Chapter 36

Dean grilled burgers in the junkyard with Bobby and Sam and me. We laughed over beers and teased Bobby about being so old, Sam about being so serious. Before I walked out of the bar in Nara Visa, Mike gave me a hug and said he was sorry. My mom stood and whistled when the chancellor shook my hand, passing me my leather-bound degree as I blushed.

No. Bobby is dead. I watched Mike bleed to death on the floor of the bar. My mom left and never came back. I'm dreaming.

I opened one eye, peeking out into the world. I spied a dark brown modern dresser and an open bathroom door. I frowned, remembering. I'm back in the master suite of my prison. I groaned. I pulled the plush comforter over my head. I closed my eyes, trying to slip back into the world of dreaming. I wanted to fall back asleep, but I couldn't ignore the gnaw in my stomach and I had to pee. I slid out of the bed and glanced down at my clothes. Once again, someone had stripped me down and put me in a sexy silk chemise, this time pale pink with black lace trim. I was wearing panties someone else had put on me, too. At least I'm wearing panties. I cringed at the thought of one of those creeps undressing me, dressing me. Had they done more?

I didn't see any signs of abuse down there in the bathroom, but that wasn't a guarantee. I shuddered. In the mirror, a cross hatch of stitches lined one cheek, greenish bruising circling underneath my left eye. Sometimes injuries were visible, other times they were hidden. I was grateful I could see the pain inflicted on me and hoped there was nothing unseen.

After exiting the bathroom, I spotted the silver tray on the brown dresser. I rushed to the glass of orange juice and gulped it down, then started on the oversized blueberry muffin. With my sense of taste enhanced, I devoured it, each blueberry causing a twinge on my tongue as the sugar caused a serotonin rush to my brain. Within a few minutes, both were gone. Still starving, I walked to the door and tried to turn the knob. Locked. Of course, it's locked.

"Hello, darling," A gravelly accented voice whispered behind me. I spun around to see a man dressed in black, red eyes peeking through the human suit. I opened my mouth, but his hand covered it before I could get out a word.

"Shhh. I'm here to help, not to hurt you," he growled softly as I grasped his wrist with my hands, trying to tear his grip away. "I can't do that if you… if you cast me out or kill me or whatever it is you that you do."

After a long moment, I started to nod my head. He eased his hand away. "That's a good girl."

"You don't help people," I challenged him.

The demon shrugged, "Well, not usually, but once in a while I make exceptions." We each took a step back from one another.

I tightened my jaw as I crossed my arms across my chest, "What do you want?"

"To help you get out of here, of course."

"Then, get me out of here," I demanded.

His eyes glittered as the corner of his mouth turned up as he shook his head. "I don't have to. You can leave any time you want. I do suggest you get on it soon, however. Tick tock."

"Don't fuck with me, Crowley," I warned him. "I'm in a locked room with four armed guards in the house."

"Actually, now there are six, if you're counting," he corrected me.

Rage started to smolder inside of me. "So, how am I supposed to fucking leave?" I spit back at the demon.

His eyes narrowed as he grinned. "I think you know how, don't you, sweetheart?" He paused. You can heal. Don't you think you have the power to kill, as well?" Crowley taunted.

"No," I blurted out.

"Are you sure?" He questioned. "You've never felt the urge to, never done it in your dreams?" He flirted.

My cold hand fell on a shoulder as the body dropped.

"No," I maintained, choking the memory back down like vomit.

Crowley shrugged, "Pity. Sam and Dean will be here in eight minutes. The next shift arrives in fifteen, doubling the number of guards to twelve. You know that the Winchesters can take care of themselves, but with that many armed men, you have to ask yourself, what are the odds they will end up injured, maybe life-threatening?" He pondered. "And really, you and I know you can't save both of them. So, which one will you choose? Save Dean, he'll never forgive you for letting Sam die. Save Sam, you'll never forgive yourself for sacrificing Dean." He shook his head as he frowned. "If only you had the power within you to kill as well as heal…" His enchanting voice trailed off.

"I can't…" my voice wavered.

"Of course you can, but the question is will you?" He stared into my eyes.

I inhaled and held my breath, studying him. I could expel him with just a few words. But what if he was right? What if Sam and Dean really were coming? What if I ignored my only chance to help them?

He stared at me, unwavering. "Seven minutes."

I can't, but I'll try. I said silently, beyond his demon ears. I have to at least try.

I raised my chin and stepped to the door. I banged my fist and within seconds, the locked door eased inward. Concern spread across the other Dean's face, "What?" He asked.

My heart thudded in my chest. I eased my hand up and rested it on his shoulder. His face filled with confusion, then slid into sick satisfaction. "Oh, is that what you need?"

Lies. Crowley fed me with lies. Oh fuck. No. No. No. What have a done? I panicked.

I saw Creepy Dean jolt in fear. "Wh-what the fuck?" He stammered as he saw the demon behind me.

Crowley's whisper tickled my ear, sweet malevolence, wickedness, corruption, "Try harder."

My breath caught in my throat.

I heard every word from this evil Dean recited in my head:

I'll show you what pain is.

I'll make you scream.

I'll fuck you bloody.

I closed my eyes. I wanted him dead. I felt his death.

Everything stilled. In that split second, I lived his memories.

My skin tingled at the shock of his birth, naked and screaming and terrified.

His cries went unanswered and became mine.

My infant stomach ached with hunger.

I shook in fear under my wet bed as my father raged, his voice slurred threats and profanity.

I saw my mother's milky dead eyes in a stare fixed beyond this world.

They held me down in the dormitory bathroom. I screamed with tears spilling down my face.

She struggled beneath me as I took everything, her body, her power, her will.

I held my son for the first time. I begged a God I didn't believe in that my son would not be me.

I studied the first man I killed, his body no longer human, his blood seeping across the powdery dry dirt.

I gazed in fascination into my own terrified eyes.

The earth stopped spinning. In that precious moment, everything stopped.

Everything was peace. I was peace. In that endless second, I relaxed. I exhaled.

The body collapsed in front of me. The world raced around me again, like a merry-go-round speeding faster instead of slowing down. My stomach lurched. I grabbed my abdomen, my breakfast heaving on to the carpet below.

"Holy. Shit." The voice uttered.

I jerked around to see the Crowley's red eyes suddenly human, the whites wide. "You really did it."

I opened my mouth to speak.

"Tick tock," he repeated. Then, he disappeared.

Another black suited man appeared in the open doorway. He grabbed for the gun tucked in the back of his pants. I doubled over, casting the last bit of juice and muffin on to the floor.

"What the…" he began as he spied the dead man.

I reached my arm out to him. He grasped my hand so I wouldn't fall.

His life was warm and gentle and soothing as it left him. He was full of joy and sorrow, good times and bad. He wasn't an evil man. He had never taken a life. He needed extra money. His mother couldn't afford her Parkinson's meds.

I hated him, too. I wanted him dead.

After I felt the rush and the pause, he fell to the floor beside the other Dean.

Their souls lifted from their lifeless bodies. Like a child with a stalk of dandelion seeds, I inhaled and exhaled, letting them disappear before me, their invisible spirits dissipated by my breath.

On the concrete front step, I stared down at the corpse at my bare feet. Maybe they'll bury him in this suit, I thought. It looks good on him. He had gel in his sandy blond hair. Now, his head lay on the dormant lawn, prickly and dead like now he was. Spring green grass peeked through the thatch beneath him. Soon it would grow into lush turf, the kind I used to see on Scotts tv commercials. Weed-and-Feed.

But he won't resurrect, will he? His body would be enveloped by the earth and soon he would nourish the soil. He had long eyelashes curtaining his fixed green-blue eyes. I reached in his upper jacket pocket and pulled out the package of cigarettes. From his other pocket, I removed a yellow Bic lighter and his Samsung phone. Someone told me once that yellow lighters were bad luck. Today was not his lucky day or maybe it was. No more pain. No more suffering. Just peace.

I lifted the single upturned cigarette out of the pack, the tobacco staring up at me in the midst of white filters. The lucky cigarette, I thought. Which one of us is the lucky one? I sat on the cement steps and inhaled the poison. The late afternoon sun began to peek through the overcast sky. Light poured on to the lawn and for a second I thought I could feel the new green growth stretching upward. He didn't have a passcode on his phone. He was too trusting.

I exhaled the smoke. I inhaled the cancer, letting it fill me before I pushed it out of my lungs. The sun descended toward the horizon in the west. Soon it would pinken the evening sky before it fell beneath the edge of the earth. I sucked in the death as the end of the cigarette brightened like the sun. I held it within me, then I let it go. I exhaled. I dialed 911, "They're all dead."

"Who's dead? Where are you?" The voice asked.

I turned my head to hear a rumble down the empty street. I drew the smoke inside. Baby rolled into view. I exhaled.

"I don't know. Some empty subdivision outside of Kansas City. It's owned by Mr. Casey." I spied the number on the mailbox. "Lighthouse Point, 311 Lighthouse Point." I clicked END and dropped the phone on the lawn.

I picked up the pack and the lighter with my free hand. I stood and walked toward the Impala as it screeched to a halt in front of the house.

The car doors burst open. Dean yelled, "Jane!" His brother echoed his voice. I inhaled the burning tobacco. I exhaled.

Dean rushed toward me, ahead of Sam. "Jane!"

I jerked and held out my hands in caution. "Don't touch me!" I shouted, the cigarette firm between my fingers. The Winchesters halted, frozen, eyes scanning the lawn, the dead man beside me.

"Are you okay?" Dean blurted out. He spied my cigarette and his mouth dropped in a split second of disgust.

Inhale the poison. Exhale. Let it go. I dropped the burning cigarette on the concrete sidewalk, then pushed it out with my bare foot. I felt it sear my skin, reminding me that I was alive. "No," I monotoned. "That's going to leave a blister." I strolled to the Impala, front doors still ajar, keeping my distance from the brothers. I slid into the backseat as they stood staring. "We need to go," I informed them flatly as I reached out and closed the door.