Ch. 7 Even the Young Can't Stay

"I still don't see why we couldn't stay at a nicer place, preferably one actually on the Strip," Dean whined as he slammed the trunk of the Impala. The caravan had pulled into the parking lot of a rundown motel just outside the Strip and the quartet was unloading the necessary bags.

"Because we can't risk the higher security of the larger hotels," Riley explained with a sigh. "I think they're a little bit more aware of credit card fraud than the sorry guy who owns this place."

"Don't worry, Dean. We'll hit up the Strip after we solve this case." Kale clapped the fellow hunter on the shoulder as he walked by to his bike. He threw a leg over, straddling the cycle as he pulled on his black helmet. The smell of exhaust filled the air as Kale gave a nod to Dean before pulling out of the space.

Dean shouldered his worn bag and crossed the threshold into the room he shared with his brother. "At least these rooms are a bit classier than our usual, eh Sam?" Dean laughed at the old Hollywood theme of the room. "It's like I just stepped into the 40s." He dropped his duffel on the bed closest to the door.

Sam looked up from his laptop. "Yeah, and that life-size cutout of Humphrey Bogart is kinda creepy."

Dean shuddered as he began to go through his gun cleaning ritual. "So whatdya got?"

"There's not much. Riley and Kale have pretty much everything there is. There's not much else in the obits, nothing that jumps out at least." Sam waved the local newspaper and set it back down on the bed. "I say we split up tomorrow. Riley and I can go to the morgue to check the bodies and you can go with Kale to the victims' homes."

"Sounds good to me as long as I get to go with Riley next time we split up." A mischievous grin spread across the elder hunter's face.

"That's up to her."

- - - -

Kale had to drive out to the suburbs to find a decent price for gas. He may have been getting better gas mileage with his motorcycle, but that didn't mean he had enough cash flow to shell out the outrageous amount of coin necessary to fill his tank. He wasn't that good at pool.

He was heading back to the motel when he heard the sounds of a siren coming up behind him. Checking his rearview mirror, he saw the flashing lights of an ambulance. He pulled over, allowing the emergency vehicle to pass him. Why not? I've got some time to kill. He thought as he pulled back out onto the road.

He followed the flashing lights to El Dorado, a local neighborhood subdivision. The ambulance stopped in the midst of a crowd of people that had formed outside one of the single story homes near the entrance of the neighborhood. He parked his bike across the street from the crowd as two paramedics took off inside the home with a stretcher.

Kale slipped into the thick of the crowd unnoticed. Everyone was concentrating on the front door of the home, awaiting the return of the paramedics.

"What happened?" he asked a middle-aged woman he was standing next to.

"It's Luther Casey," she answered as she struggled to see past the tall man blocking her view. "Word is he went delirious, thought he was drowning or something. Then he just dropped dead."

The front door opened allowing the paramedics to wheel Luther out of the home. The old man was strapped in and had a breathing mask placed over his nose and mouth, but something wasn't right.

"Nothing to see here, folks," the taller paramedic called out. He was positioned in between the Mr. Casey's face and the crowd. "It's just a heart attack. You should all go home."

The paramedic who spoke turned, allowing Kale to get a glimpse of Luther Casey's face underneath the breathing mask. His mouth was frozen open and his eyes were wide with terror. They're trying not to make a scene, Kale realized. Luther Casey's dead.

- - - -

The sun had just passed behind the row of cookie cutter houses as the young boy pushed against the ground, gaining speed. The grinding sound of the skateboard's wheels kept a steady rhythm as they rolled across the asphalt. The boy pushed harder and harder towards the pale ramp his father had helped him build that summer.

I'm gonna make it, he assured himself just as the front wheels touched the ramp. He crouched, ready to push off of the ramp to make the jump that he'd been working on all afternoon. His feet lost contact with the rough surface of the board and he struggled to land on it without tipping over. The loud clap of his landing echoed throughout the quiet neighborhood.

"Alright!" he cried out triumphantly. I made it! I actually made the jump! He glanced around to see if anyone had witnessed his celebration, but there wasn't a soul in sight. "I gotta tell the guys." He pushed down on one end of the board with his foot, popping the opposite end into his hand and cradled the board under his left arm. His mom never liked it when he skateboarded into the house; it always left dirty tire tracks on the tile. He walked over to his ramp, dreading the large task of dragging the heavy contraption back into the garage. He exhaled and ran his fingers through his long sandy blond hair. I wish Dad were home to help me.

He reached out to grab the handle on the backside of the ramp when he heard a low rumbling, a sound he heard every night while he lay sleeplessly in bed. The sound that triggered his reflexes to pull the sheets over his head and wait until it passed. His hands trembled and he tightened his grip on the handle. It's not him. It can't be him. It's not dark yet. As if on cue, the sky that was bright with the colors of the setting sun was suddenly enveloped in darkness. The rumbling turned into a deep growl as the darkness spread towards the boy. He saw the bright red eyes that inhabited his closet peering at him through the darkness. It's him.

He threw down this skateboard and jumped on, pumping his right foot against the ground as fast as he could, but the shadows spread too quickly. The houses that had surrounded him were gone. There was nothing but a thick suffocating curtain of black in their place. The boy kept going. Desperate to get to the home he couldn't see. Back to the safety of his mother's loving arms.

The dark pair of eyes appeared before him, but this time they were attached to a large, muscular figure. Horns grew out of the monster's head and its boar-like face was scarred and bloody. It cracked a knowing smile that would frighten the bravest warrior as it approached the young boy. The child tried to call out for help and run, but his voice was gone and his legs were frozen in place. He could only watch as the horrifying creature that had been locked away in his closet approached.

The giant's cloven feet shook the ground with each slow, deliberate step. It could hear the child's heart racing, see the fear etched in his face and see its own image reflected in the boy's green eyes. A deep laugh escaped through its grin as it stopped in front of the trembling child.

It's not real. It's not real. It's not real, he told himself through shallow, rapid breaths. He can't hurt me. A squeal broke through the deafening silence as the monster reached out a mangled claw towards the boy's shoulders. Kaylee. The boy thought as the darkness overtook him.

The child disappeared below the tan Lexus RX. Its tires squealed as the driver slammed the brake pedal to the floor. The middle-aged man's comb over fell out of place as the SUV's front tires rolled over the boy's lifeless body.