Chapter 28

Wednesday, May 1st, 2002

It was true that Sam had carried the charm all the way to Miriam's tent, though now that it was out of his hands, removed from his pockets, he didn't want to spare the disgusting thing another touch. He took his bewildered eyes off Miriam, the concept of her words hitting home, and stared at the charm.

"No. I'm not going to touch it."

"I cannot do it, lest it returns to its anchor." She let her hands dissolve back into the cover of her scarves. She pointed a reading gaze at Sam, like there were words written on his clothes, too. "You think it's dirty, demonic. Witchcraft."

The words took him a moment to understand, such was the hardness in the change of direction. Miriam had been so gentle up till then, almost motherly - this new deepness in her voice gave Sam pause. Whether or not these were the words Sam would use for witchcraft didn't matter in the moment, when he didn't want to point such harsh words at a woman who seemed kind enough.

"No," she cut in, "not witchcraft alone. Everything. Everything other than yourself."

"That's not true."

"You see yourself as some sort of…I think the word might be, 'paragon'."

"I - I'm not like other hunters," Sam said, leaning forward in his chair. "I don't want to kill myself, I'm not going to jump off a cliff just because I'm told to. Hunters are reckless, they're crazy, selfish, destructive. This entire world of killing and getting killed - it's ridiculous." Sam was aware his voice had raised but this was a different volume than his outburst before. For one, Ivan hadn't returned to put him back in his place. And neither was he defensive - if anything, he was stating the facts as they were, plain as day for anyone to see, if they just opened their eyes. Miriam gave him a scrupulous look. And maybe for the first time in his life Sam felt he had someone who was actually listening to him. So he went on.

"I mean, I'm not selfish - I want to be a lawyer and help people. So much happens in the world besides monsters and demons killing people, I can do something there instead. I thought -" He stopped short for a moment. "On this trip I thought I was getting close again with my brother, we were becoming friends again. Which, is a long story. And he promised - no hunting, no monsters, just a trip for my birthday before I graduate and leave for school." Sam felt top heavy in his seat, fell back into his chair. "And, you know, the entire time, this charm was in his pocket. 'To protect us', he said. So that I would believe I was safe with him and wouldn't leave for college. And then it was ghost after ghost. Lie after lie. I don't want a life of lies. I don't want - " Sam gestured around the room with his hands. "This, anymore. It's just lies and killing and dying. Why?" He looked up, into Miriam's eyes, asking every part of her that he could reach. "Why would a person stay in this kind of life? Why shouldn't I want better for myself?"

A fierce stretch of silence settled in the room. For so long, Sam had been in the thrall of the howling wind, and, besides the rush of his own blood, he finally felt like the quiet was a blanket. He could say whatever he wanted under it.

After a moment Miriam eased forward and her hands broke through her scarves and shawls. Placing her elbows on the table, she rested her chin on her clenched hands.

"I've met…many hunters. In my life. Men and women, in between that and outside. Here and in the place of my home. What, you are surprised there are hunters across the globe?"

"No, I've met hunters from other places. I guess I didn't think you weren't from here."

"Does that matter to you?" It was the practiced tone of a woman who had asked that question many times. "Do you only hate hunters, or anyone different than you?"

Sam was speechless for a moment, as dazed by the question as the strong tone it was asked in. "I - no. No, I don't hate - "

"I only play, Sam. But it's nice to know your heart is a bit larger than it's seeming. There are hunters here, and there are hunters in Africa, too, yes, some who hunt monsters and some who are monsters. In fact, when I was a girl in my early twenties - how old are you, Sam?"

He blinked. "You can't tell?"

She smiled, said, "Some things I let people hold on to for themselves."

"I - turn nineteen…tomorrow." Sam found the nearness of it interesting. That he'd almost forgotten his own birthday, considering it was the reason for being here, ultimately.

"So not much older than you are now, my grandmother was killed by some of these men, hunters. The kindest woman I've met in my life, spent her life traveling to villages to cure and help. We did good work, using our talents and knowledge to make things grow where they wouldn't, banish the smoke of demons, send loved ones onward to peace. There were those who loved her and the good work she did, treated her like a goddess, which she was never really pleased with. But a coin always has two sides, so to speak. Some would see her dead."

Sam could see she was drifting away towards the place where a person remembered. "As a girl, at the time I could never understand why anybody would hate my grandmother, or why some of these hunters wanted to take her life so badly. We had met many hunters on our travels and had helped them during my lessons with her, but these ones…I don't know. They were different in themselves. Followed us around the villages and even countries. Chased us, cursed us. Not real curses, mind you, I knew how to tell the difference then."

She paused for a moment to float a while in those memories. Sam saw the fluttering emotions cross her face, the sadness, the joy, and the curls of old indignations. But they weren't long there; after a moment Miriam returned to Sam and looked him in the eye.

"They came at us in the night, which had never happened before. It was not that we weren't prepared for this sort of attack, but we had just left a small village with children made sick by spirits, and we were tired. They burned down the home of the family where we slept. By the time any of us were aware of this, it was too late. Myself and the infant daughter of the family were the only ones to make it out, and because she was the only one small enough for me to carry. That was my first child."

In the face of Miriam's sorrowful voice, Sam didn't know how to respond, what to say or share, besides the look of resentment that he knew had crossed his face.

"It was not the, what you call 'monsters', who had ruined all I'd had in my country, but - " She held up a crooked finger, punctuating her words. "It was also the hunters who were my saviors. They took me inside their homes, gave me shelter and protection while the wounds on my skin healed and the ones of my heart scarred over. In America, I have been called a witch, a worshiper of the devil, and a whore. But I was also addressed as a hunter, and a healer. Sometimes a savior. And I've been stronger, for all that has happened in my life. Just as you have, and your ancestors were, and theirs.

"Now, I won't beat you over the head with this tale any longer," Miriam said, slipping away from the loftiness of her tale and turning stern once again. "I know I am not the only person to this but listen to an old woman with the blood still on her hands, if you won't listen to anyone else. Awful fathers, hunters, lawyers…" She paused to drive the word deeper. "They are everywhere. Terrible men and women living in the blackness of their evil. But the good work you could be doing for the world isn't blackened by those who would kill innocent families inside their own homes, for no reason other than they wanted to. Hate your father if you are to hate anyone, but do not hate the work of the good people who make this world a little better. And the moment you stop running from that, the moment you'll be freer from it than ever. We must feel the pain, honor it, then - " She carried her hand through the air like a leaf on the wind. "Let it go."

In the following silence of Miriam's words neither said a word, simply sitting, staring, while Sam focused on the rhythm of his own breath. These words, Miriam's story, it sat above Sam's head as though it had hands, and pressed down on him, and the longer they sat, too, the greater in weight it became. He couldn't place it. Couldn't say why there was this mound in his chest, and his heart began beating faster, in his confusion. It felt, he started to think, like something was trying to come through the door of his mind, but found it locked, and was pounding its fists against the wood, deep and cavernous as it echoed around inside of him. At the first sigh of a breaking splinter, Sam snapped to attention, heart in his throat, and stood upright from the table once more.

"I need to leave. My - I have to - "

A sound shook into the air behind Miriam as a beaded curtain split down the middle. Ivan burst out from behind, and in the second he saw him, Sam was worried that he'd been heard again. But the seriousness in Ivan's gaze skimmed over Sam and went straight towards his mother.

"The mouth," he spoke, in a slight accent of the Netherlands. "It's open."

After a breath Miriam's eyes cast downwards in thought.

He remembered Miriam had mentioned a mouth outside, when they'd stood next to the moving carousel. Sam said, "What does that mean?"

They ignored him. "What about the eyes?" Miriam asked Ivan.

"They are right on us."

Miriam turned her head sharply at the words, sighing in frustration. "It must be this charm. To think I've spent these passed days searching for ways to end this storm and the solution delivered itself to us. Sam," Miriam paused to get his attention. "We need to destroy this charm. You must open it."

"I can't touch it."

"If it was going to run, it would have done so the moment you meant to take it from your brother. Don't you think so? Something inside ties it to you as well."

"No, I won't."

"Nona," Ivan pressured from behind. Sam thought he heard the faint tremors of wind outside, though it had been perfectly still the whole while.

"You must look past your issues - "

"I won't. I don't have issues."

Sam took a step away - but no sooner had his shoe touched the ground was he overtaken, unable to move. It could be likened to getting stuck in mud, he imagined. Miriam hadn't moved, and he couldn't. But Ivan had - one hand rested on the back of his mother's chair, while the other was outstretched towards Sam, held as though to keep something firm in the air. By the glean in his eye Sam knew it was Ivan who had this hold on him. He felt the power of Ivan's stare, saw the thin line of Miriam's frown under her scarves, and the air crackled around them as it filled more and more with a new electricity.

Somewhere, a dam broke, a leash snapped. In the heart of whatever magic protected the festival from the storm the electricity snapped its jaws, and the three of them were thrown from their feet with the release as it blew through the tent.

—

The peace that fell over Dean after he crossed the gate was a completely disorienting experience. He pulled up short immediately and listened - to nothing. The wind was not blowing, the rain not falling. When he looked up the sky was still bruised and pulsing with thunder with lightening, but neither was the ground where he stood wet nor the carnival before him toppled to the ground in the storm. It was a moment - and only a moment - of encapsulating peace, accompanied by nothing but the ringing in his ears and the rush of his breath.

He broke the silence as he began running. "Sam!"

Passed the empty ticket booth and around the greeting wooden cutouts of clowns and farm animals, he stopped, looked around, and picked a direction to run. A carnival, Dean thought, was a place meant to be thriving and packed to the brim; children were supposed to be shouting for money at the games and screaming their heads off on the rides. When the din of conversation and jubilation was missing, the husk that a carnival left behind felt menacing, something not unlike a ghost itself. A few freestanding buildings, where florescent fliers announced the times for exhibit judging and the announcement of winners, and the stage where no doubt a performance should have been taking place, all stood the same - empty.

Not even Sam.

Dean ran around the booths and rides, pounded on the doors and screamed from the stage, shouting for Sam and getting no response but his own echo. He found no one, and felt like the last person on Earth.

Dean stood on the edge of the stage, staring out at the festival in front of him. "Sam! Sammy!" He let his arms drop, looking on while his shout died in the empty crowd in front of him. "Sam, I'm sorry! Just - please!" He knew his voice sounded desperate, but because he was - for his brother back, for forgiveness, to take them both to safety. He cupped his hands around his mouth a final time. "I'm sorry!"

He came to rest at the place that he started, staring towards the field and empty buildings and the dead air of the rides and booths behind him, and the lunacy made no sense to him. He knew Sam was here. He could feel the truth of that like he's read it on all the posters around him. Dean sat on his haunches and tried to catch his breath, for a moment letting his head hang between his shoulders. Now that the rain wasn't falling in his eyes and his skin was dry, his hair dried in place where it stuck. He looked up towards the sky. The shape like a black skull in the clouds he could swear was looking right at him, the sole inhabitant of this place. Are you seeing this too, Sam?

A flash of something caught his attention, and he found the witch looking in at him just from the other side of the gate. The white light that had surrounded him like a sun was still there, wafting off him like mist. Dean got to his feet and pulled out his gun once more, feeling the nervous energy enter his body again. This time his eyes glowed too, and they landed on Dean across the distance. The witch scowled, stopped outside of the carnival in a way that made Dean think he couldn't come in. He was stalking the length of the gate as if he saw some line that Dean couldn't. In the white light of the witch's glow Dean could see splashes of red on his clothes and a blackened place on his chest, like he'd been burned by something, and this mother fucker still wasn't dead. This witch had a power, and it was being pointed at Dean. The gun felt exceptionally small in his hands.

The witch closed his hands into fists at his side. The muscles in his neck tensed and he hunched shoulders. The white aura was turning into a shade of red like dried blood, blackening like iron that's oxidized. When the light was no longer a light, but a blackness that swallowed the world around him, the witch seemed to release it.

Dean first felt the pulse of the power in his ears, a shift in pressure, and, like a bomb had gone off, the storm fell on top of them. It picked Dean up in it's hands and tossed him like trash. His shoulder cracked against the ground. He winced, pulling himself up to his elbow in time to see the witch stalk through the gate and into the carnival.

—

The world was a raucous around them when Sam finally gathered his wits and sat up from the floor. He looked around to take stock of what happened. The shelves were no longer attached to the tent wall but lied in a heap on the floor among their tossed contents, as was the same with the small table, but the tent had not collapsed. The walls bulged with the fierce wind against the blockage and Sam could barely hear his own thoughts. He looked back and found Ivan helping Miriam from the ground, one hand on her back for support. Sam leapt to help.

"What was that?" He'd taken her hand, which was thin and cool to the touch in his own. A wave of noise came over their heads again, and it was Sam's history with the insane that made him wonder if it really was a roar.

"That - " Miriam said, taking her hand from Sam's to catch a stray scarf that was falling from her shoulder. "Was my spell breaking. This whole place will blow away soon. And with it, us." Miriam tossed the scarf back in place around herself.

"So then - " Sam gestured hard towards the curtain he came through on his way in. "Let's go."

"Right you are," Miriam said. "Ivan, is the room ready?"

But he had taken on a far-away look. His body was in the room, but his mind was clearly elsewhere, seeing something Sam knew he himself couldn't. "Nona, there are people here."

"People?" Miriam asked, surprised. "Are they hurt?"

"That I don't know." He blinked and the change on his features was immediate: his eyes were focused, his jaw muscles firm as his tone grew serious. "One ran into the mirror house and the other's not far behind. They disappeared before I could stop them."

Miriam thought a second, then said, "It's too dangerous to leave our cover right now, Ivan, we have to trust that they will be safe until Sam can destroy this charm."

"I can't leave them out in the storm, Nona, the mirror house is a deathtrap. If something falls…" He trailed away, leaving the rest of it to Miriam, which she seemed to figure out just fine.

She sighed, screwing her mouth into a worried frown. "Please be safe." She held out her hand from a skinny wrist. Ivan took it in his own and Miriam squeezed. It lasted only a moment. Ivan strode passed Sam who dodged his shoulder at the last moment, then disappeared from the room once again, his sleeveless undershirt fading into the darkness, and too from their sight.

When Sam turned back he noticed Miriam's low shoulders while she stared after her son, and for a moment she looked her age, if Sam could ever guess it. In a heartbeat, though, this was gone. Her state shifted and all at once she became resolute in her stance, holding her cane out to Sam like a pointed finger as a new fire burned behind her eyes. Her features became scrutinous, her chin high. "This is the moment to decide, Samuel. We can destroy this charm and end this madness, or you can continue running till your feet bleed. But I can make this promise - you won't get the chance to run away from this one."