Luke pulled the file from the thick stack and slid it across the desk to Clarice.
He tapped his finger on the name Michael Myers.
"Take a look at this."
Clarice grabbed it, eyes scanning fast. Her face twisted in obvious shock.
"He killed his whole family? That's fucking sick."
She pulled herself together quick and pointed out the obvious hole.
"Luke, he's definitely a monster, but there's nothing in here about any cult."
Luke gave a confident little laugh.
The name alone was enough. What more proof did they need?
Still, he explained.
"Even a born killer doesn't slaughter his own family for no reason."
"That doesn't add up. Something else had to push him."
He paused, then added, "Maybe his family pissed off the cult and that's what started all this."
The theory made sense. Clarice went quiet, thinking it over.
After a moment she shook her head, put the file back, and reached for the next one.
"Your guess is solid, but we can't lock it in on one hunch. We check everyone. It's procedure—and we can't afford to miss anything."
Luke watched her dive back into the mountain of paperwork and gave a quiet nod.
No wonder she could go toe-to-toe with Hannibal in the original story. That kind of calm focus wasn't normal.
"Fine. Your call, Agent."
He sighed and grabbed another file.
For the next few hours the office was nothing but the soft rustle of turning pages.
By the time they finished, the sky outside had gone that dull late-afternoon orange.
"What do you think?" Luke rubbed his burning eyes.
Clarice pinched the bridge of her nose, exhausted.
"You were right. Out of every serious offender in that prison, Michael Myers is the only one whose case fits a cult's pattern."
"Then what are we waiting for? We start with him."
Direction set, they moved fast.
They dug through the station's old newspaper archives and pulled every article from the original case.
One key detail jumped out: Myers had a younger sister who survived.
She'd been sent to a local orphanage afterward.
Clarice called the orphanage immediately.
A few minutes later a fax rolled in with the adoptive family's name and old address.
"Done." Clarice waved the paper.
Luke took it, glanced at the parents' names, and headed straight for the records clerk.
Less than a minute later he was back with a notepad full of fresh details.
"See? Local cops still come in handy."
He shot Clarice a quick wink.
She actually smiled for the first time all day.
No time to waste. They jumped in the car and drove.
The city noise faded behind them as they rolled into a quiet suburban neighborhood.
They stopped in front of a neat white house.
"This is it," Clarice said, checking the address.
They knocked. A middle-aged man in glasses opened the door a cautious crack.
"Can I help you, officers?"
Luke showed his badge.
"Hi. Miami PD. Luke. Is this the Laurie residence?"
Laurie—the name his sister had been given after adoption.
The moment the man heard his daughter's name his eyes went sharp with worry.
"That's right. I'm her adoptive father. Has something happened to her?"
Luke raised both hands, voice calm.
"Relax, sir. Your daughter's fine. But what we're about to tell you… you might want to brace yourself."
He gave the short version—Michael Myers was out, possibly heading this way—leaving out the cult part to avoid total panic.
Even the watered-down story was enough to drain the color from the man's face.
"Laurie just got out of school. She's not home yet. You don't think she's already—"
"Shit."
Luke and Clarice locked eyes. They asked for the school address and bolted for the car.
Clarice floored it.
Luke grabbed the shotgun from the rack and started loading shells one by one.
Clarice glanced over, confused.
"You look tense. Is this Myers guy really that bad?"
Luke didn't look up.
"You read my report. I think he's gonna be just as hard to put down as Edward Gein."
He was already regretting not calling in SWAT.
But he knew the paperwork would take forever. By then it'd be too late.
When they screeched up to the school, the scene was nothing like they expected.
Students were strolling out in small groups, laughing, heading home under the setting sun.
Luke and Clarice slowed down, scanning the crowd.
It didn't take long. They spotted Laurie walking with a friend, chatting and smiling like any normal kid.
Both of them froze.
Where the hell was Myers?
…
At the same time, in a quiet side alley.
A young couple walked arm in arm, lost in their own world.
The girl suddenly tugged her boyfriend's sleeve, eyes lighting up.
"Hey, babe—look. There's a clown doing a show over there."
Deep in the shadows stood a figure in a ridiculous costume, face smeared with crude makeup.
The moment he noticed them watching, he launched into an over-the-top mime routine, arms flailing like a broken puppet.
The boyfriend frowned.
"It's just some clown. Nothing special. Let's go home."
But the girl was hooked.
"We don't have anywhere to be. Come on, let's check it out. It's like doing a good deed."
"He looks lonely standing there all by himself."
The boyfriend gave in with a sigh and followed her over.
The clown's painted smile stretched wider, almost painful to look at.
He pulled a long balloon from his pocket, twisted it into a little dog in seconds, and handed it to the girl.
She took it with a happy squeal. The boyfriend relaxed a little—guy seemed harmless enough.
That's when the clown's smile vanished.
Without a sound he yanked a knife from his coat and drove it straight into the boyfriend's stomach.
Thump.
Blood sprayed. The kid dropped, choking on red.
"No!"
The girl's scream ripped through the alley.
The clown was already on her, stabbing again and again until she went still.
He looked down at the two bodies, satisfied, and started dragging them toward the shadows.
Then a tall figure stepped out behind him.
The clown froze. Slowly turned.
"Myers. What the fuck are you doing here?"
"This is my territory. Get lost."
"Ah..."