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Object of Obsession	By : Demona_Andariel Category: G through L > Halloween (All) > Halloween (All) Views: 1807 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own the Halloween movie series, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Nathan paced impatiently in front of Gretchen’s apartment building as the phone rang. “Pick up. Pick up,” he whispered in annoyance.
“Hey, it’s Gretchen. If you leave me a message I'll get back to you as soon as I can.”
“Gretch,” he said to her voicemail. He couldn’t hide the irritation in his voice. It had been almost two days since he’d left his first message. “It’s your cuz, Nathan, again! This is my third voicemail and I’m getting a little worried. Call me back as soon as you get this.”He hung up his cellphone, tapping it in the palm of his hands. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he muttered, sending another quick text to her phone
<Call me. NOW!>
His father was going to kill him.
He stared up for a moment, focusing on the apartment building. He had to. He dug into his pants and pulled out a set of keys. Rolling hers with his fingers, he chewed on his lower cheek for a moment. He wasn’t supposed to have a spare key to her apartment. But, what did she expect? That his father, her uncle, would let her live on her own in a big city like Chicago without someone watching out for her? She was eighteen when she first moved out, sure she was twenty-two about to be twenty-three now, but they had to look out for her. That’s what family did after all.
Nathan had been entrusted with that responsibility, of watching out for her, a few months ago, much to his annoyance. She lived such a boring life, barely going anywhere, it was more of a punishment for him. Being only a few years older than her, he had tried to get her to have a social life, but she wasn’t interested. There was no need to worry that she’d get up to something, so he got laxed in his vigil. Instead of making plans to see her once a week, he opted for phone calls instead.
Entering the building, he headed straight for the elevator, glancing down at his phone, hoping she’d call or texted and he’d missed it. His heart thumped in his chest. She had to be in her apartment. Where else would she go? Her phone was still on, which he couldn’t help but hope it meant that she was just ignoring him, for some reason. They hadn’t fought or got into an argument that he was aware of, recently.
The ding of the elevator momentarily interrupted his frantic thoughts, but they returned as soon as the elevator doors closed behind him. Nathan resumed his pacing. “She’s okay, she’s just busy,” he muttered, trying to calm his panicking mind. The elevator stopped on her floor, and he rushed out, immediately heading to her apartment door. Maybe he was overreacting. Maybe she was just at home, finally found a boyfriend, and had spent the last couple of days fucking him and ignoring calls.
Nathan paused mid-step, staring at her door. That was a very likely answer. She liked keeping little “secrets”, especially when she thought his father wouldn’t approve. And a new boyfriend would be one of them till she was comfortable enough to share. But still, she could have called or sent a text to him at least. Hey, I'm busy, was all he needed to hear. If she got mad at him for invading her privacy it was on her, not him.
“Gretchen?” he asked as he knocked on her door. He waited a few seconds, which felt like minutes, before pounding on the door. “It’s me. I need to speak to you.”
He leaned in close, listening for any kind of movement. Pulling out her spare key, he inserted it into the lock. Best case scenario, he walks in on her naked with her new boy toy. Worst case, he walks into an empty apartment.
He unlocked the door and pushed it open, muscles tensing as he prepared for her to chastise him and get angry. “Gretchen?” he called out as he closed the door behind him. His hackles raised as he felt an eerie silence burrow into his skin.
“Gretch?” he asked again, stepping further into her apartment. It was still furnished, but there was an emptiness to the place. He paused for a moment, admiring the Chicago city view from her big windows. Damn, she chose a nice apartment to live in.
“Gretch?” he called out again, hoping that maybe he was wrong, that the worst-case scenario didn’t come true. He opened her refrigerator and his heart sunk. It was empty. “Fuck,” he snapped, slamming the door shut.
He pulled out his cellphone and unlocked it to call his father. “Nope,” he said softly as his thumb hovered over his father’s name. “Fuck. Gretchen! This isn’t funny.” It was stupid hope that kept him calling out to her as he did a quick check of her apartment. The empty fridge was proof enough she hadn’t lived in the place for a while, but he didn’t want to believe it yet.
She wasn’t home, and from the looks of things, she hadn’t been living in the place for quite some time. Which begged the questions of, where did she go and when? He had spoken to her a week ago and she didn’t mention having moved. She made it seem as if she was still living in her Chicago apartment.
He rubbed the bridge of his nose as he tried to figure out what to do. He couldn’t call his father, he wasn’t prepared for the lecture much less whatever punishment his old man would dole out on him. Protect your cousin at all costs. Which meant, he had to find her by himself and use his own resources, before his father realized she had been missing at all.
Sitting down on her bed, he folded his hands together to rest his head on them. There had to have been a clue she’d left, something she’d said? She had mentioned a guy, his name- Bryan? Bernard? Brandon? Brandon, that rang a bell. He should have paid more attention to his conversations with her.
If she moved, then she had to forward her mail somewhere. Taking out his phone, he sent a message to one of his friends with specific instructions. It would take a little bit of time, but he knew of a way to get her new address, as long as she forwarded her mail. He sent a few more messages out, gathering his resources. Once everyone replied, he put his cellphone back in his pocket and searched her apartment.
It was a different search as he opened drawers, pulled out the seat cushions, and searched every single little spot that could hide a potential clue, saving her bedroom for last. She had left some clothes behind, she probably didn’t expect to stay gone for very long, or she didn’t care enough for those clothes to bring them with her.
There had to be a clue somewhere. He dug his hands under the mattress, pushing it up and off the bed just in case. A single sketchbook was between the mattresses. Nathan paused, staring at the sketchbook, his fear spiked ever so slightly. Reaching out, he picked it up and flipped through it. Most of the drawings were what he expected of the night sky and constellations. He paused on one page. She drew a man’s face, half coloring it in. Dark brown wavy hair, young so around her age. Not that Nathan was that much older than her, by about four years. The bottom of the page read “Brandon”. She had drawn a little heart by the name.
Pulling out his cellphone, he took a picture of the drawing and sent it to one of his friends. At least he had a face. Finding this Brandon would hopefully lead him to his cousin, safe and sound.
Nathan flipped through the rest not finding anything useful, much to his relief. “Please don’t be in trouble, Gretch,” he muttered out loud as he closed her sketchbook and headed out of her apartment.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Her stomach growled loudly and pinched, waking her up. She groaned as she wrapped her arms around her middle and curled up in bed. She was very hungry, weak, sore, and grumpy. Opening her eyes, she looked around. Why did her brain insist on just hoping that everything was all just a dream and she was safe at home in her own bed?
"Oh god," she groaned. She'd had sex with a killer. She ran her hand down her body, rubbing her legs together. Yeah, she was pretty sore. She groaned again, collapsing onto the pillow and burying her head in it. She had been so close to coming and she wasn’t sure if it was a good or bad thing that he didn’t notice.
He had gone from threatening to kill her to groping her. There was an odd curiousness to his touches as if he’d never really felt a woman before. And he was very watchful of her every move, every response and had no problem using them against her. The buildup to the sex had both scared and excited her. She bit her bottom lip and took in a deep breath, her hand trailing down under her skirt.
Killer, the sane part of her chastised , he forced you! Yes, forced. How silly of her to even enjoy his touch. She didn't even know what he looked like, at least his face. He could be an ugly old man with a physically fit young body, and a great cock and-
No, no, no! She chastised herself again, pulling her hand back out before she did something she would regret. I didn’t consent. I’m his prisoner . Yeah, he turned her on a bit, but he only worked hard enough for him to enjoy her.
Maybe next time, a part of her lamented.
"I hate you," she snarled to herself and to him. A sharp pinch from her hungry stomach forced her to sit up. As much as she wanted to just lay in bed and wrestle with the stupid side that was intrigued and curious about Michael, in an unhealthy sexual way, she needed food. She ran her hand through her hair in frustration.
"Gross," she murmured as she pulled her hands away. Her hair was greasy and she probably smelled. Fuck! She hadn't even showered in a while and the bastard came in her too.
She needed to take a nice long bath, dress in clean clothes, and eat some good food. Maybe that would return some saneness to her stupid mind. Although, she doubted she’d find clean clothes which meant she’d have to somehow figure out how to wash her current set of clothing. And then there was the food situation. She hadn’t found any the day before, the cupboards were bare. Despite the refrigerator being on, it was empty.
Placing her feet on the ground, she froze as she stared at the open door. By the door frame was a very familiar duffle bag. Standing up, she forced herself to walk normally. If he was around she didn't want him to feel proud of her awkward gait. She paused by the bag and looked around. He wasn't within her vision but that didn't mean he wasn't around.
There was no reason him leaving her duffle bag in front of her door would be a trap. But she had to be cautious. She unzipped the bag and let out a sigh, not quite sure if she was happy or sad. She was right, it was hers. Which meant that Michael had taken it from her car when he took her. Why was he giving it to her now? It didn’t really matter, there were a lot of items in her duffle bag that she needed.
Her brain froze. Pulling out her favorite shirt, she took in a deep breath. Her eyes watered momentarily, recognizing Brandon's scent mixed with her own. Guilt flowed through her as she clutched the shirt. She was a horrible person. The absolute worst. She had more than one opportunity to kill Michael. Hell, he walked to the knife she held. But she couldn't. As much as she fought it, as much as she tried to hate him, she was very attracted to Michael, the man who killed her soulmate, and it confused her.
Although, with her shirt pressed against her nose, she felt her sanity return. Brandon deserved better. She wasn’t going to let the killer or her lusty brain win.
Her stomach growled and twisted on her, hungry . Dropping her shirt back into the bag, she picked it up and headed to the bathroom. Michael wasn’t in the hallway, much to her relief. Closing the door behind her, she leaned back against it and waited. The house was incredibly silent without any indication that he was around. There was a possibility that he was around and so quiet she’d never hear him.
After a few minutes, she relaxed a little. Setting the bag on the counter, she searched it, pulling out her towel and toiletries. It wasn't that Brandon didn't have anything. He just didn't have the items she liked to use, and she wasn't quite comfortable with the idea of using one of his towels. The simple truth was, she liked her own items and wasn’t a fan of sharing.
She turned on the water, waiting to see if it would get warm. Much like the house, it was cold. "Well," she muttered to herself. "At least I won't get comfortable."
The shower was quick, short, but thorough. To her surprise, the water did start to warm up a little bit, adding more confusion to her situation, but there was no time to dwell on it. She wasn’t about to let herself get comfortable anyway. Shower done, body washed, and feeling refreshed, she put on a fresh set of clothing: A clean bra and underwear, pair of tights, and an extra-long button-up dress tying things off with a belt around her middle. She stared at her image in the mirror. Her face was a little drawn and pale from the stress and lack of sleep she had been dealing with.
Stuffing her favorite shirt into the bottom of the bag, she returned all of her items, leaving the wet towel out to not cause mildew, and wrapped her old clothing tightly together. She reached out and touched the bathroom door knob. He could be out there, waiting for her. Clenching her jaw, she opened the door, letting out a sigh of relief. He still wasn’t around.
As much as she wanted to hide her duffle bag somewhere in the house, there was little doubt in her mind he’d be able to find it if he wanted. She set the bag down and unzipped it again, pulling out her sketchbook and color pencils. She could go without the bag. She hid the items underneath the mattress. Not the best hiding spot, but it would have to do. Endless time with nothing to do would eventually become a problem, if he let her live long.
Pushing the bag into the closet, she dusted herself off and walked out of her room to head to the kitchen. Her room? “Fuck,” she muttered out loud. That wasn’t her room, that was the room she found best suited for her situation.
The kitchen looked as barren as it had when she first explored it the other day. Not that she expected to find anything new, she couldn’t help but open the refrigerator door.
“What the fuck,” she whispered. She pulled out a Pyrex that was wrapped in tinfoil. Setting it on the kitchen counter, she paused as she placed one hand under her chin to think.
A comical image popped in her mind of Michael in an apron delicately making whatever was inside the dish. As quickly as the amused smile started to cross her face it dropped. Reality hit her hard. The more likely scenario was Michael had gone out, killed at least one person and stole whatever dinner they were making.
She stared at the dish. Eating it meant in some weird way she was an accomplice. What if she didn’t eat? What if she just slowly died of hunger? Would he force feed her? Her stomach pinched and growled again.
Fuck . She let out a sigh, she didn’t have the strength to ignore her hunger. A quick search through the rest of the kitchen revealed what she had started to suspect. There were enough dishes for one person to eat and no other food than the baked dish. She wasn’t sure if it was a message that she would have to rely only on him for food or if he just didn’t have time to get more things. Clean clothes, shower, food, the message was becoming painfully clear, she was going to be his prisoner for a while more. He knew he had to provide for her, and he was doing just that.
"Fuck me," she muttered, then cringed at her phrasing.
Not wanting to make him go out there and kill someone else so that she had another meal, she carefully portioned the dish up. It would barely last two days as long as she didn't get too hungry. She took her time eating, allowing her stomach time to realize she was eating. The cold lasagna wasn't bad, she should have warmed it up, but she didn't want to. Once she finished, she washed the dishes, and returned everything back to where they were. With the kitchen clean, she walked into the hallway and paused, taking another thorough look at the layout of the house. Her mind and thoughts felt sharper, and her body had more energy now that she was clean, full, and awake. She planted her hands on her hips. She’d spent hours exploring almost every inch of the place, multiple times, between her naps or general sleep. With no clock around, and the windows boarded up so tightly barely any light passed through, she had relied on her body to tell her when it was time to rest. Judging by the fact she had two long rests, she had to assume she’d been in the house for at least two days, give or take.
The thought of fighting back and escaping had been so persistent in her mind she didn’t even consider the fact that she could be rescued. A chill ran up and down her spine. She was in trouble. No one knew her in Haddonfield. She didn’t have a job, and the only people she was familiar with were Brandon’s friends. Sure she had an apartment, but she’d just paid her rent. “Fuck,” she whispered. She hadn’t even told her family that she had “moved”. She didn’t think she needed to, as she was waiting for Brandon to decide what he wanted to do, and figured she was going to have to move again pretty soon.
If Brandon’s body was found dead then it was probably assumed she was also dead and somewhere in the forest. If Brandon hadn’t been found, then it was entirely possible that his friends and family figured the two had gone on a vacation as they were pretty crazy about each other. Brandon. The look on his face as he screamed in pain while Michael slashed at him, flashed through her memory.
She shook her head, clearing her mind. There was nothing she could do about that now. He was dead and there was no bringing him back. She would mourn for him later. The one thing she needed to do was escape. Her earlier thoughts of actually craving Michael were all but forgotten. She didn’t want him.
But you do , her insanity said. As if to prove a point her vision blurred.
“Michael ,” her own lusty voice whispered in the shadows. Looking behind her, Gretchen saw herself, pressed up against the hallway wall completely naked, legs wrapped around Michael’s naked ass. He was slowly guiding her down and she was actually smiling. She had her arms wrapped around his neck, running her fingers through his hair as she brought him in for a deep kiss, only to break it to gasp the moment he penetrated her.
“Nope,” Gretchen said firmly as she turned away, crossing her arms. Despite her adamant denial, she felt her legs quiver ever so slightly as her pussy tingled with anticipation. She had to get out of the house. Maybe then her sanity would return to her.
Gretchen’s eyes fell on the one door she hadn’t fully explored. Tentatively, she made her way to the basement and placed her hand on the doorknob. “It’s just a basement,” she breathed to herself. There was no way he’d leave it unlocked if he didn’t want her to explore it.
She opened the door and pulled it back, holding it close to her side. The old wooden stairs looked iffy at best, but they would probably hold her weight. There wasn’t any carpet, just solid concert. She could hear the sound of something mechanical working, perhaps a heater. Her saliva pooled in her mouth and she swallowed it back.
“There are no monsters down there,” she said, taking a cautious step down. Her skin raised as the hair in the back of her neck stood up. Something moved, it was too dark to see exactly what it was but, for the briefest of moments, she could have sworn the shape of a thin hand grabbed onto a wooden beam. “Nope!” she said very loudly, retracting her foot.
Without a second thought, she slammed the door shut behind her and sat down, resting her back against it, and pressing her feet against the opposite wall to secure her position. Her heart beat wildly in her chest as she waited for whatever it was to start slamming on the door. No noise came from the stairs, but she couldn’t risk it. So, Michael had some sort of horror in the basement which was why he didn’t worry about her exploring down there. But, he also wasn’t worried about that horror coming upstairs to get her either it seemed like. The basement door wasn’t locked.
She rubbed her head for a moment as she felt the beginning of a small headache.
Whatever it was would remain a mystery. He won. There could be a very simple and easy exit out of the house through the basement. But she would never know. That thing wasn’t right. Her only hope now was getting rescued soon, before she succumbed to the lust her mind was slowly embracing.
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Object of Obsession