Happy new year!

It's well past midnight as I'm typing this, but I didn't want to leave you on that evil cliff-hanger any longer. This was supposed to be up days ago, but things have been a little crazy around here. And I am once again reduced to five usable fingers, because my hand appears to be broken instead of just sprained…

Anyway… here is the next chapter, I'm off to bed!

Phantom of the night

…somebody whispering the twenty-third psalm,

a dusty rifle in his trembling hands…

The Eagles

Dean ran to the heavy metal desk. It had to be the desk, it had to be. The ghost hadn't shown itself until Sam had touched it… He threw his shotgun down and started tearing open the drawers. But they all came up empty and Sam was still kicking his legs two feet of the ground.

Crap..

"Come on, come on!"

It had to be somewhere…

Sam was still moving. But not quite as much as a minute ago…

Swearing violently, Dean yanked the drawers from the desk and threw them on the floor. Nothing fell out, but the last one landed on the ground with a very loud clunk. With a quick look at his brother, he picked it up again. Sam was barely moving, chocking without a sound, clawing at his neck with feeble fingers. The PI was still standing beside the door, his back against the wall and his mouth open wide.

No help there…

He forced himself to look down at the drawer in front of him. It was still empty.

Dean banged the metal drawer on the desk in frustration. He turned it upside down and threw it on the floor with all his strength. With a barely audible click, the bottom of the drawer came loose and a large stack of papers tumbled out.
A loud shriek echoed through the office. Sam crashed bonelessly to the floor. Dean barely had time to react when a greyish figure appeared in front of him. The ghost grabbed his throat and squeezed with unnatural strength.

"That is mine!"

The spirit of professor Melvin Jennings bared his teeth. "My work. Not theirs, not yours. It's mine."

Dean grabbed at the dead hand, the stack of papers scattering on the ground.

"You will pay," hissed the ghost in his ear.

Through the ringing in his ears, Dean thought he could hear another voice. Soft and pleading, like a prayer.

"…walk through the valley of the shadow of death…"

A gunshot rang out. The ghost shrieked and vanished in a shower of rock salt. Dean stumbled forward, gasping for air. With trembling fingers, he pulled his lighter from his pocket. Without looking up, he flicked it on and dropped it on the pile of papers. The spirit flickered briefly beside him, shrieking in horror. Then, it evaporated in red flames.

Dean leaned on the desk with both hands, panting heavily. "Sam?" he asked breathlessly. There was no answer. The only sound in the office was the whispered prayer, the words slurred.

Dean looked up. Sid Fielding was standing in the doorway, Dean's shotgun clutched in his shaking hands. He was mumbling, staring at the spot where the sprit had vanished. When Dean caught his eye, he froze. He dropped the shotgun on the floor and ran from the room. His footsteps echoing away through the empty library.

Dean tore his eyes away from the doorway.

"Sam!"

His brother was on the floor, still and pale as a corpse.

Sid ran as fast as his legs would carry him. After a while he realised he was still mumbling the only psalm he knew. Sam Winchester's voice was echoing through his head.

"We saved your life…"

"…I don't think you'll believe me..."

"…didn't do anything…"

"…maybe it was a ghost…"

A ghost.

A freaking ghost.

A murdering, bloodthirsty, real ghost.

It was impossible, it was insane. But it was real.

He sprinted away from the library towards the ugly green rental car. He was never going near the Winchester's again. Ever.

He started the car with trembling fingers.

I need a smoke…

He shook his head. Scratch that, I need whisky.

"Sam!"

Dean gently turned his brother on his back. Sam's lips looked blue and his skin was ghostly white. Deep red rope marks were etched around his neck. Dean touched his face with trembling fingers and exhaled in relief when Sam's eyelids fluttered faintly.

"Sam? You with me?"

Sam twitched a little, his eyed still closed.

"I'll take that as a no."

Dean quickly looked around the office. It was a mess, but there was no time to clear anything up. That bloody PI had run of and there was no telling what he was up to. Even though the guy had saved them, Dean still didn't trust him at all. He knew too much. He could be calling the cops any minute.

He gently tapped his brother's face. "Hey Sammy, time to wake up. We have to get out of here."

"Mmm?"

Sam's eyed fluttered open and stared blearily at his face.

"Hey man, how many fingers am I holding up?"

"Mmm…" Sam blinked a few times. Then he rolled to his side and started coughing violently.

Dean rubbed his shoulder. "Okay, no talking for a while. You think you can get up?"

Sam didn't answer, but he weakly pushed himself up a little. Dean pulled him to his feet and supported him until he had found his balance. Time to leave this godforsaken place. Hopefully for good this time.

Sid fumbled his key into the lock. Three whiskey's hadn't done anything to calm his nerves. Instead, they had made him light-headed and unsteady. Not very useful. He pushed the door to his hotel room open and flicked on the light. It took him a few seconds to comprehend what he was seeing. Sam Winchester was sitting on the bed, an icepack held against his throat. Dean was standing beside him, a gun pointed at Sid's face.

"You shouldn't drink and drive. You could hurt someone."

There you have it! It's a little shorter than the other chapters, but my hand is being a bore. Next chapter will be up before the end of the week and it will probably be the last. Tell me what you think!