CHAPTER IV : From Bad to Worse

"Don't look in those sunken eyes
Don't look and you stay alive
Don't laugh in the face of Death or your tongue will blister
Can't die 'til Satan says you die
The Devil takes your soul
With all his wrath he calls the reaper"
When Death Calls – Black Sabbath

°°°

"Dean, check this out?" Sam called from the laptop.

"What?" Dean replied, sitting up from the bed he'd been on for the last hour, trying his best to think about nothing but the case.

"Agnes Chadwick, born Agnes Bella Rowen moved in Baltimore at the age of 20." Sam started.

"She left Salem to follow her soon-to-be husband Mark Chadwick in 1900." Dean continued, peeking over Sam's shoulder, stopping abruptly, realising what he'd said.

"Wait, Salem, as in wicca-witchy-Salem?" He asked, his mouth twitching in a smirk despite him.

"Well, we knew she was no ordinary spirit. I mean, the things she can do, it's huge. This could explain it," Sam commented.

"Yeah, but witches? Come on Sam, ain't no such thing."

"How can you be so sceptical about that, after all we've seen?" The younger brother asked raising an eyebrow.

"Whatever man, witch or not, bitch's going down in flames tonight."

"We'd better go before sunset," Sam sighed heavily.

"Yup, we just have to find a way to pass those next couple of hours," The eldest replied, getting back to the bed and turning on the TV. Sam grunted in response.

"What's the matter, you can get all the beauty-sleep you want for a while, should be happy." Dean said, his smirk turning to a grin.

"Funny. Do you think next time we can stop in a city where not every cop is looking for us? So we can go out every now and then and I don't have to put up with you all the time,"

"Why not, I'm a joy to be around," Dean cockily replied with bemusement.

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that," Sam smiled as he closed his laptop, quickly stealing a glance at Dean who was now comfortably slumped on the bed. He swallowed hard as his mind took another trip down memory lane. Dean had reassured him in a way only his older brother could and he was thankful to him for that. Yet Dean's words and promises hadn't been enough to silence the little voice screaming in the back of his head. His uncertain future was still hunting him. Like an unshakable fear, yelling at him in a desperate attempt to warn him of things to come. The fear of what he might do to his friends and family.

Dean was filliping through the channels, hopelessly searching something worth watching. 'Like you could find something worthy in daytime TV,' He thought, looking sideway to Sam. His younger brother seemed to be lost in thoughts again. This often happened with the kid. 'He's thinking too much,' Dean thought as he flipped to another channel. He was sure Sam was still going over the events of the past days. How delusional had he been to think that their little chat would have solved the problem. Dean shrugged, whatever was coming, and he was going to make sure that nothing could hurt his Sammy. He'd do whatever it takes to protect him. Evil destiny or not.

°°°

The moon had been at its full six nights ago, and it was slowly diminishing. Yet it was still in it's waning gibbous stage and it's ray were already piercing through though it was only 6pm. Luckily for the two Winchesters, the weather was bad and clouds were thick and numerous in the sky.

"Keep an eye behind your shoulder; I don't want to get arrested for digging a grave, again." Dean said as his shovel was breaking up the grass-covered soil.

Sam nodded, lifting the first shovelful of dirt. This was going to be a long night. It was still winter and the earth was slightly beginning to froze, making it harder to break up.

They had probably dug half way when Sam stopped, passing the back of his hand on his forehead, rubbing away the drops pearling on his brow. He was tired, drenched in sweat by the warmth induced by the effort. Yet a chill was tickling his spine. He had been feeling uncomfortable ever since they had entered the cemetery. At first he had thought it was the idea of being near that damned statue again. That it was bringing back memories of what had happened two nights ago. But he'd showed the uneasiness in the back of his mind; focusing on getting the job done. As he stood there, feelings of weirdness assaulted him again and he realised that there was more to it. Sure he had nearly died but that was not the first time. The chill running up and down his spine was the strangest feeling, like an indefinable warning of bad things to come.

To add to the drama of the scene a strong wind started blowing around, soon joined by loud noises in the sky; a sure sign of a heavy storm to come. Dean cursed as a wind stream made him shiver. His shovel hit the ground again as the first rain drops met the earth.

The wind had sent another shiver down Sam's spine, as he stood there, all his senses in alert. He turned his head left and right, searching for a possible enemy but found none. The cemetery was empty and real quiet. Of course who would be wandering around in a cemetery in a cold winter evening? He sighed heavily, his gut wrenching before lifting another shovel-full of dirt. He was eager to get this job done.

"What's the matter?" Dean asked, stopping in mid-motion, his shovel a few inches from the ground.

"Nothing,"

"Come on Sam, what is it?" His brother asked again, a little more insistently this time.

"It's just… I've got this feeling, like something bad's gonna happen."

"Final-Destination like? Beware the terrible killing-spaghettis," Dean laughed, digging up again. This time his shovel it something hard.

"Let's just get this over with," Sam bitterly replied, lifting some more mud to reveal a dark ebony crate.

Dean quickly got out of the grave to get the salt and gasoline and finish the damn job. Sam had let go of the shovel, and was now trying to open the crate. Neither of the brother had noticed that the wind had gotten stronger and that the streams had dangerously unclouded the night sky.

Numerous rain drops were falling from the sky, the wind making their vertical fall not so vertical. But no matter of much force Eos but in its blows it was never enough to stop them from meeting the ground. The pearly drops were glistering on Sam's hair, running along his back. Twin sisters were rolling down Dean's hand as his fingers grasped the salt box. Dean brought the salt up as he stood but stopped in mid-motion. He wondered for a second if he had hurt is head recently and realised he hadn't.

'Then why do I hear voices,' he wondered dully.

Without knowing why, he turned over to the head stone and that's when he realised. Weak rays had reached one of the statue's outstretched arms and her eyes were glowing red again. He felt drawn to her and to his own surprise he felt his feet moving. He heard his brother calling him, tried to reply but couldn't get his mouth to open. Though the woman's voice was getting stronger he couldn't make up the words. They were soft spoken, like a lullaby but not in English. Latin maybe? He was willing his feet to stop walking or better to start running in the other direction and cursed himself when he realised he couldn't get them to operate like he wanted to. He could feel Sam move behind him and hoped his brother wouldn't be affected like him and would burn the bones.

He took a few more steps and the edges started to blur. Suddenly everything was white and a pang of pain raced through his body. He let out a scream and had already lost consciousness before his head touched the ground.

°°°

TBC

Cliffhanger again. I told you I was evil...
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