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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
- 8
- 9
- 10
Gretchen stared at the far wall, her mind distant as she thought. She sat at the dining room table, notebook between her arms. Her whole body was on high alert, had been shortly after Michael had left the house. She had a feeling, not as pressing as the one that woke her up, but still alarming enough for her to be on edge.
She shuddered and rubbed her right arm as a tingling spread across her. Whatever was keeping her on edge was coming from the basement. She shifted her gaze from the living room towards the kitchen and swallowed. Just outside the kitchen on the left was the basement door. The no-lock basement door. Of all the rooms in the entire house, why was the basement without a lock? Was Michael just not worried about her being able to escape through the basement?
She blinked
Michael. When was he getting back? Did something happen to him? For probably the thousandth time that day she wished she had some sort of device to tell time. Maybe she was wrong, maybe not as much time had passed as she assumed. But then again, what if more time had passed? Either way, she had no idea.
She stopped tapping the pencil on her notebook and clenched her fist. Did something happen to him? She snorted. The serial killer rarely stayed around, not one to make sure his kills were truly hidden, he always found himself in trouble and promptly stopped each time. At least, that’s what the news articles had said. Would they lie? Was Brandon his first victim after coming back? It was possible. Although there was the likelihood of a coverup if the officials didn’t want the townsfolk to worry or stir up more drama with his reappearance.
What would happen to her, to the house, if he “disappeared”? So many questions to ask him, to get to know him. Gretchen blinked and frowned at the thought. Get to know Michael? Silent killer, Gretch, she reminded herself.
Gretchen focused back on the present. So, if Brandon was his first and we treat each sexual encounter with Michael so far as its own separate day. We’ve been missing for either four or five days.
She frowned. Did Brandon’s family even know he was dead? There was little doubt in her mind that her own family were already looking for her. How long was up for debate? Did she even leave any clues behind? Not really, so maybe her rescue would take a little bit longer. She had a little bit of food, but not enough to last her for very long. Then again, the human body could last without food for a little bit and there was plenty of running water in the house.
Is life really worth living now without him? She frowned and jerked her head up, startled. That wasn’t her thought or her voice, was it? Her skin prickled again causing her to focus her attention away from the random thought and towards the back, to the hallway leading to the basement. A high pitch ringing took over her hearing. Something was coming up from the basement.
She stood up. There was no noise, no sound of the door opening or feet walking. But she knew. She could feel it. The ringing grew louder and her heartbeat thumped harder with each passing second. Danger. There was no way to calm down or stop the panic that built up. There was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. She was alone. Whatever was coming she’d have to deal with it herself.
She took in a deep breath and swallowed hard, preparing for whatever it was.
The ringing in her ears died down just as quickly as it started as the feeling slowly disappeared. The house returned to its normal calm. Whatever was coming up from the basement, whatever had spiked the alarms in her body was gone. She sat back down, watching the far hallway for a moment before she let out a deep breath and stared straight ahead.
“Shit!” she yelped and jumped a little in her seat.
Michael was watching her. When had he returned? He strode over into the dining room, eyes focusing on her. Setting his knife beside him, he pulled the chair out and sat down. What was he up to?
Her eyes landed on the bloody knife and she let out a sigh of disappointment. “Guess I was just hoping for too much, huh?” she asked.
His eyes seemed to lighten for a moment.
Her heart picked up its beat again, only for a different reason. She was nervous. Nervous? Why? She opened her mouth to say something, then closed it. 'How was your day?' was dangerously close to popping out. How inappropriate was that?
“I didn’t wear my button dress today,” she pointed out, then clenched her jaw. What a stupid thing to say. He could clearly see she was in a T-shirt and jeans. He didn’t acknowledge her words, just watched her.
She frowned, cocking her head to one side. Was it just her? She’d been on edge all day long that maybe it was. Maybe she was exhausted, but she didn’t feel the passion coming from him. The interest to grab her, feel her, force her. Michael looked… tired. Was he finally done? What did that mean for her? Or did something happen out there that changed him?
Whatever it meant, she didn’t feel as if she was in danger. His posture, his eyes, even the mood in the room felt casual. If anything, she felt as if he were studying her, really studying her for the first time.
Folding her hands in front of her, she returned his gaze with one of her own. It was easy for him to figure her out, read her better. He could see all of her, her facial ticks to go with her own body movement. Unfortunately, she just had his eyes and body language to rely on. And eyes were sometimes liars.
“It’s just about sex for you, right?” she asked, breaking the silence. “Like-” The words she wanted to say, the question she wanted to ask trapped themselves in her throat. There was no way she’d get an answer that would satisfy her, one way or the other. He didn’t make any movements to indicate some sort of answer.
Fuck it. “I have family, you know?”
He tilted his head to one side and gave a slight nod, acknowledging that he suspected as much.
“An uncle and cousin. They’re pretty rich. Have a lot of resources. If they haven’t figured out I’m missing by now they will soon and they’ll find me.”
He huffed, making her raise her eyebrows.
“You don’t think they will? Or do you plan on killing them if they do?” She didn’t expect an answer from him, but by his casual posture, it was clear he wasn’t worried.
Taking in a deep breath she let it out and looked away for a moment. Exhaling, she turned her attention back to him. Squaring her shoulders, she sat up straighter. “I’d rather you didn’t. Kill or hurt them that is. They’re all I have left. My parents died in a car accident before my fifteenth birthday,” the words surprised both of them. She hadn’t planned on telling him that, telling him anything about her family. He tilted his head to one side as his eyes moved down to her stomach, although he couldn’t see it since it was hidden under the table and her shirt. She gulped and then sighed. “You probably don’t care to know, I mean, why would you. But-” Her stomach filled with butterflies at his blatant stare.
“Do you-” she paused, tapping her pencil on the notebook. She shifted her gaze for a moment to the table then finally looked at him. If he didn’t like them why did he touch her so much? Why did he seem to give her the impression he didn’t care. “Do they bother you too?”
He raised his head up slightly then tilted it.
She had no idea what that meant. Yes? She let out a sigh. But of course, it did. “Brandon didn’t like them either,” she muttered. The tension that had built up from the day, paired with his clear dislike of what was a part of her, made her tap the pencil on the book even faster. “Like, I don’t get it,” she said. The pencil flew out of her hand, hitting the far wall as she lost control of it. She slammed her hands on the dining room table as she stood up and leaned forward to glare at him.“Is it because I’m not this flawless Venus you guys imagine? Shit happened I had no control over. You’re okay with these,” she pointed to the nicks he’d made. “But not with that? Is it because you didn’t make them?” She leaned back, gesturing at her stomach.
No answer, no movement.
“Well, get used to them. They’re not going anywhere. Unless you want me to wear more clothes. Which, is fine.” She plopped back down and reached for the pencil only to realize it was somewhere on the ground far away from her. Fuck! She crossed her arms in frustration. She wanted to break something. It wasn’t fine. Her eyes burned and her throat ached. Gods, she couldn’t cry in front of him. But it was so frustrating.
She quickly stood up, the sound of the chair scraping the wood floor was loud as her emotions made it impossible for her to control her movements. She grabbed the only glass in the cupboard and turned on the faucet. With nowhere to escape, nowhere to get away and cool off, she felt more trapped than ever. Her mother’s scream came unbidden to her mind. She hated that sound. It always chose the “best” moments to echo in her brain. Apparently, it was “frustrate Gretchen to no end” day. Her practically forgotten nightmare, the uneasy feeling that plagued her the whole day, Michael being late, her being trapped, his now clear rejection of her with the evening clarity, all of it was piling together and she felt as if she was going to burst.
The sound of water spilling over the full glass grounded her enough to turn off the faucet. She took a long drink, and it helped a little in calming her. Setting the glass down, she turned to go back to her seat at the table.
“Shit,” she snapped. He was standing directly behind her. She hadn’t even heard or felt him. She had to lean back a little just to look up at his face. His left hand reached out and he moved it along the corner of her mouth to her bottom lip. “I’m not going to suck your cock today,” she snapped.
His eyes held amusement.
“I can bite, you know,” she added. It wouldn’t be the first time she bit him and he knew that. Which reminded her. She frowned, grabbing his right arm she pulled his sleeve back. “Huh,” she said, turning his arm. There wasn’t even a hint or evidence that she had bitten him. And she’d done it twice, hard. She checked his other arm, just in case she’d remembered the wrong one, but neither held any scar. “Guess that shouldn’t have surprised me either. I’m not like you. My injuries tend to turn into scars.”
She dramatically let his hand go. Maybe she should have gone to sleep before he got back. She was clearly grumpy.
Pushing past him, she walked toward the dining room to pick up her notebook. She just needed a new day. A new day, a new beginning, get control of her emotions.
One of his hands caught her wrist. Before she had a chance to think, she was spun around and promptly pinned against the refrigerator. He grabbed her other arm and pinned both of them over her head.
Shit.
With ease, he used one hand to hold onto her wrist while he traveled the other down her body. She gulped as butterflies fluttered through her. To her surprise, he didn’t touch her breasts. Slipping his hand under her shirt, he places his fingers along her scars, tilting his head to one side, but kept his gaze on her eyes. She automatically sucked in her stomach, but he easily pressed his fingers against her skin, tracing each one.
She couldn’t escape his touch. What was he doing?
“Okay, I get it,” she said softly as she tried to wiggle away. She didn’t get it though. She didn’t get him. His blue eyes focused on hers with an intensity that she didn’t understand.
He let out a sigh as if he was frustrated. Not giving her a chance to protest, he pulled her shirt up over her head, bunching it up over her arms. For a moment, she felt him rub his finger along the side of her right hand, then her shoulder blade, her forearm, and finally he placed his free hand on her chest, tilting his head to one side for a moment.
Fixing his eyes on her again, he moved his hand down to trace each of the bigger scars.
Oh, gods. She stopped fighting, returning his gaze. Oh fuck, we like him, don’t we? No. No! He killed Brandon.
Gretchen looked away and frowned. Brandon. As much as she thought about him, compared him and Michael, she didn’t actually miss him. No, that wasn’t right. She had to miss him. He was her soulmate. But-
“I can’t,” she said, returning to her struggle. It was wrong. She had to get her senses back. She had to feel a loss, a mourning for Brandon. Michael’s grip on her wrists loosened, allowing her to lower them and put her shirt back on. “I can’t,” she said again as she stepped forward and started to walk away.
Miss him. Miss him! Mourn him!
Michael’s hands stopped her again and she let out an exasperated sigh.
Fuck off, Michael. I can’t-
His hand brushed her hair to one side, exposing the back of her neck. His hot breath tickled her skin, then he pressed his lips against it, sending shivers down her spine. She couldn’t help but moan a little bit. It felt good. He grinded his body against hers.
Okay. The word rose up in her throat. Oh great, we’re about to be fucked again. Her pussy tingled at the thought.
His hand traveled along her body, grasping at her with a need.
You win.
She relaxed her shoulders, giving in to his demand, her body’s demand. He huffed, but she was too tired to be annoyed by that. He pressed his nose against her scalp taking in a deep breath. She raised her arms and leaned them back to touch his face. She ran her fingers along his chin, up his cheeks, and felt some of his hair. Firm and- skin?
She jerked her hands off his face while at the same time he pulled back, taking the heat of his body with him. His right hand wrapped around the back of her neck both as a warning and to keep her from turning around quickly. Oh. He had taken off his mask? Wait.
His hand left her neck as she turned to look at him. But his mask was back on. Her stunned surprise and being unable to move or react gave him enough time to put it back on. She cocked her head to one side, narrowing her eyes. He was on guard.
“Do you intend to never let me see your face?” she asked. She didn’t expect an answer though. The moment between them was gone. She waved her hand in the air, partially grateful. She had a lot of thinking to do. Things to figure out. She walked past him and picked up her notebook. The pencil was too far and too much of a hassle to find for now.
“Have a goodnight, Michael,” she muttered, not looking at him.
A hand grab her chin and tilted her head up. Before she had time to think she felt lips press against her own. There was no parting of his lips, no demand for her tongue. It was a simple, but deep kiss. And then, once again, he abruptly turned and disappeared up the stairs. She turned and stilled as her eyes fell on the dining room table. He’d left his knife there.
She picked it up and walked to the kitchen.
-He’s never going to give you what you crave- The thought whispered.
She sighed. “I know. He’s a killer,” she agreed. The knife probably needed cleaning, but she couldn’t do that. She couldn’t clean the instrument of death.
-He left it for a reason. It would be so easy to end yours now. No more fear. No more pain. No more second-guessing. No more confusion. No more heartache. Simply rest.-
Her brow furrowed. Those… those weren’t her thoughts.
She immediately set the knife down and took a step back, holding her notebook close to her. Suicide had never crossed her mind, even during the darkest of times. She was a fighter, a survivor.
-You-
“Nope, nope, nope,” she muttered as she rushed out of the kitchen. She ran up the stairs and didn’t stop her quick pace until she was in her room and closed the door. She didn’t bother to put on her pajamas as she jumped into bed and rolled the covers over her whole body. She didn’t like those new thoughts. She didn’t like them at all.
- 8
- 9
- 10
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Object of Obsession