Psychic Mojo Part Four
Sunday 6:30 am
Sam slept fitfully, plagued with nightmarish dreams of Dean, beaten and bloody, pain-soaked eyes pleading for help. At 6:30 am, he dragged his weary body out of bed. He couldn't pretend to sleep any longer, not with the knowledge that at this very moment Dean could be enduring the beating Sam had witnessed in his vision.
He tried to push back the fear and the guilt, knowing that he needed to focus all his energy on finding Dean. There would be time for blame and recriminations later, when he had his brother back safe and sound.
He had noted that Frankie's Bar was also a restaurant and opened at 6:45 for breakfast. He intended to be there early to question the breakfast customers. At this point, he couldn't think of any other feasible course of action.
He took a quick shower, running the water cold and allowing it to bring him back to full awareness. Dull pain still pulsed at his temples, and he swallowed a few more Tylenol in an attempt to keep the worse of it at bay.
Twenty minutes later he left the motel, packed his and Dean's bags into the Impala, and drove quickly to Frankie's.
When he arrived, the restaurant was already full of customers taking advantage of the early-morning breakfast special. Spotting him, the guy who'd been tending bar the previous night beckoned him over.
"I was about to call you. Guy over there says he knows those men you're looking for."
Sam's heart surged in hope. Finally, a breakthrough. "Which guy?"
The bartender pointed to a man sitting with three others at a nearby table, a full plate of food in front of him and a newspaper propped up behind it. "George Rawlings. Local business owner. Can I get you something?"
Sam shook his head. The very thought of food made him nauseous. "Thanks for your help. I'll take a coffee to go, if that's okay."
The bartender nodded and went back to his work. Sam walked over to the table.
"George Rawlings?"
One of the men, a thickset, gray-haired man in his fifties, looked up and nodded. "You must be Sam. Barkeep told me you'd be in."
Sam nodded. "I hear you know the people I'm looking for."
"I know them." Rawlings put down his newspaper and indicated for Sam to pull up a chair. "Tom McGraw and his boys. They live over in Beaconville, about three hours' drive from here. Tom owns a business selling farm machinery. He comes down here to do business from time to time. I've gotten to know him quite well over the years."
"What can you tell me about them?"
Rawlings looked at him speculatively. "You planning to cause trouble for Tom? Because he has enough trouble of his own."
Sam shook his head. "I just want to talk to him – and his boys. My brother's missing and I think they may have been the last to see him."
"You think they might have been involved?" He obviously took Sam's silence for assent, for he shook his head decisively. "Not Tom. He's a good man, wouldn't be mixed up in anything shady."
"What about his sons?"
Rawlings fingered his jaw. "His eldest boy, Joe… I wouldn't put anything past him these days. He's been a troublemaker since he was a kid, but recently he's been out of control. Temper on him like you wouldn't believe. The younger son Kale though, he's okay, if you keep him away from Joe."
"I heard Tom's daughter's missing."
Rawlings nodded. "Bad business. She disappeared walking home from school and nothing's been seen of her since. Must be eight or nine months now. Rocked the town -- nothing like that's ever happened in Beaconville before."
"Can you give me an address for Tom?"
Rawlings shook his head. "I can give you his office address and number, but that's the warehouse and it wouldn't be open, it being Sunday. But if you head on up to Beaconville, you're bound to find someone who can help you. It's a small town, someone will know Tom."
Sam stood up, holding out his hand. "Thanks. I appreciate the help."
Rawlings took the proffered hand and shook it firmly. "No problem. I hope you find your brother."
So do I, Sam thought vehemently as he paid for his coffee and made his way quickly back to the Impala. Three hours. If he put his foot down, he should be able to make it in two.
Sunday, 8 am
This time, memory and awareness came crashing back immediately. His head still pounded, his face was sore and his whole body ached and throbbed. A vicious, stabbing pain in his right side indicated that some ribs were bruised or cracked. Worst of all, he really needed to pee.
He could hear voices, and he kept his head down and his eyes closed, hoping to pick up some information before they realized he was awake.
"Shit, Joe, this wasn't the way it was supposed to go down! You said we'd just grab him, hold him until his brother finds him. You never said anything about beating the crap out of him."
"What's the matter, you feeling sorry for Pretty Boy? He deserved a beating for what he did to Frank and Johnny."
"Yeah, but…
"Don't be such a wuss, Kale. I made sure I didn't hurt him too bad – yet."
"He looks pretty beat up to me, Joe."
"Just whose side are you on? We're doing this for Maddy, remember?"
"I know, but Joe, what if his brother doesn't come for him?"
"He'll come."
"Yeah, I guess."
"Just trust me, Kale. I'm going out to take watch. Stay here and keep an eye on him."
"All right. But… don't hurt him any more, okay, Joe?"
Dean heard footsteps heading in his direction.
"Joe? What're you doing?" Kale's voice, raised in alarm.
"You know what, bro? I think Pretty Boy's holding out on us. I'm not sure he's as fast asleep as he'd like us to think."
Crap. Dean knew he'd reacted when he'd heard Kale mention Sam. The footsteps came closer, and he felt stale breath on his neck. Then an agonizing pain in his left nipple had his head snapping up and a gasp torn from his lips. He opened his eyes to see that Joe stood grinning in front of him, a small knife held in his right hand. Dean looked down and saw a thin line of blood trail down his chest.
"Next time I'll take it off, so don't mess with me."
"You got something against the whole human race, or is it just me?"
Joe grinned. "For now, just you. Aren't you lucky?"
Dean resorted to a glower, which did nothing to dampen Joe's sudden good mood.
"I guess you want to know why you're here?" Joe asked casually.
"Been wondering," Dean answered, just as casually. He didn't want Joe to know how desperate he was to find out what was going on and what they'd done with Sam.
"It's simple, really. The other night your brother was less than obliging when our Dad politely asked him to help find our sister. So we thought we'd give him some incentive to change his mind."
Dean tried to compute this. "You kidnapped me to get Sam to change his mind?"
"Something like that."
"Well, I hate to burst your bubble, but that's crap. It won't work. Sam can't help you."
"So you both keep saying. And I still don't believe you. But just in case you're right, we're gonna make sure he's the real deal before we waste any more time on him."
Dean frowned. "I don't get it."
"Figures. You don't look too bright. Think about it, Pretty Boy. Sam knows we're holding you. All he has to do is use his psychic mojo to figure out where you are. If he turns up here – bingo! Proof that Psychic Sammy's the real deal."
Dean stared at him. "That has to be the most stupid plan I've ever heard."
Joe's expression darkened. Kale put a warning hand on his arm. Joe shook it off, but he stood his ground. "Oh, I don't know," he said. "You two seem real close. I can't see him sitting in his cozy motel room not giving a damn about you. He'll be here. And when he is, we still have you as insurance to make sure he helps us out. It's a good plan."
"Yeah, well, you'd think so. You clearly have the IQ of a brain-dead hamster."
Joe took a threatening step forward, but again, Kale stopped him. "He's just trying to rile you, Joe."
"Want to know what's wrong with your plan?" Dean went on. It was painful to talk around his swollen lip. The split must have opened again-- he could taste the metallic tang of blood and feel wet warmth trickling down his chin. "One, even if Sam could find me, he isn't stupid enough to rush in with no backup. Two, he doesn't have any psychic abilities, so it isn't going to work anyway."
"I could probably force you to tell me the truth," Joe said. "But I don't need to – not yet. Either your brother'll turn up, or he won't."
"And if he doesn't?"
Joe grinned. "Haven't decided yet."
"And if he does?"
"All we want is for him to find Maddy."
"What if I'm telling you the truth, and he can't?"
"I don't think that's an option." Joe turned away abruptly, as if bored with the conversation. "Enough questions. Kale, keep an eye on him. I'll be outside, waiting for Psychic Sammy."
Dean watched Joe as he headed for the door, noticing for the first time the outline of a bulky object tucked under the back of his shirt. An object that looked suspiciously like a gun. He frowned. The thought of Joe with a gun wasn't a pretty one.
Dean watched Kale flick him a troubled glance and then move away to sit down on a bale of hay. He opened a laptop computer, and soon his head was bent over the screen.
Dean closed his eyes, running back over the conversation in his head. The plan was so stupid he could hardly believe it. But that was good, in a way, because he wanted Sam as far away from Psycho-Joe as possible, particularly as he now knew Joe was armed with more than just his fists. Fortunately, there wasn't a chance in hell that Sam was going to turn up. He'd never been able to conjure a vision to order, and it was unlikely he'd start now. Which meant that the only way he would find Dean was by doing it the hard way, discovering who had taken him, and where. And that was a long shot.
With Sam safely out of the picture, he could concentrate on finding a way to get himself out of this situation. Problem was, he was currently coming up blank. It was clear that Joe was determined to see this through, and he didn't relish the prospect of hours, or even days tied in this position, with probably more beatings to come. For he had no doubt that the longer Joe was made to wait, the angrier he would become.
He was dealing with a psycho and a yes-man who couldn't even look his captive in the eye. Kale was the obvious weak link, and he knew that was the place to start. He'd have to work on him, try to convince him that this whole scheme was going to backfire. He'd wait a while and then try to strike up a conversation.
The painful pressure in his bladder brought his attention back to his physical situation. Loath as he was to admit it, he had reached the point at which he could no longer hold back, and with a feeling of disgust and shame, he let go, cringing at the sensation of hot urine trickling down his leg. He knew this was just one more way to humiliate him, and he was just glad that Joe wasn't there to witness his weakness.
Sunday, 9 am
The road ran straight as an arrow through seemingly endless plains of nothing and he might have been alone in the world for all the other traffic he encountered.
As soon as he had passed the town limits sign, Sam had floored the gas and the Impala roared in response, seemingly as eager as he was to find Dean. He tried to concentrate his mind on what he was going to do when he reached his destination and determinedly pushed aside images of what might happen to his brother in the meantime. He held on to the thought that it was unlikely that Joe would kill Dean--if he really believed that Sam could find his brother using psychic abilities, it would he self defeating if the object of the search were already dead. What worried him most was that Joe would grow more angry and impatient the longer he had to wait, and that he would take this frustration out on Dean.
This time, he had a few seconds' warning before the vision struck. A giveaway flickering at the edges of his vision caused him to slam on the brakes and steer onto the side of the road. He turned the key and the engine shuddered to a halt just as the pain struck, slicing and dicing his brain into tiny pieces.
He was back in the barn. Dean still hung suspended from the roof beam and Joe stood over him, mouth locked in a sadistic grin, holding something against Dean's chest. Dean's face was contorted, mouth twisted in a rictus of agony, his body convulsing like a marionette on a string. Joe removed the object and stood back. For long moments, Dean's body continued to shudder. Sam saw that Joe was holding a cylindrical object around twelve inches long with two metal prongs at one end. Joe stepped forward again, and Sam watched helplessly as he held the cylinder against the inside of Dean's right thigh. Dean's body arched and his head flew back, mouth open in a scream as electric current surged through his body.
The vision cut out abruptly. Sam lurched back to the present and his eyes flew open. His hands were locked around the steering wheel with a white-knuckle grip. The Impala was stationary, engine quiet, and he could vaguely hear birdsong through the open window. Nothing had changed in those few moments except that he had just seen a monster torturing his brother with a cattle prod.
Oh, God. Dean.
Instantly his mind transported him back six months. He raced down the cellar steps to find Dean lying still in a tangled heap. He pulled his unconscious brother into his arms, knowing instinctively that this wasn't an injury Dean would be able to laugh off. He was in the hospital, reeling from the news that Dean had only months to live. He was in Dean's hospital room, listening to his brother calmly accept that his time had come.
No. This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening. Not again.
The familiar nausea struck, and he flung open the car door, barely making it to his knees before beginning to wretch. There was very little in his stomach, and he found himself dry heaving, knowing that the sickness was caused as much by the sight of his brother's agony as the pain still slicing through his head.
Finally, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, pulled himself to his feet and got back into the car. With shaking fingers, he opened a bottle of water he'd left on the seat beside him and took a few mouthfuls, leaning out of the car to spit until the taste of vomit faded.
Then he sat for a minute, eyes closed. He had no desire to recall the vision, but he made himself relive it, searching for any details that might give him a clue as to Dean's whereabouts. Everything was the same. The barn was brighter than before – sunlight was streaming in through the windows - and he opened his eyes, looking up to note that the clouds were beginning to disperse and the sun threatening to break through. Assuming Dean was being held in this area, it was likely that the events he had witnessed would take place sometime that afternoon.
Panic threatening to overwhelm him, he pulled out his cell and dialed Dean's number, more from habit than because he expected an answer. To his shock, it was picked up.
"Hi there, Sam."
Sam felt rage building inside him. "You bastard. I want to talk to my brother."
"Have you worked out where he is yet?"
"Let me talk to my brother. Now."
A sigh. "Okay. Dean, your brother wants a word."
There was silence for a moment, and then Sam heard Dean's voice. "Sam, don't try to find me, get the hell away--" Sam heard the thud of a blow, and the words cut off with a grunt of pain.
"Dean!"
"Happy? If you want your brother to stay in one piece, use your mojo to find him."
"I can't!" Sam was desperate to get the fool to understand. "Listen to me, it doesn't work like that! I can't just find someone by thinking about them. The visions I get – they're random, I don't have any control over them."
"I really hope that isn't true, Sammy. Because I'm getting a mite impatient here. And when I get impatient, I start looking for things to hurt, you know what I mean?"
"If you hurt him again, I'll--"
"'Bye, Sammy."
"No!" The cell phone went dead. Sam redialed furiously, but this time voicemail picked up. He flung the cell in anger. "Sonuvabitch!"
His heart was hammering. He tried to push away the fear and anger and concentrate on breathing slowly and deeply. After a few minutes, his heart rate slowed and his head cleared.
He turned the key and revved the engine. He wasn't going to let this happen. He wasn't going to let this maniac torture his brother. He was going to find Dean before that happened.
He had to get to Beaconville, and he had to get there fast.