Author's Note: This is the longest story I've ever written, and it's because of the reviews and words of encouragement that I've managed to keep motivated, so thank you for the support!
Supernaturaldh once again lent me her amazing beta skills – I took her ideas and ran with them, then I played around with them and made a mess, so all resulting mistakes are mine.
Before you continue, I should probably warn for 'dark thoughts' and swear words.
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Chapter 11
John gave the room one final perusal before turning back to his friend. "You don't think…?" He asked, fingering the gaffer tape they'd cut from Sam.
Pastor Jim looked at the rumpled bed, the rope still knotted in the bed head, and frowned. He knew what John was asking, could see the distress on his friend's face, and he wished he could give him the response he so badly needed. "I don't think so." He answered, praying he was right.
"I thought he'd be safe. I mean we weren't gone long and hell, I thought he'd be safer here. I just thought he'd just stay in the room, you know, watch some TV. Not get himself into this." John muttered; his eyes staring at the blood stained sheets.
"Get himself into this? You think this was Sammy's fault? That he somehow caused this?" Jim threw back, looking at his friend in shock.
"I just meant…" John retorted before being cut off.
Jim threw up a hand in front of John's face. "Now you wait there just one minute. I don't care what you 'meant', but Sam no more asked for this than he does for anything else. You left that lad behind and there ain't no excuses for what you did. You should be down on one knee praying, thanking God that your boy's as strong as he is 'cause I got no doubt that's the only reason Sam's still with us."
"I know. I know I dropped the ball on this one, plain and simple." John replied; already feeling weighed down with guilt, the Pastor's words just adding to his burden.
Jim took a deep breath and counted to ten. He was tempted to lash out again at his friend, to make him understand that things weren't going to magically be alright. That his actions couldn't be so easily justified or the consequences simply patched up and repaired. But one look at the remorse on John's face and he held his tongue. They needed to focus on the here and now, needed to find the sick bastard who had done this.
They'd wasted precious time searching the motel office and the attached apartment, but had come up empty. The motel manager was nowhere in sight, the quietly spoken man John remembered having totally disappeared. Since no one else was registered at the run down, empty, establishment, it didn't take long for the two hunters to focus on the absentee manager as their suspect.
Jim looked at the paperwork in his hand, a collection of bills and receipts. "You think he's, ah, Frank Rajak, you think he's long gone?"
"I don't know what to think." John answered, feeling at a loss. This was their second visit to the motel manager's accommodations and yet they were no closer to finding the answers they so badly needed. A thorough search had given them a name, and they now knew how the bastard liked to spend his money, knew about his sick fantasies in graphic detail, his obsession with young boys and preference for perverted pornography; but they were no closer to locating the man himself.
"You know, everything's still here, like he left in a hurry, and somehow I get the feeling we kind of interrupted his plans turning up when we did. Just doesn't make sense that he'd leave Sammy like that, you know, before…" Jim stuttered, unable to give voice to the rest of his thoughts.
John ran his fingers through his hair, swearing he could feel the strands turning grey under his fingertips. He had a damn good idea of what type of sick bastard they were dealing with, but the knowledge didn't make the facts any easier to bear. He looked across at the evidence spread out across the table, a vile collection of photographs and trophies, and he wanted to tear the twisted pervert limb from limb, make him suffer a fate worse than death. That son of a bitch had it coming and god dammit; he'd enjoy making the bastard curse the day he ever dared lay a hand on his son.
John picked up one of the photographs and looked at it briefly before tossing it back on the table, feeling dirty. Christ, he'd left his son in the hands of the worst kind of predator, a paedophile. "What have I done?" He muttered, sweeping the pile of photographs onto the floor with the back of his hand. "What the hell have I done?"
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Frank pressed his face up close to the glass, blocking out his reflection as he peered inside. He could see clearly now, the room no longer a mass of dark shapes and reflections.
God, everything was going so perfectly, he thought, seeing the boy lying bundled on the bed. He wished he could reach out, straight through the glass, and touch him. Feel his young supple skin, hear his stuttered moans. God, he wanted to trail his fingers through the boy's hair, lift his head up off the pillow and taste those soft sweet lips, swallow down his gasp of surprise and drink in his soul.
He could see the boy staring back at him, panting now, his lips slightly parted and his eyes open wide. God, the boy was enticing. He couldn't help but imagine that those soft panting breaths were just for him, could imagine the boy coming alive under his touch as he pressed the lean young body down into the mattress and stripped him bare.
Already he could feel his heart rate quicken in anticipation. He'd make it good for the boy, take it slow and gentle. Draw out the pleasure, make it last, until the boy was begging and pleading for release. Nothing could compete with this, the boy was like a personal slice of heaven, and God, it was going to be so goddamn perfect.
Red hot desire coursed through him, like a jolt of electricity, bringing his body to life. He ran a hand down his chest, slipping it under his coat until he could feel the glide of his fingers through the thin cotton of his shirt. His hand slipped lower, and he watched the boy as he felt his own breath quicken with hunger. Seeing the boy like that was almost too much, almost his undoing, and he pulled his hand away, reining back his passion.
The boy was like a damn drug in his system now, calling to him, pressing him with intense need, to the exclusion of all else. It was like the boy was being dangled before him, captivating him, beckoning to him with his beauty. He was strong, but no man could resist this, so pure and innocent, so goddamn beautiful just waiting to be picked up and carried away.
It was like torture being this close again, with just a clear barrier separating him from the boy, teasing and tempting him, but still just out of reach. He fingered the set of keys in his pocket, wanting to walk around right now and unlock the door, stride across the room and pull the boy into his arms and crush him tight. Soon, he reminded himself, soon.
Soon the boy would be his. He refused to be thwarted again. No, this time he would be victorious and refused to entertain any doubt that he would not succeed. This was his fate, his purpose. Adrenaline surged through his system and he felt alive again, as if he was finally embracing the life he was destined to live, grabbing it with both hands and just taking. He refused to survive on paper imitations and rot away in dull daily monotony any longer, when the real thing was right here and his for the taking.
He could see the boy's awareness as their eyes locked in unspoken understanding, as if they were intrinsically linked somehow, two souls waiting to be joined. This time, nothing would stand in his way, he would succeed, the boy would be his.
Reluctantly he stepped away from the window. He had to be patient, just a little bit longer.
-o-
Sam lay on the bed and willed his body to move. He wanted to look away from the window but he was locked in his fear, completely frozen. It couldn't be happening, not again. He was alone again, left behind.
He could feel the sweat breaking out on his forehead as his heart pounded with relentless force in his chest. The fear was all encompassing as it enveloped him, invading every fibre of his being. He was staring his fate in the face and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.
He felt his breath hitch and struggled to catch it again. He felt like there wasn't enough air in the room and he was slowly being suffocated to death. Each shallow breath stuttered in his throat, the air barely reaching his starved lungs. He took quicker breaths, trying to compensate, but the air seemed to evade his efforts. He couldn't help but wonder if this was not a better way to die, before the man caught him again. It didn't seem fair after he'd tried so hard and come so far, almost believing that he was safe now, but he couldn't live through it all again. He couldn't.
His breath faltered and he clenched his fingers in the blankets as he waited for it to happen.
Waited for the air not to come anymore.
Waited for death to claim him.
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Dean splashed some cold water on his face, repeating the process a couple more times as he tried to shock his body more fully awake. He looked into the mirror as he ran his wet fingers through his hair and his exhausted face stared back at him. It felt like forever since he'd had a decent sleep, and the way things were going, it would still be a while yet. He needed to stay awake, stay alert, and cold water coupled with caffeine would have to do the trick, at least until Pastor Jim and his dad returned.
He ground his palms into his eyes and gave himself a mental shake. He needed to keep it together, to stay strong. Taking a deep breath he stood tall and straight, putting on a façade of composure. Finally ready, he pushed open the bathroom door, wincing as it creaked on its hinges, hoping the noise didn't wake Sam.
It took only one quick glance at his little brother to know that something was wrong. Sam was rigid on the bed, tremors running through his body and his breath coming in quick short pants.
"Sam?" He called, racing over to his brother's side. "Sam, can you hear me?" He laid a hand on Sam's forehead, checking for fever. Sam felt a little warm, his skin ghostly pale, but no worse than earlier.
"Christ Sammy." Dean muttered as he slid onto the bed beside his brother, pulling him in close.
He wrapped his arms around Sam, holding on tight to his shaking body. "Come on kiddo, breathe with me here," he coaxed, "slow breaths, nice and easy, come on, I know you can do it, I'm here now, right here, not going anywhere."
-o-
Sam stared at the window, even after his worst nightmare moved out of sight. He could still see the small spot where the man's warm breath had fogged the dirty glass. He was trapped, held captive in his own body, waiting for whatever fate had in store for him.
Then he felt the warm body slide in behind his own and he knew instantly that it was Dean. He leaned against the warmth, letting his body be held and supported. He laid his head on Dean's chest and finally, he was able to close his eyes, blocking out the window and the room and the memories.
He felt the beat of his brother's heart deep in his chest and rested his ear against it, focusing on the steady rhythm, until his own breaths started to slow. Finally, he was able to draw in deep lungfuls of precious air and stop the trembling in his limbs. He was safe again, protected, and he knew that whatever happened, Dean would keep him out of harm's way.
"Sammy?" Dean whispered.
"Mmmmm." He mumbled into his brother's chest.
"Okay now?" Dean asked, keeping his voice low and gentle.
"Mmmmm."
Dean rested his chin on top of his brother's head, keeping his arms wrapped tight around Sam as he ventured the next question. "Want to talk about what happened?"
"No." Sam felt the small tear run down his face.
Dean waited a minute before pushing again. "Sure?"
Sam felt another tear joining the first, and then another, until the floodgates opened and released a deluge. He turned his face into his brother's shirt and tried to muffle his sobs.
"God Sammy, I'm so sorry. Should never have left you." Dean felt the tears pool in his own eyes as he held his brother close, his fingers clutching tightly to the nape of Sam's neck, offering what little comfort he could.
-o-
The blade was razor sharp and Frank thrust the end in with little resistance. He slashed downwards, tearing through the thick rubber without pause. The air escaped with a gentle hiss and the car tilted down on the punctured tire, ensuring it was going nowhere soon. Staying crouched down low, he moved to the next car, repeating the procedure with swift efficiency. He almost wished he could stay around and watch the expression on the men's faces when they saw the damage he had wrecked on their cars. He was almost tempted to run the edge of his blade across the shiny paintwork, to carve in a final farewell message. It was little more than they deserved and his sense of justice tempted him to carry out the punishment, but he knew he couldn't afford to draw attention to the slashed tires, not yet. He needed the element of surprise.
His eyes darted back towards the motel office and the attached rooms that were for his personal use. The two men had disappeared in there a little while ago and he couldn't help but wonder what they were doing, what they were touching. It felt like such an invasion of his personal space to know those men were in there, snooping around in his stuff. They had no damn right. Everything in there was his, all his!
Of course, he knew what they'd find. His special things. The things he kept hidden; meant for no one to see except for himself. They'd be ruined now anyway, dirty fingerprints all over them. He'd wanted to wait and go back for them later, but now, maybe it was better to leave them behind. He could start over; begin a new collection, a better one.
No, leaving it all behind was the right thing to do. He needed to start afresh, begin a new life, with a new name and a new identity. He could throw off the shackles of his past and be whoever the hell he wanted to be. Everything here was old, ruined now, and he needed nothing from this past life – except the boy. The boy was his impetus, his symbol of a new beginning. Together they'd escape all this and begin anew.
All his plans were set in motion now. He just needed to remove the final obstacles in his path and secure that last special piece.
He didn't know how much time he had before the two older men would emerge from inside again, and if he was honest with himself, he didn't want to chance meeting them face to face. They were damn arrogant busy-bodies, with their fancy guns and fast cars. Thinking they had the right to snoop in his business, get in his way and slow him down. As if they had some god given right to preach to him about right and wrong. He'd met their kind before and damn it all to hell if he was going to listen to that bullshit again.
He knew how to fight a battle, how to win, and getting up close and personal wasn't in his plan. He was smarter than them and this time he was looking forward to showing those filthy bastards just who the hell was in charge.
-o-
Dean held his brother, helpless to stop the sobs that shuddered through Sam's body and the tears that streamed down his face. All he could do was hold on.
It was heartbreaking, listening to the sobs of grief and fear as they poured from his little brother, so telling that words weren't necessary. He couldn't help but feel responsible, for not acting sooner, for not listening to his instincts. For leaving Sam. Had he really been so focused on the hunt that he'd barely spared his brother a second thought when they'd driven away and left him behind? Hindsight aside, he knew there was no excuse for what he'd done, for what he'd failed to do. So he held his little brother tight and just prayed that Sam would learn to forgive him.
The soft slide of the door unlocking forced Dean to raise his head and glance at the door. He hoped that his dad and Pastor Jim at least had some good news.
The welcoming smile froze on his lips as he looked into the face of a stranger.
His body tensed and he glanced frantically around for his weapon, already pulling himself away from his brother. He lunged off the bed, grappling on the nightstand for his knife as he placed himself between Sam and the stranger.
He felt the breath leave his body as the knife plunged in, sharp white pain engulfing him. With one swift pull the knife was withdrawn and a split second later his body followed forward with the momentum, the floor racing up to meet him.
"Dean!" Sam yelled, scrambling off the bed.
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Note: I think we're nearly done now. Maybe just another chapter or two to go.
Reviews, as always, are pure love.