My screams echoed in the darkness, the sound filled with agony. Begging. Pleading. But it never stopped, and finally I broke. "What about now Dean? Want to take a turn?" His eyes flashed black, his face contorted into a terrifying smile.
"Yes."
"Dean? Dean?" like a rubber band, I snapped back to reality.
"I'm here Sammy." I know I scared him when I blanked out like that. When I remember hell, when I'm brought back to those moments it feels like I'm still in there. And when I finally took my turn torturing those souls on the racks, I enjoyed it. I loved the thrill of ripping apart their souls, tearing their will apart. I guess it's not too hard to believe, the infamous Dean Winchester is a sadist. I'm a hunter, I kill for a living.
"So, what's our next job?" We just finished up with a poltergeist, nasty thing. It was haunting the home it was murdered in, and decided to get revenge by killing the firstborn child of every family that moved in. So of course, I almost died, again.
"There has been reports of 10 missing in the last two weeks, could be anything."
"Lets go."
POV
"One way to Bayfield, Wisconsin please." The teller gave me an odd look, his eyes questioning. I don't understand what's so bloody odd about a twenty year old wanting to go somewhere. Maybe I should have just apparated, then I could avoid it. But then I wouldn't get to see everything.
He handed over the ticket, and I left with a polite 'thank you'. Merlin, it was crowded! Businessmen rushed their way through the station with their briefcases in tow; mothers gripped their children's hands as they hastily made their way through the terminal. It's amazing to me how fast these people go, never stopping, never slowing. What kind of life is that? Where you never get to stop and smell the roses, or just watch the sun rise on a clear morning.
With one last look at the crowds rushing about, I made my way to the terminal where my train was due. The line to board wasn't very long, a small town like Bayfield won't see many commuters; one of the reasons I picked it. A small, boring, town. No surprises, no mass murders, no nothing. It was perfect.
The train ride there was spectacular, at least for someone like me. It was calm, peaceful, and beautiful. Something as simple as the wide-open fields was truly stunning to someone so used to the manicured lawns of privet drive. It was completely natural, so unlike the harshness of the perfect suburban homes.
When I finally arrived, it was exactly the type of town I imagined. The kind of town where everyone knew everyone. As I stepped off the train, my eyes scanned the few stragglers hanging out by the station. My agent was supposed to meet me here and help me settle in. Finally, I set eyes on a rather business like woman, her hair harshly tied up, and clothes pressed and sharp. She must have seen me as well, because she made a beeline for me, her pointy heels clicking across the pavement.
We had sent pictures of ourselves to recognize each other. She reminded me somewhat of professor McGonagall, both women were the type to demand respect. What you saw was what you got, the perfect type of person for me. I was so frustrated with all of the manipulating, all of the secrets and hidden agendas. For once I wanted someone straightforward, someone who got down to business. The agent, Ms. Jenkins, had helped me find a house, and told me exactly what to expect. No surprises. I had bought a nice house on the outskirts of town.
"Mr. Black I presume?"
"Yes, and you must be Ms. Jenkins. It is a pleasure to finally meet you in person." She flashed me a genuine smile, something I could tell was unusual for her.
"It is a pleasure to meet you as well. You said you were twenty years old? I must say, I'm rather astounded by how polite you are. These days boys your age seem to think it's perfectly acceptable to be rude ands disrespectful. This is a rather nice change of pace." I didn't quite know what to say to that. The manners were drilled in me before I could even walk. 'Yes ma'am', 'May I take your coat?'
When I was first starting school, back in primary, it amazed me how rude one of the boys was to his mom. He would stomp out of the car, yell at her, and walk off without even saying goodbye. She would just drive away; she didn't say anything to the boy, just drove off. I couldn't believe what I saw that day. If I had a real mom, if she was still alive, I would be so polite to her. My mom would tell all of the other parents how nice and clever her baby boy was.
"Right this way mister Black, would you like to take a tour of the town? Or would you rather go right to your house?"
"Please, call me Harry. I think we could just go right to the house if you don't mind, I'd like to do the exploring once I'm unpacked." I could tell that this was what she wanted to hear, because her face brightened and eyes lit up.
"Responsible too! My you are quite refreshing!" We approached a modest sedan type car. It was shiny and a sleek black, but not overly flashy. I started towards where the passenger seat would be, but was interrupted.
"I'm going to drive if that's alright with you." Surprised I stopped and took a minute to realize what was going on. In England, the cars drive on the left side of the road, and the driver's side is on the right. In America it was the opposite. I blushed a bright red, and quickly walked around to the other side.
The ride wasn't long, a mere fifteen minutes from the station. However, it seemed to last forever. Ms. Jenkins was not a friendly woman, in fact she came off as rather cold. The journey was filled with an awkward silence, which was occasionally interrupted by a polite question from me followed by a quick, to-the-point answer from her. I could tell she was curious why I had no luggage, but she never asked. The truth is I only had a few things, and they were all stashed away in my coat. I didn't need anything else.
We finally pulled up to a modest one-story house. It was nothing special, but to me this house meant a new start. A place I could call my own, where no one else would ever get to tell me what to do or use me for their own selfish goals.
With a quick goodbye, the agent pulled away, leaving me with a set of keys and a number to call if I had any questions. I preferred it this way. This was something I had to do on my own, I'm done relying on other people, because the sad truth is that they only betray me in the end. That's what they all did. I did what they wanted, killed the man that killed so many. And then what did they do? They called me a monster, told me I deserved to go to Azkaban. I did what they wanted, and they betrayed me, turned their backs on me like everyone else.
The house itself was nothing amazing to look at. It's wooden exterior was painted a faded blue, its floors groaned when you took a step, and the doors all squeaked when you creaked them open. But it was home. It was my home and no one would ever take it from me.
My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a sharp knock at the door. My instincts were telling me that something was wrong, but that was impossible. No one knew where I was; I had made sure of it. The goblins erased any paper trail, sealed up all the records. There was no way someone from across the pond had followed me here. So who was knocking at my door?
Quietly I crept up to the door, my hand gripped my wand, my knuckles white. Slowly I opened the door, and was met with the sight of a family holding up a pie, their two children fighting in the background. I inwardly sighed in relief, and let go of my wand.
"Hi! You must be our new neighbor, welcome to Bayfield! Home of the largest cheese wheel..." The bubbly woman just kept talking, going on about all these random facts and statistics about cheese. Her husband just stood their, his own annoyance clear on his face. When she finally finished she just looked at me, seemingly waiting for me to say something.
"Hello, my name is Harry Black, its nice to see a friendly face around here. This is my first time in America, and I must admit I'm rather nervous." The woman instantly adopted a look of sympathy, and proceeded to name all the facts about America she could think of. This was going to be a long day. Thankfully, her husband cut her off and mentioned some appointment she was late for. With one more fact about someone named Justin Belber, the family piled into their car and sped off.
Of course no one followed me here, the mere thought was ridiculous. If I was truly going to have a fresh start, I needed to stop over-reacting. If someone rings the doorbell, it does not mean the death eaters are standing at my front door with their wands out ready to kill me. It could just be a nice family with a homemade pie, who drove here in their normal minivan.
The house was already furnished, with furniture, and electronics. I even had the kitchen stocked. Today I was going to just relax, and not worry about anything. Tomorrow I would see about getting a job, a car, and just start fitting in to the small town.
About an hour later, the doorbell rang again. At first I grabbed my wand, but then I reminded myself that it was just another family with a pie and a minivan. So I ignored my instincts and put on my best smile and opened the door.
Standing at my front door was a group of about five people. They were all young, around my age give or take a few years. Immediately I sensed something off about them. With my senses on high alert, I introduced myself.
"Hello, my name is Harry Black, may I ask what you are doing here?" The woman in front smiled, her teeth a gleaming white.
"Hello Harry, were just here to welcome you. We saw you back at the train station, and figured we'd just come and say hello." Her answer seemed genuine, and I relaxed.
"Well hello then, is there anything I can do for you, I do have to finish unpacking." Before the woman answered, she looked around. I'm not quite sure why, considering no one else was around and the scenery wasn't very interesting.
"Actually Harry, there is a little something you could do for us. Can we have some blood?" Wait what? Before I could even process what she said, the man beside her brought his fist back and landed a solid blow to my head. My last fleeting thought was along the lines of 'bloody hell', before I fell to the floor and lost consciousness.