Chapter Two
Somewhere, there was a little girl crying. He couldn't figure out which way it was coming from. When he thought he could pin down the direction, he'd take two steps and realize he was wrong. The sobs were growing in intensity, filing his head, drowning out all other noise. He tried to remember who it was who was crying and why she would be crying, but he couldn't. He could almost see her, like a distant memory of a glance in her direction, a face so blurry scribbled into the back of his mind. He thought he should know her, but the memory was too old, too corrupted, too far gone for him to pull any details from it.
The little girl was sobbing heavily, choking on tears and pain and emotion. He felt desperation rise up in his chest. Desperation to find this little girl and help her, make her stop crying, take away whatever pain she was in. But there was darkness all around him. Faint moonlight filtered through some obstruction over his head and in the small glitters of blue glow, he could barely make out silhouettes of trees, bare branches stripped of their leaves, dying in the dark. But even the slight glimpses of nature couldn't help him orient himself to the crying, which was still growing, hurting his ears.
And then, the crying turned to screaming and he felt his heart race and panic begin to set in. The little girl was screaming as though she were being murdered and he wondered slightly if that was what was happening. He felt those screams echo all around him. He turned towards it, wanting to see where to go, wanting to see where to turn to help her, but with every turn, the darkness only grew and suddenly, he could turn no more. The moonlight faded away and he was left in the pitch black emptiness of whatever hell he had ventured into. When he tried to move, he couldn't. When he tried to call out, his voice was drowned in the young girl's screams.
The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and he knew, beyond all other notions, he knew there was someone behind him. His skin began to prickle up, expecting to be touched and the feeling was worse than physical pain. It was the expectation, suspense, waiting to be touched by whoever had found him now. And then he could feel the breath on the back of his neck. Hot breath, wavering slightly and he could no longer take it. Ready to attack the darkness should he have to, he spun.
She was upon him before he could scream.
Sam jolted up in his bed, the blanket falling off his torso. He was sweating, panting, his undershirt clung to his chest. It took a moment for his heart to stop racing. He closed his eyes, reminding himself that he was in a motel room, not lost in some deep darkness being attacked. He was in a motel, fed, showered, perfectly safe in his bed and Dean was there as well. Sam glanced over at his brother, seeing that Dean was still asleep. He sighed with relief. Dean had been sleeping more soundly than usual. Sam attributed it to his chest wound and the fatigue that was accompanying Dean's healing. Still, he sort of missed having Dean wake up when Sam was jolted with a nightmare. It was a comforting thing to know Dean was there, lending his support should Sam need it. But Dean needed to sleep, Sam knew that.
Getting up slowly, Sam was surprised that he was still shaking slightly. The nightmare had really affected him. Though, he couldn't for the life of him figure out what it had been about. Sam's dreams were normally vivid, giving him some kind of clue. But this one, all it had been was dark.
Sam shook his head to clear the lingering thoughts and went to the bathroom, closing the door gently as to not wake his brother. He turned on the faucet and splashed water onto his face before looking at himself in the mirror. There was a stranger staring back at him. A stranger that Sam knew all too well. He'd changed. He knew he had changed. Changed when he had left for college without looking back. Changed when Dean had shown up and then when Jess died. And then he had changed again sometime during this trip with Dean to find their father. As much as he wanted to find the bastard who'd killed Jess and his mother, Sam couldn't help but realize that he got a sick pleasure out of killing the evil things they came across. That had always been Dean's guilty pleasure, but somewhere along the line, Sam had begun to find a relief whenever one of the bastards died.
Rubbing his hands over his face, Sam let out a long sigh and sat down on the closed toilet. It was starting to get chilly out, but Sam welcomed the chill. It reminded him he was alive. The nightmare was still bothering him. He could almost still hear the crying and screaming echoing inside his head. Distantly, he wondered if this was another one of those dreams. The dreams that seemed to come true. But if it was, he had no idea what it meant. He didn't even want to think about what the darkness symbolized.
There was a crash and then a muffled string of swear words from outside the bathroom which alerted Sam that Dean was awake. Sam checked himself, taking in a deep breath to try and calm himself more before he rose and opened the bathroom door. Dean was picking their duffle bag up off the floor, where the contents had spilled after he'd tripped over the chair. Sam smiled at Dean's ruffled hair and sleepy eyes.
"Trip?" Sam asked, grinning as Dean shot him a glare.
"Fuck off," Dean spat. Sam chuckled and climbed back into bed. Dean finished gathering the spilled contents and turned to look at him, looking him over. Sam hoped that Dean wouldn't notice the tension still riding in his shoulders or the nervous shakes that just barely lingered in his hands. If he did notice, he pretended not to. "Can't sleep?" he asked groggily.
"Yeah," Sam answered, though he wasn't going to elaborate. "Did I wake you?"
"Nah," Dean shook his head, heading towards the bathroom. "Gotta take a piss."
"How eloquent," Sam chuckled.
"I don't need to be eloquent with you," Dean answered, closing the bathroom door. Then he shouted, "Just the ladies."
Sam rolled his eyes. Knowing that he wouldn't be getting any more sleep tonight, he reached for the laptop on the end table next to him. He decided to do a little research before they headed to town in the morning. He typed in the town of Shilling. There weren't many things that came up, but he got a few good hits. A couple newspaper articles on the recent killings, which would be useful, and a few articles from years back, which he'd have to read through to determine whether or not they could be used.
The toilet flushed and Dean came out of the bathroom. He gave Sam a look before saying, "Not even going to try and sleep?"
"Nah," Sam mimicked his brother's earlier response, pulling a dumb look to accent it. Dean made a face, typical of brothers. "I'm going to go over the names again of the victims, see if I can find some sort of connection. Conroy said they were all pretty mean people, but there has to be something more concrete that we can use to find out how its picking its victims. Besides," he added as he saw Dean was still looking at him skeptically. "I'm not really that tired."
Dean snorted and climbed into bed. Sam watched as he eased himself down, looking once again at Dean's chest. It looked better than that first night, when Dean had taken off his shirt and Sam had seen the horror of what he had done to his brother. The bruising had faded and the scabs had begun to disappear, leaving pink dots littering Dean's skin. But it would be a while before it fully went away. Sam had been worried that perhaps Dean had broken his sternum, but after some painful prodding, Dean had concluded he was just bruised. Although, a bruised sternum hurt just as bad, and lasted just as long.
"That is why I'm the better looking one," Dean said as he made himself comfortable, already starting to drift off. "More beauty sleep."
Sam couldn't help but chuckle. He would have retorted, but Dean had already fallen asleep. Instead, he turned his attention back to the articles. There had been six killings in all. Four local residents and two out of towners, one of which whose name was not disclosed because they were still looking for the closest relatives. Carl Hannigan, Jason Meyers, Harley Jensen, Pete Flannery, Ally Westridge, and the sixth unnamed body. The articles didn't give him much information about any of the victims, other than their ages and close relatives, which were both spread out throughout the spectrum. There wasn't much to go on and Sam sighed.
The only helpful thing that the article supplied about the deaths was that their bodies had all been found in similar fashion. Hands bloodied and broken, scratches on their arms, chest and stomach, and bruising throughout their body. A quote from the coroner said that all of them looked as though they'd been in a fight. But other than the manner of their condition when they were found, the cause of death ranged from suffocation to heart attack to blunt force trauma to the head. And the bodies had been found at different locations. Sam had no idea what kind of ghost, or other creature, was so particular with its killings. He'd heard of a few cases of ghosts leaving bodies spread out, but the majority of ghost attacks happened in a concentrated area, usually near the ghost's resting spot.
Sam read through the other articles and besides coming across a few alligator attacks, something which he would most definitely show Dean in the morning, missing persons, and a drowning, he didn't find anything useful. He switched off the laptop and looked at the clock. It was a quarter pass six. He decided to take a shower and then wake Dean up. They should get started early.
Once they were on the road again, it wasn't long before they drove into Shilling. Sam had offered to drive while Dean read over the articles and whatever notes Sam had made about them last night. He had told Dean everything that Conroy had said about the killings and what kind of people were being killed, but both brothers were still skeptical.
"Where do you think we should start first?" Sam asked.
Dean looked up from the laptop and quickly scanned the limited shops in town. He nodded towards one in particular. "That café looks like as good a place as any."
Sam scoffed and looked at his brother. "You're just looking for food."
Dean nodded nonchalantly, as if there was nothing wrong with that. "Can't work on an empty stomach." Dean looked up at him and in all seriousness said, "If you're stalking your prey and your stomach growls, baddie wins."
Chuckling slightly, Sam pulled into the café and chanced a guess. "You know this from experience?"
Nodding sternly, Dean answered. "Damn right."
"What were you hunting?" Sam asked as they sat down at a table, intrigued now that such a thing had happened to his brother and he had no knowledge of it.
"Dad," Dean gave with a shrug.
Sam gave an unbelieving laugh and shook his head. Of course it would have been their father who'd caught Dean with his mistake. In a way, it was better than some demon or ghoul, because there were no scars involved, but still, it must have been fodder for a hard lesson between father and son. Their Dad had always given them tips and pointers about hunting. Most of them were aimed at Dean. When Sam had screwed up on a hunt, their Dad had shown worry, asked him if he knew what he did wrong and then had moved on. When Dean screwed up on a hunt, their Dad got angry. Told him he should know better and then spent whatever free time they could muster going over what Dean had done wrong and engraving it into his mind that he should never do it again. Sam wondered if that had changed after he left for college.
John Winchester had always been harder on Dean than he had on Sam. He'd never known why, but he always guessed it was because their father wanted Dean to be the best. He wanted Dean to be the golden child, the one who would take on the business when he left…or was killed. The thought made Sam cringe. John hadn't talked about it often, but he remembered overhearing his father telling Dean that should anything happen to him, he'd be in charge. Sam guessed that's why he was listening to Dean now. Not because Dean was older, but because Dean had taken over for their father as it had been engrained in him to do so. Secretly, Sam hated their father for that. He hated Dean for being so sickeningly loyal to their father, but more than that, he hated their father for not giving Dean the choice to be anything but. Perhaps that's why Sam had left in the first place.
"What can I get you boys this morning?" the waitress broke his thoughts and he looked up at her.
"Um…one egg and toast, please," Sam answered. He hoped she hadn't been standing there long, waiting for him. Looking over at Dean, he saw that his brother was looking at the menu, instead of staring at him, so he guessed he hadn't been lost in his thoughts for too long.
Dean ordered a much fuller breakfast before the waitress left to put their order in. Sam watched as his brother unloaded two packs of sugar and two creamers into his coffee before chugging half of the liquid down. Dean gave a sigh of content before he noticed Sam was watching him and winked. "She totally wants me."
Exasperated at his brother's predictable thoughts, Sam shook his head. "No she doesn't. She just wants a big tip."
"Dude, the ladies can't resist this face," Dean informed him, pointing a finger in his direction. "And one day, if you play your cards right, I'll show you some moves."
"I don't need any lessons from you," Sam countered.
Dean scoffed playfully and put a hand to his chest. "You wound me, Sam." Sam thought the statement was crudely ironic, but didn't say anything. Instead, he took a few sips of his coffee and they waited for their food to be served. He briefly thought of telling Dean about the dream he had last night, but he quickly pushed that thought aside. There was nothing really to tell. Dark, little girl, screaming, that's all he'd be able to say. If he didn't understand his own dreams, how the hell was Dean going to understand them? Besides, he didn't want to give Dean any more reasons to tease him. Dean seemed to believe that Sam had some ESP thing going on, but Sam wasn't sure what it was. Sometimes, he had dreams that came true and sometimes he could feel the presence of spirits. It sounded odd, even to him.
"Who should we pay a visit to first?" Sam asked, picking at the edges of his toast. He'd tried to eat, but he wasn't all that hungry. His appetite had been less than satisfactory since he'd left Stanford. Dean had bugged him about it at first, but had given up when it got him nowhere.
Swallowing the food in his mouth, Dean shrugged a little before saying, "We could always start at the beginning. Hannigan?"
"He doesn't have any relatives around here. And his closest neighbor is a mile from his house," Sam answered, watching Dean shovel food into his mouth, weighting out their other options in his head.
"Then how about the most recent? That out of town guy. That old kook at the snack shop said he was a ghost hunter, so let's check out his partner. Get a name, see if we can find a connection between him and the others."
"He's not an old kook," Sam said, finishing off his coffee and leaning back. Dean just gave him a strange look before nodding to the plate in front of Sam, which was barely touched.
"You gonna eat that?" Dean asked, looking up. Sam almost laughed out loud at the begging look in Dean's eyes. He was like a dog waiting for scraps from off the table. But Sam shook his head and slid the plate towards Dean anyway. "Sweet." Was all the thanks he got.
"You boys ghost hunters?" For the second time since they'd gotten here, Sam was surprised by the question. He wasn't used to people being so open about ghosts and whatnot, or so accepting. Sam wondered if the whole town was convinced they had a ghost on their hands. Murders did strange things like that, Sam knew. But he couldn't help but wonder why no one was blaming the murders on a serial killer. Everyone had just automatically thought it was a ghost. He looked up at the waitress who had asked them the question. She'd put the bill on the table and was now standing with her hands on her hips, looking at them as though she meant business.
Dean took the initiative. "Sure are, ma'am," he gave his charming smile. Dean always pulled that smile on women he met. Usually it was flirting to get information and nothing more. And usually it worked. But this woman didn't seem phased by it. Sam gave her brownie points for that. She'd probably seen her fair share of flirty men come in and out of the diner. "Got any tips for us?"
"Yeah," she motioned towards the bill on the table. "Pay your bill, tip me big, and go home."
Dean, still grinning, reached for his wallet. "Demanding," he pulled out the money and looked over at Sam. "A strong woman, Sammy." He placed it on the table before looking back up at her. "Sweetheart, you and me'd get along great."
The waitress gave him a harsh smile that was obviously forced before swiping the bill and money from the table and pocketing both. "Keep dreaming, sugar," she said, turning to leave but then stopping. She looked back at Dean, who was still sitting with the same cocky grin on his face. "You really gonna go out there?" She asked, concern suddenly overcoming her features.
"Yeah," Sam answered, not trusting Dean with the answer. His brother was still in flirt mode. "Why?"
"Just be careful," she said, the humor out of her voice.
Dean put a hand over his heart, "Aww, you do care," he smiled, this time showing her that he was joking. But she didn't seem to be receptive of the joke. The waitress looked as though she wanted to say something, but just shook her head. Instead, she pointed her finger at Dean. "Just, go talk to Blaine Beaumont before you do. He's up the street at the bed and breakfast. His brother convinced him to go out looking for that ghost too."
"What happened?" Sam asked, though he thought he already knew the answer.
"He died."