was not going to be mocked by some fool who thought that he could control him when Wynn could barely comprehend the notion of true power. Wynn thought that he could control him. Wynn was wrong.
Wynn continued. In a way, Michael could do nothing about it. “I’m disappointed in you, Michael. It’s bad enough that you were taken down by an old man with a blunt instrument — though I will give Sam credit. I didn’t think that he had that much hate in him.”
Michael was still, completely still.
Wynn continued. “Using a little girl as bait — I’ll give him credit, he knew how to be cruel. He’d make an exemplary one of us. He must have really hated you.”
It was no surprise, of course. Loomis had tried to do his job at first, despite his obvious bewilderment at what would lead a six year old boy to kill his older sister. (Even when he had been questioned in the yard by his parents, Michael hadn’t quite understood, at first, what had happened. Killing had become easier for him since then. He was good at it too)
“And speaking of the little girl...you didn’t kill her. You had every opportunity, yet you had no nerve. You can’t possibly feel compassion for her, do you? I daresay you have too much of a human heart in you, Michael.”
Michael gritted his teeth. He had no heart. Not truly. The human part of him had died along with Judith, was dead and buried with her.
And yet...
He could remember the hospital. Laurie — Cynthia Myers, nearly an adult now — shouting his name, and besides wondering how she recognized him, Michael had been taken off guard in another way. Like he was coming, briefly, out of a trance.
Laurie was dead now. And besides having the strangest feeling like he’d been cheated, something in Michael had felt something peculiar, like something was missing that simply should be there.
And there was the girl. Jamie.
“She can stop the rage. The rage inside you...”
Loomis, damn him. And for a moment, a brief moment when he had stayed his knife, Michael could swear he had briefly been right.
“You’re just like me.”
It was true, wasn’t it? They even looked somewhat alike — though Jamie’s eyes were so brown they were almost black, while Michael’s eyes had always been black. Jamie had chosen the clown costume the Halloween of 1988, just like Michael had when he was not that much younger than her. They had bathed in murder — Jamie had only, inexplicably, turned away from it, where Michael was still there.
Maybe in a way she was his counterpart. And even in spite of everything he had done to her and all she had done, she was still kind. Kind, in ways that children were.
How, Michael doubted that he’d ever understand.
The truck pulled up to their destination. No one would expect that the Cult of Thorn would hide in plain sight, but here they were.
“You’ll have to kill her at some point, Michael,” Wynn said. “She took up residence in that heart of yours, didn’t she? And as long as she still lives there, you are poisoned.”
Michael could not disagree with that. He would kill her, because he had to, no more, no less. Kill the one living, precious thing in the barren garden that was his heart — because monsters had gardens, though they kept them out of sight. Jamie lived there, where nothing else lived. He would make that choice, naturally, when they re-emerged.
Even the boogeyman had gardens he very well tried to keep out of sight. Torching those gardens...from there, Michael would become who he was meant to be.
Summary: Because she’s taken up residence in his heart, where nothing else lives.
Prompt: Imprisonment
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
The jail cell almost reminded Michael of one of the rooms he’d had in Smith’s Grove, though the aesthetics were different. He didn’t see his niece’s stare — that steady, cold stare — but he could feel it. She wasn’t even terribly angry; it was the sort of disappointment that someone had for another that they had somehow expected good from —
Of course she was foolish. He was a killer. Anyone assuming he was more than that...they were foolish, at best, needing to be taught a lesson at worst.
Sheriff Meeker was talking. Transferring him to a maximum security prison, where he would be until the day he died.
“He’ll never die,” Jamie said, almost flatly. Now that she was done, no doubt, screaming, running, pleading for her life, pleading for some sort of humanity in Michael that was laughable, she just seemed coldly disappointed, and really, one had to (as Michael understood it) have some investment to be disappointed.
Like she had thought one tear meant the spell had been broken. It had been a moment of weakness. Michael would wait for a long time — he had always been patient — but he would be far from weak again.
***
It wasn’t Michael who killed the police station, in the end, but a figure that Michael was all too familiar with: Dr. Terrence Wynn. A man in black, his face mostly hidden by the brim of a broad black hat. Even as Michael looked up, completely calm at the sound of gunshots — he had taken gunshots to the chest before. They were no more than an inconvenience — Wynn tsked softly.
“We don’t have time to waste. Michael,” and here, Wynn put the familiar inflections of power in his voice that really were no more than a cheap gimmick to control Michael, “Rise.”
Michael did so. They left the police station, leaving the bodies of countless policemen behind. He could feel Jamie approaching even as Wynn forced Michael into the truck. Ultimately, being quick enough was not an option. Michael could swear he felt like something had splintered, their bizarre link that had given her his darkness and him something he couldn’t bear to think about...
Of course she would go after him. She had tried and failed to rescue Tina Williams. This was no exception.
***
“Michael,” Wynn said, “How the mighty have fallen.”
It was under the mask that Michael could feel his hands curling into fists. How dare Wynn, a stupid, foolish old man, even presume to know what that meant? He was Michael Myers, Thorn’s scion, as Wynn had once put it. He was not going to be mocked by some fool who thought that he could control him when Wynn could barely comprehend the notion of true power. Wynn thought that he could control him. Wynn was wrong.
Wynn continued. In a way, Michael could do nothing about it. “I’m disappointed in you, Michael. It’s bad enough that you were taken down by an old man with a blunt instrument — though I will give Sam credit. I didn’t think that he had that much hate in him.”
Michael was still, completely still.
Wynn continued. “Using a little girl as bait — I’ll give him credit, he knew how to be cruel. He’d make an exemplary one of us. He must have really hated you.”
It was no surprise, of course. Loomis had tried to do his job at first, despite his obvious bewilderment at what would lead a six year old boy to kill his older sister. (Even when he had been questioned in the yard by his parents, Michael hadn’t quite understood, at first, what had happened. Killing had become easier for him since then. He was good at it too)
“And speaking of the little girl...you didn’t kill her. You had every opportunity, yet you had no nerve. You can’t possibly feel compassion for her, do you? I daresay you have too much of a human heart in you, Michael.”
Michael gritted his teeth. He had no heart. Not truly. The human part of him had died along with Judith, was dead and buried with her.
And yet...
He could remember the hospital. Laurie — Cynthia Myers, nearly an adult now — shouting his name, and besides wondering how she recognized him, Michael had been taken off guard in another way. Like he was coming, briefly, out of a trance.
Laurie was dead now. And besides having the strangest feeling like he’d been cheated, something in Michael had felt something peculiar, like something was missing that simply should be there.
And there was the girl. Jamie.
“She can stop the rage. The rage inside you...”
Loomis, damn him. And for a moment, a brief moment when he had stayed his knife, Michael could swear he had briefly been right.
“You’re just like me.”
It was true, wasn’t it? They even looked somewhat alike — though Jamie’s eyes were so brown they were almost black, while Michael’s eyes had always been black. Jamie had chosen the clown costume the Halloween of 1988, just like Michael had when he was not that much younger than her. They had bathed in murder — Jamie had only, inexplicably, turned away from it, where Michael was still there.
Maybe in a way she was his counterpart. And even in spite of everything he had done to her and all she had done, she was still kind. Kind, in ways that children were.
How, Michael doubted that he’d ever understand.
The truck pulled up to their destination. No one would expect that the Cult of Thorn would hide in plain sight, but here they were.
“You’ll have to kill her at some point, Michael,” Wynn said. “She took up residence in that heart of yours, didn’t she? And as long as she still lives there, you are poisoned.”
Michael could not disagree with that. He would kill her, because he had to, no more, no less. Kill the one living, precious thing in the barren garden that was his heart — because monsters had gardens, though they kept them out of sight. Jamie lived there, where nothing else lived. He would make that choice, naturally, when they re-emerged.
Even the boogeyman had gardens he very well tried to keep out of sight. Torching those gardens...from there, Michael would become who he was meant to be.
