***Okay, so this is my first Supernatural story (revamped after I realized how I erroneously posted it as just one giant chapter) so please let me know what you think once you're finished. All reviews are much appreciated. There is a sort of follow-up story to this one called "On The Menu" that I will be revamping as well (apologies to those who read/tried to read while it was one giant chapter - I'm new to this thing, sorry!) that brings my character back to the boys' world. I hope you'll check that out too.***
And of course - Disclaimer: I do not own anything associated with Supernatural (which is a bummer, really...) except for the creations of Reggie and Frank Connors and the use of certain demons not previously mentioned on Supernatural. Thanks!
ONE
Honey Brook, Pennsylvania
January 13th, 2009
The rain blew heavy against the windows as the storm raged outside. Janet Hardy counted the seconds between the thunder and lightning, an old habit from when she was a kid, to determine how much longer of the passing storm she had to endure. Nine, ten, eleven, she counted to herself. At the count of twenty-five, lightning illuminated her bedroom, throwing the shadow of the old oak outside her window across her bedroom. She pulled the covers further up around her shoulders, trying to use the heavy quilt which was a present from her grandmother for her twelfth birthday, to muffle the sounds of the raging storm outside.
I'm never going to get to sleep, Janet thought sadly. She glanced at the alarm clock on her bedside table, the red LED numbers showing it was two in the morning. Sighing, Janet tossed the blankets off and sat up. She swung her legs over the side of her bed, wincing as bare her feet touched the cold hardwood floor. A clap of thunder she was not expecting startled her, making her cry out.
"Scaredy cat," she mumbled under her breath. She grabbed her worn, blue, terry cloth robe off the rocking chair and headed out of the bedroom.
As she passed it, Janet caught her reflection in the full length mirror standing beside her dresser. Her shoulder-length brown hair stuck up in places and her soft brown eyes were already showing signs of the weariness she felt through her entire 5'4 frame. She reached up and attempted to pat some of her hair down, but to no avail. Giving up, she shrugged into her robe and left the room.
With a nice cup of hot chamomile tea on her mind, Janet shuffled her feet along the carpet floor in the hallway, using the friction in an attempt to warm her cold toes. She had just reached the top of the stairs when the noise started. Scraaaape, tap tap, scraaaape. What the heck was that? she thought to herself. The noise raised goose bumps along her arms even under the warmth of the robe.
"Hel-lo...?" she called out shakily. There was no answer. Janet held her breath, waiting to hear the sound again. Scraaaape, tap tap, scraaaape. The sound came again. It's got to be the wind brushing a tree branch against the window. No need to be scared, she thought, trying to reassure herself and swallowed against the dry lump in her throat.
She started down the stairs and headed for the kitchen, throwing lights on as she moved through the house. As Janet entered the kitchen, the lights flickered briefly. She paused in mid-stride, panic rising up. She hated when the electricity went out, still clinging to the childish fear. Deciding she would feel better if she got the flashlight out of the hall closet first, just in case, Janet headed back out into the hallway just as the lights flickered again.
As Janet made her way through the living room, passing the oak tree which was now visible through the bay windows at the front of the house, the noise returned. She stopped, expectantly waiting to see the branch that was causing all the trouble. The tree moved and swayed in the wind, but the branches were being blown away from the house, not towards it. She took a step closer, hoping it was a branch she couldn't see farther up the long bough.
The lights abruptly went out and she gasped in surprise. In her blind panic, Janet stumbled forward, throwing her arms out in front of her as she tried to feel her way across the large living room, frantic to get to the closet and the flashlight. As she moved past the entryway a gust of wind blew through the open front door, catching her by surprise as wet leaves skittered towards her. "What the-" she began before a hand clamped down over her mouth. Janet tried to scream but the hand cut off any sound that might have escaped.
She tried jerking away, but a firm arm wrapped around her waist and yanked her back into the darkness. She pulled and screamed against the iron grip across her mouth, kicking her legs behind her in an attempt to get free. Janet could feel her captor's body shaking beneath her. Her hopes that her efforts were weakening her captors strength began to soar. She struggled harder with new resolve.
With horrid realization as the grip only flexed stronger, Janet realized her captor was, in fact, laughing. Laughing at her struggles, at her frantic attempts to get free. A burning began in her forehead as a deep, throaty voice started to chant in her ear. The warm breath against her neck sent shivers down her spine.
She recognized some of the words from a Latin class she had taken in her last semester of college a few years prior. What are you doing to me? she pleaded silently. The hand was removed from her mouth and she tried to scream, letting loose a lungful of air that would have woken the dead had any sound been produced. Stunned, Janet tried to scream again with the same results.
Suddenly, she could no longer see even the indistinct shapes of her furniture. It was as if someone had pulled a cover down over her face, cutting everything off. She reached up, desperate to remove whatever was over her face. She clawed frantically and, as she did, began to feel a burning spread down from her forehead, towards her throat, heading to her chest.
Janet numbly felt something running down her cheek and, at first, thought it was the tears that seeped from her now blind eyes. She reached up to wipe them away angrily, felt a sting, and realized that she was, in fact, bleeding from small scrapes across her face; scrapes Janet had inflicted herself as she had tried to grab at the invading numbness moving over her.
She could just smell the metallic scent of her own blood before the burning cut off that sense too. She wept and gasped for air as the burning moved through the rest of her body, restricting her lungs. Janet could no longer hear the man and his chanting, but could still feel his grip around her waist. She was grateful for the numbness when she felt something hard at her neck, imagining the blade of a knife as he cut her.
Suddenly, as if someone had flipped a switch, all of Janet's senses came back. She could hear the man as he chanted the last part of his spell; she was sure it was a spell from the words she had picked out before she went deaf. Janet could see her living room in front of her, lit oddly as if it were cast in a flood light; could see that the rain had slowed to a drizzle through the bay windows. She could feel the blood as it poured from her neck, spilling down the front of her robe, warming her clammy, goose bump covered skin.
Janet watched as the knife she had only been able to imagine before, recognizing with a strange out-of-body sensation one from her own kitchen, plunged into her chest. The adrenaline pumping through her body numbed the pain only slightly. She cried out in a last gasp of air, tasting something familiar in the air around her. Janet could smell sweat - hers and the man who was murdering her -, her blood, and that peculiar scent in the air. It's almost like rotten eggs? she thought disjointedly. Janet was grateful when the darkness consumed her again, this time for good. In the distance, thunder rumbled contentedly as the storm moved on.
The ritual had gone off without a hitch, just as he expected. The monkey-puppets were never any fun when they hardly resisted. This one had been exceptionally feisty, though, thus making it that much more fun. Her blood had begun to pool at his feet so he took a step back, trying to avoid dirtying the expensive leather shoes his meat-suit was dressed in. He had grown accustomed to the high quality, label-obsessed garments his host had overflowing in his high-priced apartment closets.
The man was a partner in a law firm in Philadelphia, making a living out of getting criminals back on the streets. The criminals he represented were of industry fame, who had broken the law by trying to make their vast bank accounts even greater. Not exactly the most ruthless bunch, but evil in their pursuit of power and money all the same.
He noticed a small spot of blood on the arm of the tan Armani suit he was wearing and growled in anger and disgust. He'd have to throw out one of his favorite suits now. He did a quick once over, checking the light blue dress shirt and matching silk tie for any signs that they would have to go in the trash too, but found them clean. Maybe he could try the dry cleaners down the street from his meat-suit's apartment. A spot of blood on an otherwise pristine suit may just look like a paper cut or nose bleed; it wouldn't raise too much suspicion.
Normally he wouldn't care about appearances for the rest of the monkeys, but since times had become so much like the great war, it had become increasingly more prudent to maintain some identity of his host's. With angels walking amongst the every day, a demon needed to be wary. He sighed, more out of contentment than anything else, and moved to leave the house the way he had entered, through the unlocked front door.
These monkeys really need to practice better security. Not that that would stop someone like me. He chuckled at the thought and closed the door behind him. The black leather gloves he wore prevented the need for him to wipe away any fingerprints. There was nothing he could do about the other evidence left behind. That was unavoidable.
None of it really mattered to him. The local police wouldn't recognize any of the evidence for what it truly was, usually out of willful ignorance or plain stupidity. The murder would be attributed as just another crime in a world full of it. Hunters hadn't been seen in the area for a while which was part of the reason he had chosen the neighborhood.
He supposed one of the cockroaches might pick up on the crime and come to investigate, if, in fact, any were looking. But he was barely concerned with being discovered. Lilith would be pleased at his progress and that was all that mattered. He began to hum to himself as he strolled off into the darkness, heading for his car parked only a few blocks away.
***Sept. 24, 2010 - I wanted to add a little note to the end of this first chapter after looking at some of the other fan fic on here and seeing that my stories run a good deal longer than most. I wrote both "The Fool's Trap" and "On The Menu" as tie-in novels. They are meant to be extremely long because, if printed and published they would be like the other television series tie-ins that are out there (if you aren't familiar with any of the published Supernatural novels, I recommend you pick one or two up - great reads when you're jonesing for something new during either the summer or holiday breaks!) I am an aspiring writer and these stories were my first official foray into novel length work. I hope the length won't scare too many people off because I have really put my heart and soul into these stories and want people to enjoy reading them as much as I enjoyed writing them. Thanks!