Author's Note: Thank you all so much for reviewing Chapter 20. Sometimes, I do get self-conscious, so I can't express how much I appreciated your encouragement. :-) Anyway, here's Chapter 21. Enjoy!
SPN
(Atlanta, Georgia … Friday, October 30, 2005)
After the pool match, Jacob and Earl led Sam, Jessica, Elizabeth, and Cyrus to the kitchen where they would be out of Caroline's way. With just two days left until the wedding, she had to maximize their remaining time, and the fewer distractions, the better. Sam tucked his arm around Jessica's waist, holding her close, more for comfort than protection, since he couldn't even protect himself.
Cyrus had to admit, he wasn't happy by her arrival. It wasn't that he disliked her or thought she had cooties—a major concern for many of his schoolmates—but he knew enough about dating relationships to recognize the problem. If Sam and Jessica weren't happy to see each other, despite 'going out,' it meant Jessica was a hostage, not a gift. But the Stynes already had hostages. What did they need her for? Even at his age, Cyrus knew it wasn't a good sign.
"How about some ice cream?" Jacob asked as they gathered around the marble island in the heart of the enormous room. Sam, Jessica, and Elizabeth all wrinkled their noses, but Earl eagerly agreed. Together, they began rummaging through the cupboards in search of bowls. Meanwhile, Elizabeth helped Cyrus climb up on a wrought-iron stool so he could see over the island counter. It wasn't often that she took an interest in him, and Cyrus wasn't sure what to make of her unstable temperament.
Once Jacob and Earl were a safe distance away, over by the walk-in freezer, Sam regarded Jessica. "This is a stupid question," he whispered, "but I have to ask. Are you okay?" Cyrus noticed how tightly he gripped her hand. "Did they hurt you?"
"No, but Sam…" She glanced uncertainly at Cyrus and Elizabeth before springing some questions of her own. "What's going on? What are we doing here? What do they want from us? From you?" Sam hesitated, apparently at a loss. After all, it was a complicated story, and they only had as long as Jacob and Earl gave them.
"Allow me," Elizabeth offered curtly, tapping her fingers on the counter. Sam and Jessica seemed apprehensive by her interruption, but she obviously didn't care. "Long story short, I'm a fortune-teller, and last year, I read Sam's palm. He's supposed to rain destruction down on civilization as we know it." Sam groaned while Jessica blanched, but Elizabeth was not deterred. "My family likes the idea, but Sam was raised to fight evil, so he's naturally against it. And now, at the recommendation of a demon, my family has taken Sam in as one of our own, and slowly but surely, thanks to a near endless supply of hostages—yourself included—we're reconditioning him to embrace his destiny."
Jessica shook her head. "You're insane."
Elizabeth chuckled mirthlessly. "I've been called worse. But it's all true, I can promise you that."
"Please," Sam said with the same haunted expression he always wore when contemplating the future. "Elizabeth, just stop. I know you're jealous, and believe me, I know how much it all sucks, but don't take it out on Jess. She's never done anything to you."
Elizabeth's eyes flashed. "Don't presume to know how I feel! You might be psychic, and you might be catching glimpses, but I'm still shielding you from the brunt of my agony. You'd do well to remember that." Jessica blinked. All things considered, Cyrus thought she was coping fairly well under the circumstances.
Sam stared down at the counter. "I'm sorry about the other night," he told her remorsefully. Elizabeth sighed, running a hand through her hair. "And I'm sorry it feels like I'm abandoning you. I'd help you if I could. But I can't fight this. Not anymore."
His admission was like a punch in the gut. Cyrus found it hard to breathe, and judging from the looks on Elizabeth and Jessica's faces, they were equally as horrified. No! Cyrus didn't want his family dictating his character. He didn't want to be a bad guy. He was depending on Sam to rescue him. "But, what about your dad? Your brother? They're still coming to get us out of here, aren't they?"
Elizabeth and Jessica glanced at him in surprise—he didn't speak often, and occasionally people forgot he was in the room. He was no stranger to feeling invisible. Sam, however, was always mindful of his presence, even around the others, and Cyrus loved him for that.
"I hope so," he whispered, unable to hide his misgivings, but he couldn't elaborate, because Jacob and Earl were on their way back to the island. They were carrying trays with three bowls each, and as much as Cyrus loved ice cream, he wasn't in the mood. Besides, even kids could recognize bribes; they weren't as stupid as grown-ups thought.
"Sorry that took so long," Jacob said amiably. "We decided to pull out all the stops."
"We have Pecan Praline for Lilibet," Earl said, leaning over the counter to set a bowl in front of her. "Rocky Road for me, and Neapolitan for Cy." The sundae came loaded with hot fudge, rainbow sprinkles, whipped cream, and a cherry on top. Normally delicious. Presently distasteful.
"And I have Dutch Chocolate," Jacob continued. "With Cookies 'n Cream for Jessie, and Vanilla Bean for Sammy." Unlike the others, Sam's sundae only came with nuts and fruit. Jacob winked at him. "I thought you'd appreciate the healthier option."
Sam nodded uncomfortably. "Thank you." One look at Jessica told Cyrus how much she abhorred Sam's restraint, not that he had much choice. It wasn't fair, and the only reason Cyrus picked up the spoon in his bowl was to follow Sam's lead, so he wasn't alone. They both took slow, painful bites, while Jacob and Earl watched in amusement.
Meanwhile, Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "I'm not eating this. Neither is Jessica." She pushed both bowls away, making Jacob grimace. They glared at each other impatiently and Elizabeth crossed her arms. "What? We're ladies. We don't eat junk food this close to a wedding."
Earl scoffed. "So now you care about the wedding?"
Elizabeth smirked. "No, but I fully intend to poison everyone at the reception, and femme fatales should always look their best. So whatever you do, Jacob, don't drink the champagne."
"Funny," he replied. "And you didn't think to mention this earlier?" He indicated the rejected ice cream.
"Oh, I thought about it," she assured him. "But chose not to."
"You know, you can be a real bitch."
Her smirk became a snarl. "I've been taking out my anger on Sam, but you know what, Jacob? He was right. He's not the one abandoning me to Victor. You are. And the sad thing is, you don't even like Victor."
"He's still family," Jacob said, shoulders tense. "And I'm loyal to my family. You? You only care about yourself. Growing up, I gave you everything. I loved you like a sister, and you treated me like a pawn. So don't talk to me about abandonment when you walked out on us. As far as I'm concerned, this is justice."
"I didn't walk out on you," Elizabeth protested. "It was never about you! I walked out on Monroe."
"He didn't deserve your scorn. He was only looking out for your best interests. That damn Yankee's beneath you."
Cyrus wasn't sure which Yankee they were talking about, but mentioning him was a bad idea. Elizabeth flushed, and the only warning they had of her imminent eruption was Sam doubling over, gasping in pain while clutching his head. Jessica squeaked, and before anyone could register what it meant, a wave of violent energy flared out of Elizabeth, making her hair billow. It knocked Cyrus off his stool, and he hit the ground hard—so did Sam, Jessica, and Earl. Only Jacob managed to weather the blast.
Fortunately, it was a short-lived tempest. Elizabeth's abilities were under Aunt Caroline's control, and while a rush of emotion might trigger a supernatural frenzy, it wasn't sustainable. Elizabeth screamed, not in rage, but turmoil. Moments later, she collapsed, unconscious, and the disturbance was over.
Groaning, Cyrus sat up and glanced warily around the room. Was anyone hurt?
"Sam!?" Jessica was on her knees, easing Sam onto his back—he wasn't moving, his eyes were shut, and blood was spilling from his nose. Suddenly, Cyrus felt woozy. "Sam!"
"Damn it." Jacob scaled the marble island and leapt across it like a cat. Landing next to Sam, he shoved Jessica out of the way and tenderly brushed the hair from the young man's face. "Earl, we need Aunt Caroline! Now!"
Cyrus watched his cousin dart anxiously from the kitchen, sensing the urgency. Whichever spell Caroline used to subjugate Elizabeth would not take her defiance kindly, and if Sam's psychic abilities tapped into her outburst, they were no doubt tapping into her punishment. He and Elizabeth might be unconscious, but that didn't mean they were dead to the world, and Cyrus didn't want to consider the pain they might be suffering in their sleep.
"Don't touch him!" Jessica launched herself frantically at Jacob, but her efforts to yank him off Sam were flimsy. They only provoked him to stand up and grab her arm—Cyrus flinched at the hostility in his eyes. Without a word, he marched her across the room, ignoring her cries, and swiftly locked her in the walk-in freezer. Then, he returned to Sam's side and carefully held his head in his lap.
Listening to Jessica pound on the freezer door, Cyrus stared at his older brother, and for the first time in his young life, felt something akin to true hatred.
SPN
Hours later, all was quiet. Caroline had managed to restore Sam with the help of a crystal and a potion. Now, he was in bed resting. Elizabeth, on the other hand, was not given the same treatment—she was carried up to her room by an angry Jacob and left unconscious on the floor. Meanwhile, Cyrus let Jessica out of the freezer and smuggled her to the parlor, where she curled up in a blanket and fought back tears. She could have died in there, and Cyrus found himself wondering if Jacob meant for that, or if he was just being careless.
Eventually, the sun began to set, its radiant light pouring through the windows and casting a crimson glow on the walls. Cyrus closed his book and glanced at Jessica—she had cried herself to sleep. Feeling antsy and wanting to stretch his legs, he slipped out of the room and began wandering the halls. The mansion was enormous, and even after a week, he still had much to explore.
Upstairs, where navigation became more difficult, Cyrus had to focus on not getting lost. There were too many twists and turns. What was the point? Unless the builders enjoyed Hide and Seek, it made no sense.
After a good ten minutes, Cyrus approached a partially open door with voices coming from inside. He paused, common sense telling him to retreat while curiosity and resent urged him to advance. It was none of his business, but at the same time, it could be important. Knowledge was power, and without power, how could Cyrus help Sam? Holding his breath, he crept closer to the door and listened.
"This isn't going to work," his uncle's voice was saying. "And if word gets out, it will humiliate our family."
"I'm not seeing another option," his aunt replied. "But I'm confident it will work, and no one's going to notice. Certainly not Sam. I'll make sure of that."
Uncle William grunted. "How? Over-stimulation? I thought we fetched that pretty little blonde thing to coerce him into harvesting a lab rat. Well, pardon me for saying so, but you can't expect him to wield a scalpel if he's over-stimulated. You're asking too much, my dear."
Cyrus had to cover his mouth to keep from gasping. They wanted Sam to harvest someone? A string of bad words—picked up from his cousins—whirled through his mind. Could this day get any worse?
"You should have more faith in me," Aunt Caroline said. "We'll over-stimulate him for the wedding, and take pity on him at the start of the reception. Jacob will hand him a crystal to manage the noise, and by then, Sam will be desperate enough to make full use of it. So when the time comes, he'll have his wits back while being none the wiser."
Another grunt, but Cyrus didn't hear his uncle's next few words. He was distracted by the weight of a heavy hand on his shoulder. Startled, he jerked around to see his brother watching in disapproval. "Jacob!"
"Eavesdropping, Cy?" Jacob clucked his tongue and subsequently dragged Cyrus through the door into a dark study lit only by the blazing flames in the fireplace. William stood by the mantel, drinking brandy, while Caroline reclined on a chaise lounge, twirling one of her crystals around her fingers. They both glanced up at the intrusion, shadows obscuring their faces. "I beg your pardon," Jacob said, shoving Cyrus forward. "But it seems we have a fledgling spy in our midst."
Silence. A pit was forming in Cyrus' stomach, and he began to sweat. Even though he couldn't make out their expressions, he knew they weren't pleased. Especially when Caroline said, "Now sweetie, what did I tell you about breaking the rules? Didn't I warn you not to get caught?"
Cyrus shivered. "I was just taking a walk! I didn't mean to do anything wrong!"
"How much did you hear?" William demanded.
"I… Nothing… I mean… I… uh…" He stumbled over his words, which hardly helped his case. William and Caroline exchanged pointed looks, and Cyrus cringed. "I won't say anything!"
"Well, you're right about that," Caroline assured him before glancing at his brother. "Now Jacob, you strike me as a well-adjusted young man. I assume your father disciplined you as a child?"
"Yes ma'am," he calmly verified.
Caroline smiled. "Of course he did. I expected no less. Which makes me wonder how Monroe would handle a child who has, however inadvertently, stumbled upon sensitive information that mustn't be disclosed? Especially when the child can't be trusted to keep his mouth shut. After all, it's no secret Cyrus and Sammy have grown rather fond of each other."
Jacob considered her words and nodded his understanding. "I think a time out's in order. Don't worry, Aunt Caroline. I'll take care of it." Cyrus' heart skipped a beat, but before he could make a run for it, Jacob grasped his arm.
"Good," Caroline said dismissively. "Now if you don't mind, your uncle and I were in the middle of an important conversation."
"Yes ma'am."
"Shut the door on your way out," William added.
"Yes sir."
With that, Jacob turned on his heel and dragged Cyrus back out into the hallway. He pulled the door shut and glowered at the boy. "You stupid little runt. You think I want to deal with this crap on top of Lilibet? What's wrong with you?"
"Jacob, I'm sorry!" Cyrus exclaimed. "Please! Just send me to my room! I won't say anything!"
His brother scoffed. "I don't think so. If you're so eager to learn our family's secrets, then it's high time we exposed you to my personal favorite." Cyrus felt sick, but was helpless to resist as Jacob dragged him through the mansion—he was too young, too small, too frail. Soon enough, they entered the library, and from there, they climbed a spiral staircase up to a balcony. They came to a bookshelf with a hidden switch that opened a secret door into the notorious laboratory.
"Jacob!" Cyrus couldn't keep the terror from his voice, and his brother's icy glare began to thaw.
"Relax," he gently advised. "I know it's hard now, but like I told Sammy, it'll get easier in time." They quickly passed a slew of intimidating machines, most of which Cyrus could not identify, and approached a medical area with a row of cylindrical containment pods. Several were empty, but two held men, and two held women. They were obviously the hostages Sam was so determined to protect, and Cyrus balked at the sight of them.
"Unfortunately," Jacob said, making a beeline for the pods. "I need you to stay here until our aunt and uncle are satisfied you won't interfere with their plans."
Each pod was built on a cylindrical platform, about a foot tall. Selecting one at random, Jacob pressed his shoe against a button on the ground. The sturdy, transparent glass sank into the floor, allowing Jacob to pick his brother up and set him on the platform. He released the button, and the glass rose back up to the overhead cap, sealing Cyrus inside.
Turning in a tight circle, Cyrus pressed his hands against the confining cylindrical walls. It was only about two feet in diameter, which must have been torture for the other prisoners. Literally torture. They barely had room to sit, much less lie down. And they were probably starving. Cyrus' eyes pricked with tears. "Jacob!" he called out to his brother. "Please don't leave me here!"
Jacob cocked his head and held a hand up to his ear. He mouthed the words, "I can't hear you!" Apparently, the pods were soundproof. Smirking, Jacob turned to regard the other men and women, who were all petrified. Three of them were screaming—unheard—while the fourth, a brunette in her twenties, was sobbing hysterically. A feeling of dread passed through Cyrus, especially when his brother advanced on the brunette.
"No, no, no!" This wasn't happening. Cyrus watched in disbelief as Jacob opened the woman's pod and snatched her wrist. He yanked her off the platform and into his embrace. "No!" Cyrus slammed his hands against the glass. "Jacob, stop! Don't do this!" His brother ignored him, hauling the woman over to an operating table where he strapped her down with minimal effort.
Realizing he was helpless to prevent this atrocity, Cyrus spun around and covered his mouth, not wanting to watch. His brother was a monster. And one day, no matter what Sam said, Cyrus worried that he might become a monster too.
SPN
(Omaha, Nebraska… Friday, October 30, 2005)
Ellen sat alone in an empty conference room at the FBI's Omaha field office. Nearly forty-eight hours had passed since the attack on the Meadowlark Hotel, and she was exhausted. An ugly lump marred her forehead, courtesy of Freddie Styne, whose body had been recovered along with the zombies at the scene of the crime. Thank God for that—at least one of the bastards was dead.
Jessica… Ellen had failed her in every sense of the word, and the shame was overwhelming. After thirteen months, she loved the girl like a daughter—as much as Jo—and she would have happily given her life to protect her, the way Joel Paulson, Brian Hale and Connor Burckle had given theirs. It wasn't fair. But then again, life never was, and Ellen withstood her survivor's guilt by resolving to put an end to the Stynes. No matter the cost.
In the midst of the silence, her phone began to vibrate. She had already spent hours on the damn thing, talking to Henriksen, talking to Jo, talking to Bobby, talking to God knows how many others with an interest in the case. She was sick of talking. She wanted to act! And if she had been any less responsible, she would have sent the call straight to voicemail. But the fact was, since becoming a mother, she always—always!—answered her phone.
"What!?" That didn't mean she had to be polite.
"Ellen?"
She barely recognized the gruff male voice on the other end. "John?" Surprised, she sat up straight. Why was John Winchester calling her? Granted, the Meadowlark had been on the news, but the feds made sure to keep Ellen and Jessica's involvement under wraps. Obviously Dean could have told him, but according to Bobby, they hadn't heard from John in days. "What's going on? Where are you?"
"Never mind that. I heard about the Meadowlark. Tell me exactly what happened."
Typical hunter. He had a mission to accomplish, and there wasn't any time to waste on pleasantries. Insufferable bastard. But then again, John was also a parent. His son was in danger, and Ellen understood his focus.
"It happened Wednesday," she subsequently reported. "I was on patrol with Agents Paulson and Hale. Jess was down in the bar with Agent Burckle. She said she noticed someone watching her, but Burckle had no idea what she was talking about. He didn't see anyone. John… she claimed it was Mary. Your wife."
"The girl saw Mary?" He couldn't hide his bewilderment, but to his credit, he didn't sound skeptical.
"She was terrified," Ellen said. "I figured the Stynes were somehow involved, so we began the process of relocating. We just weren't fast enough. By the time we made it downstairs, the doors were all blocked by walking, decomposing corpses—a small army of Frankenstein's monsters. I don't think they're technically zombies, but that's what they looked like. We were trapped inside, so we ran for the roof, but the Stynes cut us off. All three of the feds were killed. I was knocked unconscious. And now Jess is missing."
"I'll get her back," John promised, but Ellen wasn't fooled. Oh, she had no doubt he would make an effort to save his son's girlfriend, but Jessica's safety was far from his first priority. He only cared about his children.
"What's the plan?" she asked, and John must have sensed her agitation.
"I'm still working out the details."
"Mm-hmm." And Jo wondered why Ellen despised hunting. "Well, Bobby and Dean are on their way back from Rome with a key that can open the portal between realities. Tomorrow, we're gonna rendezvous in Atlanta to make our next move. You're welcome to join us."
"No!" John was adamant. "Dean's a legacy. The Stynes have left him hanging for a week just to punish him, but now, I'm sure they'd love to get their hands on him. I don't want him anywhere near that safe house. Do you understand?"
"Of course I understand," Ellen retorted. "I'm a mother, you son of a bitch."
"Good. You tell Dean to stand down and wait for me."
Ellen rolled her eyes. "Tell him yourself. Bobby says they haven't heard from you since Sam's capture. Dean could use your reassurance."
"I don't have time for that," John growled, much to her astonishment. "I only have two days to finish strategizing, and I need to concentrate. Frankly, I only called you for a firsthand account of the Stynes' tactics, and I'm not even sure that was worth it. Dean's a grown man. He'll survive. It's Sam I'm worried about."
Ellen's blood began to boil. "My God. Are you really that callous? Do you even know what it means to be a father?"
John paused, and because he had been like family once, Ellen recognized his remorse. But that didn't change anything. He still had a mission to accomplish, and he was too stubborn to second-guess himself, too set in his ways, especially when he thought he knew what was best. "I'll call you when this is over, Ellen."
The line went dead, and Ellen stared at her phone in resignation. Sighing, she shook her head. "No you won't."
SPN
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