I race after Sam, who, in the time it has taken me to process this new piece of information, has almost made it to the Impala. Dean is nowhere to be seen, but Motorhead is playing at top volume in the cab. I can hear the harsh chords from here.
"What's that supposed to mean?" I demand, trying to get in front of him to stop his forward progress. His legs are too long to allow that to happen.
From the look on his face, he's already regretting the outburst. "Nothing. It means nothing. And we're not going to talk about it."
"Are you saying that Dean died before too?"
"I'm not saying anything, Esca." He glances around the lot quickly, making sure Dean isn't around. "I shouldn't have said anything in the first place."
"Yeah, well, you did. No take-backs," I return, my attempt at levity falling flat on its face. "Is that why you took me with you? Do you think I can help him get over being dead? Because, news flash, I'm still trying to get over it myself - "
"Being dead wasn't the problem," Sam interrupts, voice hardening. "And we're done talking about it."
I gape at him for a moment, but by the time I draw my thoughts together to make another argument, the sound of Dean's footsteps is approaching us from the other side of the car. Soon, his head appears over the roof of the car. He gives us a cheeky smile, like he hadn't just stormed out of Bobby's place five minutes ago.
"You guys ready to go?" he asks, shutting something in the back seat. Through the window, I can see it's one of my brother's weapon stashes. Noticing me looking at it, he says, "He had a nice mace in there."
"They're still my things," I reply. Looking at him, I wouldn't be able to tell he had been dead - nor while looking at Sam, for that matter. Questions form at my lips, but I glance sidelong at Sam, who gives me a stern regard and gestures to the car. So, instead of launching into a deposition, I just add, "You're right about the mace, though. It's Norwegian."
Dean shrugs. "I'll have to look into it." By the tone in his voice, he's clearly trying to pretend that what had happened back in the house hadn't actually happened. He taps the roof and pulls open the driver's side door, sliding in while releasing the classic rock into the air. When he slams the door behind him, I turn to Sam.
He puts up a hand before I can start talking. "I'm not talking about him. If he tells you about it, then it's a different story, but he already doesn't trust me right now, and if he found out I told you, it would only make it worse."
"Why? You're just trying to help," I tell him. Then I see his expression change. It dawns on me. "It's more than that, isn't it? He didn't just die. Something happened while he was gone."
Sam scuffs his heel in the dirt and looks up at the sky. The stars are beginning to come out. "We're not going to talk about it."
"There seem to be a lot of things you two won't talk about. Should I be nervous to be going with you?" I ask. The question isn't an honest fear, but an accusation. Just like my father always taught me to, I'm taking the offensive, because once someone gets you on your defense, then it's almost impossible to transition back. Better just start off on the right foot.
"No - no, you shouldn't. Please, just get in the car, Esca," Sam says, not meeting my eyes. I stare at him, not sure whether I should do as he says. Finally, I let out a heavy breath and pull open the car door.
Appearing relieved, Sam pulls open his own. Before he can get in, I reach out and stop him with a hand on his arm. He looks down at me, and I draw myself up to my full height and say, quietly enough that Dean won't hear over the blasting music, "This conversation isn't over, Sam."
He pulls back and gets in the car, not giving me a response. But I don't really need one. Whether he's on board or not, I'm not going to drop this.
I slide into the back seat and shut the door behind me. Dean meets my eyes through the rear view mirror and raises his eyebrows at me. "Took you long enough," he remarks.
"Well, it's not like you were going to leave without me. You don't even know where we're going," I reply, strapping myself down.
Dean rolls his eyes. "Minor details."
Sam clears his throat. "But, just to be clear, where are we going?"
"Darnettsburg, Iowa," I say. "It's a small town. It might not be that easy to find on a map."
Dean tosses me a look over his shoulder that clearly says don't underestimate me. He reaches over to a box at Sam's feet and rummages around for a few seconds before pulling out a map.
"Iowa," he states, showing me the map before turning back to face the front of the car and unfolding it in his lap. It takes him over a minute to locate the pinprick of a town. When he does, he lets out a triumphant laugh and says, "You gotta try harder than that, Esca."
"It wasn't a challenge," I tell him.
Sam peers over the back of his seat and mouths, "It's always a challenge."
Dean nods in agreement, sticking his keys in the ignition and giving them a turn. The engine revs underneath the blasting Motorhead, and he pulls onto the one lane road off of Bobby's property. The boys start into a light-hearted conversation about how when we stop to fill up the gas tank, we should get some dinner for the road.
It's like the argument never happened.
Looking from one to the other, I sit back in my seat and turn to face the window. I might be in the same car as them, but in no way am I in the same boat. They've got their issues and I've got mine, and as soon as I find my things and Rade's explanation, I'm going to be on my way.
Yeah, says my inner voice, like the sarcastic little shit it is. Of course it's going to be that easy.
Not.
Two hours later, we pass the sign that welcomes us into Darnettsburg. Night has fallen around us, and this far out into the country, the stars are bright above us. On the floor of the Impala there are the discarded wrappers of a bacon cheeseburger, a Tuesday Special (whatever that is), and a regular burger with extra pickles and no ketchup. Dean is singing along to whatever cassette tape we've moved on to, very off key and loud enough to be heard over the lead singer. Sam must be used to it, because he occasionally joins in.
Then Dean's horrible singing cuts off, and he turns down the music a little. "Hey, Esca, you remember that drop spot yet?"
I draw my eyes away from the passing countryside and nod. "We left our things with the local priest."
"What? Why?" he asks, sounding incredulous.
"Because he knew why we were there. He's the one who called us in," I reply. The small town is starting to develop around us, moving from sparse farms to closer knit houses. I barely remember this place. It was so soon before I died, I guess I hadn't had the time to store it to a deeper memory yet before - before -
I bite my lip hard enough to draw blood, tearing my thoughts away before I can get lost in the nightmare again. I'm getting better at it, it seems - but then again, I haven't slept since the motel, and sleep is where the demons live.
"Wow, a priest who actually accepts the existence of vampires. I haven't met one of those," Dean says. He pauses, and adds, "Then again, I don't really know any priests."
"Why am I not surprised?" I say dryly, flicking him a look through the mirror.
He narrows his eyes a little in my direction, then says, "We'll got talk to him after we find a motel. Hopefully we can get this done tonight and be back in Sioux Falls by morning."
"Sounds like a plan," I reply, locking my gloved hands together in my lap. The leather is starting to stick to my skin - not uncomfortably, either. I think I could get used to wearing them. But no; i'm going to find a way to end this psychometric business. Maybe Rade knew about it, and he knew a way to stop it. Maybe he left the answer with the rest of our things. I just cross my fingers and hope; in the twenty-four hours since I've been reanimated, my luck has been far from spectacular, and I see no reason for it to suddenly improve now.
Darnettsburg is small enough to have a main street that actually functions as a main street. Most of the shops line this street, most of them still open, since it's barely seven o'clock in the evening. Dean steers us past them and down one of the side streets upon seeing a sign for a motel.
When we pull into the parking lot, I get the flash of a memory. This was where Rade and I stayed when we were here. Then again, though I can't remember much about the rest of the town, I've got a feeling that this is the only motel in the town, so it makes sense.
Dean parks the car and turns off the rumbling engine. The music cuts off, leaving the car in silence for a moment as Dean fiddles with his keys and Sam pulls out his phone to check the time. Then, the older brother starts into motion by opening his car door. "I'll get a motel room," he says, ducking his head back through the doorway momentarily before shutting it behind him.
I look over at Sam, wondering whether I should bother asking him again. I decide not - he seems pretty fed up, and when someone's annoyed, they're even less likely to offer help. So I readjust my gloves and step out of the car.
The night is cool. I'm still wearing Sam's jacket, so most of it doesn't affect me, but I still shiver. Maybe I haven't been completely honest with myself - I know this place. I know it better than I should. But I've repressed the memory, and there's no way I'm letting it out while I'm awake. Instead, I try to forget I was ever here and move on.
At the other end of the motel, I can see Dean negotiating with the manager in the motel office. He laughs good-naturedly at something the man behind the counter says, then hands over a credit card. He's not a bad actor, really - if I didn't already know him, I wouldn't have been able to tell that the card is stolen and he doesn't laugh like that much. I don't know if I'm as good an actress.
Hunters should be. They've got to keep their secret hidden from most of the people around them, so it's almost a necessity. I haven't had nearly as much practice. I never ran credit card scams because, well, I'm rich. No need for it. My crusade was funded by anonymous withdrawals from random ATMs across the northern United States.
My brother had run them. I'd insisted he take some of my money, because while the supernatural business usually slid under the law's radar, credit cards didn't. He hadn't liked it, but I think he eventually resigned himself to it.
The motel office's door opens with the jangle of a bell, and Dean strides back across the parking lot towards us. "Seven," he calls out, gesturing with his head to the room on the end of the motel, opposite the office. When Dean gets near enough to the Impala, he reaches out and knocks on the windshield to get Sam's attention.
To me, he says, "Get back in the car. We're going to find your priest."
I frown a little at the order, but he doesn't stand around waiting for me to call him out on it. He goes back around the driver's side and gets in. I blow out an irritated breath, then copy him, sliding into the back seat. "You need to learn common etiquette."
"Same to you," Dean retorts. "I haven't forgotten about how you slashed my tires, you know."
"There were extenuating circumstances," I protest, but he doesn't listen. The engine starts up again and we drive out of the parking lot and back onto the quiet streets.
"The manager said that the church was at the other end of town," Dean said, turning back onto Main Street.
"Sounds about right," I reply, leaning forward so I'm closer to the two men. "Look, I know you're all hunter-y and masculine and all, but you should really let me handle this. He doesn't trust hunters very much."
"Why not?" Sam asked, sounding confused.
I shrug. "Apparently, when he was in a bigger church in another city, one of the priests in his parish died and became a ghost that asked churchgoers to kill sinners. The two hunters working the dead priest's case desecrated his grave to burn his bones. The priest didn't like it much."
Dean's expression shifts a little and he trades looks with his brother. Sam makes a face at him and says, "Do you think - "
"Yeah."
"Then we really should stay in the car."
I snap my fingers between them to get their attention. Dean turns back to the road, and Sam twists in his seat a little to face me. Raising my eyebrows, I ask, "Is there something I'm missing here?"
Sam shakes his head, making a noise in the base of his throat. "It's nothing. We'll just . . . stay in the car."
I sit back against the seat, letting it drop. Judging from their reactions, I have a sneaking suspicion that they had something to do with it. And, considering what the priest was doing - impersonating God and forcing innocent people to kill others - I probably would have done the same. I didn't tell the priest that, though, (unlike Rade, who had, which had led to him being kicked out of the church and the priest consulting with me alone).
Darnettsburg being a small town, the "other side of town" is only about ten minutes from where we'd started. In what feels like no time at all, Dean is pulling up to the curb of a quaint-looking, white-washed church. An old-fashioned bell hangs in the steeple, and gravestones dot the lawn around the edifice, giving the whole area a sense of being lost in time.
Then Dean ruins the illusion by flicking on some AC/DC. He braces his arm against the back of his seat and faces me. "You going or what?"
"Common etiquette," I repeat, then, pulling my Swiss Army knife out of my pocket for good luck, I push open the door and step into the street. It's quiet on the outskirts of town - not that the center of town was that loud to begin with.
I see a faint light through the front windows of the church, and walk around the Impala to the cobbled walkway up to the front doors. The flicker at the back of mind, the memories of Hell, grow stronger and stronger with each step. The year of the Hunt.
I drag myself to a halt, halfway to the church. My fists clench at my sides, reminding me that I'm here now, I'm alive. Hell is far away. The Hunt is over.
The Hunt is never over, Esca, Alastair's voice echoes through my head. He was the demon in charge of that year. He didn't disappoint.
From behind me, I hear Dean rolling down his window. In a voice lacking inflection, he asks, "Something wrong, Esca?"
His words are enough to break me from the horror of my past - or the threat of horror. I'm not getting lost in there. I won't let myself get lost again. Three hundred and sixty-four days of torment in Alastair's year of the Hunt - three hundred and sixty-four days to relive. I can't let myself get lost again.
Licking my lips, I take in a new breath and continue forward, focusing on the doors in front of me. I climb the few short steps to reach them, then lift my hand and knock.
After waiting for almost a full minute, I knock again. There's no answer. My brow furrows, and I hesitantly lower my hand to the doorknob and turn it. The heavy wooden door swings inward, knocking against the wall loudly. The sound echoes around the high ceiling.
I step inside, my eyes scanning the two rows of pews and the candle-lit altar at the front of the church. Something doesn't feel right. Instinctively, I quiet my steps so that they're silent against the wooden floor.
"Father? Are you there?" I call out. Some of the candles gutter in their stands. Stepping closer, something seems off about them. Then I realize what it is: they've dripped down their candelabras to the floor below. Trails of cooled wax hang like stalactites from the rims of the candle basins.
No one has changed these candles in over a day.
I whip out the longest blade I have on my knife and hurry forwards. I sidestep the candles on the altar and move towards the back room behind it. When I try the door, it swings open, unlocked.
Before it's fully open, it knocks against something. I slide in through the available space and my breath rushes out of me. I feel the blood leave my face.
The door is stuck on the body of the priest. Blood pools around his head, already dark red and dry against the floorboards. His throat is ripped out. Someone killed the priest.
And I have a terrible suspicion it's because I'm alive.
Sorry for the long wait, guys...I think it's been a while, at least. Maybe I've just been busy enough to make it feel that way? I don't know. Anywaysss, here's a chapter for you. Hope you enjoyed it! And hey, maybe you can drop a review if you did.
Love ya!
