Warning: Chapter contains material that may not be suited for children or virtuous adults!
Chapter XII - Ensnared
"Got any fives?"
Dad shook his head. "Go fish."
Sighing, I grabbed the top card from the pile. "Nope," I said, placing the queen of diamonds in my hand.
Next to him on the table, Dad's phone began to buzz. After flipping the phone open, he said, "Hello," into the microphone. After a few moments, Dad said, "Okay, fine. See you in the morning," Dad said, slamming the phone shut in annoyance.
"Uncle Dean?" I guessed.
"Yeah," Dad said. "He's going to be busy tonight so he won't be back until morning."
"Is that code for he's sleeping with someone?"
Dad rolled his eyes. "Really?"
"What?" I said. "Blame primetime TV."
Completely ignoring that last statement, Dad asked, "Do you have any aces?"
I growled and threw him the ace of spades. He placed the pair down next to his others.
Dad continued to slaughter me until we were out of cards. I consider myself lucky that I have seven pairs.
"I'm going to bed," I said. That was the third game I lost to him tonight. I really hate this string of bad luck I've been having.
Dad just chuckled. "No one likes a sore loser, Liz."
Like the professional I am, I stuck my tongue out at him.
"Go to bed," Dad said, grinning.
"Fine," I said. "Wait…since Uncle Dean won't be here tonight…can I have his bed?"
Dad shrugged. "I don't see why not."
I smiled widely. Finally, I get a night where I don't have to sleep on the cot. Granted, it was still a lumpy, musty motel bed, but it was a million times better than my usual.
Dad walked into the bathroom, most likely to take a shower, and I snuggled into the comforter. Normally I have a bitch of a time falling asleep. Lately, it has been from lack of comfort since most of the nightmares and freaky mind-rape (Uncle Dean's words, not mine) thing stopped.
Of course, I spoke to soon.
After a few moments, I was lulled to sleep by the sounds of the shower. I always fall asleep faster when it was raining. This was just an artificial version of it.
Of course, it was only a moment of peace since my nightmare dragged me away.
The heat from the passionate kiss was searing. The hands toyed with the slender body, exploring certain part of the anatomy. The intense sensation of pure ecstasy filled the entire being.
What the hell is going on?
Slowly, they broke away. The eyes blinked open and I looked into the jade eyes of a beautiful woman with light brown hair and ivory skin.
Shit, I was in Uncle Dean's mind while he is getting it on with this chick.
"Come with me," she said, her voice melodic and playfully demanding.
Oh, God, NO!
Uncle Dean smirked at the beautiful woman. The two of them stood up and the woman guided him out of the living room and down the hall towards the master bedroom.
I attempted to escape his mind. I mentally pulled away, but it was futile. I was stuck in Uncle Dean's fucked up mind.
Kill me now.
Uncle Dean mischievously pushed the woman onto the bed and very nearly fell on top. The woman effortlessly removed her slinky t-shirt and threw it onto the ground. With nimble fingers, Uncle Dean removed her bra as if he had done it a thousand times.
There was no escape. I saw what Uncle Dean saw. I felt what Uncle Dean felt. There was no closing my eyes and blocking it all out.
I was about to mentally lose my virginity before my body does.
Only that would happen to me and as a guy no less.
The woman tore Uncle Dean's jacket off, but left the t-shirt removal to him. She stared in awe at his toned body.
Like a lion pouncing on its prey, the woman pushed Uncle Dean over so that she was on top. He didn't object. He actually preferred it that way.
Okay, I did not need to know that.
Uncle Dean's hands explored the woman's body, starting at her hips and working his way up to her breasts. He cupped them and teased her nipples. She ran a hand down his back. He shivered in pleasure.
Slowly, Uncle Dean's kiss went from her lips down her neck. He lingered momentarily at a mole between her shoulder and collar bone. He continued his way downward until he reached her breasts. Her body arched against him as he teased her nipples with his tongue.
The need grew too strong. He needed her and he needed her now.
Wake up, Liz.
Please wake up.
Dammit, why won't I wake up?
Quickly, he began to undo the fly on her pants. A fiery passion flared up in her eyes as she shimmied out of her jeans, carefully placing her hips against his so the movement caused him more pleasure.
If I had my own physical body right now, I would be blushing so freaking hard my entire face would be red.
The woman chuckled at Uncle Dean. "Why are you blushing?"
"I'm not blushing," he denied. "I just need you so much, Renée."
So, her name is Renée.
Knowing that makes things, someone, ten times worse.
In a matter of seconds, he had his pants off. They both pulled each other's underwear off. This was the point of no return. At this point, I would have official lost my mental virginity and whatever I had left of my innocence.
Out of nowhere, the annoying ring of a cell phone broke through the sounds of pleasure. Uncle Dean growled in annoyance.
"Ignore that," he said. "It's nothing important."
Answer it! Please answer it!
Moments later, the cell phone went off again. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Uncle Dean knew something was wrong. Dad knew that Uncle Dean was busy. The only reason why he would ring twice was if it was important or an emergency and, since they weren't on a hunt, it would have to be that latter.
"I'm sorry," Uncle Dean said, breaking away from Renée, "but I have to answer it."
Finally, my prayers have been answered. I swear I could hear the Halleluiah chorus right now.
"But—"
Ignoring her, Uncle Dean got up and dug through his jeans until he found his ringing cell phone. It was indeed Dad.
"Listen, Sammy, I'm in the middle of something, can this wait?"
"Liz isn't breathing and I am barely getting a pulse!"
Wait…I'm not breathing? But, I'm just in Uncle Dean's head. Surely my body would still be functioning even if I was mentally miles away from it.
"Have you called 9-1-1?" Uncle Dean asked, quickly pulling his clothes on.
"No," Dad said. "I wanted to get a hold of you first. I'm doing CPR on her right now."
Oh, shit!
"Call 9-1-1! I'll be there as soon as possible!"
Not even waiting for a goodbye, Uncle Dean slammed his cell phone shut, cursing under his breath.
"What's going on?" Renée asked, genuinely concerned.
"A family emergency," Uncle Dean said, not elaborating beyond that. He bent down and kissed her gently. "I promise to make it up to you later."
As if for punishment, Renée reached behind Uncle Dean and pinched his ass. "You better."
In the moment it takes someone to blink, I was torn away from Uncle Dean in Renée's apartment and shoved back into the motel room with Dad hovering over me with a freaked out look on his face. I was gasping for air, my chest and lungs on fire.
"Liz! Oh my God! Liz, are you okay?"
I answered him by coughing up a lung. He relaxed slightly, since that was usually a good sign after someone stopped breathing. At least, that's what they said when I took a CPR class to become a certified babysitter.
"I'm fine," I said, my voice hoarse and my throat burning.
"You weren't breathing!" Dad shouted, mortified. "It took me five minutes to bring you back and you probably stopped breathing before I noticed."
"I think…I think it might have something to do with the whole I-get-stuck-in-people's-minds-involuntarily thing," I said, trying to avoid saying mind-rape.
"Wait…were you in my mind again?" he asked.
I paused for a moment. I could correct him and then have to explain that I was in Uncle Dean's mind while he was about to have sex with a woman. However, I wasn't stupid.
"Yeah," I muttered.
Dad shook his head. "This is just…scary."
"I didn't know that I stopped breathing until you freaked out," I said.
"That must mean you…you saw the vision."
I was about to ask what he was talking about. However, in order to keep up the pretenses that I was in his mind and not Uncle Dean's, I nodded.
Dad sighed. "When Dean gets back, we'll need to head to Michigan to stop it."
I hid the confusion from my face even though there were a multiple questions I needed answered to understand that statement alone.
Uncle Dean came bursting through the door. He froze, looking between Dad and me.
"Uh…you said she wasn't breathing," Uncle Dean said. "She looks fine to me."
"It has something to do with her…" Dad couldn't find the right words to describe this freaky ability.
"Mind-rape thing," Uncle Dean offered.
"We'll go with that one," Dad said, not at all happy about calling it that. However, there wasn't really an easy way to explain it other than mind-rape. "Apparently she stops breathing when she was in someone's mind."
He began to panic. "Which mind were you in?"
I felt like shouting that I was in his, but I controlled myself. "Dad's."
Uncle Dean looked relieved. "That's…good."
"God, Dean," Dad grumbled.
Uncle Dean rolled his eyes. "So, was it interesting in the mind of Sammy?"
"It's Sam and…she saw…I had a vision and she saw it."
"Wait…you had a vision!"
"Yeah, I was getting to that," Dad said. "Look, we need to get to Michigan."
"What's in Michigan besides, you know, water and…well, water?"
"Well, there's this guy and he parks his car in the garage and he get's locked in his car and can't gets out. Some sort of invisible force starts his car with the garage door shut. No matter how hard he tries, he can't get out. Dean, we need to save him."
-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-
"McCredie. Detective McCredie. Badge number one-five-eight. I have a four-eighty in progress. I need information on the owner of a two-door Sedan with the Michigan license plate number MF-6037."
I was confused—really confused. And, of course, I couldn't ask any questions since I, apparently, know exactly what is going on. Uncle Dean was trying to shove it off as a nightmare, but Dad was adamant on finding out who this person is.
"Yeah, just hurry," Dad muttered angrily.
"Sammy, relax. I'm sure it was just a nightmare."
"Yeah, tell me about it."
"I-I mean it. Your normal, everyday, naked-in-class nightmare. It won't check out—you'll see."
"It felt different, Dean—real. Like when I dreamt about our old house and Jessica." Dad turned around in his seat. "Besides, Liz saw it. I mean, did you…feel how real it was?"
No, no I didn't. "Um…yeah. I did."
"See."
"Yeah, but you were dreaming about our house and your wife. This guy—have you ever seen him before?"
"No," Dad admitted.
"Exactly! Why would you have premonitions about some random dude in Michigan?"
"I don't know."
"Me either."
"Yes, I'm here," Dad said into the cell phone. I couldn't see his reaction, but I could somehow tell that he got what he wanted. "Jim Miller. Saginaw, Michigan. Address? Got it."
Dad hung up the phone. Silence clung to the Impala like the rain falling from the sky. Uncle Dean wouldn't admit he was wrong. Dad hated the fact that he was right. I am still as confused as hell on what is going on.
"Checks out," Dad announced, needlessly. "How far away?"
"From Saginaw?" Dad nodded. "Couple hours."
Dad didn't seem amused by that. "Drive faster."
Uncle Dean pushed down on the gas. We made it to Saginaw, Michigan in record time.
Of course, we were still too late.
There were police cars and ambulances surrounding the house. Uncle Dean parked the Impala next to a police cruiser. It didn't take supernatural powers to know that someone had died in that house earlier tonight.
Wordlessly, the three of us climbed out of the Impala and joined the horde of onlookers who were behind the police barricade.
"What happened?" Uncle Dean asked a woman, about mid- to late-fifties.
"Suicide," the woman said, shaking her head solemnly. "I can't believe it."
Uncle Dean and Dad looked at each other as if they knew what the other was thinking. "Did you know him?" Dad asked.
The woman sighed. "Saw him every Sunday at Saint Augustine's. He always seems—seemed—so normal. I guess you never know what goes on behind closed doors."
"Guess not," Uncle Dean muttered.
"How did, uh…how are they saying it happened?" Dad asked, trying to find the right words.
"They found him in the garage—locked inside the car with the engine running."
"Do you know about what time they found him?"
"Well, it, uh…just happened about an hour or two ago." The woman sighed. "His poor family. I can't even imagine what they are going through."
That's when I finally dared to look at the house. I saw a balding man standing there comforting a sobbing woman. However, there was something—someone, actually—who caught my eye. It was just some guy are Dad's age who was just standing there, a look of complete indifference on his face.
I didn't even realize that Dad walked away until Uncle Dean was tugging at my sleeves to follow him. Dad stood just a few feet from the crowd, just staring at the scene in front of him.
"Sam, we got here as fast as we could," Uncle Dean said.
"Not fast enough," Dad countered. "This doesn't make any sense. Why would I have these premonitions unless there was a chance I could stop them from happening?"
"I dunno," Uncle Dean admitted.
We were enveloped into silence for a few moments until Dad broke it. "So, what do you think did it?"
"Maybe the guy just killed himself," Uncle Dean argued. "Maybe there isn't something supernatural going on."
Dad shook his head. "I'm telling you. I watched it happen. He was murdered by something, Dean. It trapped him in the garage."
"Like what? A spirit? A poltergeist? What?"
"I don't know what it was. I don't know why I'm having these dreams. I don't know what the hell is happening, Dean."
Uncle Dean just shook his head.
"What?" Dad grumbled.
"Nothing," Uncle Dean obviously lied. "Man, I've been worried about you—about Liz."
I lowered my head away from his gaze. I hated this—I hated this so much. I hated these powers and the situation at hand.
"Well, don't looking at us like that," Dad snapped, defensively.
"I'm not looking at yah like anything. I'm just saying you both look like crap."
"Thanks," I muttered.
"Yeah, well…" Uncle Dean sighed. "Let's just pick this up in the morning." He stood up and walked around towards the Impala. "We'll check out the house—talk to the family."
"Dean, you saw them," Dad said. "They're devastated. They're not gonna want to talk to us."
Uncle Dean thought for a moment. "Yeah, I guess you're right." He got that twinkle in his eye that indicated that he had a plan and that we would most likely not like it. "But you know who they will talk to?"
Dad looked at Uncle Dean, confused. "Who?"
-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-
"Isn't posing as priests illegal or something?" I asked Dad and Uncle Dean.
"Immoral—yes. Illegal—no." Dad simply stated, opening the door to the Impala and climbing out. Uncle Dean copied the action. "We shouldn't be too long. Just—"
"I know, I know," I muttered, annoyed. "Keep low, don't draw attention to myself and, if I have to leave the Impala because it is something freaky, make sure I place an object on the front seat to indicate what kind of emergency it is." I rattled each precaution off in a monotone voice. I knew what to do while they were working a case. This isn't the first one I've ever been on.
Dad sighed. "Where did you get that attitude from?"
"Welcome to life with a teenage girl," I said dramatically. "Please enter at your own risk."
Uncle Dean snorted. "I think you are way over your head, Sammy."
Dad slammed the door shut without another word. He turned sharply and headed up towards the house. Uncle Dean walked quickly to catch up to him.
I would give anything to see them pose as priests right now. Uncle Dean was sure to go overboard with the whole "we are God's followers" thing while Dad just sits in the sidelines and only pipes in when there is a question that needs to be asked. The sad thing is, I don't know which one would be more awkward.
They came back about an hour later. Just by the looks on their faces, I knew they came up short on anything useful. I braced myself for a long night full of research, because I have a feeling that is what was coming my way.
I was right, of course.
The moment we got to the motel, we set off on research. Correction: Dad and I did research while Uncle Dean cleaned the countless number of guns we seem to possess. I've always wondered the exact number of weapons that are hidden in the Impala alone.
"What yah got?" Uncle Dean asked. By now, it was dark outside.
"A whole lot of nothing," Dad said, deflated. "Nothing bad has happened to the Miller house since it was built."
"What about the land?"
"No graveyards, battlefields, tribal lands or any sort of atrocity happened on or near the property," I said, looking up from my computer.
Dad collapsed onto the bed. The jarring movement almost knocked my computer onto the floor, but I caught it in time.
"Look, I searched that house high and low," Uncle Dean said defensively. "No cold spots, no sulfur scent—nada."
"And the family said everything was normal?" Dad asked.
"Well, if there was a demon or poltergeist near, don't you think someone would notice? Besides, I used the inferred thermal scanner."
"So what, you think Jim Miller just offed himself and my dream was just a freakish coincidence?"
"I dunno," Uncle Dean admitted. "I'm pretty sure there is nothing supernatural about that house."
"Yeah," Dad mumbled.
That's when I felt it. There was a dull ache in my head that was slowly escalating. I wasn't one to get headaches, so this was a little weird for me.
"So…maybe…uh…maybe it has nothing to do with the house."
The headache spiked to an almost intolerable level. I tried messaging my temples hoping that it would alleviate the pain, but nothing seemed to be working.
"Maybe it's…gosh…maybe it's connected to Jim…in some other way."
The lights, the sounds…everything made my headache worse. It felt like my head was about to explode. I couldn't take the pressure and the pain.
"What's wrong with you two?"
Uncle Dean was talking too loud—way too loud. Why were there so many stupid lights on? I thought we only had the lamp on.
I wasn't in the dingy motel room anymore. I was in some man's apartment. He was just coming home from what looked like the grocery store since his arms were full of brown grocery bags.
He sat the bags down on the counter and pulled out a beer. He took a large swig of the amber liquid and then went about putting the groceries away.
Behind him, the window leading out into an alleyway opened by itself. It allowed the cold air to seep through the apartment and alert the man that it was open.
Confused, he walked over to the window and promptly closed. He locked it for good measure.
Roger went about his business unloading his grocery bags. Without any physical interference, the lock on the window moved and the window opened.
Taking another annoyed swig of beer, he placed the longneck down on the counter and tried to push the window closed.
It wouldn't budge.
No matter how hard he tried, Roger could not get the window to close.
Thinking that there was something caught on the outside, Roger shimmied onto the railing, his neck resting on the frame.
With a large force, the window slammed down on Roger's neck. Blood splattered everywhere and his head rolled onto the fire escape.
I was shoved back into the motel room. I was on the cold floor, panting wildly and trying to figure out what the hell just happened.
"It's happening again," Dad cried. "Something is going to kill Roger Miller!"