Title: What He Wants

Rating: T just to be safe.

Summary: When Michael Myers came for his niece in 1988 everyone assumed he wanted to kill her, but you know what they say about people who "assume."

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of Jamie Lloyd or Michael Myers and make no monetary profit from this story.

Author's Note: I had hoped to have the next chapter of my story "Stolen Innocence" ready to put up in time for Halloween, but due to my computer behaving badly, that ain't gonna happen. However, thanks to a marathon viewing of Halloween 4 and 5 a few days ago, I was inspired to write this. There may be one or two chapters after this one this one since the plot bunnies have been hopping. Hope you enjoy!

Chapter One

When you assume you make an ass out of u and me.

-Old Proverb


"Leave me alone!"

Jamie Lloyd lay on the cold floor of the schoolhouse, aching all over from having tumbled down the stairs. She was alone, defenseless, and in too much pain to stand up, much less run away. Showing no sign of having heard her, the masked killer descended the staircase, taking each step in a leisurely, measured pace that made him appear to be almost floating. Crying hysterically, the little girl started dragging herself across the floor, moving by mere inches. She didn't want to die, not like this, killed by her own uncle for no clear reason. She sobbed as footsteps echoed off the hard floor close behind her.

A hand clamped down hard on her right leg. She screamed as her uncle pulled her to him, then lifted her bodily off the floor. Dangling in his grasp by one leg, Jamie desperately began beating Michael's chest with her small fists, landing pathetic blows that probably wouldn't have knocked a three-legged poodle over. With his true expression unreadable behind the ghoulish mask, Jamie could only stare up at her uncle's pale face from an uncomfortable, dizzying angle as his head slowly tilted to one side, almost as though he were examining her. A moment passed in which he did nothing but look at her, then he reached out for her with his other hand and Jamie braced herself for death, her overactive imagination supplying her with vivid images of how he might end her life.

He's going to snap my neck he's going to crush my skull he's going to rip my head off I don't want it to hurt oh please God don't let it hurt!

But the intense pain she'd expected never came. Instead, something quite different happened.

Anyone who knew Jamie Lloyd well could vouch for the fact that she has very sensitive skin. To provoke a fit of uncontrolled laughter all you had to do was poke a few key areas on her body. The backs of her knees were prime, Her belly and ribs were deluxe.

But the real gem lay in the soft, tender area underneath her arms, the precise area that her uncle was touching now.

Jamie couldn't stop the giggle from bursting out. It sounded completely out of place in the deserted schoolhouse, right in the middle of this life-or-death situation where she was literally being held at the mercy of her killer uncle. Michael cocked his head to the side again as he observed her reaction. He poked her again in the same place inside her left armpit, and when more giggles pealed forth with a sound like little bells, he began wiggling his large finger back and forth against the magic spot.

Jamie wasn't sure if she was laughing or crying. All she knew was that there were strange little noises coming out of her mouth that were midway between gasps and shrieks. Her arm felt as though a million bugs with tiny, delicate legs were dancing a merry jig all over it. And Michael wasn't letting up, apparently quite pleased with this development. Keeping a firm grip on her leg, he began running the thumb of his free hand over her previously neglected right armpit. Jamie's hair braid swung like a pendulum as she tried to twist away but Michael's remorseless tickling thumb followed her, and her only coherent thought during all of it was that this was a really weird way to die.

After what felt like an eternity of over stimulated nerves, Michael slowly lowered her back to the floor. Breathing in quick, hiccupping gasps, Jamie sat on the floor and stared up at the man towering over her, his bulky frame looming over her like a mountain.

"What was that for?" The question burst out before it could be properly edited by her frightened, confused brain. She hurried to fill in the uncomfortable silence that followed. "I mean, I liked it better than being killed but I don't...I don't understand what you want."

His only answer was deep, heavy breathing as he crouched down to get at eye level with her. Scared, Jamie sat across from him, unable to move or speak. She gulped as he extended his hand.

"Get away from her!"

Everything around Jamie was suddenly obscured by white smoke. Her uncle disappeared in the hazy fog. Looking around wildly, Jamie could barely make out Rachel spraying a fire extinguisher at the place where her uncle had just been. Jamie got up from the floor and took a few shaky steps, then had to cover her mouth to keep from coughing., as the acrid smoke stung her eyes and made hr throat itch.

"Jamie, come toward me!" Rachel shouted.

"I can't see you!"

"I'm here!"

The entire hallway was shrouded in drifting white smoke, making it impossible to distinguish one shadow from another. Jamie flailed her arms about like a blind person, taking cautious steps forward while listening for Rachel's voice.

"I'm right here." A warm, reassuringly familiar hand closed around Jamie's. The little girl looked up to see her sister's face emerge from the whiteness.

"C'mon, let's get out..."

Rachel was cut off mid sentence as a dark shape materialized out of the thick smoke behind her. She was yanked roughly backwards, away from little Jamie, and into the lethal embrace of Michael Myers. She struggled desperately, but his arms were around her, trapping her like a steel cage. One big arm held Rachel in place, pinning her against his chest, while the other laid the butcher knife against her exposed throat, preparing to drag it across in a fatal slice.

"Please! Please don't kill her!"Jamie threw herself on the floor before her uncle, hoping with all her heart that some part of his humanity would emerge and make him listen to her.

His head jerking in what Jamie took to be surprise, Michael stared down at his little niece and, after a moment, slowly removed the knife from Rachel's throat. Without letting go of his victim, he flipped the knife over in his hand so that the handle was facing out, then cracked it hard across the back of Rachel's skull. She slumped in his arms, unconscious, and Michael let her drop unceremoniously to the floor.

It was just the two of them again. Jamie sat on her knees with her hands folded together, tears still trickling down her plump little cheeks. Her uncle stood over her, doing nothing but breathing and staring.

"I want to go home," she moaned, her quavering voice small and pleading.

Before she even had time to blink, Jamie was lifted into the air and slung over her uncle's shoulder. He began carrying her away, with one arm locked across her legs so she wouldn't fall. All she could see was the tiled floor speeding by below her along with the backs of his legs as he walked.

"Wh-where are you taking me?"


To the Myers house.

Jamie had only ever seen the place from the outside, and even then from a distance. Her mother-her real mother Laurie-had forbade her to go anywhere near it. It didn't look very frightening from the outside, with its whitewashed, ordinary front porch, drab gray siding, and large front windows. It looked like every other house on Lampkin Lane.

It was what might be lurking inside that was frightening.

Jamie held her breath as her uncle carried her up the narrow steps to the front door. Hinges squeaked as he pushed the door open and she was taken beyond the threshold. Was this where he was planning to kill her?

Jamie's view as she was carried through the house was mostly limited to the bare floors, but she did see enough to know that there were still pieces of old furniture lying about, mostly tables and chairs either shoved into corners or up against walls. A brick fireplace with a metal grate adorned one wall in what had probably once been the living room. A spiral staircase led up to the second floor and, as Jamie craned her neck around, she saw her uncle put his foot on the first step. He was taking her upstairs. The realization made her shiver, dread spreading like a cold wave all over her body.

When they reached the top of the staircase, Jamie saw they were in a long hallway with doors branching off to either side. Candles had been placed on shelves along the walls, which put forth a spooky, intermittent glow. She could make out a few pictures mounted on the walls but they all looked to have shattered frames, making the pictures inside hard to see.

Jamie still hung like a wet sack from her uncle's shoulder, unmoving and tense, as he carried her into one of the rooms. Judging from the warm light, candles had been strategically placed in here also. The wooden floorboards creaked beneath Michael's feet as he paced the length of the floor. He was heading toward something on the far side of the room, something that Jamie couldn't make out from her position hanging off his back but which had to surrounded by candles. As they got closer, the flickering light got brighter.

This is it, she thought. This is really it.

Jamie felt Michael shift her weight around, and suddenly found herself cradled in his arms with his right arm beneath her back and the other below her knees. Her heart hammered in her chest as she gazed up at him, his masked face unreadable and ghostly in the dim light. He seemed to be thinking hard about something, studying her face as if she held the answer to some riddle he'd been trying to solve for a long, long time.

Jamie looked away from him, unable to take his scrutinizing gaze for more than a minute, and saw that the thing they were standing before was just a plain old wooden rocking chair. Tall, waxy white candles had been placed on shelves around and above the chair, giving it the mysterious aura of a throne.

Finally, her uncle stepped forward, then sat down in the chair, keeping her in his arms. She lay across his lap as he began to rock her in a slow, soothing pace.

Jamie's wide, hazel eyes never left his ebony black ones as she tried to speak. Confused and bewildered thoughts flew through her mind. This wasn't what she'd expected. Was he going to kill her or not?

After several failed attempts which consisted of hr opening her mouth only to balk at the last minute, she finally managed to ask the question.

"You're not going to kill me?"

He shook his head.

"You never were?"

Another head shake.

Her sigh of relief turned into an angry pout. "But why did you kill all those people?" she asked, hurt and confused. Her voice broke as she started to cry, remembering her poor, dead dog.. "Why did you kill Sundae?"

From her position on his lap, Jamie felt his chest expand as he sucked in a lungful of air, then heard it gust out of him in a soft sigh. She saw him raise and lower his shoulders in an awkward shrug, as if to say it had all seemed like a good idea at the time.

Everything was far too complicated for her childish mind to even begin to understand. The deaths she'd seen, the terror she'd felt, the strange, alien man that had killed without mercy and who now held her gently in his arms. It was all too much. Her head slumped against his chest as she shut her eyes, trying to block out the scary, incomprehensible chaos that had become her life. She heard her uncle's heartbeat-Rachel would be surprised to know that he had one-and felt him start to toy with the long braid trailing down her back. The ambient candlelight, the creaking of the rocking chair, Michael's steady breathing, it all combined to lull her into a tentative half-sleep.


Jamie was startled into wakefulness by the sudden shout. She looked up, and saw Sam Loomis standing before them, his mouth agape, the revolver clutched unsteadily in his burnt hands. Stunned disbelief trailed off him like a cloud.

Jamie felt her uncle's body stiffen as he reached for the handle of the knife that was sticking out of one of the pockets of his uniform.

"Stay back! I don't want him to hurt you!" she cried to Dr. Loomis, and began whispering to her uncle in a low, calming voice that she hoped would soothe Michael and keep the old man alive.

Sam watched, unable to believe what he was seeing, as Michael stayed in place but kept his arms wrapped protectively around the little girl. He took in his surroundings, the rocking chair, the adorable little girl sitting on the deranged killer's lap. And he started to laugh. He laughed until hot tears spurted from his eyes and steamed down his face so that he had to draw a handkerchief from his coat pocket to wipe them away. All this time, he'd assumed Michael had been hunting Jamie down to kill her!

"Well, I should know by now never to assume anything when it concerns you, Michael."


"As long as Michael has the girl, Haddonfield is safe."

They were all gathered around Sheriff Meekers desk at the police station. Sam Loomis, with the slightly crazed demeanor of a man who'd just seen the face of God. Rachel Carruthers, bruised and bloody but still strong. Richard and Darlene Carruthers, both looking shaken by the events that had transpired while they were out having a peaceful dinner. And Sheriff Meeker who, along with being tired, dirty, and confused, looked very, very pissed.

After taking a long drag on his cigarette, Meeker picked up a phone, "You say he's at the Myers house. I'll send a team over there right away to take him out."

"No!" Loomis, Darlene, and Richard all said at the same time. Darlene wiped a tear away with the back of her hand and looked imploringly at Loomis. "He has our little girl in that house!"

"And that's where she'll have to stay." Loomis said with finality. Hobbling over to Darlene, he knelt down in front of her. Looking unflinchingly into her distraught, teary eyes he said softly, "I believe she'll be all right."

"You don't know that!" shouted Rachel, who'd been reclining in a swivel chair close to her parents. She ran her fingers through her curly red hair, picking out a few twigs and a dead leaf, souvenirs from when she'd fallen off the roof during that crazy escape attempt from Michael. ff it hadn't been for the recent rain they'd had softening up the ground, that fall would've killed her. She remembered how frantic she'd been when she'd woken up and couldn't find Jamie. The bell ringing at the schoolhouse had been the only clue she'd had as to the little girl's whereabouts. When she'd gotten there and had seen that maniac about to grab her sister, she'd tried to stop him.

She'd failed miserably, and now this bald-headed moron just wanted to hand Jamie over to her insane uncle. It made Rachel furious!

Loomis spoke to the angry girl in soft tones that he hoped would calm her, "Rachel, I saw them together. He had Jamie in his arms and wasn't hurting her at all."


He raised his voice to address the entire group, "Michael Myers is Jamie's only living biological relative. Had things been different, she would've gone to live with him after Laurie died. And I'm certain Michael knows that."


"In his mind, she belongs to him. That's why he killed anyone who tried to keep him away from her. And if we take her from him now, he won't rest until he finds her. The madness will start all over again!"

Rachel still wasn't convinced. "But what if he gets bored at playing the good Uncle and kills her. Or hurts her by accident?"

"I'll be watching them. I won't let anything happen to her." Loomis said.

Meeker stubbed out his cigarette in the nearest ashtray and fixed Loomis with a hard stare, "If the townspeople find out they're living there, they'll surround that house with torches and pitchforks."

"Which is why we have to keep it a secret." Loomis shot a pleading look at each and every one of them. "We must!"

"And how long do you think we can do that?" Meeker asked, skepticism plain in his voice.

"For as long as we can."


Jamie Lloyd stood at one of the few windows in the house that wasn't boarded up and stared out at the deserted street, mentally reviewing her life. She had a family, a mommy and daddy who'd loved her. Then they'd died, their bodies mangled beyond recognition in a car accident. Eventually she'd been adopted by a new family, and although they weren't the mommy and daddy she cried for at night, they were kind and loved her as though she'd always been their daughter.

Now she'd been adopted again, by an uncle she'd never met and who wasn't kind at all. Worse, Jamie wasn't sure if he loved her. She wasn't sure if he could love her.

Would she be happy here?

She didn't know.

A strong hand fell upon her shoulder, pulling her away from the window, and Jamie didn't resist.