A/N: I'm re-watching Criminal Minds, and I'm coming up on '100'. Ladies and gentlemen (and everybody else), prepare the tissues and pick out a black outfit.

You and Michael headed out for the morgue around seven thirty P.M. No one was out. Not even the rebellious teenage hoodlums were out spray-painting anarchy symbols on buildings. Did Haddonfield even have rebellious teenage hoodlums? Either way, you and Michael managed to make it to the long stretch of road leading out of town without seeing anyone. No cars, no people, not even any dogs (which wasn't good in Michael's case).

Once you reached the road and were well past the 'Welcome to Haddonfield' sign, you asked Michael a question. It had been itching at you since you learned that she died.

"Why do you hate Laurie so much?"

Michael stopped dead in his tracks and grunted. He pulled out his trusty pad and paper, and began to write.

"So, it's out of spite."

"That doesn't answer my first question, though. Why do you hate her?"

"But, she has a family. You have a niece!"

"Well, what'd she do? Murder somebody?"

"...Oh."

"Ask away."

"I- that's ridiculous! I don't hate them, I just-"

"No! I can't lose anybody else, I just can't!"

You paused for a moment, willing your emotions to lock themselves in a basement and wither away with the rest of the fruit that you were never going to eat.

"It's like they don't even miss them. My uncle didn't even seem that upset at the funeral. I just-- I don't understand how you can know someone your whole life, and then not even cry when you learn that they're dead. And, they don't even have anything to remember my parents by. There's no pictures of my uncle and my dad, or of all of us, or anything. It's like they never existed."

"That's an understatement. The only person who consoled me at the funeral was a poor nun, and she seemed like she just wanted me to be quite."

"They're in a different state. I moved here, remember?"

"No."

Silence. You still couldn't see the morgue. It had to be at least another two miles up the road.

"In two days."

A/N: For the sake of the plot, your birthday is now October 20th.

___________________

"Excuse me?" You walked through the doors of the morgue just as the pathologist gathered up his things.

"How can I help you, young miss?" He asked.

"Well, I was at a party in Russellville, and my friend, who was supposed to drive me home, fell asleep. I was wondering if maybe I could have a ride back to Haddonfield?" You fidgeted with your hands, figuring that 'Go big or go home' applied here. Might as fake it until you make it.

The pathologist considered for a second. "Well, what time is it? Do your parents know that you're out?" He asked.

"They said to be back by eleven. It's ten right now, and there's no way I'd make it home on foot by eleven. Plus, there's been some... events, in Haddonfield. I don't really want to be the next one to die."

"Well, that's reasonable. I'll drop you off just outside of the town, since I live on the other side of Russellville. You think you'll be alright there?"

"Oh, yeah. I only live, like, five minutes from the edge of town."

"Okay, then. Come on, miss. My truck's out back."

You followed the pathologist out the door, and saw Michael's head peeking out from the trees across the street. You gave him a thumbs up, and he nodded, showing you that he understood.

You knew hitch-hiking was dangerous. You knew accepting a ride from someone you don't know is dangerous. The only reason you were doing it was because Michael's words bounced around in your head like small children in a bouncy house.

"Says who?"

"Okay, but you don't tell me what to do."

"And if I were to still refuse to go with you, what would The Boogeyman do?"

You were doing it so you didn't lose the only family you had left. Well, the only family you enjoyed. Michael's presence wasn't exactly what you'd call 'friendly' or 'someone you could trust'.

___________________

"Thank you so much!" You called to the pathologist as he dropped you off at the 'Welcome to Haddonfield' sign.

"Yep. Be safe, kid. I don't want to have to work on another kid for the rest of my life." He rolled up the window and drove away, heading home.

You glanced at your phone. The drive had taken almost an hour. You needed to get home in five minutes, or you were grass and your aunt and uncle were going to mow it.

You never ran faster in your life. Your legs begged you to stop, but you refused. Your lungs gasped for air, but your wouldn't let them breath. Your eyes stung in the cold wind, but you refused to stop and wipe them. You had your priorities in order, and they were going to determine your fate.

You slammed the front door closed just as Aunt A/N and Uncle U/N's car pulled into the driveway. In that moment, knowing that you were sweating bullets and breathing like a madman, you did the only logical thing.

Take a shower.

___________________

"Y/N, come here." Aunt A/N sounded unhappy as you exited your room.

"What's up?" You asked, leaning against the wall.

"Why is there insulation on the floor? We told you not to go up into the attic."

Your heart dropped. Michael had brushed the insulation and dust onto the floor, but you had forgotten to clean it up.

"I, uh-"

"Hang on, there's a hair." Aunt A/N bent down to pick it up.

Well, now you were really screwed. You and Michael had completely different hair colors, especially since he put the mask on while he was up in the attic.

"Y/N, why is there an orange hair here? Who did you have over?" She demanded.

"Oh, leave the girl alone. She's in high-school, she's going to sneak people over every now and then. I remember when we were in high school, you had me sneak out so much-"

"Can it, U/N. Y/N, you're grounded."

"What?" You cried. "But, I didn't do anything wrong!"

"You're too young to have a boyfriend. Give me your phone."

"But-"

"Y/N."

"I didn't-"

"Now."

Every adult on the planet has a certain tone they use when the message they want to portray is 'Don't argue with me, or I'll introduce you to Old Sparky'. You had heard your mother use it plenty of times, but never your aunt.

Almost in a trance-like state, you reached into your pocket and grabbed your phone.

"You'll get this back on your birthday. Consider it a gift. Now, go to bed. I don't want to see you until morning."

You'd rather have her believe that you had a boyfriend rather than the truth, but now, you were faced with a problem. If Michael somehow found out about what she just said, she was dead. Caputski. Non-animatus Corpus.

Sometimes, you wished that it had been your aunt and uncle and not your mom and dad in that car.

A/N: Caputski is a word from my sister. It means dead, and presumably has to do with 'head', as Caput is head in Latin. Non-animatus corpus is 'not-animated body', so dead.