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"Samuel Winchester? Or is it Anthony Lidgecline, I'm a little confused." The manila folder slapped down onto the desk. It was everything They knew about the Winchester brothers but it wasn't nearly enough for Michael Golding's liking.
Sam didn't look up from where he was sitting, staring at the cold hard metal table. He had changed from the young, carefree man that smiled up from the photographs in his file. This was a hard, harsh man with eyes that had killed and were pretending not to care. They were dead eyes.
"We wouldn't want that now would we?" The voice had changed as well, it was husky, it no longer held the kindness and laughter that could be seen in the previous interview tapes.
But those tapes were old, going on a year old.
Mike sat, straightening his tie as he did. He wanted this kid as calm as possible. "Look Sam, we know what Dean was like, We're trying to help you here."
Sam's mouth tightened at the mention of his brother but he gave no other sign that he was even listening to what Mike was saying. He continued to stare down at the hard plastic table that he was chained to.
This isn't what the other interview tapes had shown. He had been cooperative with the police, nice and easy going but now it was like talking to a brick wall, an angry brick wall.
"So... Let's move onto the questions shall we?"
Yet again, no answer.
"Your numerous encounters with death, how do you two do it? You both died well over four months ago. In a gas explosion at a police station. But obviously thats not what happened. You killed four innocents in that fire. Dean got shot in St. Louis,he was buried there and I have witnesses to his murder. You disappeared. You two pulled the greatest Houdini act I've ever heard of."
The temperature in the room dropped. Mike shivered and pulled his coat tighter around his chest, the air conditioning was faulty yet again.
"You both are on trial as serial killers but what I can't figure out, what the rest of the enforcement world can't figure out is the way you pick your victims. I mean Dean, we had him pinned to the ladies but then we come up with an old couple on Christmas Eve, impaled on their own Christmas tree, we have a link to you there, and those bodies down in the basement. Damn I was nearly sick just looking at the photographs. And then things get even weirder, because when we tested that crime scene we found your fingernail and both you and your brother's blood. That's just sick."
Sam's chair creaked as he sat forward, seeming intent on the table.
"We know what he did to you Sam, he pulled tortured you in ways that I can't imagine. I don't know what it was like, what bullshit he fed you to keep you at his side every damn day. Butr all we need to know is where he is." Mike leaned forward, his pen tapping impatiently on his pad.
The details had been fuzzy they always were with these two brothers Dean and Sam never went anywhere without each other but the hotel had checked up clean, so had the car. Dean had been careful, methodical. He must have known the police were searching for two brothers and had checked into a separate motel.
"You think he's going to ride in through that door to save you? That's not going to happen Sam, if he comes anywhere near this place I've given orders to shoot on sight."
Sam's eyes flickered to the opposing man's face and Mike had the sudden urge to scoot his chair back a few inches. Anger was evident in those eyes, anger, and an emptiness that Mike didn't really understand.
The detective looked away and opened the file that had lain untouched on the table. The first documents were mainly photos of the two brothers and the police records dating back to when Dean was at least fourteen years old. It seemed the boys had started their crime life early.
"Okay, ninety-six known counts of identity theft, eleven homicides, five conspiracy to murder charges, twenty-one counts of breaking and entering, nine thefts, thirty four charges of obstruction of justice, one hundred and sixty eight counts of credit card fraud. Thirty nine grave desecrations, two charges of public indecency, one ticket for driving under the influence. That's quite a resume Sammy."
Sam's hand slammed down on the table, but Mike didn't flinch.
"Don't ever call me Sammy."
"Tell me where your brother is."
"He's dead." The answer was spat out fast, furiously as if the words caused him pain.
Mike sighed, he would give anything to just get rid of these boys, have them safely locked up in whatever madhouse would take them. "Right. And let me guess, he's buried far, far away. Just give us a motel, an address, and we'll get you a five year sentence for cooperation."
And then the world seemed to tip. Darkness leeched into Sam's eyes. The room had gone to the point of freezing and Michael had the sudden urge to run for the door. But the college kid was gone now there was a monster sitting in the interrogation room, a monster with black holes for eyes.
"LET ME OUT OF THIS ROOM."
Michael blinked, his whole body tensing, he wanted to obey that call, wanted to leap from his chair and drive Sam to the airport himself. He half rose from his chair, his leg hitting the table with a bang.
A sudden click resounded in his ear and the mike from his partner in the other room was turned on. "Mike, what the hell is going on in there?"
Michael blinked and shook his head like a dog. He felt his head clearing and his thoughts rioted like mad dogs latching on to the scent of blood. What the hell?
He had just enough time to get out of the chair before Sam's voice beat him on to his knees.
"YOU MOCK MY BROTHER? WE DID NOTHING BUT SAVE YOUR ASS AND NOW HE'S DEAD, FUCK WITH ME AND I'LL CRUSH YOUR BRAIN IN YOUR SKULL. "
Mike writhed on the floor, his head was on fire, every particle in his being was being flayed by white hot whips. Barbs seemed to be digging into his eye sockets and slowly pulling his heart out of his mouth.
"Shit I think he's having a seizure! Mike, can ya' hear me buddy? We're coming in. Stay calm okay?"
Blindness had set in through the pain, Michael dug his shoulder blades into the floor, every muscle in his body was being stretched and torn. Screams just cost him the precious oxygen he needed and his jaw was clenched to tight anyway.
And still the madman sat in his chair, even in the colorful haze Mike could feel him, his black eyes finding a way into his very soul.
"DO YOU KNOW WHAT IT'S LIKE TO LOSE A BROTHER? YOU SIT IN THIS ROOM PREACHING YOUR HYPOCRITICAL RULES, WE SAVE MORE PEOPLE IN ONE DAY THAN YOU SAVE IN A YEAR. YOU'RE A FAT OLD LONELY BASTARD IN AN UNFULFILLING JOB-"
"The door's jammed, Chris, get a fucking sledge hammer and break it down. I don't care-"
"ARE YOU A RELIGEOUS MAN 'MIKE'? ANSWER ME."
Mike's mouth seemed to free up for a second and he choked out an answer. "Yes."
There was a dim sound of a chair sliding back. Metal popped and a pair of handcuffs clattered to the floor.
"What the shit is he doing? Goddammit move over, the prisoner's gotten free."
Sam knelt by the cop. The black bleeding out of his eyes. "Then you'll understand that killing is a sin."
The pain was going away Mike lay gasping on the hard floor.
"We've got a friggin' bible freak in there. I can hear him on the Mike and he's gone psycho. Get some live ammunition. I'm taking this cocksucker down myself."
"Has anyone ever died for you, would you have died for anyone? Have you ever been stuck in a crazy eights cycle of sacrifice?"
Tears were soaking into Mike's collar and he wasn't the one crying. Sam's face was crinkled and Michael sudden;y knew that the pain that he had just gone through was just a fraction of what this kid was feeling.
Sam shook his head, one hand was buried in Mike's coat, the other one had gotten hold of Mike's gun.
Mike's mind seemed to be engulfed by Sam's emotions. He knew the man's plan.
"Don't-" he coughed, his lungs heaving from even the smallest sound, but he just couldn't let this happen. "Don't"
Sam looked down, green/brown eyes brighter than anything Mike had ever seen before.
"Don't worry, I'm not going to kill anyone."
Michael shook his head wearily, trying to stay conscious. "They're goin' t' kill you."
"That's the point isn't it?"
"No... You don't-"
"GO TO SLEEP."
Beep, Beep, Beep, Beep, Beep.
Oh, God that familiar sound. He'd done enough hospital shifts to intimately know that sound. He opened his eyes to the unlovely image of his partner's face.
"Jeezus, you scared the hell out of us Mikey."
"Jimmy, damn. What happened?"
"You had a seizure buddy. Doctor's say it's an anomaly. No history, but whatever you had you had it bad, you're heart nearly exploded in your chest." Jimmy clenched a fist and then flung his finger's outward to illustrate his words.
"Right.... Where's the kid?"
"You mean the mass murdering satanic freak show? He's dead."
"Damn..."
"You alright in the head? That's god news, less money spent on his transportation, do you know, we'd have to fill out a whole lot more paperwork if he'd lived? I think we just saved us some trees."
"Which your kids seemed to have wasted on cards."
Jimmy looked around the room sheepishly, badly drawn cartoons of police cars and lumpy animals were on every available surface.
"What can I say, you do bring them gifts every time you visit."
"Yeah, my own kids seem to have neglected me."
"No they're just waiting downstairs. I just think they're a little old to draw animals that look like amoeba. In fact I better go tell them you're awake. They haven't slept in weeks."
"Weeks?"
"Oh, right, well, you were out like a light for a long time, buddy. Almost a month."
"You're fucking with me."
"I kid you not. Personally I wanted to take the feeding tube out." He ducked as a glass of water came spinning toward him.
Mike stopped laughing and watched his old friend. "Jimmy?"
Jimmy's smile never went away but he looked up at Mike's tone of voice. "Yeah?"
"Who shot the kid?"
"We tried to, but our guns jammed. Standard issue guns all went back for a checkup. Anyway, he didn't shoot anyone, just ran off into the sunset. Found his gun by the Miller's bridge, one shot fired. Footprint's on the railing."
"You go to his funeral?"
"Yep, had to, I mean in case his brother showed up an' all. A lot a people came just to spit on his grave, I think the grass in that area is pretty well fertilized."
"Do you think he deserved it?"
"Hell's yeah. You think he didn't?"
"He was just a kid."
"Yeah And I'm just a harmless old man."
"Anyway, your wife is coming up so I'd get presentable. Anyway, there's no use talking about someone whose already long gone. I mean we couldn't even find his body which make me think he's still out there somewhere. Sick son of a bitch just can't seem to die."
So yeah, I know most of this story makes no sense but what the hell... I felt like writing it... Review anyone?