A/N: Sorry, this took much longer than I anticipated! I am in law school, and so things can get a bit busy, and I was slammed these past two weeks.

I hope you like it!

Chapter Twenty:

Lottie did not let him stop for a long time. He would begin to pull over and she would tell him no, they had to keep going. Eventually, he decided that continuing was no longer an option. He pulled to the side of the road, ignoring her orders that he continue. He fumbled with the jeans along the side of the road. He missed his jumpsuit. It was much more comfortable. He hoped when they found a home, wherever that might be, he would be allowed to put it back on.

He emptied his bladder and Lottie stopped barking at him. She sighed and got out of the car. He watched her very closely as she went into the woods. He did not think she would leave him now. Not after the gas station. Still, he waited on the side of the road, watching her as best he could through the trees. His heart beat hard and fast until she came out from the trees.

Her face was a bit scrunched up. Her forehead was wrinkled. That meant she was not happy. He got back into the car and waited as she looked in the map book.

"Keep going straight," she said. He turned the key in the ignition. The next day, after they crossed into a state called Minnesota, she had them stop at a large store. She spoke to him carefully and slowly, telling him it was best if she went in alone. He was more likely to be recognized than she was. As she was telling him this, she was ripping a tag off a hat they had taken from the gas station. She crinkled the hat in her hands and then put it on her head.

He did not like her new hair. It was ugly. He still did not like that she put most of it up under the hat. She put on a pair of sunglasses next. His brow crinkled.

He said nothing, but watched her carefully as she got out of the car and walked into the store. He waited, white knuckled on the steering wheel. His face was itchy. He wanted Lottie to shave it, but she said she did not think it was a good idea. People would recognize him. He felt a small budding of satisfaction at that.

She returned from the store with a small bag in her hand. She showed it to him when she got in beside him. It was a box with a woman on it and her hair was black.

"It will be easier than blond," she told him. He did not understand but he nodded anyway. A few hours later she had him stop at another gas station. She went in to pay and returned. She put the pump into the car.

"You know how to pump gas, right?" she asked. He nodded. She went on to explain anyway. "When this stops, and it'll stop on its own, just take it out and put it there, then put this cap on here, and close this. I'm going to go into the bathroom."

She held up a key at the end of a long piece of wood. He did not understand what the key was for, but he committed his duties to memory.

She was gone a long time. He began to grow anxious again. He felt similar to the time he came home and found her gone, and was shot four times... again. He glanced around. No one was looking at him. One man did honk at him. He drove the car into a nearby parking spot and the man stopped honking. Michael glared at him from the rearview window. His knuckles bulged white and his grip pulsed over the steering wheel. He imagined the numerous ways he would be able to kill him and it brought him relief until Lottie emerged from the side of the gas station.

She went back inside the little store but came back out just a few moments later. She still had the hat and glasses on. He waited when she got back into the car. She raised her hand and lifted up her hat, letting her hair fall to just above her shoulders. She smiled at him. "What do you think?"

He did not like it. He did not like it at all. Her hair was dark now. Very dark, like the night sky without stars. He stared at her, his mouth shifting slightly to the side.

"I know, Michael, but my hair will grow back out and it will be the same color again, alright?"

She put her hand on his. It was small and cool. He rolled his hand over so she could see his palm. She pressed their palms together and threaded her fingers through his. She squeezed and then released him.

"We should go," she sighed. He began to drive again.

She pulled out another item from the bag. They were a pair of glasses. She put them on and looked at herself in the mirror hanging from the ceiling. He did not dislike the glasses. She had worn glasses when she would come to see him at the hospital. Remembering the days she had come to visit him in the hospital always brought about a feeling of warmth within in. When this was over and she grew her hair out to the right color again, she could keep the glasses.

"I'm not sure," she sighed. "A picture of me in glasses might pop up. I only wear them for reading though...Alright look for signs for 281 North, then route 11, then 2 West. Shouldn't be too long now."

They drove for only forty-five minutes before finding 281 North, and that they were only on for a short time, and suddenly that became 2 West.

"If you need to sleep, Michael, we can pull over so you can sleep."

He was not tired. He reached out and put his hand on her face, pushing her head back into the head rest. He did not get tired like other people did, but then he'd want to sleep for days. He'd always been like that that, even as a boy.

He opened his mouth. No sounds came out. He did not want to speak. He did not know what it would sound like. It felt odd earlier. It almost hurt. He wanted to tell her to sleep. Sleep. A simple little word.

And she was not listening to him. She tried to push his hand away with a scrunched-up face. "Michael – what –"

"Sleep." Is that what that word sounded like? It passed from his lips the same it passed it from a hers. His voice sounded tinny, hollow.

She stared at him, a tiny curve to her parted lips, eyes twinkling with an emotion he could not recognize.

"Ok, Michael," she said. He cleared his throat as she laid her head down. He did that a bit longer before he stopped. He might keep her up.

She awoke a few hours later. She sniffled and rubbed her eyes. She blinked rapidly and reached up to turn the light on. It was dark. They were the only ones on the road.

"How are we on gas?"

He looked at the tank. Little less than half. She always said good when she saw that. He opened his mouth. A small clicking sound escaped. He broke off. He didn't know how to make the sound.

He hit the steering wheel hard and in rapid succession. The car swerved.

"Michael! Michael!" she shouted. He hit it a few more times. He had never wanted to speak before. He wanted to speak now, but only to her, and only sometimes. "Calm down. We have plenty of gas. Just, calm down."

He nodded.

She had him pull over at a ranger station along the highway. She spoke to him briefly, making a few jokes and sharing a smile. Michael observed her closely from the driver's seat. He did not like what she looked like. He didn't like it at all.

She got back into the car with some brochures and a map.

"I think we have some good news," she told him. He looked at the stack in her hands. She went through it carefully. "There's a few good places we could go. I told him we were on a road trip, and we wanted to get out into the wilderness. He showed me some lodges. If we could find a place there, hidden away, then we might be able to settle down for a while. The money won't get us far. We won't have nearly any creature comforts, but we'll figure it out... of course it would need to be abandoned..."

He continued to drive as she looked at the maps and the piece of paper she had retrieved from the ranger. He followed her instructions, and finally they arrived at a little motel. He was glad for it. He was getting tired.

Lottie put some of their food into a bag and then ordered him to wait by the car. He obeyed but his eyes followed her closely. He rubbed his face as he waited. It was getting itchy. He had never liked his beard. It was one of the only reasons he willingly took the pills they gave him. When the hair began to grow, he'd take the pills, fall asleep, and wake up with a shaved face.

Lottie, looking nothing like his Lottie, came out with a beckoning hand and a smile. They entered a tiny little room with a bathroom attached. Michael used it and then Lottie went in to take a shower.

For a while, Michael sat on the bed and stared across at the TV. It was off. He could see himself in the darkened reflection. He always found it odd, seeing his reflection. It always felt wrong. It was a stranger looking back at him. A man he never got to know. He'd only ever felt himself when he was wearing the mask.

Lottie came out of the bathroom with wet hair, wearing her shirt and underwear. She had her jeans draped over her arm and tossed them on a nearby chair. She smiled at him sleepily.

"You should get washed up and go to sleep," she told him. He just looked her over. She suddenly became sadder.

"I know, Michael, I don't like it either," she said and came to straddle his lap. Her hands touched his chest. "Only until we settle in somewhere. I can't risk being recognized."

He put his hands on her bottom and squeezed. She was still very pretty, he just preferred her the way she was before. He wished he knew how to tell her that.

He thought pressing his hips upward would show her. He still wanted her. His body still hummed at the presence of her, the smell of her.

"How are you not falling asleep where you sit?" She laughed breathlessly and ran her hands through his hair.

He was quite happy to just stare at her. He lifted a hand and pinched her short hair. He twirled it in his fingers and examined it closely.

"I know, Michael," she sighed. "I'm sorry."

He frowned at her and shook his head. He did not want her to be sad. Hoping it would show her what words could not, he rolled them over so she was on her back beneath him. His body was burning already.

"Michael," she breathed. He was inside her quickly enough, little ceremony, and once finished he was delightfully tired and she had the same small smile on her lips she always did.

He rolled over onto his back and stretched out on the bed. She got up and went into the bathroom. He heard the water running. When she came back in she crawled under the covers beside him.

"Get under the covers," she ordered. He shook his head on the pillow, eyes on her, fingers threaded together over his chest. She did not fight him but scooted closer and put her head on his chest. "We should try to get up and out early, to avoid traffic."

He nodded but he did not know what the word traffic referred to. Lottie did not sound particularly concerned about it though, so he did not worry.

He twirled his thumbs on his chest and stared up at the ceiling. It was how he used to fall asleep in the hospital. He enjoyed the darkness and the silence. It calmed him. All he could hear was the sound of Lottie's soft breathing. She was sound asleep beside him long before his eyes grew heavy and he eventually fell asleep.

Charlotte woke up with a headache and a dry mouth.

"Oh, God," she groaned and got herself out of bed. She did not realize Michael was not in bed next to her until she discovered him in the bathroom, rubbing the two day growth on his face in front of the mirror. "We can shave you once we settle down," she assured him. She gently pushed him out of the way so that she could drink from the sink. Once done, she ran her fingers through his hair and made it more presentable.

"Do you want to drive or should I?"

She was hoping he'd speak. He seemed to be making an effort of it, but thirty years of no speech would no doubt have had an effect on him. She did not think it would prevent him from speaking forever, if he decided to put in the effort, but she had no delusions it would be easy. She turned her head to find him staring down at the sink with blank eyes.

She smiled and turned to touch his chest. "Do you want to drive?"

His eyes darted up to hers. He nodded. She got up on her toes and placed a kiss to his lips.

"Let's go," she said softly and patted his chest. They both used the bathroom and ate what they had in the car for breakfast as they hit the road.

They hit some mild rush hour traffic, but as they approached the less populated areas it cleared up and they cruised right along. They drove until it got dark, only stopping a few times to stretch their legs, eat and relieve themselves.

She had him pull over to the side of the rode and she pointed out a grassy little area they could keep the car somewhat hidden. He pulled into it.

"We're going to have to turn the car off," she said regretfully. "But I don't think it'll get that cold."

She was wrong on that account. After the sun had set it grew cold. As her shivers grew worse, Michael turned on the car and blasted the heat but she turned forced him to turn it off.

"We have to be careful about the heat," she insisted gently. He reached for her, tugging her gently onto his side of the car. It took some doing. It was not comfortable. Eventually, she ended up on his lap, straddling him. He was warm. She sank into him, enjoying the heat his body gave off. His arms circled around her and squeezed her tightly. His hands began to grope. They slid up her back slowly and searchingly.

"I guess it's a good way to stay warm," she breathed as he is fingers slowly plucked at the clasp of her bra beneath her shirt. His hands were warm against her skin.

She ducked her head and pressed her mouth to his. His beard was growing in nicely, but she missed the clean shaven face.

She once again wondered what might have become of Michael if he had not been locked away all his life. He might have never escaped his compulsion to kill. She did not deny that. But it saddened her he never had the opportunity, all because Loomis could not see even a shred of a possibility of redemption in a 6 year old boy.

"Michael," she whispered as he pulled the straps of her bra down over her shoulders and groped at her breasts. He stopped just long enough to get her shirt off. One hand closed around the back of her head and pressed her mouth to his. One of his massive, powerful hands. She imagined him taking that grip on her hair and bashing her face repeatedly against the car window under it shattered, her face bloody and swollen. Nose and cheek bones shattered. She slid her tongue against his. His hands slid up her bare back.

A cry ripped from her when there was a sudden and loud knock on the window. A light was shown brightly into her eyes and she rolled away with her hands to her chest. She got her shirt on as the tapping paused. Once on, she scrambled with her bra beneath the shirt and the tapping of the flashlight grew more insistent.

"Just let me talk, Michael," she told him. He turned his head to look at her. He just stared. She reached over him to toll down the window. It was a park ranger looking in on them, face grim. Cold air rushed into the car and she grabbed her coat and held it over herself.

"Hello, sir," she greeted with an embarrassed laugh.

"I thought I was going to find kids here, not two grown adults," he said disapprovingly. Plumes of steam filled the air from his mouth.

"So sorry, sir, we just stopped off for a rest for the night. Were a bit lost and needed some sleep."

The ranger nodded and looked over at Michael with a distrustful, inquisitive frown.

"Weren't doing much sleeping," he observed. "This is state park land. You can't just be parking in the forest."

"I am so sorry, we had no idea, truly."

He continued to stare at Michael.

"What's your name, son?" he asked.

"He's deaf, sir," Charlotte lied. "Very self-conscious about his voice."

The ranger nodded slowly.

"Can I see some IDs?"

"I'm sorry, sir, are you a police officer?" she asked. "I don't think we have any legal obligation to identify ourselves if you aren't a police officer."

"I'm an officer of the state. I have a right to ask for identification."

He reached for his belt and retrieved a walky talky. Charlotte's lips parted and her mouth went dry. He took a few steps back and examined the front of the car.

"Hey Carl I got a blue Chevy Malibu, 1981. Plates out of Illinois. 3x72 4592. Call it in to the troopers?" He came back around. "I'm going to need you to step out of the car."

"I had no idea Park Rangers had so much authority."

His face darkened. "Out of the car."

"Sir – "

There was a crackle from the walky. The air was still and Charlotte let out a steadying breath and accepted resignation.

"Hank, get out of there. It's Michael Myers! It's the car. Troopers en route - don't let them leave - Hank –"

"Michael, go," she ordered.

Michael gladly obeyed. He opened the car door. It slammed into the stunned ranger and he went stumbling backwards. Michael advanced quickly. He grabbed him by the shirt and planted a vicious blow to his jaw. Then another that caught his nose. She began scrambling to throw some leftover food into a bag. She looked over and saw Michael plant another crack to the man's face.

"Michael stop," she called as she crawled over the center console and out of the driver's side door. "Michael!"

She did not feel the blistering cold. She hurried over and wrapped her arms around his punching arm. "Michael, let him go! Michael stop! Don't kill him. There's no reason to kill him."

His face was the most expressive she had ever seen it. His brow knitted together, his lips parted, his eyes a bit wide. He looked at her like she was absolutely insane. Despite the surrealness of their situation, it was the first time he actually looked completely normal.

"The police are coming. We need to go." She tugged in his arm. He yanked his arm away and then shoved her back. It was not violent. It was quite clear from the level of force used he had no desire to harm her, but nor did he have any desire to obey her. He reeled back and landed another punch to his face. The man gurgled and begged, one hand feebly coming up to protect himself.

Charlotte leapt forward to try and catch his arm again. His elbow caught her in the center of the chest. She buckled back, air rocked from her lungs. A cry of pain escaped her, but then she fell back, gasping for air.

He stopped immediately. He turned to stare at her on the ground.

"Michael, we need to go," she insisted. "Leave him."

He looked at the man, then at her. She was comforted that he'd stopped when he'd realized he hurt her. She hoped to capitalize on that, rubbing her chest and exhibiting more pain than she truly felt.

"You hurt me, Michael. Help me up?"

He crouched down immediately. His touch was rough, yet tender, and he stayed close to her once she was on her feet. With calmness that she did not feel, she spoke to Michael, ignoring the gurgling mass of bloody pulp on the grown at their feet.

"This is a rural state. We probably have some time before the troopers arrive, but we need to go now."

He walked to the car but she halted him. "We can't use the car. We have to get hidden. Come on."

She grabbed his hand. The chill was setting into her bones. She did not know how'd they'd survive, but she knew they would. They just had to get moving.

"Come on."

She tugged his head and made toward the tree line. Michael followed close behind. As they hurried into the forest, she listened closely for sirens, all the while praying that they'd never come.