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the one on the right. On the window of the door the letters read ADMINISTRATOR’S OFFICE. He wasted no time throwing this door open, slamming it against a row of metal file cabinets inside. Doctor Hoffman, startled, gazed up from his payroll reports on his desk and into the virulent eyes of Doctor Loomis.
    To Doctor Hoffman, Doctor Loomis was the sort of person who took his work too seriously; seriously to the extent of becoming obsessed with any patient that managed to trigger off some deep, morbid interest Loomis held within himself. To Hoffman, everyone involved would be better off with this whole Michael Myers business if he had simply perished in the flames ten years ago, even better with Mr. Myers. The only evidence of the fire now was the deep, burn scar that looked like a course of runnels trailing down the right side of Loomis’ face. Some minor attempts at plastic surgery had not managed much visible repair of the disfigurement. And for some reason, the man seemed to age twice as fast as a normal human being. He was a determined man, two—fisted in dialogue and imposing in appearance, however old he sometimes appeared.
    He marched up to Hoffman’s desk and leaned over angrily. His voice was harsh. “Why wasn’t I notified?”
    Hoffman stood his ground. “About what?” “You know damn well about what! You let them take It out of here.”
    “Doctor Loomis. Michael Myers was a federal patient, and a federal prisoner. Therefore, he was subject to federal law.”
    Loomis was furious. “We’re not talking about just another federal prisoner, Hoffman. We’re talking about Evil on two legs !”
    “For chrissake,” Hoffman complained, “spare me the speech. I’ve listened to it for a decade. The fact is that your evil monster has been in a nonreversible coma for ten years and in that coma he will stay until his heart and brain say stop.”
    Loomis stepped backwards. “He’s been waiting ”
    “I’ve said it before…..I think you’re the one who needs mental help. You’re obsessed with this
thing. The staff tells me you stand for hours just looking at him.” He sat up within his chair, leaning forward, as if he were about to rise. “Tell me objectively, Loomis. Is this normal professional medical behavior?”
    “Do you know what today is?” The doctor with the cane shouted. “Do you know the date? Every day I look in the mirror. Every day I remember. I tell you. I don’t want anyone to have to live through that night again.”
    Hoffman let out a fatigued sigh. “I can see this is useless.”
    “Where was he taken?” Loomis demanded. “Smith’s Grove. He’s probably there by now.” “Call!”
    “What….. ?”
    Loomis drew closer to the desk. “Call Smith’s Grove. Set my mind at ease. Fuel your sarcasm. I hope to God I’m wrong about what I feel. Call !”
    Why is this man wasting my time ? Hoffman thought wearily. Why the hell doesn’t this man just take that goddamn cane of his and his goddamn Michael Myers horror stories andjust leave me alone ?
    Oh, what the hell.
    Hoffman picked up the phone to his right and dialed. At last there was silence in the room. If he could only get this over with
    “Yes,” he spoke into the receiver, “this is Doctor Hoffman at Ridgemont. We had a patient transferred there just last night, Michael Myers. That’s right.”
    Loomis  waited, impatient. Suddenly, Hoffman’s face was overcome by a touch of dejection.
    “I see,” Hoffman continued. “All right, thank you.” And he hung up the phone. The room remained silent for a moment, Loomis awaiting the inevitable. Hoffman continued his gaze upon the desk, not looking up, not ashamed that he had been wrong. On the contrary; it was still Loomis that was crazy. It was still Loomis that was wrong . Of course everything was all right. But tell a man like Doctor Loomis that and see if he agrees with you. “They’re two hours overdue. But they don’t feel that it’s a cause for concern