Funeral Pyres

Chapter 3

Dean, Sam thought, would probably have had some smart assed remark to fling at his silent audience. He didn't trust himself even to be able to speak, his throat felt dry and his muscles constricted.

He straightened up and as he did so, brushed up against an old gurney and sent in rattling across the floor . The grating noise seemed overly loud and shocking and his heart thumped painfully for one beat. The figures around him flickered briefly, but otherwise were unmoved.

Sam glanced around the room again, the voices that had compelled him to return to this dark and dank room were notably absent and he was suddenly worried that the last hour had been the unfortunate side-effect of Ellicott messing with his head.

No, he admonished himself. Trust your instincts, never second guess yourself. Recalling his father's words, so easily, surprised him. Sam shifted, stiffening his back and lifting his shoulders before he realised what he was doing. This, whether he liked it or not, was part of his world, he had seen things and done things other people couldn't possibly imagine and because of his father, done it well. He was sure Dean would appreciate the irony.

He rubbed a palm across his cheek, brushing away his tears.

There was a slight movement to his left and as he turned, the figure of what appeared to be a small, bony woman stepped away from the others and toward him. Before he could react the room was suddenly pitch black and a cold stabbing pain shot through his temple, Sam couldn't suppress the choked cry that forced itself from his mouth and as he grabbed at his head the room was again filled with dim light.

The slight figure stood only a foot or so before him, a grey emaciated arm raised, one finger outstretched. Sam knew that she had touched him and still rubbing his temple he watched the woman bring the finger to her face and focus her clouded eyes on its tip. It was wet. Slowly she trailed her finger from the corner of her eye down her cheek, her hand dropped to her side as she leaned forward.

Sam remembered his advice to Kat, and lowered his head. The whisper in his ear was all too familiar.

"Free us, Sammy" her voice was scratchy and distorted, but he understood well enough, and then the voices began again, filling the room and bouncing of the walls, it was like listening to a hundred tinny radios, all interrupted by static.

"Frr, Frr..eee. Us. Us. Sam, Sam, Sammy." The chant rolled through his head,

The noise quickly became overwhelming, bringing fresh tears to his eyess. Hissing and shrieking until Sam was pressing his hands against his ears, and then it was gone and he was alone again.

Sam blinked and wiped his eyes. He hadn't misunderstood the voice he had heard in the car and the motel. The souls of those who had lived and died under the tender care of Dr Ellicott were still trapped, caught in the decaying walls of what might have been a sanctuary to some and but had been a prison to others.

Sam frowned, turning to stare at the cabinet that had held the mortal remains of Ellicott and was now covered in a grimy layer of ash, it doors open, just as Dean has left it.

It was Ellicott's more recent victims that had brought them to Roosevelt, or, Sam thought bitterly, attracted the attention of his elusive father. Dispatching the late doctor's spirit had ensured that no one else would fall victim to his ministrations, but in the confusion and horror of their encounter, they had forgotten about his first victims.

They been waiting for something or someone to rid them of Ellicott for many more years that Sam had been alive, and although Ellicott could no longer torture them, it seemed that they were unable to move on. Sam felt uneasy, what had these spirits, some as tormented in life, as in death, seen in him?

Sam walked slowly around the room, looking for something that might help him understand why so many remained. It was getting hard for him to think clearly and a strong musty smell added to the unsettling and oppressive weight that seemed to be pressing between his shoulder blades. He suddenly felt very tired and alone.

He didn't know what he could do, on his own. It wasn't a situation that came up that often, if at all in, the Winchester family business. The voices had been impossible to ignore and the desire to get out of Dean's way had added to the pressure to return to the asylum.

Now, Sam realised, he needed to think, take a shower and eat. The Roosevelt inmates had waited a long time, they could wait a little more.

Time to leave, he decided, get back to the motel. Research, that thought was comforting, maybe look into Ellicott's experiments, perhaps, that was the key. Talk to Dean. Sam stopped, that was not such a comforting thought. Dean would have ideas, though, once Sam had explained, Dean would want to help and Sam would have a chance to make amends. The compulsion that had brought him to the hidden basement room was now replaced with an almost desperate need to leave.

He hurried along the corridor and bounded up the stairs two at a time. Ahead he could see the open doors and through the links of the fence, the Impala. He broke into a slow run, the weight on his back was getting heavier. The hairs along his neck and down his arms were raising against a chill damp in the air.

Sam knew a second or two before it happened, a slight vibration rolled up through the floor and he quickened his pace, but it was too late. The double doors rattled for an instant and then slammed shut.