Title: In the Shadows, Looking On
Author: ShaedowCat
Beta: Nil
Characters: Constance Welch (plus all the other creatures the guys encounter)
Pairing: Various
Rating: PG / K
Genre: Supernatural, Angst, Horror
Disclaimer: I don't own them.
Feedback: Constructive criticism welcomed.
Summary: Everything has a beginning.
Warnings: Adultery, cannibalism, murder (by drowning, hanging, burning, shooting, lynching), demonic possession, mutilation, genocide, poltergeist activity, psychological torture, ritual sacrifice, hate crimes, grievous bodily harm, tortured souls, vampirism, clowns, psychosis, demonic manipulation, malevolent spirits, vengeful spirits, hunter-killing, and so on and so forth.
But in this chapter, just adultery, suicide and filicide.
Notes: I mentioned when I did the last chapter of Dean and Sam - ages and ages ago - that I was going to start this WiP. Little did I realise exactly how much it would entail. Even if I don't do all the ones where the demons are the MotW, it's going to be really, really long. -:cries:- I can't believe I thought this was a good idea...
It's going to be a while between updates...I've got a couple of chapters written, but mostly it's just vague sketches and outlines. But I'm hoping that once I've posted this chapter, I'll guilt myself into posting the rest.
-:crosses self:-
All right...let's get this show on the road.
Pilot
-:-
25th of April, 1981
Jericho, California
Constance stepped around Claire's gate, carefully balancing the thermos of soup and the containers with the pasta and pie. The moment she'd heard her best friend's raspy voice echoing down the phone-line, she'd known she'd be making the mile-and-a-half trek down the road to Claire and Stephen's, bearing comfort food and her Mom's special chicken soup.
"Oh, Connie...I'm not going to be able to make it up to see you today..."
"Claire, you sound awful!"
"Yeah, I know. I was fine yesterday when I saw you, then last night...ugh, it was horrible. Fever, and this horrible cough..."
Constance heard Claire press the phone against something - the arm of her chair, maybe - but she could still make out the hoarse, wracking cough.
"Claire, that cough sounds pretty bad...maybe you should go see Doctor Henderson..."
"No, don't be silly...it's probably just some 24-hour bug. I'll be fine tomorrow."
"Okay...well, I'll drop in this afternoon before the kids get home, bring you a few things...that chicken soup my Mom used to make for us when we were sick, hm?"
"Oh, Connie, you don't have to do that...in fact, it might be better if you didn't...this thing might be contagious, and the last thing you want is to get sick. Especially since Jake just got over his own cold..."
Constance smiled as she remembered Claire's concern...it was just like her to worry about others, while she herself was sick. She walked up the winding driveway, avoiding potholes filled with water from the rainstorm the night before. She resisted the urge to jump and splash in them...like she had when she was younger, like she had with her children just that morning as she'd walked them down to the bus stop.
Finally, Constance rounded the last bend and came into view of the house. She stopped at the sight of Joe's truck parked out the front beside Claire's battered old Ford.
Maybe he stopped by to see if she needed anything...maybe she called, asked him to do something for her... she thought uneasily.
Like what? Help her with some "heavy-lifting", like she did with Kyle Parks? her more cynical self asked.
Claire wouldn't do that...
Oh, she wouldn't?
Constance stared at her husband's truck and felt sick.
I...I don't know anything. Not yet. For all I know, she did call him for help with something.
I won't know until...I see for myself.
Taking a deep breath, Constance crossed the distance to Claire's front door. She pulled the door open and headed for the kitchen to set down the food - because she was nothing if not considerate - before going to the living room. The room was empty, as were all the other rooms on the ground floor. Constance stood for a moment to collect herself, then climbed the staircase to the first floor. Reaching the top, she headed straight for the master bedroom.
As she came to a standstill outside the bedroom, she could hear the low murmur of voices: Claire's husky alto, and...Constance squeezed her eyes tightly shut as she recognised Joe's voice. No. No, no, nonono... she thought desperately. She pressed a trembling hand to her face for a moment, then stepped forward and looked through the crack between the door and the jamb.
"...don't you take that shirt off and come on over here?" Claire was saying. She was sitting on the side of the bed, wearing the midnight-blue satin and lace shift Constance knew Stephen had bought for her birthday two years before, golden hair loose around her shoulders.
Joe was standing in the middle of the room, staring at Claire with an awe-struck expression. At her words, he stripped off his grease- and oil-stained work-shirt, dropping it to the side as he approached the bed, stopping when he was situated between Claire's splayed thighs.
"So...do you think I'm pretty?" Claire asked, running a nail down Joe's chest. He smiled and nodded.
"Oh, yes," he murmured, edging closer, jostling the bed slightly. Claire's lips curved into a wicked smile, and she glanced up at him from under honey-blonde lashes.
"So what are you going to do about it?" she murmured, running her hands up Joe's chest and curving them around the back of his neck to pull him down for a kiss.
Constance's breath left her in a rush, and she swayed on her feet. She stumbled back, away from the door, stopping only when her back hit the wall. She stared at the door to the bedroom, hearing the sounds coming from beyond it, of her best friend and her husband, and felt her entire world tear apart.
Then she turned and walked away.
-:-
Constance watched as the bath filled with water.
How could they? she thought numbly. How could they? She...she's my best friend...and he's my husband...he swore 'til death do us part...
She sighed and scrubbed a hand over her face, then started as the front door slammed and little feet pounded up the stairs.
"Mommy!"
"Mommy!"
Jacob and Kimberly ran into the bathroom, little faces upturned, smiling and happy and bright.
"Mommy, Mommy, guess what I did in school today!" Jacob shouted, throwing his arms around her waist.
"Mommy, I drawed a picture for you!" Kimberly yelled over the top of her brother. She dropped her knapsack down beside the bath-tub and began digging through it.
"Jake, Kimmy..." Constance whispered, running her hands through Jacob's short hair. "Mommy's very tired at the moment...could you please give me..."
"Found it!" Kimberly yipped triumphantly, holding the picture up for her mother's inspection.
It was a colourful mess of lines and circle; her daughter was obviously going to become her generation's Picasso when she grew up. The masterpiece was slightly smudged where little hands had been a little careless, it was true, but Constance could still make out the vague outline of a house, and what could possibly be a group of people. She smiled.
"It's beautiful, honey-bear," she murmured, running her fingers gently over the paper. At her urging, Jacob disengaged his arms, and she sat down on the edge of the tub. "Tell me about it." Kimberly perched beside her, daintily as a fairy princess. Jacob straddled the side, slinging his arms around Constance's shoulders.
"It's our house," Kimberly proclaimed, pointing to the boxy shape at the top of the paper. "See, Mommy?"
"Yes, I see," she said with a smile, tracing the outline. "And what about this?" She tapped the middle of the picture.
"That's our family," Jacob muttered.
"I'm telling her!" his sister snapped, slapping at him. Jacob hit back.
"Hey, hey now...no hitting, either of you," Constance told them, grabbing their arms to restrain them. When they'd calmed down, Constance let them go. She ran a hand over Kimberly's hair. "Okay, sweetie...tell me."
"It's our family," Kimberly said, glaring at Jacob as if daring him to speak. He stuck his tongue out at her. She wrinkled her nose, then went on. "That's Granma, and Poppy...and me, and Jacob, and you, Mommy, see? And Daddy, and Auntie Claire - "
-:-
Constance blinked and shook her head.
She was standing in the kitchen, and she had no idea how she'd gotten there. Kimberly's picture was in her hands; she walked over to the refrigerator and stuck it on, a magnet in each corner.
Her hands were cold.
The front of her skirt and sweater were soaked. She plucked at them with numb fingers, puzzled. How had she gotten so wet?
She wandered out into the living room; her feet were wet, her steps sloshed. She looked down to see water covering the floor. Water was flowing down the stairs, over the side of the staircase...she sighed and headed over.
"Jacob! Kimberly! What are you doing up there?" she called as she climbed. "Why didn't you call me? I could've run the bath for you...now I have to clean up this mess." There was no response. Constance frowned.
"Jake? Kimmy?" she repeated, walking through the bathroom door. "What are you - " She stopped and stared at the sight that greeted her: an overflowing bathtub, the taps still running, and two still little bodies lying face-down in the water. She took a step forward, halted.
"Jake?"
Another step.
"Kimmy?"
Another.
"Come on, now, time to stop playing divers," she said, kneeling beside the tub. She grabbed Jacob's arm, but he didn't stir. She turned him over; his face was pale and his lips were blue. She shook him slightly, feeling frantic. "It's not funny, Jake...sweetheart..." She pressed her fingers against his neck, feeling for a pulse: nothing.
"Kimmy." She reached out and touched her hand, pulled back quickly; it was cold. She reached out again, touched her arm this time, held on and shook gently. "Kimmy, honey, time to stop playing..." She turned Kimberly over, and flinched at the sight of the same pale features. She felt for a pulse, her fingers shaking...nothing.
She lurched back, away from the tub, and landed on her butt. She scrambled to her feet and ran into the bedroom. She grabbed up the phone and dialled 911, then ran back into the bathroom and dropped down beside the tub again. After an eternity, the phone was answered.
"911 - "
"Oh my god, it's my babies...my Jake, my Kimmy, please, they're so...so cold..."
"Ma'am, please calm down...what's wrong with your children?"
"They just...I just...I must have left them for a minute...only a minute, it couldn't have been more than that...and now they're not breathing, oh my god..."
"Ma'am, where did you leave them?"
"In the bath, in the bathtub...I don't remember running a bath, how could I not remember?'
"I need you to tell me where you are. Can you do that ma'am?"
"I...I'm in the bathroom..."
"No, ma'am, I need to know where you are...are you at home? What's the address?"
Constance gulped down a breath. "The end of Breckenridge Road...I live at the end of Breckenridge Road...4636 Breckenridge…"
"Okay...we have an ambulance en route and they should be there within ten minutes. Now, you said neither of them have a pulse?"
"No...no, I can't feel one...oh my god..."
"Ma'am, stay with me...you said they were in the bathtub..."
"Mommy! Mommy, what are you -"
Constance flinched at the sudden memory of little arms, little shoulders, little necks in her hands...her fingers gripping tightly, so tight. She stood up, staring down at her children.
"Mommy! You're hurting Jacob! Ow, Mommy..."
Constance took a step back. "Nonono," she whispered, shaking her head.
"MOMMY! Mom- " Diluted screams. Wet gurgles. Silence.
The receiver slipped from her grasp and hit the floor with a thud. Constance followed.
"Ma'am? Ma'am, I need you to stay with me...your children, are they - "
"I killed them," Constance whispered, staring at the full tub, the empty bodies. "Oh god...they're dead."
"Ma'am? Ma'am? Are you still there?"
-:-
Gravel crunched under her bare feet. Grass. Glass.
Constance walked on.
"I can't go home," she whispered. "I can't - "
"Mommy? Ow, Mommy, that hurts...Mo- "
"I can never go home."
She followed the road, reached Sylvania Bridge. The sound of rushing water filled her ears.
Water lying in pools on the floor...water in the tub...water in their mouths, their throats, in their lungs...
Constance let out a shaky breath. The river flowed beneath her. Water took her children; now it would take her.
"Oh, God...just take me home."
-:-
25th of April, 1982
"Hey...do you need a lift?"
Constance bit her lower lip and looked at Kyle Parks from beneath lowered lashes.
"Take me home?"
One chapter down, six seasons' worth to go! I hope you enjoyed it...next chapter will hopefully be up by the end of January.
Cheers!
ShaedowCat xo :)