Crossroads
Prologue
Lawrence, Kan., Jan. 24, 1979
The middle of the night, and the hospital was quiet. That didn't mean the maternity ward wasn't busy. No one noticed the man slip into the nursery, as he'd managed to create a distraction for the nurse who was supposed to be watching over the newborns. He didn't harm her, what was coming would be damage enough. He smiled at that thought, making his way to two of the infants sleeping in beds next to one another in the nursery, which was empty, save for himself, and the two babies.
The newborns, infant twin boys, belonging to one Mary Winchester. Her children were only a few hours old, and he had every intention of honoring his deal with the former hunter. Her deal would be up in four years, and Azazel was a patient creature. Unfortunately for Mary, that didn't mean he couldn't be creative. He had plans for all her children, even the one not born yet, the one he was truly waiting on, but the advent of twins was something he hadn't counted on. A newly-made deal called for a child, and Mary Winchester's firstborn would do nicely. Azazel picked up the baby, who didn't wake. As quickly as he'd appeared, the demon disappeared.
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Chapter 1—Purge
Tom Hanniger wakes with a start. Sitting up, he slows his breathing, trying not to hyperventilate. Looking around, he can recognize he's in a hospital room, but where, that's the kicker. He doesn't know the day or date, and it really doesn't matter. What does is the fact he's alive, when he shouldn't be. Looking down at the bandages on each arm, wrapped in gauze and tape from wrist to elbow on the left and just the wrist on the right, he knows he tried what he hadn't in a long time.
Throwing the blanket off and setting his call light aside, standing on unsteady legs, he makes it into the bathroom, turning on the water, splashing his face. Maybe the past few days, what he remembers, has all been a nightmare. Looking at his reflection, he thinks maybe he's right, and sighs with relief, towling off his face. But then, for an instant, his eyes go black, and he starts screaming.
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Day two in the hospital, and he knows he's somewhere in Kansas, after waking up from the Haldol/Ativan cocktail the nurses gave him after he broke the mirror in his room. He's having a one on one session with his attending physician, always a fun time. He lies to the doctor. That's easy, almost second nature. Yes, he's backsliding due to the death of his father, the stress of returning home for the first time in almost a decade, and dealing with the mess of his late father's estate. Except the doctor isn't completely buying it.
"Mr. Hanniger, your cooperation is appreciated, but. . ."
"Call me Tom," he said, cutting off the doctor.
"All right, Tom, let's start over. You just inherited a substantial amount of money, and closed a chapter of your life. Most people would be relieved to have that kind of closure, but you still obviously have issues to work through," Dr. Muniz said.
"Yeah, I know I have daddy issues I'm probably never going to resolve," Tom answered. "My father was a decent man until my mother died a few days before my 10th birthday. How's that not gonna leave a mark on a kid? That birthday was the last time he ever showed me real affection. After that, he started drinking, telling me it was my fault my mother was gone. He told me that every day until I left."
"How did your mother die?"
"She died in a fire," Tom said. "That's all I know."
"An accident, and yet your father blamed you. Tom, it wasn't your fault," Dr. Muniz said.
"He convinced himself it was my fault, along with everything else," Tom said.
"Would you like to elaborate?" the doctor asked.
"Not really," Tom said.
"You know we can only hold you another 24 hours, given your past history, I'd recommend staying on a few more days, or going to stay with a friend or family," Dr. Muniz said.
"Not an option," Tom said. "There isn't anyone I can to go or want to stay with."
"You're certain?"
"I'm not going back home, because that place is filled with bad memories," Tom said. "I've got a few job prospects in Arizona if that helps. Are we done now? I'd like to get some rest."
The doctor dismisses him, and Tom can't get to his room fast enough. The police were kind enough to bring him his duffel, so he has clean clothes, and he also has the keys to his Bronco. The hospital is small, and the staff is trusting he won't sneak out, especially in his condition. He's going to leave while he's still in control, and he has a chance.
Fifteen minutes later, he's pulling out of the parking lot, and he doesn't look back. He heads north, on Highway 83. It's the opposite of where he said he was going, and he has cash, enough to last a while before he has to access one of his accounts. The past year, before going home, he'd worked for a drilling company, going from place to place helping drill for oil. They paid in cash, didn't ask questions, and he'd managed to save most of his money. It was probably his longest stretch out of a mental institution.
Then everything went to hell with the call from his father's lawyer, saying the bastard had finally died, and he needed to come home and settle his affairs. Everyone always expected him to inherit the mine, but he'd only inherited a 25 percent share, and the house his father owned. He'd arranged to sell the house, and his stake in the mine to the workers who were still holding on, and it still wasn't enough.
Then there was Axel, and Sarah, and the whole thing in the mine. He remembered most of it, including the part where Axel's eyes turned black, and that was when Tom knew Axel was the one who killed everyone this time, or the thing inside Axel, the thing that was now inside him. No one would believe him this time if he tried telling them what was going on, but how could he explain it when he didn't understand? He'd spent so much time trying to convince himself the things he saw weren't real, it was just the PTSD from the mine accident 10 years prior, the accident his father blamed him for, and what the doctors had diagnosed as schizophrenia.
His father, the late, not to be lamented Wayne Hanniger, had let his own son be the scapegoat for his negligence. It was just one more blow, another, more damning form of abuse, except one where he didn't have to lay a hand on his son, and the rest was history. Tom's plans of college, a career, a family, all gone. He hoped his father was happy, and roasting in hell.
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Three days later, he's in Minot, North Dakota, stopping to find a diner for something to eat. Except he never makes it inside. Two burly men block the door.
"I don't want trouble," Tom said.
"Winchester, you've got a lot to answer for," one says.
"I think you've got me mistaken for someone else," Tom answers.
"Where's Sammy? Hiding him someplace safe?" the other asks.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Tom replies.
"Like hell."
And then Tom feels himself being pushed back inside his own head, watches as something else moves his body, breaking the neck of the first man as if he's nothing. He screams, knowing nothing is coming out of his mouth as he grabs the second man, smashing his head against the wall until he's dead. Dropping the man's limp form, he turns around, gets back in the Bronco, helpless, a prisoner in his own body.