Echoes of Hell

Chapter 1

He stood unmoving, his head bowed over the metal tray staring at the various implements. Slowly he reached out a trembling hand, picking up the straight razor. His green eyes watched the glint of the shining metal as he rotated his wrist examining the blade. Lowering his hand, he cast fearful glances around him, his heart pounding in his chest as he swallowed back the bile that rose in his throat. He couldn't believe he was about to do this.

He flinched as a loud clanking filled the room followed by a steady grinding whine. He looked up; the machine had been set in motion. His hand gripped the handle of the straight razor tightly, his body vibrating as the grinding came to a halt. His eyes blurred with unshed tears, as he waited for his victim to descend from the infinite darkness above. As she was lowered slowly into place, his gaze dropped to the floor. He refused to look into the terrified face before him. The guilt was almost too much to bear.

The chink of metal on metal echoed through the room as the pins dropped into place; restraining his victim to the table. His stomach rolled violently as he took a shaky breath, his eyes locked on the razor in his hand. The smell of his victim's fear overpowered the stench of old blood and charred flesh that he had become all too familiar with. He sensed the other before he felt the hand clasp his shoulder. He stiffened, and waited.

He could feel the heat of the man's breath as he whispered; could smell the stench of death in his stale breath. "Well, I guess its time to prove yourself," the man rasped into his ear.

He felt the coolness as the hand left his shoulder; still he didn't move. He didn't look up as he awaited instructions.

"Today, I think we'll do a little flay and fillet. What do you think son?" The other spoke silkily.

He choked on a gasp, trying to maintain his disgust with himself. Sweat beaded on his forehead, as he raised his head, horror in his eyes, "I…I don't think…"He felt his stomach churn, he wasn't sure he could do this.

The other man chuckled deep in his throat, "Come now, do you need me to show you? I would think you would be very familiar with this particular technique."

Scrubbing a hand across his stubbled face, he stepped forward towards the table. "Flay…," he whispered.

He ran the tip of a finger across the thin blade of the razor, watching as a line of blood rose to the surface. He raised his head to the body on the table, keeping his eyes away from the face. He couldn't look at the face. He could not bear the look of fear and accusation in their eyes. He inhaled deeply, and straightened his frame. He had no choice, this was better than the alternative.

He walked to the end of the table, and stared at the foot in front of him. He carefully sliced into the skin. A blood-curdling scream came from the girl on the table as he slowly peeled back the flesh to exposing the blood and meat beneath.

Dean Winchester woke abruptly, a shout dying on his lips. His hands fisted in the motel blankets, the sheets drenched in sweat. He turned his head to the bed across from him; Sam's breathing was steady, as he snored lightly. Dean sat up, and buried his face in his hands, pushing the nightmarish memory from his mind.

Sam woke suddenly, the smell of fresh brewed coffee filling the room. He brushed a hand sleepily across his eyes peering at the illuminated clock resting on his nightstand. Raising himself up on one elbow, he looked over his shoulder; he could see a silhouette in the darkness, leaning against the counter.

"D'n?" he mumbled.

"Go back to sleep," Dean replied quietly.

"What are you doing up at twenty after two?" Sam watched the silhouette of his brother as he shifted, raising the mug to his mouth. "Dean?"

Dean lowered the mug, "I couldn't sleep."

Sam nodded, as his eyes adjusted to the dark. "And you think coffee is gonna help?"

"Yeah well. I figured I was up anyway."

Sam sat up, pushing the blankets away, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, Sam. Just go back to sleep ok?"

Sam stood up, stretching as he walked across the room and turned on the light. Both men squinted as the light filled the room, chasing away the shadows.

"Dean," Sam began as his eyes adjusted to the light. "You look like crap."

Dean shrugged his shoulders, his gaze focused on the wall.

"You got to get some sleep," Sam pushed; Dean's face was gaunt and pale, the dark circles beneath his eyes standing out. His green eyes were dull, and he needed sleep. "C'mon, Dean. You haven't slept more than a few hours at a time in a week. You need to get some…"

"I'm fine," Dean cut him off.

"Hey, it's your job to keep my ass alive, so I need you sharp." Sam responded, unconsciously repeating words Dean had said to him a lifetime ago.

Sam moved to his bed, reaching underneath he pulled out his duffle. Dean watched him as he rummaged through the bag, "What are you looking for?"

Sam raised his head, pulling a small bottle from the bag, "Take one of these," he said striding across the room. "Bobby gave 'em to me."

"What the hell are they?" Dean took the bottle from Sam, reading the label. "Sleeping pills?"

"Yeah, I uh…"

"You want me to pop pills to sleep?" Dean asked incredulously. "What do you suppose would happen if I take them and we get attacked or something?"

"Dean," Sam sighed. "It's better than drinking yourself into a stupor…Besides you don't need to take them all the time. Actually it's best if you don't…We're done the job, and nothing is lined up…"

"So you want me doped up?"

"No, I want you to get one night of good sleep. One night without the nightmares waking you…"

Dean looked into Sam's hazel eyes, sensing his anxiety, "Sam, I don't need these."

"Yes you do. In the past week, you slept what ten, fifteen hours? In a whole week, Dean. It's not healthy."

"I'm not taking them," Dean slammed the bottle on the counter beside him.

"Fine, don't," Sam exclaimed in frustration. "But you have to do something. You can't keep going like this, you're going to collapse."

"Fine!" Dean hissed dumping his half mug of coffee down the sink. "If it'll shut you the hell up, I'll go to bed."

"You have to sleep…"

"Sam shut up! Damn it will you just shut the hell up." Dean stormed across the room dropping onto his bed. "Are you gonna turn the light off?" He growled glaring at his little brother.

Sam turned off the light, and got into his own bed, "Dean…"

"Sam," Dean spat angrily. "If you don't shut the hell up I swear…" Dean lay with his hands behind his head, staring at the darkness above him. He knew Sam was worried, and only wanted what he thought was best for him. Dean sighed, thinking about the previous hunt, anything to keep his mind from his dream. It was sometime before dawn when he finally slipped into a fitful sleep.

The woman sat on the tattered beige sofa, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. Dust motes danced in the slash of afternoon light streaming through partially closed curtains. Tears flowed down her cheeks as she reached to pick up the bottle of whiskey, her other hand scooped up the handful of pills that lay on the glass coffee table. She crammed the pills into her mouth, chasing them down with the final dregs from the whiskey bottle. She ran a hand through her short brown hair; as she closed tear filled eyes, praying death would come quickly. Her eyes opened groggily as she heard the sounds reverberating through the hall.

Emily Cross got shakily to her feet as the demanding wails of her son called to her. Stumbling from the living room, she walked drunkenly down the hall. She bumped into the doorjamb as she turned to enter the nursery. With trembling hands, she picked up six-month-old Casper, his face red from his frantic screams.

Dazed she carried him across the hall, turning on the light as she entered the bathroom. Holding her whimpering son, she placed the plug in the tub, and turned on the taps. She tested the water with her elbow, and as the level rose, she lowered her son into the tepid water without removing his clothing. She stared in to the now calm, trusting face of her infant and let go, watching him sink to the bottom of the tub. Tiny hands flailed, and small bubbles surfaced as he gasped for air and took in water.

She caught a movement in the mirror above the sink. Raising her eyes, she saw a roiling cloud of black smoke on the ceiling. She watched the cloud as it moved towards her, surrounding her body. Timidly, she raised her hand, poking a finger into the dark cloud, a feeling of unease shuddered through her. The cloud spiralled around her, drawing closer as her eyes widened in fear. Emily gagged as the cloud forced itself into her body through her mouth and nose.

She blinked and gazed around the room, her obsidian eyes falling on the baby. She stepped forward quickly, and stooped down to pull the infant from the water. Kneeling on the floor, she laid the motionless child in front of her, and began blowing quick breaths into his lungs. She paused only long enough to use her fingers tips to compress his chest gently.

Casper coughed, spewing water from his mouth; she turned him to his side allowing the water to run freely from his little body. The child took a deep breath and wailed his displeasure. The woman smiled, her black eyes glistening in the light. Gently she picked him up and reached for a towel hung on the rack by the sink. She crooned softly to the child as she gently wrapped him in the towel and cradled him to her chest.

Getting to her feet, she held Casper in her arms as she left the bathroom and entered the hall. Accessing the memories of her hostess, she turned toward the kitchen. She looked around her as she entered; dirty dishes flooded the sink and spread across the counter. Pots with left over food sat on the stove, forgotten their contents hardened with age. She shook her head she walked to the fridge in search of a bottle, hoping the milk would be good.

Finding a prepared bottle, she sniffed the contents, satisfied; she placed the nipple against his lip. Casper hungrily latched on, staring into her face as he drank contentedly.

"Poor baby," she murmured softly. "Poor little Casper, it'll be alright," she assured him.

Holding the baby in one arm, she propped the bottle under her chin as she reached for the phone. Digging further into the memories of Emily Cross, she dialled and placed the receiver to her ear.

"Missy?" She said as the voice came over the line. "It's Em. Uh…Could you and Jerry take Casper for awhile?" She asked, making her voice tremor slightly for effect. She listened as the voice spoke, and then continued her pleas. "Joe left me, and I'm not handling it so well…..I don't think Casper is safe with me right now…"

She waited impatiently as Emily's sister responded, and then rolling her eyes, sobbed into the phone, "Because I just caught myself trying to drown him!" She further put herself into character, blubbering incoherently as Missy tried to calm her. A slow smile spread across her face, "You'll take him? Thank you so much…What? Yes I'll get help as soon as you take Cas, I promise."

Hanging up the phone she looked into Casper's tiny face, "Well little one," she sighed. "You're safe for now." She carried the child to the nursery changing him into dry clothes, and packing a bag for his stay with Emily's sister.

She stood in the window, watching as Missy's teal green Toyota backed from the drive. She turned away letting the drapes fall back, sending a gloomy darkness over the room. She inhaled deeply, her nose unconsciously scrunching as the stench clogged her nostrils. She raised an arm, turning her head to sniff; she abruptly pulled her head back.

"Damn," she whispered. "I don't think this chick has showered in a month."

She walked down the hall toward the bathroom, pulling of her clothes and dropping them on the floor as she went. Entering the bathroom, she pushed the door closed. Turning to the full-length mirror, she studied her new body. Her fingers lightly trailed over the stretch marks.

The body was thin, almost too thin, and she wondered exactly what Emily Cross had done to regain her slim figure so soon. She stroked the short brown hair, deciding the bob-cut appealed to the softly rounded features. Turning to the tub her eyes fell on the bottle of bubble bath resting on the edge, she smiled it had been a long time since she had pampered herself.

She filled the tub, while dumping a generous amount of the bottle's contents under the running water; she crawled in immersing herself completely in the luxurious sweet scented bubbles. She expelled a content sigh, feeling the tension of the host body evaporate in the soothing heat and vanilla scent. She closed her eyes, and leaned her head against the wall behind her.

She had so much she should be doing; soaking in the tub was not on her to do list. Yet instead of getting up, she sunk deeper into the bubbles. She had already cleansed the body of the pills and alcohol the woman had consumed. After she had changed Casper, she had left him in his crib and returned to the bathroom.

She had induced vomiting. Forcing most of the toxins from the body, but it was an experience she did not enjoy. The retching and straining had brought tears to her eyes. The acidic bile burned her throat, and left a bad taste that didn't seem to go away even after rinsing.

So many things up here she had forgotten about. Unfortunately, she wouldn't have time to experience the few things she did remember. It had been a long time since she had been topside, but the violence was still here, Emily was a prime example, mother trying to kill son. She slid further down, immersing her head beneath the water wetting her hair. Sitting up she shampooed, her mind still thinking of her work ahead.

She had a lot to do and very little time with which to do it; wasting time here wasn't going to help. Sighing, she stood, draping a towel around her body. She had to call someone to get Emily Cross the help she so desperately needed, but before that, she had some personal errands of her own. Chewing pensively on her lower lip, she strode to Emily's bedroom, to get dressed.

The room looked like a cyclone had run through it. Clothes were tossed carelessly about the room, the bedding hanging half on the bed and half on the floor. Housekeeping was not Emily's strong suit, the more she was learning about her the more angered she became. Stupid meat puppets, they were never satisfied with what they had, always looking for more. One day they will realize just what they had here, by then it would be too late, all would be lost to them.

She heard the doorbell chime as she was pulling a dark green tank top over her head, ignoring the chime she stepped into the faded denims. She ran her hands over her hips, revelling in the comfortable snug fit. Her smile faltered as the bell chimed again. With an annoyed hiss she left the bedroom and went to the front door, as she placed her hand on the doorknob the bell chimed again.

"All right I'm coming," she grumbled, swinging the door wide. Her eyes resumed the brown shade of her host, and widened in surprise when she spotted the two uniformed officers on the stoop.

"Can I help you?" she asked, plastering a friendly smile on her face.

"Mrs. Cross? I'm Officer Parker, and this is Officer Van Meekren." the young officer spoke, his pale grey eyes watching her alertly. "Your sister called us; she is concerned for your well being. Is everything okay?"

She raised a hand to her chest, a remorseful look on her face, "Oh, I'm fine, I'm sorry she called you out for this…"

Officer parker stepped closer to her, "I'm sorry ma'am, but I need you to come with us. Your sister made a serious accusation…"

She allowed tears to surface, "I know what this is about…and I won't deny it. But I am getting help. I had enough sense to call my sister…"

"We still need you to come to the station," Officer Van Meekren drew closer.

"I have some things I need to do first…"She didn't have time for this.

"We must insist."

Licking her lips, her eyes darted between the two men, "Very well. I have to finish getting dressed, please come in." She stepped back allowing them entry, quickly scanning the yard before closing the door. She smiled complacently, "I'll be just a moment."

Before either Officer had a chance to reply, she grabbed the large vase by the door and brought it down over Van Meekren's head. As he slipped soundlessly to the floor, she turned on Officer Parker, gripping his chin; she repeatedly slammed his head in to the wall until he too lost consciousness.

"So sorry officers," she smiled. "I have places to go, things to do." She quickly stepped over their bodies, and walked out the door, locking it behind her. She raked fingers through her hair in attempt to brush the wet mass. With a sigh, she walked from the yard and into the street.