Chapter 9

Sam sat on his motel room bed. Back against the headboard. Forearms rested on raised knees. A half-eaten pizza rested in a box at the end of his bed. He could hear the shower running. The TV was on, but the sound muted. Sam sighed and lowered his right leg and ran his hand over his face. He thought about the things his father had mentioned, the way he talked about his mistakes, and his undeniable fear of what he couldn't control.

Sam didn't remember Dean teaching him to walk, but he did remember some late nights with his brother in bed beside him reading him stories about creatures of the night, heroes and heroines, and fantasies that pulled him into worlds unlike his own. Sam could understand a little of why his father had done what he had, but the conflict of 'why' continued. Revenge had a life all her own: she breathed, fed, and consumed without fear of consequence. A part of Sam felt that perhaps his father understood her, and that he took pride in riding alongside her as he hunted the thing that had taken his mother. It was easy to see, when looking at it from a distance, Revenge was as achievable as Greed, Power, Misery or Corruption — sins that consumed even the humblest of souls.

The shower stopped, and a few minutes later John stepped out, dressed in jeans and a white t-shirt. He was barefoot. He still looked tired, but he took a seat on the end of his bed, scratched the sides of his head, and he took a deep breath. They had exhausted their research and found nothing that could help them identify what it was they were after. The rumors around the old hospital varied to the point of local legend.

When John's phone rang he grabbed it and acknowledged Bobby with a sigh of relief. He put the phone on speaker. "What do you got, Bobby?"

Bobby sighed. "Not much more 'an shit, that I can tell you," he said. "I've dug through just about everythin' I have an' I even reached out to a few of my research buddies to see if they had anythin' for me. Turns out, Frank O'Malley, said it sounded like a Memory Thief, or a Memory Reaper and sometimes referred to as The Darkness—"

"We've heard several people call it that," Sam said and looked toward John.

"Makes sense," Bobby said, "the problem is there's little history on these things — near a I can tell, looks like they steal a person's memory as a source of energy — they're mostly discovered in retirement homes — elderly facilities — they absorb the memories of the old — those with extensive life experiences, happiness, grief, contentment." He took a deep breath and continued. "Looks like they're only seen by those they're after — which why they earned the name reaper — and they appear as darkness with a blurred formation in the center.

"I did find some lore on what is called a Mazeuel — mostly found in ancient nomadic fiction — which as you both know was based on verbal stories, not necessarily historically accurate. These things are alive... they're not dead — it's said that they live in the in-between." Bobby sighed and continued. "They feed on vibrant memories — or memories with strong emotional ties."

"Can you kill it?" John asked and met Sam's eyes.

"Like I said," Bobby continued, "I couldn't find much — but they're repelled by iron. Whatever this thing is you're goin' to have to find the body it's connected to and burn it — just make sure it's in the horizontal position when you do — it's probably buried in a wall an in an upright position. My guess is, the person this thing is connected to was a pain in the ass when they were alive. Watch yourself, Sam, you should be okay, but John — you're carryin' a lot of baggage that one of the things would like experience.

"If it figures out you're after it — you're gonna want to work fast — Frank mentioned these things get violent fast." Bobby sighed.

"Can memories be retrieved?" Sam asked, and pushed himself to the edge of the bed and gripped the bedspread. He looked toward John and clenched his jaw.

There was a long paused before Bobby cleared his throat and sighed. "This thing took Dean's memories?" He swore under his breath. "Damn it! You should have called me—"

"We just found out, Bobby—" Sam said, but was interrupted by John.

"I wasn't sure when I called you," John said. He stood suddenly and exited the room, slamming the door behind him harder than intended.

Sam watched him go and then rubbed his face and finally said, "We found him today — he can't remember anything prior to waking up in the forest."

"He there with you?"

"No," Sam said, "we, ah, haven't made contact with him yet — we've been warned against it — at least until we find out more about this thing." He scratched the back of his head and sighed. "Everyone this has happened to… has died after they're reconnected to their family — there's one survivor in town who has never been identified."

"So maybe reconnecting with family causes some kind of an overload," Bobby said.

"Seems to be the consensus." Sam sighed and took a deep breath.

"Sorry, kid, I don't know what else to tell you, there ain't much on a memory bein' returned. There are a few other legends that reference souls being returned — how much time do you have after you make contact with Dean?"

"Couple weeks."

"Well, shit," Bobby said.

Sam could hear Bobby scratch the stubble on his chin.

"I hate to tell you, Sam, but I think you're gonna need to contact Dean, get him back up to that hospital, an' kill the SOB that stole his memory — leavin' Dean in town may not be the best option — keep an eye on 'im though — that thing stole Dean's memories for a reason, an' if he gets those memories back…" he sighed, "your brother's gonna be a mess— hell, I'd be a babblin' fool gettin' a shitload of memories back in a few minutes when it took a lifetime to collect."

"Yeah, I'm worried about that too." Sam rubbed his face.

"You need me to drive up there — shouldn't take me more 'an… 16 hours or so, faster if I don't hit any speed traps?"

"No, Bobby," Sam sighed, "we may need you for somethin' else if things go south."

They said their goodbyes and Sam sighed as he turned toward the door. He grasped the phone, felt the plastic warm beneath his palm as he thought about the risks. The what ifs? The what next? Sam rubbed his eyes. He missed his brother. The thought of losing him for good caused his heart to burn and ribs to tighten.