Oct. 15, 1998

7:30 am

Laurie steadied her pace as she rounded the last block of her neighborhood. She trampled leaves under the soles of her sneakers that crunched with the sound of autumn. There was a slight breeze today but the sun was out and it beat on her skin, determined to slow her down.

It was a pleasant morning as she jogged passed the mailman, dogs out for walks, and family caravans desperate to get to soccer practice on time. Laurie was grateful John was never into soccer or any sport for that matter. He preferred video games and secretly played shoot em' ups behind his mother's back. Laurie kept her gaze straight ahead now as she made a mental note to talk things over when she got home, which was just beyond that hedge.

Hedge?

Laurie slowed to a stop. Her neighbors didn't have a hedge. They had a sprawling apple tree that would shed its fruit on her back lawn, but no hedge.

She looked around the neighborhood, which she now realized was barren. The same leaves crumpled underneath her but there was not a soul to be found.

Maybe I took a wrong turn, she thought, as she made her way to the street sign. Maybe this isn't Dryden Avenue.

Laurie approached the familiar blue sign with pause. She knew her neighborhood like the back of her hand; she'd lived here for ten years. How could she have taken a wrong turn?

These thoughts ran through her mind as she looked up and was met with the words Maplewood Drive.

She looked at the hedge again and could swear she saw a man standing just beyond it. He was staring at her in a familiar white mask.

Laurie ran now, quickening her pace as she dared to look back only once. The man had vanished. This has to be a dream, she thought as she swiveled her head around, failing to notice the person coming from the other direction.

OOF!

"Sorry ma'm, didn't see you there," the jogger said, helping Laurie up. She was so engulfed in the collision that she didn't even wince at the scrape on her forearm.

"You're bleeding!"

"What? Oh, it's just a scratch. I'm sorry I didn't see you." Laurie finally said, disinterested in the small talk.

She looked back again but the hedge was gone. This was indeed Dryden Avenue.

"Are you okay?"

"Huh?"

"Are you okay?" the man repeated.

"Yes, uh, sorry again. It was my fault," Laurie stammered as she headed back home.

John was seated on the couch watching reruns as he slurped the rest of his soggy cereal when Laurie came in the front door.

"Mom, how was your run?" he asked, muting the TV. He was in a better mood than last night.

"Hmm?" Laurie answered, not really hearing him. She headed to the bathroom and examined her arm.

"I said how was your-

John stopped when he saw the blood.

"Are you alright? What happened?"

"I'm not sure," Laurie muttered under her breath, though it was the truth. She wasn't sure what had transpired out there on Dryden Avenue.

"Was it a bicyclist?" John asked.

"No, I wasn't paying attention to where I was running and I bumped into another jogger. It's just a scratch, honey. I'll be fine," Laurie assured her son.

"What'd you do last night?" she asked, desperate to change the subject.

"Tate and I ordered some pizza and watched the Alien movies. Are you sure you're alright?"

Laurie affixed a bandage to the wound and reassured John for a second time.

"I have to get ready for Dr. Wallace," she said. "I'll see you later.

Laurie entered Dr. Wallace's office for what she knew would be the last time. She signed the check-in sheet, bid hello to the receptionist, and pushed open the cream door.

"Ah, Laurie, right on time," Dr. Wallace said, looking up from his chart just long enough to gauge his patient's state of mind. It was usually written on their faces. But today, Laurie was calm as she settled in to the auburn suede chair and placed her purse on the floor.

She crossed one leg over the other and clasped her hands together, waiting for the psychiatrist to speak.

"Does it hurt?" he asked, gesturing towards the bandage on Laurie's arm.

"Oh this? It's nothing," she responded.

"Scrapes don't magically appear Laurie. Want to tell me what happened?"

Laurie shifted in her chair, which was not easy due to the soreness in her legs from this morning. She winced a little and it was all Dr. Wallace needed.

"What happened?" he repeated.

"I was out jogging this morning and I bumped into someone because I thought I saw-

Laurie paused, recalling her last session with Dr. Wallace. He would certainly think she was crazy if she told him the truth. But was it? She still wasn't entirely sure what happened.

"I just had some déjà vu that's all," Laurie said.

Dr. Wallace adjusted his glasses and consulted her chart before speaking.

"Laurie, do you know why you're here?" he asked.

"Because I'm crazy," she answered honestly.

"No. You are here because you suffer from PTSD, which unlike the ambiguity of being crazy has a measurable and treatable outcome. You are here, not by referral, but by your own recourse. But I cannot help you if you don't talk to me."

"I saw him," Laurie said defiantly, her gaze not wavering from Dr. Wallace's.

"I was back on Maplewood Drive in Haddonfield. It was daytime, October 31st, 1978. I saw him staring at me from behind my neighbor's hedge. And then he vanished. That, Dr. Wallace, is what happened this morning."

"It seems to me that you're trying to outrun your past," Dr. Wallace claimed.

"But I'm not," Laurie interjected. "I've just been lucky enough to cheat death twice. But I'm done running."

Dr. Wallace now got a concerned look on his face, clearly misunderstanding Laurie's words.

"You mean you're going to-

"Just don't be surprised if you see my obituary in the paper. Goodbye Dr. Wallace, and thank you for everything."

Laurie rose and shook the doctor's hand and headed out the door, unaware of the phone call her psychiatrist was placing this very moment.

The operator tone buzzed for a while as Dr. Wallace was connected to the Somerset Sanitarium.

"Yes, this is Dr. Ray Wallace. I'd like to place a patient of mine on suicide watch. Laurie Strode. Her address is 4513 Dryden Avenue."