Disclaimer: Don't know, don't own….don't sue…
Author's Note: Okay, so the amount of reviews have kind of been dwindling -- I'm not complaining, I'm just saying, let me know if you want me to continue this. Now, I've got the story written through Chapter 10, and I'm nearly finished. Let me know what you think. Thanks to those who have reviewed the last few chapters, you're great:)
Chapter Six: Untouchable…
"Dean, I'm what most people call a touch know," she confesses, leaning against the bathroom door.
"Woah, hold on. You mean to tell me that you're psychic?" he responds, standing across the room from her.
"Yes. When people touch me, or I touch objects with some sort of emotional energy, I get visions about them."
"Sam knows, doesn't he?"
"Yeah. While we were out walking. He touched my shoulder and I got visions of Jessica. He told me what happened to her. The same thing happened to your mother, didn't it?" she moves toward him, the towel still wrapped tightly around her.
He doesn't answer right away, but stands, completely still, remembering. Sadly, he nods. As much as he hates to admit it, even he can feel the tears and emotion coming to the surface. "Sam was just a baby. He doesn't even remember her," he chokes out.
"How old were you?" she asks, standing directly in front of him.
"Four, but I have enough memory of her to last a lifetime," he says, a single tear rolling down his cheek. He doesn't recall ever being so emotional while telling people about his mother. Not that he'd gone into detail about it with many people.
"I'm sorry," she whispers, carefully wrapping her arms around him. He begins to pull back, wondering why she'd touch him again, causing her visions. "It's okay. It doesn't happen all the time."
Looking down into her eyes, he lets her slowly wrap her arms around his neck. Giving in, his arms wind around her torso, and he buries his face in the soft spot between her neck and her shoulder. Her hands run through his short hair as she feels him begin to sob against her.
"Shh. I know; you're worried, aren't you? About Sam? For him? Jessica's death has been hard on him, but he'll make it. He's got you. You're his big brother. He looks up to you," she breathes. He can feel her lips moving next to his ear. Slowly, he calms and the tears stop.
"I don't cry," he says, pulling away and looking directly into her eyes. "And my brother hears nothing about this."
"Of course," she smiles up at him. "Are you going to be okay?" Gently, she reaches up and wipes away the last of his tears with the heel of her hand.
"I'll be fine. I should probably let you get dressed," he grins, backing toward the door. "And I should probably get out of these wet clothes."
"Okay," she laughs, watching him back out into the hallway.
As Dean reaches the living room, Sam comes through the front door-empty handed. Smirking, Dean looks at his baby brother. "Did you get the rock salt?" he asks, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Oh, uh, they didn't have any," Sam falters, knowing that his older brother knows that they have more than enough rock salt in the back of the Impala. Finally, Sam notices that Dean looks as though he's been thrown in a lake. "What the hell happened to you?"
"Micah happened to me," Dean grins, his cocky air returning full force. "I know what your little secret is now."
For a moment Sam wavers, that deer-in-the-headlights look on his face. "What?" he asks, moving into the living room where his brother is.
"That Micah's psychic. I know, okay? She saw Mom when I touched her. Did you know that her visions don't happen every time?" Dean asks, grabbing his duffel bag from where it sits on the floor.
"Yeah, why? You don't think she's lying?" Sam scoffs.
"Absolutely not. How else would she know about Mom and Jess? And when she has her visions: that's something right out of a story, man." Grabbing a black t-shirt and another pair of jeans and boxers, Dean heads down the hall toward the guest room. Carefully, he notices that the bathroom door is open, and Micah missing. Just past the bathroom are the guest room and Micah's room, directly across from one another. From behind the closed door of Micah's room, the brothers can hear music and…talking.
Briefly, the two stop to listen, but can't make out any of the words. "Come on, I feel bad, eavesdropping," Sam nudges his brother, speaking quietly. The continue into the guest bedroom, where Sam closes the door nearly all the way-leaving a small opening to hear Micah's door. "You know, she could be acting," the younger boy muses, turning back to face his brother.
The room is not bright, lit only by a lamp on one of the bedside tables. The walls all appear to be white, or some shade of it, with paintings on each wall. Prints of works by Monet, Picasso, and Rodin. Conveniently, there are two single beds, with two nightstands, both with a lamp. The beds are both covered with white down comforters, and pillows of different light pastel colors.
"The question is still then: how would she know about Mom and Jessica?" Dean asks, peeling the wet shirt off and tossing it on the carpeted floor.
"There could be something more going on. She could have some sort of…I don't know," Sam sighs, sitting heavily on the bed nearest the closet.
"What, like she's got some way of contacting a higher force, or something beyond our power? Sammy, that's a little crazy, even for us," Dean chuckles, pulling on the dry jeans.
"It's Sam," the latter says through clenched teeth. Recovering, he continues, "And it may be crazy, but certainly not unheard of. I mean, from what I've heard her say about her ancestors who built the killing machine of a house, I wouldn't be surprised if her family was accustomed to dabbling in witchcraft. Sarea Williams sounds like she fits the part."
"You've got to be kidding," Dean scoffs, sitting on the other bed, closest to the window.
Their discussion is interrupted when the sound of breaking glass is heard from across the hall. Seconds later, a scream follows. Dean jumps up anxiously and runs to the other door.
"Micah!" he yells, his hands pounding against the closed door. His cry is met with silence. Nervously, he puts his ear to the wood.
"Dean, wasn't she playing music?" Sam says quietly to his brother.
"Yeah. It's not there now," Dean muses, toying with the knob, only to find it locked.
From within, they hear a small groan. "Micah! Micah, are you okay?" Sam shouts.
The two wait for an answer that never comes. Dean looks at Sam, his eyes saying that he's going in, no matter what.
Backing up, he kicks the door near the knob, where the wood shatters and swings open.
The room glows red from the lamp on her own bedside table that has a scarf thrown over it. Between her bed and dresser, they find her crumpled on the floor wearing loose jeans and a sweatshirt.
Crouching down beside her, Dean scoops her small body into his arms, wanting nothing more than to get her out of this room. Standing, he steps past his brother and carries her out into the living room.
"There's nothing in there," Sam states, confused, as he walks into the room.
"What the hell do you think happened?" Dean looks up at the other from where he kneels next to the couch. Absently, his hand and fingers continuously brush over her forehead.
"I don't know. She doesn't look injured or anything, does she?" Sam sits in the armchair, leaning his elbows on his knees.
"Dean," Micah speaks slowly, softly. "Dean, it hurts." She begins moaning, her eyes blinking open.
"What hurts? Micah, you have to show me where it hurts, sweetheart," he replies, looking her over. Sam can't remember the last time he heard his brother speak so softly and lovingly. Though he knows the voice from when they were young.
"My head. It hurts on the inside," she groans, bringing one of her hands up to her temple. "I had a vision. A horrible one. I have to get something to drink."
"No," Dean says firmly, stopping her from sitting up. "Sam will get you a glass of water."
Sam nods, standing and heading toward the kitchen. "I'll grab some aspirin, too. I have some in my bag."
"What the hell happened in there?" Dean asks seriously. "What gave you the vision?"
"I picked up the necklace that my father gave me that belonged to Sarea. And she was there…here, right in front of me. I saw the inside of the mansion, and you were there, and-" she stops, a look of terror filling her eyes. "Dean, you have to leave. You and Sam, you have to get your stuff and get the hell out of this town."
"What? Micah, what's going on?" Sam asks, returning from the kitchen. He's heard every word she's said.
"You have to leave. She wants you. There's no stopping her once she gets her mind set on something. Dean, she's going to take you," she says, tears rolling down her cheeks. She's sitting up now, holding Dean's hands in her lap.
"Micah, we're not leaving until Sarea's in hell," Dean assures, his voice gruff.
"No, you've got to leave now. You can't get rid of her. She'll be in that house, in this town, forever. You can't do anything," she cries, her head falling onto Dean's chest.
His arms wind around her. Concern etched in his rough features, he looks up at Sam. His baby brother, the smart college boy, only shrugs, not having any idea what to do.