So as promised, the first chapter to the sequel of When Darkness Calls...if you haven't read the first, i strongly suggest that you read that one first as it would be hard to cover all that came before it, although i think i have covered a lot...thanks for reading...hope you everyone enjoys...oh, need to mention, that i think this first chappy has some pretty gruesome parts in it...as with all stories, i own nothing...well, except for Charlie, he is all mine!!! let me know what you think!! bambers;)
Whispers in the Dark
Chapter One
Sam raised his gun, slowly shifting it back and forth as he heard the sound of ominous laughter coming from every direction all at once, but he couldn't see anyone. Taking slow measured breaths, he stealthily crept further into the underground dwelling.
He hesitated, panic filling him as he recalled being chained to the wall, Charlie looming over him with the cruel four-pronged Spanish Tickler in his hand. Sam felt a twinge of pain in his side, and remembered the hot searing agony of the prongs ripping through his flesh. "You can do this, Sam," Sam repeated over and over under his breath."If you don't stop Charlie, he's gonna kill Dean."
"Dean," he quietly called out. Somewhere just out of his line of vision, he heard his brother draw in a slow ragged breath, followed by a muffled cry of pain. "Where is he, Dean?"
"G-get outta here, Sammy," Dean begged, his voice hoarse and breathless.
"I'm not leaving you, Dean."
"S-sorry, I lied . . . th-thought he was — "
Sam heard Dean cry out then groan in pain, and rushed to where he thought Dean was, but couldn't find him in the darkness. "Dean." He waited, listening for his brother, but heard nothing but Charlie's laughter. "Dean, where are you."
"What's the matter, Sammyboy?" echoed Charlie's deep voice off the walls of the darkened underground bunker. "Not enjoying the game?"
Spying something rapidly moving off to the right, Sam took aim and fired his gun. The bullet ricocheted off the stone wall, sending sparks of white light scattering through the air.
"Not even close." Charlie chuckled.
"I'm gonna kill you, you sonuvabitch."
Charlie's maniacal laughter grew even louder. "As I recall, that's exactly what your brother said. Don't think you'll have any better luck than he did."
Before Sam could think to react, he felt himself being hurled backward through the air. He slammed into the wall, but instead of sliding downward, an invisible force kept him upright. Against his will, Sam's arms started moving outward toward the shackles attached to the cold stone wall. Muscles straining, Sam struggled in vain as the metal cuffs encircled his wrists and clamped tightly shut.
"Dean." Sam yanked on the binds with all his strength but they wouldn't budge.
"Always calling to your brother to come and save you, Sammy," Charlie chided, then drew in a deep breath. "But not this time. You see, this time I took care of him first." At the sound of his voice, several candles on the table against the wall, flickered to life.
Out of the darkness, Charlie strode forward, clutching a bloodied knife in one hand, and dragging Dean's motionless body with the other. Blood dripped soundlessly to the rough cement floor, from several deep slashing wounds across Dean's chest.
Charlie gripped onto his hair and jerked Dean's head backward, and Sam cringed, tears springing to his eyes at the sight of his brother's face. Four deep wounds cut across his brother's right eye, tore through his cheek, nose and lips, then trailed downward to his neck. Oh God, Dean what the hell did he do to you?
Pointing to the long reddish scars on his own face with the tip of the blade, Charlie grinned. "He messed up my face, so I returned the favor."
Charlie forcefully slammed Dean to the ground, and strode to Sam, pressing the blade against Sam's throat. He turned to look at Dean for a moment , then swung back to stare at Sam. "Wanna watch him die, Sammyboy, before I tear you wide open again?"
"Don't you dare touch him, you sonuvabitch," Sam growled, clenching his fists, and yanking even harder on the metal restraints.
"Was that a yes?" Charlie strode back to Dean, grabbed onto his hair again, and jerked his head back viciously. He glanced up at Sam, and cocked a sardonic brow. "Don't look away, Sam, wouldn't want you to miss anything." Charlie plunged the knife deep into Dean's throat, blood spilling out to cover his hand as he tore through Dean's neck.
Blood gurgled on Dean's lips, as he gasped for breath. His dull green eyes locked with Sam's for a moment, and then slid closed, his head lolling to the side.
"Dean!" Sam sat bolt upright in bed, trembling, his hair soaked with sweat. He frantically looked around the bedroom of their apartment for any signs of his brother. Sam breathed a sigh of relief when he saw a lone figure shadowed in darkness, standing by the window, staring out the glass at the stormy night.
"Dean, what are you doing?" Sam asked in a shaky voice.
The figure turned, and a bright flash of lightning illuminated his face. "I'm comin' to get you, Sammy," Charlie whispered. The room went dark again and Charlie was gone.
Sam leapt off his bed and rushed to Dean's, and snatched the knife his brother kept under his pillow. Noticing a small shaft of light coming from beneath the bathroom door, Sam sprinted to it, and pounded on the door.
"Dean." He banged his fist even harder on the wooden surface when his brother didn't immediately respond. "Open the damn door, Dean."
Dean snatched a towel off the rack beside the shower, and quickly wrapped it around his waist. Rushing to the door, he nearly fell on the wet linoleum. "Sonuvabitch." He yanked open the door, and saw Sam with a knife clutched in his shaking hand, body visibly trembling, his face glistening with sweat.
"Sammy, what is it?" Dean tilted his head to the side to look around his brother and saw nothing out of the ordinary. "What happened? You have another nightmare?"
"He was here, Dean . . . he was here." He bobbed his head in the direction of the window. "I saw him over there."
"Who was here?" Dean asked, confused by his brother's almost terrified sounding rants.
"Charlie . . . you said he was dead . . . said you salted and burned his bones." Sam's chest heaved as he breathed in and out rapidly.
"It's not possible, Sammy . . .it's been a year since he died." Dean shook his head. It couldn't have been him, not after all this time has passed. The demon had to have killed him.
"I know what I saw."
"You sure it wasn't a nightmare?"
"I was awake." Sam hesitated for a moment, and then added, "I mean, I did have a nightmare about him, but I know I was awake. He was there, I swear to God, he was."
"All right, dude, let me get dressed, and we'll take a look around."
Why now after all this time? Christ, we were just getting our lives back together. Dean quickly toweled off his muscular arms, chest, and legs, then threw on a t-shirt. Grabbing his boxers, he slid them on, followed by a pair of grease-stained jeans.
Taking the knife from Sam, Dean headed to the window and looked outside. Rain pelting against the glass, along with thick overhanging branches of a maple tree, obscured the view somewhat, but in a flash of brilliant white light, Dean could still see that no one was in the front yard.
He turned to look at his brother, and shook his head. "Don't see anyone, dude. Let's take a look out back." Dean slipped on his shoes, grabbed his gun and motioned for Sam to follow.
They searched the entire backyard of their landlord's house, but found no one. Sam flicked on his flashlight and aimed it at the ground, looking for footprints in the wet, muddy ground, and shook his head in disbelief when he couldn't find even one set of tracks. They made their way around to the front of the house, and still found nothing to indicate Charlie had been there.
Dean swung to look back at his brother, and realized if he didn't do something quickly all the progress they'd made over the past five months would be wasted. Dean recalled that day five months ago, and remembered the deep sadness in Sam's eyes when Dean was struck speechless the first time he'd seen the scars left behind by Charlie's brutal attack. Five months and countless beers bottles blown away, and I'm finally getting you back, Sammy. This can't be happening again — it just can't be. "Sammy, he not here, he died back at the bunker."
"I'm telling you, he was here." Sam angrily raked back the wet clumps of hair partially covering his hazel eyes, and glared at Dean."He whispered that he was coming to get me. I'm not making this up, Dean."
You will hear me coming as if I'm a whisper in the dark. There will be no where you can run. No place to hide. And if you think I hurt your precious Sammy now, just wait until next time. Dean heard Charlie's taunting voice inside his head, and a sick feeling crept into the pit of his stomach. It was the last thing the madman had said before he'd vanished from their lives a year ago, and Dean was sure the Yellow-Eyed Demon had taken care of him.
"Let's go back inside." Dean inclined his head toward the front steps, and started walking in that direction, and Sam followed. "We'll figure this out, Sammy, I swear to you, we will."
At the steps, Sam paused, and grabbed onto Dean arm. "Dean?"
"Yeah?" Dean turned to look at him, and saw Sam's eyes narrow considerably.
"He was in the room, and then disappeared . . . and in my nightmare, he somehow threw me against the wall without even touching me . . . he couldn't have done that, Dean."
"It was a nightmare, Sam, crazy things can happen in them," Dean said, trying not to think of Charlie's wager with the Yellow-Eyed Demon, and his new found supernatural abilities. But how would Sam know about them if Charlie isn't alive? God, please just let it have been a nightmare. He'll never forgive me if he finds out I lied to him.
"Dean did you . . . ." Sam's voice trailed off as he touched the side of his face. "Did you slice his face open with that four-pronged weapon?" He glanced at his side, and Dean knew he was thinking of the long jagged scars on his side and stomach. "The one he used to. . . . "
Sonuvabitch . . . he is back. What the hell am I supposed to do now? "Let's just go inside, Sammy," Dean said, craning his neck to searched the deserted road for any signs of Charlie.
"Not until you answer the question." Sam crossed his arms, and stared defiantly at Dean.
"Sam." He scratched the back of his head, trying to figure out the best way to tell his brother what he'd successfully kept a secret from him for the past year. "Yeah, before I killed him, I did."
"A nightmare . . . all in my head, huh?" Sam nodded, pursing his lips. "When did you plan on telling me, Dean? Or didn't you?"
"It's not like — " Dean tried to explain, but Sam cut him off.
"So, he's some sort of vengeful spirit, coming back to finish the job. Damn it, Dean you should've told me you didn't salt and burn him."
Dean swallowed hard, seeing the look of distrust forming in Sam's eyes. Taking a deep breath, Dean shook his head. "Not a vengeful spirit, Sammy."
"Thought you said you killed him?"
"I did kill him."
"And he's not a vengeful spirit — what does that leave, Dean?"
"He's . . . he's not dead."
"Not dead," Sam said, raising his voice, and a dog belonging to the neighbors across the street, started barking. "You killed him, but he's not dead?"
Dean grabbed his arm, and pulled him toward the door. "Can't we talk about this upstairs? We're gonna wake up the whole neighborhood."
Sam yanked his arm away, glaring at Dean. "No, Dean, I'm not leaving this spot," he angrily jabbed his index finger toward the ground. "Not until you tell me what you mean by you killed him, but he's still alive."
"He made a wager . . . now let's get inside."
Dean turned, climbed the last few steps, and headed inside, knowing Sam would have no choice but to follow. He walked up the three flights of stairs to the third floor apartment, he and Sam shared, opened the door, and went in, leaving the door ajar for Sam. A few seconds later Dean heard it slam shut, but didn't turn to look at his brother.
"Should've told you." Dean hesitated, thinking of all the good reasons he had for keeping the secret, but knew Sam wouldn't understand any of them. "Wanted to protect you. And I swear to God I really thought he was dead. After six months had passed and he didn't come back like he said. . . . " Dean swung to look at Sam, knowing he'd inadvertently said more than he'd intended.
Sam stood, staring incredulously at him."You knew he was coming back for us." Dean heard the clear accusation in Sam's tone. Raking his hands through his hair, Sam turned his back on Dean. "So that day . . . and the beer bottles, and you wanting to celebrate . . . that was because he didn't do as he said he was going to?"
"No, Sammy, I did that for you. I couldn't stand to see you so broken anymore, and I had to do something. I'm telling you the truth, you gotta believe me."
"Yeah, but it just happened that you had your inspired idea almost exactly seven months to the day after Charlie supposedly died." Sam swung to look at Dean, his hazel eyes narrowing as his brows pulled together to form an angry line across his forehead. "How many times did he lie to us, Dean." He started tallying them on his fingers, "Let's see, there was Frankie, can't forget Frankie and how he died. Then there was me going out to God knows where to find Charlie, only to have him come after you instead." Forgetting about tallying the rest, Sam paced back and forth. "Not to mention him being a FBI profiler, or dressing as a doctor to get to me at the hospital."
"I get your point, Sam." Dean was about to say something else when his cell phone started ringing.
Both boys turned to stare at the phone sitting on the coffee table, both remembering that was how their hellish ordeal with Charlie began the last time.
"Don't answer it, Dean," Sam said, the anger in his eyes now replaced with something akin to fear.
"Not gonna let him do this to us again." Dean stalked over to the table and snatched up the phone, and answered it. "Hello?"
"Hey, there, Dean," came Charlie's menacingly calm voice. "How's Sammyboy doing?" He paused for a moment, and Dean could hear him chuckling. "Stopped by to see him earlier tonight. He's looking good."
Dean's grip on the phone tightened as he turned his head to look at his brother. "You stay away from him. You hear me?"
"Oh, Dean, you don't have to worry about Sammy just yet, I've got other people to take care of first."
"What the hell are you talkin' about, you sonuvabitch."
"Ah, I missed hearing that . . . kinda seems like old times doesn't it?" Charlie laughed. "You calling me a sonuvabitch, me killing people to get to you. Good times, Dean, wouldn't you agree?"
"Where the hell are you?"
"Closer than you think. Got a friend of yours by the way. A detective Diana Ballard . . . you remember her, don't you?" Charlie was quiet again, and Dean could hear the faint sound of a woman sobbing in the background. "She'd come to the phone, Dean, but I'm afraid she'd tied up right now."
"Don't you hurt her," Dean growled, his hand trembling from holding the phone so tight. "Or I swear to God, it will be the last thing you do."
"Oh, you do remember her," Charlie said, mockingly. "Yeah, she helped you, and now it's time for her to pay for interfering in our little game." Charlie drew in a deep breath, and slowly released it. When he spoke again, all traces of humor disappeared from his tone. "In fact, I think I'm going to kill everyone who's helped you, talked to you, or sheltered you over the past year. Have a good night's sleep, Dean — It will be you last."
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Well, first chapter...hope it didn't disappoint!! thanks for reading!! Diana Ballard was a character in Usual Suspects...