Chapter 2
Sam: So, Paul, do you still work in the hospital?
Paul: No, I have a private practice out of my home. After Jessica's death, (Paul bows his head in sorrow. Dean peeks into the rearview mirror and sees one tear escape his left eye.) I-I needed a more sedate way of life; the hospital was so busy, I found it difficult to concentrate there; so I just rather… (He trails off. Sam looks back, and groans inwardly with pain, knowing this was his own fault. And now he was willing to say just about anything to move past it. Sam sees Dean turn his head and crook his neck, in an apologetic manner. He then looks back at the road.)
Sam: So, I guess you don't have trouble getting patients to come to you, being so centrally located, and all. (Dean took this as his cue to head towards the center of town.)
Paul: No actually, I'm doing quite well. I am surprised however; you remember that, being you only came by when Jessica brought you home for the holidays. (Sam slams his eyes shut, squeezes his jaw, and bites his lower lip, instantly regretting that question. Sam felt like he needed to get out of the car, and fast. He sees a bookstore up ahead, and decides this would make a good opportunity to do so. He elbows Dean's right arm and points.)
Sam: There it is Dean, the bookstore, up on the right.
(Dean happily pulls the car over. Sam starts to open the door even before he has come to a full stop; but Dean didn't protest; he knew very well the need to cut and run that Sam was feeling, having been there so many times before. Ordinarily, he would have gone inside with Sam, but there's a stranger in his car; -one he doesn't trust, so even though they needed a chance to talk and strategize, Dean reluctantly decides not to follow.)
Paul: So, are you married Dean, any children? (Dean never likes that question, it will always hurt him, having had to give up Lisa and Ben, but he would not show this man any weakness.)
Dean: Nope! (He replied in a definitive manner.)
Paul: What's the matter, don't you like women? (Paul launched an intended assault against Dean's manhood; just to see how he faired.)
Dean: Of course I like women! What kind of question is that!
Paul: Oh, I see; just not the marrying kind! (Paul now stresses the words to convey the insult towards the type of women Dean associates with, instead of the kind of man Dean is. But before Dean could reply, his phone rings, and Dean immediately picks up as he sees that it is Sam calling.)
Dean: Yeah? (We see Sam, from inside the bookstore; he is waiting on a short line for the cashier.)
Sam: Dean, we need to talk. I'm sorry. I only realized after, that you couldn't leave Paul in the car alone.
Dean: Yeah, that's okay.
Sam: I don't know what to do; I feel I owe the guy.
(Dean so wanted to say to his little brother, that it's precisely what Paul wants Sam to feel, but he knew he couldn't speak of it with Paul in earshot.)
Dean: Yes well, I get it; I'll text you that information, right away. (Dean hangs up. Paul, a psychiatrist, having studied body language all throughout his career, knew very well, that Dean had to be talking with Sam. His entire demeanor was one of challenges and protection, no matter how badly Dean tried to hide it. Paul waits patiently, as Dean types out the letters explaining his own suggestions. And concluding that Sam would return upon receiving Dean's text, Paul knew he didn't have as much time as he would need to get rid of Dean, before Sam got back, so he drops the previous confrontation, and decides to change the topic of conversation, before Dean returns to it.)
Paul: So, what do you do for a living, Dean?
Dean: I'm a mechanic. (Dean almost said "pest control" but he felt "mechanic" was more threatening, as it is also used in place of "assassin". Looking in the mirror, Dean sees this revelation was not lost on Paul, as his eyes react to the word. Sam returns to the car. He opens his door; Paul and Dean are quiet, as Sam settles in.)
Dean: Did you get it? (Meaning did he get his text.)
Sam: I did, yeah.
Paul: And what, pray tell was that? (Sam pulls out a book, in paperback. Dean receives a text and reads it.)
Sam: Hamlet. (Dean rolls his eyes and turns towards Sammy; he couldn't get something they'd both enjoy? Upon that disapproving look, Sam passes the book back to Paul, who was surprised, but gladly takes it.)
Paul: A most curious choice. (Sam had no way of knowing, that after Jessica died, Paul had begun a secret worship of Shakespeare's plays, especially Hamlet.
Sam finds this to be a pleasant distraction from their predicament.)
Sam: Well no, not really. I saw it recently by a theatre group who was for lack of a better description, truly awful, so I felt I needed to re-read it- (he doesn't get to finish.)
Dean: To get that bad taste out of your mouth, huh, Sammy.
Sam: Right, yeah, exactly, Dean.
Paul: Come, now; how bad could they have been? I mean, what was the problem with their performance?
Sam: Well, first of all, they had no grasp of Early-Modern English, and as far as I could tell; I really don't think they actually understood what it was about. (Paul scoffs; smiles and licks his lower lip, then puts the inside of his fingers, loosely over his mouth.)
Paul: 'Tis not at all that difficult to comprehend; one only need to fully listen to the words, their flow and ebb; for it is poetry, and it is prose, it's life and it's death; What's so hard about: (Then Paul flips to a specific page and reads aloud.)
"I am but mad, north-north-west.
When the wind is southerly,
I know a hawk from a handsaw."
(Sam didn't know why, but he suddenly got the creeps from Paul; was it his choice in words, or how expertly he voiced them, Sam didn't know. But Dean could have sworn from the corner of his eye; that he saw Sam's ears pull back, like those of a frightened animal.)
Paul: See, nothing to it! Although, to be fair…
That was only one sentence, let's try some more, shall we? (He flips more pages, stopping at a one that was already part-way into a soliloquy, and begins again.)
Paul:
He would drown the stage with tears
And cleave the general ear with horrid speech,
Make mad the guilty and appall the free,
Confound the ignorant and amaze indeed
The very faculties of eyes and ears
Yet I, a dull and muddy-mettled rascal,
Peak like John-a-dreams, unpregnant of my cause
And can say nothing-no not for a king
Upon whose property and most dear life
A damned defeat was made.
Am I a coward?
Who calls me "villain"; breaks my pate across?
Plucks off my beard and blows it in my face?
Tweaks me by the nose;
Gives me the lie i' th' the throat as deep as to the lungs?
Who does me this?
Ha!
Swounds, I should take it!
For it cannot be
But I am pigeon-livered and lack gall
To make oppression bitter or ere this
I should have fatted all the region kites with this slave's offal.
Bloody, bawdy villain!
Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous,
kindless villain!
O vengeance!
Why what an ass I am!
This is most brave...
That I the son of a dear father murdered,
Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell
Must, like a whore, unpack my heart with words
And fall a-cursing like a very drab,
A stallion!
Fie upon 't! Foh!
About, my brains
Hum, I have heard
That guilty creatures sitting at a play
Have, by the very cunning of the scene,
Been struck so to the soul that presently
They have proclaimed their malefactions.
For murder; though it have no tongue,
Will speak with most miraculous organ
I'll have these players play something
Like the murder of my father before mine uncle.
I'll observe his looks; I'll tent him to the quick.
If he do so blench, I know my course.
The spirit that I have seen may be a devil,
And the devil hath power t' assume a pleasing shape, yea,
And perhaps,
Out of my weaknesses and my melancholy,
As he is very potent with such spirits,
Abuses me to damn me-
I'll have grounds more relative than this.
The plays the thing;
Wherein, I'll catch
The conscience of the King.
Paul: Ah, Hamlet.
'Tis best or worst on paper, and upon direction; Either a masterpiece or a foul beast; Yet, whence within my grasp, An extravagant spirit!
(Although Dean had only picked up on a small portion of what Paul was reciting, he never felt closer to Shakespeare in his whole life, than he does now; something was definitely there.
Sam, on the other hand, was shaking; he had felt all too well what Paul had so expertly said; how he would prove that Sam was indeed guilty of Jessica's death.
Paul looks ahead, through the huge windshield of the Impala, and recognizes the street they are on as his own, just then, the car comes to a stop right in front of his house. Paul has the distinct feeling that they are dumping him, but he simply won't have it.)
Paul: Gentlemen, come in for drinks and dinner; I'm sure I have something to please your palate!
Sam: Oh, no, Dr. Moore, no, we couldn't impose on you like that.
Paul: Nonsense; as I mentioned earlier, I wish to get more acquainted, I'd really like to become abreast of your lives.
(The look on Dean's face was questioning whether or not the good doctor was sick in the head; while Sam was just trying to pretend to be gracious, and at the same time; to get the hell out of Dodge.)
Paul: I won't take no for an answer. (Paul didn't budge from the car. He knew if he got out first, they certainly would have taken off without him. So, Sam and Dean had no choice but to give in and get out of the car first. Satisfied, Paul then got out. He made sure they walked up the steps before him. Then he squeezes between the two brothers to unlock the door. Sam couldn't help but notice that he still has the book clutched within his hand. Paul gestures for them to enter first as he turns on the parlor lights. It is a beautiful home, very comfortable, very clean, but not too gracious for a doctor.)
TBC
