Mesmerized – Chapter 2
Lowell Busbee' s EstateBy the third morning, Dean felt mended and rested enough to tackle the Impala. Smiling, and in his boxers after completing his baby's oil change, he set about washing and hand-waxing his sleek, black beauty. He was enjoying the solid, smooth feel of the glossy steel beneath his calloused hands. "She" was one of the few consistencies in his ever-changing life.
Sam quietly appeared with a couple of cold beers, and after handing one off, dropped into a porch chair. He sipped his beer watching his older sibling through half-closed eyes, snorting in amusement.
Dean turned, a mild challenge in his hazel eyes, "Yes? Any problem, here?"
Sam smiled, "Dean, man, you and that car! You take better care of that thing than you do of your own body!"
Dean paused, smirking, "Yeah, yeah. I know you may not agree, Samantha, but, hey, the last time I carried you piggyback you were what? Six?! If I had to carry you place to place now those freaky, long legs of yours would be dragging. We're talking serious road rash here, Dude! Give our trusty steed a little respect, huh?"
Sam laughed, shaking his head in friendly surrender, "You're right, Dean. She's part of the team."
At 10 a.m. on the fourth day of absolute freakish normalcy, Sam was unhappily scouring the internet. Sitting on the rear patio while an antsy big brother lounged almost dejectedly in the hot tub. Sam knew he had to find a gig, pronto. He wondered if Dean's feet were shuffling even underwater. Sam swore Dean's nervous pacing, that had started late yesterday, was going to drive him crazy. Sam had to admit that the 'normal' life wasn't all that great. They had to hunt it was in their blood. And right now, that blood needed an adrenaline boost.
Noontime slid by disguised as some 'killer' rare steaks and a few beers. Dean resumed pacing wearing a track in the grass beside the patio. Suddenly a yelp escaped Sam's lips. Jumping to his feet, the chair hit the deck with a thud. "I think we got a gig!"
Dean spun around grinning in his direction, nearly drooling in anticipation. "Way to go, Sammy! I'll get dressed and get the car packed to go."
"Don't you want to hear about it, Dean?"
"Hell no, you can fill me in on the way. How far?"
"About four hundred miles." For once Sam's eyes were glowing nearly as fiercely as the older hunter's at the simple promise of a hunt. Grinning with boyish enthusiasm, he added, "I'll toss together a few roast beef sandwiches for the road, jot a quick note to Lowell, and we're out of here."
Sam and Dean were so happy just to be on the road again. Dean was overjoyed that for once he was actually finding an oldies rock station with a strong signal. He cranked up the volume just in time for the opening riffs of Metallica's "Wherever I May Roam". Even Sam joined in singing along with what could have been their theme song.
Other than a "damn, I hate being stuck in bumper-to-bumper fifteen miles per hour traffic" delay for some rerouting, due to a section of road resurfacing, the journey wasn't moving along too badly. Except for a momentary panic when Dean saw the detour signs. It was times like that when Sam was amazed at his brother's vocabulary. Once no rough gravel or oily country roads materialized to try to soil or spoil the rocker panels on the freshly washed Impala, Dean settled down.
Sam had learned many years ago to remain calm and quiet at times like that, what John had teasingly referred to as his 'Silent Sam' mode whenever his older brother was too agitated. After three hours on the road, Sam gratefully spotted a nice deserted picnic area beside a clean little creek bed. Pulling over just to enjoy being able to eat their roast beef sandwiches without brassy waitresses and noisy, obnoxious supper clientele made the stop well worth it. Dean had tossed a couple cans of beer in the bag with the sandwiches, before they'd left their little haven, and they sipped a beer apiece while they talked about the possible hunt.
Sam's find had been reports of ghostly sightings at a little country church up near Antioch, Illinois. A total of five different adults had 'witnessed' strange happenings in and around the churchyard and had included a gray hazy shape floating around under the big oak trees, someone or something that had actually thrown hymnals from the organ loft when no one but the pastor was in the church. The most recent occurrence involved the choirmaster being 'pushed' down a flight of stairs by an unseen force.
It was reed thin on real documentation, but hey, anything was worth a try when you felt as desperate for a hunt as the boys did.
Dean sat quietly running his hand through his spiked blond hair forward and back. He stretched his long frame out on the length of the picnic bench and just watched the pine trees for a few moments before broaching the subject of "what if", not wanting to ruin the sheer joy of the road trip.
"Sooo, Sammy, what are we gonna do if this little Casper sighting is a bust. You said it looked pretty 'iffy'. Did you find any other possible jobs in the somewhat immediate area? 'Immediate' meaning within, I don't know… maybe a six to seven hundred mile radius." He was glad he wasn't eye to eye with Sammy when he added that last part. He didn't want Sam to know how desperately he was itching for a good fight.
Suddenly a dark shadow fell across his face and opening his eyes he found Sam looming above him, leaning across the table top with an insane grin on his face. Sam let out an amused guffaw, shaking his head in good-natured disbelief.
"Six or seven hundred miles? Immediate area?" Sam continued chuckling. "Okay, Dean. I guess 'immediate' is pretty much a matter open for argument when we basically live in the Impala. I'll concede that."
Dean swung his legs off the bench and under the table, smoothing out his jacket as he sat up once more. Squinting against the late afternoon sun, he glanced over at Sam hoping for some other hunting tidbit to savor. "Anything?"
Sam's brow furrowed beneath his shaggy brown locks. Speaking hesitantly, the words forming slowly as if he was unsure of how they would be received by the older hunter. "Well, there was an odd article about how some carnival worker had killed a couple of rude ladies in a town near the Wisconsin border. Does seem a little out of the ordinary, don't you think? People don't usually murder for manners. Cops said the guy seemed under the influence of something, not too responsive, actually stood right there in a daze, until they slapped the cuffs on him."
"Awww, c'mon, Sam. I think that one may really be pushing the envelope a bit too far. It's not like a carnie won't do drugs." Dean grimaced, scrunching his mouth to one side of his handsome face and rubbing his jaw thoughtfully. "Are we that desperate?!"
"Really, Dean, I think we could at least see what we find when we get there. These towns are literally about fifteen miles apart. We could stop at a diner and while they're grilling our burgers, we could grill the waitress. You know how persuasive that boyish grin of yours is around the ladies." Sam knew Dean would never back away from that challenge. He tossed Dean an impish smirk.
Dean's face lit up with one of those 'devil' grins. "Alright, Sammy, you win. Just keep your eye on that laptop and see if we can find anything else, though. We still have another two hours of driving ahead of us."
They cleaned up the remnants of their meal and put the Impala back on the road. Dean drove contentedly as Sam did more research on his trusty laptop.
Paddock Lake, WisconsinIsaiah Simmons, left Frank's house without saying a word, leaving a bewildered Frank sitting dejectedly on the sofa in his basement bedroom, and wondering what he'd done or said wrong. He, Dylan, and Isaiah usually would hang out after a good movie and they'd all play Mortal Kombat or something tamer on the Playstation until supper time.
First Dylan had wandered off without even saying farewell, and now, Isaiah. Frank slouched over to the TV and hit 'play' on the dvd player. Nothing but static was his response. Frowning at first he suddenly remembered the movie had been a 'one time only' disc. Hitting the 'open' button he grabbed the disc and sailed it like a Frisbee towards the wastebasket in the corner of his room. He missed. Oh, well…
Looking through his games, he loaded Zombie Mall Attack into the game player and threw himself onto his bed to mope, but at least enjoy being depressed.
Laying there playing his video games alone for the first time in the weeks since summer vacation began, Frank couldn't help but wonder what had suddenly 'come over' his two best friends.
Man, what the hell..! Me and Dylan and Isaiah we're the Three Musketeers, man! We do everything together..everything! Shit! Even Dylan's mom calls us the Three Stooges. What the hell is happening? I figured all we talked about for today was watching that goofy movie and then getting down to some serious game challenges. Did I say something? Did I do something to piss them off? They just stood up and walked out! Well, screw'em, I'm not apologizing, 'cuz I did nothing wrong to either one of 'em!
Isaiah walked purposefully into his family's small bait and tackle shop. His father looked up briefly as he was completing fishing licenses for two customers. Isaiah milled around listlessly near the bait counter.
The air in the shop reflected the smell of warm moist earth from the worm tubs and cricket hutch and the fishy scent of the minnows and shiners in the tanks. Isaiah seemed not to even notice any more, not after growing up helping with the every day operation of the shop.
Isaiah's dad pushed past him to retrieve some bait canisters, rang up the purchase on the cash register, and as the three men headed out the screened door he called out to his son.
"Isaiah, I'm going to help these guys with the canoe they just rented so please keep an eye on things for awhile." That comment brought a hazy smile to the boy's slack looking face. "Okay? About five or ten minutes, ok?"
Taking the boy's mute stare as an agreement his father took the men to select a canoe and get them onto the broad, quiet lake.
Isaiah stood dumbly in front of the leech tank and began pulling leeches one-by one from the brackish water. As each one squirmed in his grasp he helped it latch onto his intended target. Grabbing one slimy, squirmy leech after another, until he had a full dozen. Then, he just stood quietly, like a statue.
The screen door squeaked open as both of Isaiah's parents came back into the shop, his father barely sparing his son a glance until his wife's terrified screams ripped through him.
Whirling to see what the hell, his mouth fell open in horrified disbelief at the sight of his firstborn son, standing deathly quiet, a dozen black leeches writhing and dangling from his bare eyeballs!