Chapter Seven
Bad Dreams
Black hair. Dark as night. The man was moving slowly toward her…
She was crying. She was scared. Her mind was racing and her heart was beating three times faster than it normally should. The nineteen-year-old girl was pressed down by an invisible force. Her small body was being pushed down to the desolate basketball court. Every time she tried to stand up, and failed, she let out a small yelp.
The enchanted wind flew around the young woman constantly. She tried to scream but the wind forced her to gasp for air. The wind was so strong it had forced her shirt to be unbuttoned.
"HELP!" she finally cried out, and the wind suddenly pushed down on her so hard her head hit the pavement and she let out a cry of pain.
The man, two feet away form her, had his hands in his pockets. He smiled as the girl tried to roll onto her side but she had a growing migraine now.
"That's enough," he told the wind. And according to his command, the wind disappeared.
Moving closer to her, he bent down and his skeleton-like eyes looked down at the girl.
"For someone to deny something so great…" he said softly, "they are to be shown their error."
The woman was now flat on her back, her arm that was in a cast reached up to try and push the man away weakly.
He put his large, tanned hand on her open chest and the black glow erupted from his hand and eyes.
The glow grew brighter as the man began to mutter something underneath his breath. When his long chant was finished, the black glow faded away.
The woman, who now found the ability to speak again, opened her mouth and screamed again.
Grinning, the man placed a hand over her mouth and used his other hand in the center of his palm grew the large black-flamed orb. He forced it into the woman's chest and her eyes widened in fear and agony. Her free arm tried to stop him but suddenly it fell to the ground.
He muttered the same type of chant once more. Once he was finished, he pulled out the Swiss army knife form his pocket. He leaned over and across the dead woman's chest he slowly drew the blade into her skin. When he was done, the man looked down at her and smiled. Across the woman's chest were three curved lines that looked like a tree.
Standing up, the man smiled at what he had done.
He turned around so fast Amy wasn't ready for him. His large hands wrapped around her neck and he began to squeeze as hard as he could.
"NO!" she screamed, feeling her vision fade away…
O.O.O.O.O.
"NO!" erupted from her dry lips as Amy woke up. She panted heavily and her sweaty hand reached up quickly to touch her neck. It wasn't sore or in pain.
Her other hand touched her moist cheek – she had been crying.
Just another dream…Amy reminded herself. Go back to sleep.
But there was no way she could go back to sleep. No possible way. The image of the young woman struggling and fighting for life. She remembered the dream clearly…the man…his dark eyes…his smile…
The tree. She remembered the symbol that had been put into the woman's flesh. It had looked like a tree.
Stop this, Amy demanded, just go back to sleep.
O.O.O.O.O.
It felt better when Amy changed into a pair of green-black pajama pants and a black tank top. She sat at the edge of her bed breathing deeply.
Her eyes looked up to stare around the room. It made her feel better to do that. She viewed her cherry wood bed set – nightstand, dresser, drawer and mirror. Her eyes then fell on the glass desk with her Dell computer system. Finally, she turned to her large window beside her bed and stared out into the darkness. The moon and the stars were out and the city was lit with lights.
Amy turned to her nightstand and her digital clock read nine-thirty.
O.O.O.O.O.
Dean was looking up at the plain white ceiling. He had only been able to fall asleep for an hour. He had done research earlier and now, here he was, looking up at the ceiling.
He was flat on his back, removing the pillows from underneath him. His chest rose and fell gently with each breath.
Dad, where are you…Dean thought sadly.
It was hard not to break down. Dean promised himself to never break down and cry like a little girl. He was the tough bad ass since he was four. Since his mother's murder.
Why come and stay and talk with Amy, Dean pondered, why not even talk to us? Are you okay? Have you been hurt? Do you know anything about Mom's killer? Jessica's…?
His head turned when he heard small steps reentering the living room area. He saw a shadow move across the carpet slowly. He felt eyes on him. It was pitch black in the room except from the small line of line escaping the bottom of the balcony doors.
The person paused a moment, apparently looking at Dean, and then moving slowly into the kitchen and turning on the light.
Dean narrowed his eyes and stood up slowly. He moved aside the bed sheets and pillows and slowly walked toward the kitchen.
He closed his eyes against the bright light but when focus returned to him, Dean found Amy – in new clothes – standing over the sink with her hands on the edge of the counter.
"You okay?" Dean said gruffly, gaining back his awake-voice.
She turned around quickly, alert of his presence.
Her face look worn and Dean saw by the redness of her large brown eyes that she had been crying.
"Bad dream," Amy explained hoarsely.
Dean remembered what Sam said about being polite in someone's home. He felt bad about not wearing a shirt. He crossed his strong arms over his chest and pecs and walked over to Amy by the sink. He leaned up against the counter, looking down at Amy's face.
"Night terror?" he asked.
She looked up slowly and touched her forehead. "How did you know?"
"I overheard…" Dean admitted sheepishly.
Amy nodded slowly and touched her cold arms.
He reached over gently and rested his hand on her bare shoulder. She seemed to jump a little at his touch but softened quickly.
Her sad eyes looked up at Dean and she asked, "You had a bad dream too?"
He half-smiled, putting on the James Bond grin again. "All the time."
Amy smiled slowly and she did something that surprised Dean – she leaned against him and hugged him. Her arms wrapped around his waist while Dean was left to hold her upper body in his grasp. He rested his chin on her head, rubbing her back gently. She wanted comfort, clearly, and Dean had no problem trying to help.
Her face was pressed against his chest and Amy closed her eyes. "I've really missed you Dean. And when John came and stayed with me…it was a bigger reminder of how much I had missed you."
The flirtatious grin that Dean Winchester gave to girls constantly flooded away. Instead, his lips curved into a small smile.
"I've missed you too…"
Her hair smelled of vanilla and strawberries. Dean couldn't help but continue to hold onto Amy. It had been eight years since they had seen each other; and after barely a day here they were…hugging…
And Dean had no shirt.
He suddenly felt like this was inappropriate. Him – the babe magnet – was feeling guilty holding a beautiful woman against him.
She has Doctor Michael…he thought angrily.
Dean slowly pulled away, his hand combed through her hair and he gave her a weak smile.
Her hands moved away from his waist and the two continued to stare at each other-
"Hey…" a voice startled them.
Amy whirled around and Dean's head shot up.
Sam, whose eyes were squinting against the light, rubbed his head and entered the kitchen area with the others.
Dean leaned against the counter while Amy moved over and leaned against the kitchen island.
"I had a bad dream, it's okay…" Amy explained.
Sam looked at Amy worriedly and then nodded. "I actually had one myself."
"Well, I guess we can damn Chinese food to hell forever," Dean said sarcastically.
His comment made Amy laugh slightly. Her smile made Dean grin.
"Well…" Amy yawned slowly. "I'm going back to bed. And you boys have work tomorrow…I suggest you get back to bed."
"'Night, Amy," Dean murmured as she left the kitchen.
"Get some sleep, 'kay?" Sam reminded.
Amy smiled at the two and disappeared into the darkness of the apartment.
Sam looked at Dean and rolled his eyes in a frustrated way.
"What?" Dean snapped.
"She's involved with someone Dean," Sam warned. "Don't do what you usually do-"
"And what's that exactly?" his brother asked.
"Chasing skirts besides chasing demons," Sam said seriously.
Dean crossed his arms over his chest and looked at the tiles on the floor. "It's not like that. She and I are old friends…"
Sam cocked his head and said, "Good…friends…g'night…"
He turned to walk away and Dean watched as his brother left.
"Hey," Dean called after him. Sam turned. "What was your dream about? Jessica…?"
Sam shook his head slowly and said, "Actually…it was about another girl…not a good dream…"
O.O.O.O.O.
I know it was a short chapter. More on the way.