Hollow Within
Disclaimer: Kripke owns the boys, much to my dismay.
The moon, high in the autumn night sky, shone like liquid silver on the rain soaked pavement of the parking lot. The rain storm that had passed through the area left the night air crisp and fresh. Not a sound was heard until the door to Lakeside Realty opened with a soft squeak. Kalina Randolph appeared with her briefcase and car keys in hand. After locking the office door, she turned for her car, only then noticing the man leaning against her trunk.
"Jesus, Harold, you scared the crap out of me!" She angrily walked past her soon-to-be ex-husband and unlocked her car door.
With a whine in his voice, Harold followed, "Kalina, please. I just need to talk to you. Why weren't you at our counseling session?"
"I wasn't there because I have no interest in saving this marriage. I have already explained this to you, and the therapist, a dozen times." She impatiently tossed her briefcase onto the passenger seat then climbed in. "I have an early day tomorrow, I have to go."
Harold stepped back just in time to narrowly avoid getting hit by her car door as it slammed. "Kalina, don't! Please, let's talk about this!"
Kalina barely gave him a second glance as she backed out. Harold watched her car as it made it's way out of the parking lot and down the street, until he could no longer see the tail lights.
His heart heavy with despair, he slowly made his way to his own vehicle. Climbing into the driver's seat, he had no energy or will to start the car and return to his empty, lonely apartment. He couldn't believe how quickly his marriage had disintegrated, and he surely didn't know why. He was doing everything he could think of to hold onto his wife, but nothing was working.
Realizing he couldn't sit here all night, he leaned forward to put the key in the ignition. An unconscious glimpse in the rear-view mirror revealed something in the backseat. Before he was even able to gasp, an arm snaked around the back of his seat and across his throat, jerking him back. He was effectively pinned in place.
The instinct to fight took over. He swung his fists behind him in hopes of hitting his assailant. At the same time, he bucked his body trying to dislodge the steel like grip that was cutting off his air.
Swatting Harold's arms away as if he were no stronger than a child, his attacker reached around with his right arm. Using only his hand, the assailant pressed his fingers into Harold's chest.
Harold fought harder as he felt the fingers break through his clothes and skin. As the pressure on his chest increased, his underlying bones snapped. With blood soaking through his shirt and spilling into his lap, Harold could no longer contain his screams of agony.
Just when he thought he couldn't be in any more pain, the attacker's hand ruptured his chest cavity. The last thing Harold ever saw was his still beating heart held inches from his own face.
SPNSPNSPN
Dean was shoveling maple syrup soaked pancakes into his mouth as he watched Sam stare intently at the newspaper on the other side of the booth. "What could possibly be so interesting that you would rather read than eat breakfast? Although, if my breakfast was an egg white omelet and whole grain toast, I would probably find the paper more interesting too."
"Hmm…What? I'm sorry, you say something?" Sam answered distractedly without looking up.
Dean sighed, "What'd you find?"
Finally acknowledging his brother, Sam smiled grimly. "I may have found a job. It seems two people in Stavrou, Colorado, have been found dead this week. With their hearts missing. The cops have no idea what they are dealing with, but," Sam smirked, "they pledge to bring the killer to justice."
Dean laughed, "Cops. Always a good source for amusement. Anyway, Stavrou isn't too far from here. You wanna check it out?"
"Definitely, missing hearts sounds like our kind of thing."
Once the food was eaten and the bill was paid, the brothers were on the road headed in the direction of Stavrou. The car windows were down allowing the cool air to flow through the interior. While Dean drove, Sam used the time to go through their father's journal.
"Hey, Dean. Listen to this. Four years ago, there was a rash of deaths in Lowe, South Dakota. Bodies were found without hearts. Think it might be the same thing?"
Dean thought for a moment, "I remember that case. Whatever it was, it was gone by the time Dad and I rolled into town. We spent two weeks in that town without finding a damn lead. So it's possible we're dealing with the same thing."
SPNSPNSPN
A short time later, the Impala rolled into Stavrou, Colorado. It was a relatively small town, with snow-capped mountains jutting skyward as a backdrop. After checking into the nearest motel and donning their suits, the brothers made their way to the medical examiner's office.
Flashing their freshly made FBI IDs to the young man behind the desk, Dean introduced them. "I'm Special Agent Byers and this is my partner, Special Agent Langly. We're with the Criminal Profiles Unit. I understand there's been another mysterious death recently?"
The young man's eyes sparked with excitement. "The CPU? Don't you guys deal with serial killers?"
Glancing at the name plate on the desk, Sam answered, "Yes, Mr. Reed, which is why we are here today. As part of our investigation, we need to get a look at Harold Randolph's body."
Reed's face fell, "I'm sorry agents, but Dr. McCarthy, the medical examiner, won't be in today. He's visiting his daughter and newborn grand-daughter at the hospital."
"Any chance you can let us take a look?" Dean asked. "We need to gather all the available information to assess the situation as quickly as we can before another death occurs."
Reed cocked his head to the side, deep in thought. After a few moments, he looked at Dean. "I suppose, being you are with the FBI, letting you in couldn't hurt." He led Sam and Dean down a short hallway to the left. Outside the door labeled "Morgue", Reed pulled out a ring of keys and unlocked the door.
Striding across the room, he opened drawer number 5, revealing a cloth draped body. "I'll be up front, holler if you need anything." Walking out the door, he left the brothers alone with Harold Randolph.
Without delay, Dean pulled back the cloth to expose the chest. Both brothers gasped at the complete destruction they saw before their eyes. Gesturing toward the jagged edges of the hole and the sharp ends of bone protruding from the wound, Dean commented, "The heart definitely wasn't cut out."
Squinting and leaning in for a closer look, Sam replied, "No teeth marks. What does the medical examiner's report suggest?"
Dean turned for the nearest filing cabinet and in the drawer marked M-T, he found what he was looking for. "Huh. There's no evidence of a weapon being used. The medical examiner thinks someone used his or her hand."
"So, this is our kind of job." With a look of disgust, Sam recovered poor Harold and slid the drawer closed.
"What was the first victim's name?" Dean moved back to the filing cabinet.
"Stacey Cappola." Sam watched as Dean looked through the files.
Pulling one out, he read silently for a few moments, "More of the same in this file. She's in drawer 2."
Sam opened the drawer and uncovered the body. "The wound is similar."
Knowing they had gathered all the information available, the brothers replaced what they had disturbed and left the morgue. After a quick thank you to Reed, they headed outside to the Impala.
Sam turned questioning eyes towards his brother, "Hey, Dean. Why Langly?"
Dean laughed, "Byers is the best looking of the bunch, Frohike is kinda short, but Langly, he's got all that girly hair. So, naturally, he made me think of you."
Sam stopped walking. "Who are Byers, Frohike, and Langly?"
Dean stared at his brother in amazement, "You're kidding me, right? And here I thought I was giving you a break by not using names of musicians. It's a shame you know so much and yet so little. Two words, Sammy: Lone Gunmen."
With that, Dean continued walking to the car. Sam, still looking perplexed, eventually followed.
SPNSPNSPN
Sam looked up from his laptop as Dean, wearing an ear to ear grin, entered the motel room hours later. He tossed two folders onto the table, took off his coat, and threw himself in the chair across from Sam.
Sam glowered at his brother, "Took you long enough." He reached for the folders, flipping open the one on top.
"What can I say? Jenny was a very chatty girl. It would have been rude to con her into giving me the police reports and then run. By the way, if we're still in town this weekend, I'll be busy Saturday night."
"So, I'm guessing this Jenny is the receptionist at the Sheriff's office?" Sam didn't know how his brother did it. He had the amazing ability to charm information, apparently including copies of police reports, out of almost any female. Which, with their job, was a very handy ability.
"Yes, and she was just jumping at the chance to help out a newbie reporter from the local news station." Dean picked up the second folder and began reading the contents. "Stacey Coppola, found in her apartment by a concerned neighbor. They worked together and when Stacey didn't show up, the neighbor used a spare key to let herself in. She was last seen by her therapist the night before. The cops suspected Stacey's ex. After the divorce, the husband got the kid, and Stacey was trying to get the kid back. But, there weren't any signs of breaking and entering and the place was locked up tight."
"Well, Harold Randolph was found in his car outside of Lakeside Realty, where his wife works. He was last seen by his wife, who said they were arguing in the parking lot about marriage counseling. The cops think both Harold and Stacey were killed by the same suspect." Sam put the folder back on the table. "As for what did this, there are just too many possibilities. Apparently, taking someone's heart is a common M.O. I've checked all the usual web-sites, Dad's journal, and even called Bobby."
Dean ran a hand over his head. "We need a witness."
Sam sighed, "That or a connection between the two."
SPNSPNSPN
Once again, Emily Sullivan found herself staring at the bottom of an empty shot glass at closing time. Too many nights ended the same way since she lost her sister. But drowning her sorrows only worked until the hang-over started. Then, drinking only seemed to compound her misery.
Noticing the bartender was the only other person left in the bar, Emily slid off the stool and wobbled cautiously to the door. The cool night air refreshed her somewhat, and she figured if she drove slow enough, she might be able to make it home in one piece. And if she didn't? At this point, she couldn't care less.
She searched her purse for her car keys only to drop them to the ground as soon as she had them in hand. Emily bent to pick them up and in the same instant she was tackled to the ground. Splayed on her back, she watched in terror as a shadowy figure straddled her, pinning her to the ground.
Unsure whether it was the alcohol or her fear impairing her vision, she couldn't see the face of her attacker. Not sure if it was even possible, he or she seemed to be nothing more than a shadow with substance.
However, all her thoughts flew from her mind when the pain began. Her tears fell as white hot fire exploded in her chest and her shrill screams shattered the stillness of the night. Then Emily knew no more.
SPNSPNSPN
"Look, I already told all this to the cops this morning. Do I have to go through it again?" Sam and Dean, impersonating FBI agents again, found the bartender as he was setting up the bar for the lunch crowd.
"Mr. Turner, it would be helpful if you went over the story one more time, for us. You may remember more details." Sam waited patiently, pen and notepad in hand.
"Fine. The lady left as I began cleaning up. She's not gone more than a few minutes when I hear these awful screams…I get outside and she's on the ground, blood everywhere." Mr. Turner paled as he recalled the images from the night before.
"Did you see or hear anything else?" Sam questioned gently.
The bartender shifted his eyes to the floor, "Just what I told you."
Dean impatiently cut in, "You sure you didn't see anything unusual, weird, freaky?"
Sam shot his brother an exasperated look.
Under his breath, Mr. Turner whispered, "It couldn't have been real."
Sam turned imploring eyes on the bartender, "Please, we need to know everything, no matter how crazy it may sound."
Mr. Turner reached for a glass and poured a healthy dose of whiskey into it. After gulping the glass's contents, he continued. "Okay, there is more. But…I must have been seeing things. I saw a…a man, only he looked like a shadow, you know, there but not. I couldn't see any distinguishing features, just darkness. He had the lady's heart in his hand, and then he…oh, god…I think he ate it. Then he was gone, like he blinked out. And that's all I know, I swear."
"Thank you, Mr. Turner. You've been very helpful." Sam closed his notepad as he and Dean turned to leave the bar.