Chapter Two
"We need popcorn."
Sam turned his head slightly, frowning at the slouched figure of his brother in the reclining red seat next to him. They had pulled up in front of the Lincoln Theater just in time for the beginning credits of the movie Red Dawn. Dean had insisted they buy tickets and check out the theater from the inside. Of course, the older man's desire to see the action flick had nothing to do with the reports of ghostly activity they were supposed to be there to check out.
Sam had quickly reminded himself that this was the kind of thing he had missed so much while his brother had been gone. Having Dean back was more than worth sitting through some cheesy battle between teenage soldier wanna-be's and Hollywood's idea of a Russian invasion force. He couldn't help but be amused by the look of sheer delight on Dean's face as they chanted the battle cry 'Wolverines!' as the rag-tag heroes took on the bad guys.
"Dean," he leaned over to whisper, trying not to disturb the other patrons in the theater. "You've already had a box of Goobers, a Nestle Crunch and a large Coke."
Dean held up a hand, shrugging one shoulder in acknowledgement. "And now I need popcorn. Come on, Sammy, it's not a real movie experience without the popcorn."
Sam sighed and placed his own small cup of soda in the holder at the end of the armrest. "Fine. I'll get popcorn."
Dean smiled wide as the younger man rose, crouching to compress his 6'4" stature as he worked his way from their seats in the center of the row to the aisle.
"And bring back another Coke!" Dean called in a loud whisper. "And Skittles!"
Sam waved a hand in acknowledgement and hurried out of the darkened theater into the brightly lit lobby. As he approached the concession stand, and young woman turned from the popcorn machine, giving him a bright smile.
"Hi," she greeted. "Can I help you?" Her eyes lit up as he returned the smile and she leaned across the counter, her white collared shirt falling open to reveal the top edge of a red lacey undergarment.
Sam coughed, quickly pulling his eyes from the intriguing view. "Um, yeah. Hi…" he glanced at the girl's nametag then reluctantly pulled his eyes to her pretty brown ones. "Kim." He repeated the name printed on the shiny gold tag. "I'd like a large popcorn and a large Coke."
Kim nodded and turned to pull a bag from the stack next to the large popcorn popper. She quickly filled the bag, squirting butter from a decorative pump then placed in on the counter. "You're not from around here," she observed as she pulled a cup from underneath the counter and placed it under a stream of flowing cola. "I'd definitely remember you if you'd been here before."
Sam blushed and dipped his head. "Uh, no. My brother and I are just passing through. We saw the marquee and he couldn't resist…" He shrugged, giving her a lopsided grin.
"And he sent you on the popcorn run, huh?"
Sam laughed. "Yeah. Kind of the job of the younger brother, I guess."
She returned the laugh as she placed a lid on the now filled cup and set it next to the bag of popcorn. "I'm Kim."
Sam pointed toward her name badge. "I guessed that. I'm Sam."
"Nice to meet you, Sam."
Sam handed her a ten and waited while she retrieved his change. "Kim, can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"I read something in the paper about a guy getting hurt here a little while ago. Was that true?"
Kim's face took on a serious expression as she nodded her head. "You must mean Bob Wheeler. He's been the projectionist here since before I can remember. It was awful," she shuddered, wrapping both arms around her torso. "I guess it looked worse than it actually was, what with all the blood and everything."
"What happened?"
Kim shrugged. "Nobody is really sure. Bob couldn't really explain it. One minute he was rewinding the film at the end of the night and the next he was screaming. When Kevin and I made it upstairs to the booth, he was holding his arm, blood dripping everywhere." Her eyes widened as she returned her gaze to Sam. "I guess it took about twenty five stitches to close the gash. He's okay, but I had no idea a little reel of film could do something like that."
"So you were here when it happened?"
Kim nodded. "Yeah, and that's not the only weird thing I've seen."
Sam schooled his face into an expression of innocent curiosity. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," Kim looked around then leaned forward across the counter, offering another view of the red lacey bra. "I was here one night closing up when I heard a noise coming from the storeroom behind the concession stand." She pointed to a narrow black door to the far right of the counter. "I thought Kevin, the assistant manager had come back in, but when I went to check it out there was this…" she look up at Sam hesitantly, obviously trying to decide whether to tell him what had really happened.
Sam leaned forward also, lowering his head to catch her eyes. "Kim, what happened?" he asked in a soft, comforting tone.
Kim shook her head. "I still don't really know. I mean I felt something – I know I did. Something pushed me into the room then slammed the door shut behind me. Everyone keeps telling me it was just my imagination, that I must have tripped or something but…." She looked up at Sam with wide eyes. "I know what I felt. Someone or something pushed me."
Sam nodded. "Most people would've just quit and never come back."
Kim grinned. "I need the job," she explained. "I'm a sophmore at the community college. Tuition doesn't grow on trees you know."
They were interrupted by the chiming of Sam's phone. He pulled it from his pocket, shaking his head with a grin. "My brother," he relayed as he pocketed the phone without bothering to anwer.
"Not exactly the patient type, huh?"
"Not when it comes to food," Sam agreed. "It was really nice to meet you, Kim. Maybe I'll see you around?"
Kim smiled, nodding eagerly. "I'd really like that, Sam."
Snsnsnsnsns
Sam handed off the popcorn and pop to his brother before settling down to watch the end of the battle on screen.
"Dude, what took you so long?" Dean whispered, grabbing a handful of buttery kernels and shoveling them into his mouth.
"I was having a little chat with the girl who works the concession stand." Sam whispered back. Reaching for his own handful of popcorn.
Dean chuckled, and knowing smile lifting the sides of his mouth as he wagged his eyebrows up and down. "That's my boy," he sputtered around a mouthful of kernels. "She hot?"
"Red lacey bra hot."
Dean nodded in approval. "Sammy, you dog."
"She's the same concession girl who got locked in the storeroom," Sam conceded. "Thought I could get some first hand information."
Dean turned his eyes back to the movie, but continued to nod. "Mixing business and pleasure, little brother?"
Sam pursed his lips then shrugged. "What can I say, Dean. Red. Lacey. Bra."
Dean chuckled and grabbed another handful of popcorn. "Guess I did rub off on you after all these years."
Snsnsnsnsnsnsns
The Winchesters sat quietly in their seats as the lights rose in the theater and the other audience members stood and began to make their way toward the aisles. Discreetly watching the other patrons as they filed out of the theater, both brothers remained slouched, feigning interest in the movie credits as they slowly rolled up the screen.
"Now what?" Sam asked as the last movie-goer disappeared through the exit.
"Now, you go chat up your new friend Lacey –"
"Kim," Sam corrected with a frown.
Dean grinned. "Dude all I heard was 'red lacey bra'. Anyway, go back and talk to... Kim… keep her busy and see if you can get a handle on who we might be dealing with here."
Sam nodded, not opposed to another conversation with the attractive concession worker. "And what are you gonna be doing while I'm doing all the work as usual?"
It was Dean's turn to frown at the insinuation, but he pulled a small EMF meter from his inside jacket pocket and switched the device on. "I'm going to be checking out the rest of the theater, Don Juan. Once we confirm we are dealing with a pissed off spirit, then we can concentrate on figuring out how to get rid of it."
Sam nodded in agreement and picked up the now empty popcorn bag, depositing it in the trash bin on his way out the door. He quickly scanned the lobby, pleased to see only a few people milling a round a roped off display in the far corner of the room across from the concession stand. Kim stood behind the counter, polishing the chrome of the butter dispenser. She looked up and gave Sam a big smile as he approached.
"Hi Sam. Don't tell me your brother needs more food?"
Sam laughed and shook his head. "Probably, but if he wants anything else he's on his own." He leaned his arms on the counter and leaned sideways, nodding toward the display across the room. "What's that all about?"
The area was cordoned off with dark purple velvet ropes attached to shiny gold plated posts that looked like they were bolted into the floor. The wall behind the ropes was filled with old black and white photos of what Sam assumed was the theater itself before the fire that gutted it. There were 6 different photos grouped in the center of the wall, directly below a brass plague engraved with what looked like a list of names. In the center of the area, directly below the photos, was a large, cement slab that vaguely resembled the shape of the marquee out front.
"Oh, that's the memorial to the people that died in the fire here in the 1930's," Kim explained. Her voice took on a sing-song quality as if this was something she reiterated over and over again. "When the Lincoln Theater burned, there were at least six people that they knew of who perished in the flames. The actual cause of the fire was never really identified, but they suspected arson. When they decided to rebuild the place, that chunk of concrete was all that was left of the original building. When the town bought the building, they found that down in the basement with the photos of the old theater. They decided to bring it up here and set up this memorial."
Sam nodded as she finished her narrative. "Are they sure those were the only victims?"
Kim shrugged. "I guess so. Nobody else was ever reported missing, so they figured that was it. Everyone else got out okay. It was just those six people who died, either from the smoke or the fire itself."
"Wow," Sam grinned, impressed with the girl's knowledge of the theater. "I guess you get asked that question a lot, huh?"
She returned the grin with a wide eyes nod of her head. "You'd be surprised. Good thing I'm a history major, it's all kind of interesting to me. I did a paper on the tragedy for a class last year. Did quite a bit of research on the victims. It was pretty fascinating finding out who they all were and everything."
"Sounds like it," Sam could tell she held more than a passing interest in the subject, and, he was pretty sure, he would be able to convince her to share the information. Of course, he could tell Dean it was purely for research purposes, despite the fact that spending some time getting to know this particular source of information would be a pursuit that was far from appalling. Despite the fact that he'd teased Dean about doing all the work, this was one time he really wouldn't mind taking one for the team. "I'd love to hear about it all… I mean… if you'd want to go get a cup of coffee or something."
Kim's smile widened. "Are you asking me out, Sam?"
He ducked his head, letting his eyes drift to hers through the fringe of bangs. "Are you saying yes?"
She laughed out loud. "Does anyone ever tell you no?"
Sam pushed himself off the counter, his eyes twinkling with delight. "You'd be surprised."
Snsnsnsnsnsnsn
Dean had waited until his brother disappeared through the doorway before turning and leaning back into the seat, closing his eyes as he sighed. It wasn't that he didn't understand, let alone appreciate, Sam's concern and sudden need to keep close watch on him – hell even he could tell he was kind of coming apart at the seams. But ever since his moment of weakness when he'd spilled his guts about what he'd gone through in the Pit to his brother, the younger Winchester had pretty much glued himself to the older man's side, watching him for any sign that he was going to go postal.
He kind of regretted telling Sam what he'd been through in Hell. He'd made himself believe that the younger hunter would be appalled at what he'd done, at how he'd allowed himself to be broken, but he should have known better. He should have known Sam would never believe the worst of him – the kid just wasn't wired that way. No, Sam would never blame him for what he'd done. Which made it all the worse.
Dean knew what he'd done was unforgivable. He knew he'd given those evil sons-a-bitches exactly what they'd wanted. But no matter how many times he replayed it in his head, no matter how many times what he'd done flashed before his eyes, he couldn't find any way around it.
They'd broken him. That much was obvious. But maybe Sam was right… maybe Anna was right… maybe it wasn't really his fault. He'd tried. He'd tried so hard not to give in. But a person could only take so much pain, right? A man could only take so much torture before…
Dean took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, pushing himself up from the seat. He shook his head as if to dislodge his current line of thinking and looked down at the EMF meter in his hand.
He needed to get to work. He needed to do his job. That was the only thing that had been distracting him from the torrent of memories that lurked on the fringe of his subconscious. The booze helped, but he knew Sam was going to be keeping a close eye on him from here on out. And he was probably right about the drinking. Dean remembered how scared he'd been after Mom had died when he was forced to watch Dad sink into a bottle over and over. And even Sam had relayed his own attempt to drink away the pain after Dean had… gone.
But the booze was still helping him keep the memories at bay enough so he could get through the day. He didn't really believe it had become a real problem yet, and he managed to convince himself he'd be able to keep it under control.
For now, at least.
He took a flask from another inner pocket, downing a quick swallow of the burning liquid. As the whiskey warmed his throat and belly, he forced his inner monologue into a dark corner of his mind and moved off toward the aisle, his eyes scanning the semi-darkened theater. He made his way down the aisle toward the big white screen at the front of the theater. The curtains had remained open after the feature had finished, probably due to the next movie scheduled in less than an hour.
A loud whine from the EMF caught his attention as he pointed it up toward the curtains and he squinted through the dim light for a glimpse of any kind of shadow or movement that didn't belong.
"You're not supposed to be up here."
Dean whirled around, thumbing off the EMF as he quickly stuffed it into his pocket. Schooling his face into an innocent grin, he waited while the old man made his way down the aisle, stopping a few yards past the front row of seats.
"Sorry," Dean shrugged, quickly covering with an easy lie. "I was just checking the old place out. I'm kind of an architecture buff."
The old man looked him over carefully, obviously coming to the conclusion that he meant no harm. "It's a beautiful old building," he nodded in agreement. "Not quite as majestic as her predecessor, but still a remarkable piece of construction."
"Her predecessor?" Dean asked in a curious tone, hoping he'd be able to glean some helpful information about the place from the old man. The darkness of the theater hid the man's true age, but from the stoop of his shoulders and the stiffness in his movements, Dean assumed he'd seen quite a bit of the theater's history first hand. "This isn't the original theater?"
"Oh no," the old man waved a gnarled hand. "The original Lincoln Theater burned to the ground back in the 30's. Took a few people with it." He pulled a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his pocket, shaking one out and placing it between his lips. Taking a quick look around, he retrieved a tarnished silver lighter and shakily lit the end if the cigarette.
Dean grinned. "I thought it was illegal to smoke in public buildings."
The old man shrugged. "I'm an old dog. Ain't nobody even going to try to teach me new tricks." He took a few puffs from the cigarette, then waved a hand around the auditorium. "This building was built on top of the original site. The tried to copy the previous construction close as they could, but it never really did have the same feel."
Dean gave the man a genuine smile, reacting to the obvious fondness he had for the place. "You remember the original one?"
"Yep," the elderly man moved over the row of red velvet seats and lowered himself into the one on the end. "It was a beautiful, magical place. I can remember sneaking in the back every Saturday morning to watch the western serials they ran." He shook his head fondly. "Now those were movies. None of those special effects monster, hack 'em up excuses for films they show in the cinemas nowadays."
Dean chuckled, not bothering to tell the old guy that some of those monsters were pretty close to the real thing. "Every Saturday, huh? You had to have been nothing more than a little kid."
The old man shrugged, returning a deep chuckle of his own. "I'll do the math for ya, kid. I was 8 years old when the place burned down in 1937." He sighed wistfully. "It was a different time back then, son. Nobody worried about some pervert snatching their kids from the back yard. Our folks never worried about where we were or what kind of trouble we could find. They never had any cause to. Not like today."
Dean nodded grimly, the horrors of the modern world all too vivid in his mind. He redirected his attention to the old man as he continued his narrative. "There was a boy, his name was Edward. Not Ed or Eddie, always Edward. He wasn't from around here, just showed up one day when I was sneaking in. After a while, I figured out he was living here in the basement. Probably a runaway, never really knew. Just knew he liked the old westerns just as much as me. I'd sneak in and he'd always be waiting for me. Knew the ins and outs of that old place so we never got caught…."
The old man's voice trailed off as his memories filled his mind and Dean shuffled his feet, feeling sorry for the obvious loneliness of the old man. "Did Edward die in the fire?"
The old man nodded sadly. "Yes. After the fire, I never did see him again. I guess I always believed he perished like the others."
Dean jumped as his phone rang and he gave the old man an apologetic look as he pulled it from his pocket and flipped it open. "Yeah?"
"Hey," Sam's voice rang through clearly. "I'm gonna skip out and get a cup of coffee with Kim. I'll meet you back at the hotel in a few."
"You and Lacey have fun," Dean smiled into the phone, his voice carrying a teasing warning. "Now don't you embarrass me, Sammy. I don't want the family name tarnished."
"Like that's possible." The line went dead and Dean chuckled to himself as he returned the device to his pocket.
"You get ditched?"
Dean tilted his head, shrugging a shoulder in acknowledgement. "Sometimes, even the 'B' team gets lucky."
The old man snorted out a laugh as he pushed himself up from his seat. "Then maybe you've got time for a guided tour thru the old place?"
Dean was pretty sure his new friend was simply looking for someone to spend some time with, an opportunity to tell a few stories, to relive the good old days. Of course, Dean had nothing better to do and he found himself kind of liking the old guy. He held out a hand, which was taken in a surprisingly firm grip. "My name's Dean."
"Gabe," the old man replied, a lopsided grin on his wizened face. "Pleasure to meet ya, Dean."
TBC
