Chapter Three: Darkening
Disclaimer: I do not own Silent Hill or Supernatural!
The man on the other side of the desk glared at them with bald-faced irritation. He didn't even try to mask it in his voice, either, "How can I help you?"
Dean flipped open the leather wallet, "I'm agent Hugh Donovan with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. This is my partner, agent Brian Wallace. It's our understanding you have a patient under your care by the name of Alex Shepherd. We'd like to speak to him."
"I'm afraid that won't be possible." The man replied, "You see…"
"Pardon my receptions, gentlemen," A voice broke in from the door way, "Of course we can arrange something."
"Thank you," Sam replied, extending his hand, "Agent Wallace," and motioning to Dean, "Agent Donovan."
"Dr. Slater," He replied, sliding his palm against the younger Winchester's, "A pleasure to meet you."
"Likewise." Dean smiled.
"Come with me, gentlemen." He said, spinning on his heel.
The fake formal sweetness all dropped away as soon as the man turned away; Dean's smile fell like a puppet with its strings cut.
There was something strange about the doctor…He was a tall man, with an odd build that made him look entirely too heavy around his midsection and entirely too skeletal everywhere else. His hair was a mix of silver and dark grey, but his face was startling young.
He shot Sam a look, tilting his chin almost imperceptibly, and followed after the strange man. He led them through a stained door and down a damp corridor, past several empty cells and into a small chamber on the far end of the tiny building.
In the back of a dirty, wet room, tied down to a chair with leather restraints, was a thin man. His ragged hair hung over his vacant eyes, and in the eerie gloom of the cell, he looked almost supernatural.
"Alex Shepherd?" Sam asked, opening his badge even when it was apparent that the man probably couldn't even recognize them as human.
"Dr. Slater, do you mind if we have a moment alone with him?" Dean asked.
"Not at all, gentlemen." The doctor smiled, his hand turning the doorknob, "I shall return in a few minutes."
Dean waited for the click of the door before he turned and said, "Alex Shepherd?"
There was no answer.
"I don't think we're going to get anything out of him…" Sam trailed off with a sigh.
"You two don't know what you're getting yourselves into." The voice was a kind of emaciated whisper…like it had been years since he had talked to anyone. "It's not too late for you."
"Too late?" Sam asked, trying to coax more out of him.
"Get away from this town while you still can."
"Why?" Dean asked, trying to meet his eyes.
"Cursed." He said simply, his eyes shining suddenly as he turned his head. He smiled brightly as he leaned to his left, "I missed you, Joshua."
"Joshua?" Dean asked, turning to Sam, keeping his eyes on Alex.
"He had a brother who drowned when they were young."
"Is he alright?" Alex said, talking apparently to thin air. He nodded vigorously to an imagined response, laughing.
"This is pointless." Dean said to himself as he prepared to turn around.
"Joshua always did love the garden, didn't he?"
"Whoa, Dean, hold up…" Sam said, glancing at him.
Alex rambled on, "Oh, Joshua, thank you…thank you for taking care of him. He loves gardening with you."
Sam swallowed hard and asked, "Joshua? Is that you?"
Dean turned around just as something fluttered from the shadowy black of the ceiling: a single grey feather shot with white.
His eyes met with Sam's and he opened his mouth to say something when the door behind him opened with a creak. The doctor walked in, smiling, with a syringe in his hands.
"You'll have to pardon him, agents. He's quite ill. He thinks that angels and demons speak to him."
He retrieved a key from his pocket, unlocked the cell and walked in. He didn't even bother wiping off the grime-caked crook of the man's elbow before sliding the needle in.
Alex, for one, didn't seem to notice, and, still smiling, told 'Joshua' it was time for him to go again.
Dean nodded to the man, "Thank you, Doctor."
"Not a problem, agents. It's always a pleasure to meet new people. One never knows where a seed will be planted." He smiled at them, shuffled past them, and a moment later they heard him order his receptionist to being dispensing meds for the day.
"This place is too freakin' weird." Dean said to himself as he snapped the seatbelt across his lap.
"Tell me about it," Sam replied as he opened his laptop and balanced it across his thighs. He clicked several things in quick succession before turning to Dean, "Bobby just sent me a message."
"What did he say?"
"He uncovered three separate cycles of disappearances in Shepherd's Glen over the course of a hundred and fifty years. All told, four children every fifty years disappeared right up until two thousand and three when Joshua drowned. That same year, three other children went missing. And, get this, in the last two centuries these kids all had the same family names: Holloway, Fitch, Bartlett…"
"And Shepherd." Dean guessed, "Fuck…if that doesn't sound like a family curse, I don't know what does."
"I don't think it is." Sam responded, "A family curse wouldn't explain anything on the other side of the lake."
"Doesn't have to. What if we're dealing with more than one ghost?"
"Then we had better call in some back up."
"Agreed." Dean said as he gunned the engine.
As he stepped into the hotel room, Sam flipped open his cellphone and dialed a number. He put the phone to his ear and noted, with some annoyance, that the static that hung in the area from day one was worse.
"H-lo…" Bobby's voice crackled on the other line.
"Hey, Bobby?"
"Sam…whe….are you?"
"Bobby, I can barely understand you." Sam said.
"Damn it, boy, where the hell are you?" Bobby shouted into the phone.
Sam's voice crackled back, the words shredded with interference. He felt panic start to rise up in his gut, a cold sweat breaking on the back of his neck.
"SAM!" He roared into the phone, "WHERE ARE YOU?"
"Sil…nt…L…"
"One more time!" He said, fighting to understand him.
"Silent Hill!" Sam shouted back, frustrated and confused.
The line suddenly went dead, and as he pulled the phone away from his ear, he saw the digital clock began to flicker. The numbers jumped from eight to one and back to the threes and fours. The background began to shift in an upward rippled, and the backlight of the buttons pulsed like a strobe light.
Throwing it down on the bed, he opened his laptop. He opened an instant messaging window, and was shocked to see the camera was nothing but distorted static. The volume key flickered orange several times, various lights and windows snapping open and closed.
Over his shoulder, Dean pulled the slide of his gun back. His own phone laid discarded on the floor, where it was flickering with static.
"This isn't good." Sam said as he ripped open a duffel bag and snatched up a box of salt.
Dean didn't reply as he pulled a utility knife from his back pocket and slashed his palm open. As Sam drew lines of salt across the sills of the windows and the edge of the door, he painted a demon trap on the floor.
"We don't have much in the way of fire power." Sam told him as he discarded the cardboard box on the floor. "Three pistols, Ruby's knife, and one rifle."
Dean peered out through the torn curtains and cursed viciously; he could even see onto the balcony structure just outside of their door. It had been less than three minutes since they had gotten into the room. It had been a clear day, overcast, but nothing even close to the grey-green soup that had blanketed everything.
"I need to get down to the car." He said, "You stay here."
"No way." Sam replied, "You're not going alone."
"One of us needs to hold down the fort." He replied, reaching for his keys.
Another hand slipped over his, "I'm afraid I must concur with Sam."
"Fuck, Cas!" Dean shouted, clearly startled.
"This is a dangerous situation." The angel responded, his blade shining in his hand.
"What's going on?"
The warrior of God looked at them oddly before he responded, "Are you two not aware that you've been missing for four days?"
"What?" Sam responded, shaking his head, "No. I spoke to Bobby yesterday."
"No, you spoke to him three days ago." The blue-eyed man told him.
"What the hell is going on?" Dean demanded.
"There isn't time to explain here." Cas said as he laid a hand on Sam's shoulder and the other on Dean's.
The older Winchester opened his mouth to protest just as the sound of wind streaming through feathers filled the air. The room spun for a dizzying fraction of a second, and then cleared.
"I…" Cas hesitated, "Do not understand…"
Blood suddenly trickled from his mouth and his knees faltered.
"Whoa!" Sam cried reflexively as he knotted his fist in the angel's jacket. Behind him, Dean grabbed his shoulders, and together they eased him to the ground.
"What the hell just happened?" Dean asked.
"It seems that I am unable to leave this place." He replied, "I do not know why."
"Then we'll do things the old-fashioned way." Dean said as he looped his arm under Castiel's. In his free hand, he held a loaded pistol.
Sam hauled their two bags up over his back, taking his place on the other side of the injured soldier and cocking his own gun.
"On three."
Sam nodded, taking a step forward in tandem.
"One, two," He threw his leg forward, splintering the doorjamb, "Three!"
They flooded onto the balcony, and down the stairs on impetus and adrenaline alone. It was a small miracle in and of itself that they didn't break an ankle on a missed step or thrown themselves over the low banister. Passing the angel off to his brother, Dean threw open the passenger's side door, ran around the back and slipped into the driver's seat.
"He's in!" Sam yelled behind him as Cas was unceremoniously tossed across the back seats, the door slamming beside him.
For almost a full second, Sam was lost in the pea-soup mixture; just enough time for Dean to panic. And then he suddenly appeared, threw himself into the seat, and pulled the door closed.
Without even the standard apology to his baby, Dean gunned the car into reverse, straightened out, shifted again, and floored the pedal. He tore out of the parking lot and onto the main street. Edging up on eighty miles an hour, it didn't take more than a few minutes to tear past the stained and faded sign that said simply, "Silent Hill."
"Well, that was one hell of a ride…" Dean finally commented as he eased of the pedal.
"We're going to have to go back in." Sam sighed unhappily, "I say we find a phone, call Bobby, and see if we can get some other hunters down there."
Dean nodded, ignoring the fact that, as with most of their plans, it was suicidal. But, hey, someone had to do it.
Sam looked up into the fog, and suddenly went pale. "Dean…"
He slammed on the brakes, feeling the blood drain out of his face and his fingertips.
Just behind a thin veil of dirty mist was an old sign, torn, battered, stained and weather-worn, that said simply 'Welcome to Silent Hill.'
TBC