Moral objectivists believe that there is an objective and independent moral standard that applies to all people, in all places and at all times. Moral norms are absolute from a moral objectivist's point of view. If a moral objectivist upholds the norm that lying is wrong, he or she would agree to the statement that lying is always wrong, regardless of the context. However, if a moral objectivist upholds the norm that lying is not morally wrong, he or she would agree to the statement that lying is never morally wrong, regardless of the context.
– Sam Winchester, extract from final report
*.*.*.*
Then:
Boring; absolutely positively boring. Those were the only words that came to mind as he watched people pour through the open gates, fresh faces flooding the courtyard as he searched for someone remotely familiar he could talk to. It was his second year of pouring over books and avoiding any social gatherings, it was his second year of leaving his life of hunting behind.
Sam knew he was right to leave; it wasn't too hard to push the faces of what was left of his family out of his mind. Not that they really were a family, that's why it was so easy. So easy to pack his bags and never even think twice before leaving, even if it meant never coming back. Sam knew he lost everything that night, all he had was a duffle full of clothes and books and his ticket out of that life; a scholarship to Stanford that got him in on a full ride. Hunting was never what Sam wanted, it was never his ambition; he could deny the thrill and rush that he craved from it but it was never what he wanted.
Waking up every morning in a rundown motel with what looked like urine and stains on the carpet and faintly smelled like a homeless man puked in the corner was not something anyone would wish for. The near death experiences, the short life spans, the paranoia and the death that came with the lifestyle was just crap. He was dragged into this bullshit life and he was sure as hell escaping it.
Saving people, hunting things, the family business… in Sam's mind it was utter bull. He knew the his dad wasn't in for it because he was saving people but because his alcohol fogged brain was hell bent on revenge for killing the thing that murdered his mother.
"Sam! Hey!" The shill shout of a female's voice snapped Sam out of his thoughts, glancing up he saw Jess's lithe body bouncing up and down with too much energy and excitement for Sam's liking.
With a small flick of his wrist he waved back and started to make his way over, his grin spreading from ear to ear. "Hey Jess, how was your break?"
"It was alright, you know how family can get" Jess chuckles softly and gently bumped her fist into Sam's shoulder, "what about you? Did you stay on campus again?" Sam could hear the pity in her voice no matter how much she tries to mask it with sincerity and a wide smile.
"Yeah, just the usual" Sam's voice trailed off as he glanced down at the ground and back at Jess. "Have you seen anyone else around? I think I saw Brady and Luis skulking around somewhere"
"They went off before to go see if they can go find Becky and Zach, they said they'd arrive together. Well I'm not waiting for them, want to go back to the dorms and check out our new roomies?" Sam couldn't help but feel relieved that Jess had brushed Sam's attempt to change subject aside and just went alone, the conversation of 'I-couldn't-stay-with-my-family-because-they-told-me-not-to-come-back' filled with the 'if's' and 'why's' wasn't one he particularly wanted to have. Sam had practiced his story days before he first arrived to Stanford, it wasn't unusual for him to be secretive about his past, and it was expected of him and so were all the other unusual habits he brought along with him.
Sam couldn't deny he missed hunting, he knew deep down he longed for the long nights of staking out to find a vampire nest or driving silver through a werewolves heart. The urge coiled around in the back of his mind like a snake, it was getting restless, anticipating the right moment to strike, the right moment to devour its meal. "Sam?"
Blinking twice, Sam could feel a soft blush rise to his cheek as he snapped out of his thoughts, "oh right, yeah. Let's go" He muttered back, distractedly, too focused on the raging current that was his mind.
Sam flinched as he felt Jess's slim fingers wrap around his forearm, he swore under his breath lightly, cursing himself for being so on edge over reminiscing over the past. He was in the middle of college grounds; there were no werewolves, wendigo's or poltergeists lurking within the walls, not a single hunt or hunter to be worried about. No matter how long Sam would spend on campus, how much he familiarised himself it everything he had to remind himself this wasn't another hunt; it was college, and Jess. No matter how many times he told himself this something nagged at the back of him mind, wrong-unsafe-hunt-kill. The thoughts lurked deep within his urges, the need to hunt, to kill whatever he deemed unfit to live. It was the family business, it was his childhood his upbringing and hunting wasn't something you could walk away from. It was part of Sam, no matter how much he tried to deny it, a curved blade fit more comfortably in his hand than a pen.
He could feel the soft flesh under his fingertip, the gentle thrum of her heartbeat pulsing with life. The more he pressed the louder it got, more frantic, and fighting for life, struggling in his grasp. He could feel her nails grazing his flesh, drawing blood whenever they could find any bare skin. He could feel the struggles becoming weaker and more futile, then it stopped. Her heartbeat fluttered one last time then silence, he dug his fingers into her throat one last time before letting his arms fall limply to his side.
"Sam? You ok? You've been more distracted than usual. Is it… is it your family? Did something happen?" the words were slick with worry and oozed with sympathy, there was no sugar coating it.
Sam bit back his tongue and just shook his head, "'M just tired, late night" with an overly bright smile; his dimples attacking her at full force, Sam wrapped his arm around Jess's shoulder and started walking towards the dorms. "Now I need all the holiday gossip, what'd I miss?"
Jess's eyes lit up deviously, forgetting anything to do with what had been mentioned less than a minute ago, trust gossip to distract a girl. "Well, you know Josh…."
Sam continued to smile and nod throughout the mountain of words, 'ohmygoshes' and who slept with who but the small space at the back of his mind was thinking back to before, remembering the unsavoury thoughts that circled his mind, and for the first time Sam was terrified that it wasn't a just a joke, the temptation was there and it was only a matter of time before he succumbed.
*.*.*.*
A couple of weeks had passed, classes want by smoothly and finding time for his job became more and more difficult as the workload had started to pile up. Sam left home with all of his possessions, a backpack full of clothes, few weapons his father had given to him when he turned seventeen and a wad of cash he nicked from Dean and John before he left. That was all he came in with on the first day. Money was tight even when he got in on a full ride; most of Sam's holidays were spent working double shifts at three different places getting payed the minimum wage because that's all he was, cheap labour; a pawn in the daily struggle that was society. He managed to scrape by, putting most of his money towards accommodation, food and college books. He wore the same clothes and everyone knew, they took one look and they knew; society had truly pissed on Sam Winchester. It was why Sam needed to do well, stay at the top,
Another all-nighter spent studying; Sam couldn't afford to let his marks slip; he came in on a full ride and without his family school was all he had left. The only thing in his life he had left that he could control. The library had become his sanctuary; the ethereal beauty and tranquillity of being surrounded by books always was something he craved. He would spend hours hunched over a desk revising notes and studying. On the odd occasion he would grab a book and spread out on one of the chairs, immersing himself in literature. It was only until Zach found him, drifting in and out of consciousness over a highlighter abused text book, was he dragged by the ear from the library.
"C'mon Sam, did you forget, again¸ that we were supposed to meet the others for coffee today. Becky is gonna be so pissed that you forgot"
Sam didn't bother keeping track to where he was going, just as long as it was somewhere where he could have a litre of caffeine pumped into his bloodstream to restore him to be a functioning human being; or something that resembled one.
It wasn't until Sam had finally started to settle when four pairs of clearly unimpressed eyes locked onto him and Sam could feel himself bracing for what was to come.
"Sam you gotta stop trying to kill yourself with work. Seriously, how long have you been in there? You left after dinner last night" Michaels voice snapped him out of the fantasy world that was playing in his head. "You're not going to be kicked out if you don't get top marks or straight A's"
"Mike 'm fine. Just lost track of time, that's all." Sam squirmed slightly in his seat, not taking his eyes off of the bottom of the coffee mug. He wasn't one to deny he had been neglecting himself but he wasn't the priority, neither was food nor wasting time socialising. He needed to stay on top, prove he wasn't useless.
"Just like the time you 'accidentally' passed out during out study group last week" Becky's voice was shrill, demanding. Sam couldn't help feel on edge, the ever demanding rage that lurked in the back of his mind became restless, each work felt like a slap to the face making white hot rage curl around the pit of his stomach.
It was like a chain reaction of events, it had happened so fast that Sam couldn't really distinguish what had happened but it was over in a flash. Time seemed to have slow down to a lazy drawl as Sam through himself over the table, his arms reaching for Becky's neck. The weight and force of his entire body hitting the table sent scalding hot coffee everywhere, the burning liquid splashed over Zach and Michael. Sam watched the two bolt upright, rubbing their reddening flesh in attempt to shake off the burning liquid. Cold and cruel satisfaction was all Sam really felt, the pure everlasting joy of watching the light fade from someone's eyes. His grip tightened on Becky's throat as she tried to claw at his face, searching and gasping for air but with no avail. A small spout of continuous laughter erupted from his mouth, his crazed grin spreading from ear to ear as he lifted then rammed Becky's head again the wall.
Again…
And again…
And again…
"Sam! Are you even listening?" Becky's voice yanked Sam back into reality, only to be greeted by concerned stares and uneasy glances. Sam could feel the smile that had creeped onto his mouth whist deep in thought.
"Maybe you should go see a shrink or something" Michael's words cut right through Sam, unwanted feeling's coursed through him. Betrayal? Hurt? Why would he say I need a shrink? I'm not crazy. I'm fine… I'm sane. The look Sam shot him was nothing less than murderous, making Michael back down slightly, afraid of the wild accusations his friend might throw at him. "Not that you're crazy or anything but you keep zoning out and you never leave that library. Going a day without staying up until all hours of the night isn't going to kill you Sam, plus…"
"Just cut the crap and say yes Sam, you do law; majority rules, you're going to let us help you" as per usual Becky was the one to interrupt. Her overly shrill whine dug its way into Sam's brain; pushing and pressing against what little patience he had left; testing him, waiting for him to burst.
"Ok ok yes fine" Sam held his arms in surrender hoping that agreeing would shut them up, one session wouldn't hurt. As long as it wasn't cutting into his study time. "Just one session, I still don't see what the problem is"
Sam's eyes flittered over to Zach's silent form, not a word had been uttered once the topic had been changed. Not a single judgment or personal thought, just patience and the familiar smile and reassuring nod that he always shared with him. "I think you should do it Sam, I don't see the harm… and I agree. Maybe help is the best option"
"I said ok, god" Sam couldn't hold back the snappish anger in his voice, betray was definitely what he was feeling. The same if's and why's raced through his mind as he shut his mouth and stared down at his cup.
If I stayed with dad where would I be now.
Why did I leave? Really.
The rest of the afternoon passed slowly, the hints of unease spreading through the group. Sam's temper and obvious anger made everyone sit on edge. Tiptoeing around conversation topics scared to set him off, Sam knew what they were doing. It angered him more, he was not crazy. He wasn't something he hunted that you need to be careful around. He was normal. He was sane. He… was late for class.
Shit!
With a rushed goodbye and awkward goodbyes he hurried out the door, not daring to even take the chance of glancing back at the people he had run away from.
*.*.*.*
Now:
The papers were being sold by the dozen; news stations open the floodgates to let money poor in. Every week there would be a new headline, all featuring the same infamous face, the same shit eating grin that everyone had become accustomed to love and to absolutely despise. Sam Winchester, the face behind the most notorious killer. The face seemed too young, too beautiful to ever vomit any of those sins. It had been over two years since the first blood was spilt by his hands, the brutality yet elegance of the murders was what captured everyone's attention. The first murder had been messy; blood painted the walls and coated the flood like a second coating of paint. The victim's body had been hacked apart by an axe, the scene itself looked angry. Like a child had thrown a tantrum. Multiple stab wounds were littered across the torso, over 20 circling the same stop like he had stood over the body striking over and over. Yet this wasn't what captured everyone's attention. Once the body had been turned over the entire back had become a canvas, being home to a series of small carefully placed slashes and cuts all coming together form a masterpiece. The words had been carved into him, nobody knew if it was a message or a reminder; if it was an avenging angel. But everyone knew the story, the words that would be remembered for eternity.
For many shall come in my name, saying, I am [Christ]; and shall deceive many.
It wasn't until it was too late before his identity had been found, some were saying it was on purpose but the single strand of hair left on one of the bodies before the first massacre had the appearance of a small blessing but ended up being the disguise to a curse. When the police arrived at the house the screaming began, blood splattered against the windows and screams echoed the hall. He stood in front of the window, a hostage in hand, making the police watch as he dragged the knife along her throat, letting her life solely drain from her. No one knew to this day how he managed to escape but he did, only leaving behind a single message.
Now it's time for me to be hunted.
After that incident the kill count just kept rising leaving the police absolutely baffled and clueless. Each day panic and terror rose, soaring above everyone's heads as the hysteria set it. Each kill was a work of art and everyone knew what message the artist's work was trying to get across; absolute fear.
*.*.*.*
After over two months without a single kill under his name, faces and names littered the newspaper. The artist strikes again. This was the once investigation that police hated, the way the bodies were so horrifically displayed, whether they were hung up or impaled. There was always one similarity, the words and symbols that littered the body and the hacked apart pieces of flesh and bone. The most recent kill had lest the police horrified, three victims had been strung up by a wire; one slowly by the neck to the head was slowly being separated from the body, the spinal cord had been severed and the skin was slowly being torn apart on its own, remainder of skin and flesh straining and slowly coming apart from the weight, accelerating the process of decapitation. Another was nailed to the wall, their eyes had been scooped out of their sockets and their flesh hurriedly and messily removed from the body. The third was still alive once the police got there, he was hanging upside down by one foot, his stomach had been cut open and blood was oozing from the wound onto the ground.
Intestines and other organs you couldn't really make out littered the ground, the smell of three or four day old flesh and dried blood assaulted the noses of the investigators. No one knew how to stop him; the kills just kept coming, seemingly worse and worse each time. But it was only a matter of time before he would get caught, before he would get bored being on the run. Isn't that what happens. Sam Winchester needs to be caught, no matter how and with whatever means necessary. It was just a matter of knowing where he was and where he will strike next