center Chapter Seven /center
The key was not to panic. Panic lead to irrational thoughts. Irrational thoughts lead to stupid actions. Stupid actions lead to something Sam was not willing to let happen. He hadn't panicked when Dean had been taken by the Wendigo. He'd acted rationally and had found Dean relatively unscathed and "fine." But then again, now he didn't have a trail of M&M's leading him straight to his brother. Now, he didn't have a clue what had happened to him or where he was or even if he was okay. And the only person who could possibly be able to help had just lost her husband in the same way. But, the key was not to panic, and Sam tried his hardest to remember that.
Yet, he couldn't shake the horrid grasp of fear that had taken hold of his stomach. He knew he wouldn't be able to shake it until he found Dean, until his brother was smart mouthing him and pissing him off as usual. It was annoying and a bit infuriating at times, but it was a constant. It was something Sam would give anything to have back again over the feeling he had now. He'd give anything to be angry and irritated with his brother than to feel like this. Dean wasn't dead. He couldn't be, Sam wouldn't allow it. Not until he saw a body, and probably not even then, he wouldn't accept it. He had to find Dean and that's all there was to it. To hell with the ghost and to hell with Mary Reynolds' feelings. It was Dean's life now, and nothing in the world could ever come before that. Nothing.
Sam burst from the woods, ignoring the branches that kept catching at his clothes. One had snagged his cheek, leaving a thin red line on his cheekbone, but Sam barely noticed. He wasn't running, but felt as though he should be. But running meant speeding up and speeding up meant faster thoughts and faster thoughts meant he was closer to panic. And he had already established that panicking was not on his list of things to do.
Blaine was following closely, his head down, trying to keep his own wits about him. But Sam didn't give a flying rat's ass about Blaine Beaumont now. It was Blaine Beaumont that the brothers had been chasing. It was Blaine Beaumont that Sam had worried about instead of his brother. It was Blaine Beaumont who had distracted him long enough for the damn world to fall apart around him. What an idiot. What a fucking idiot. Dean had told him to listen. He'd told him not to do anything stupid, to do whatever they said to do, but did he listen to that? No. The fucker didn't.
"Sam," Blaine's voice broke through Sam's thoughts. But he didn't turn to look at the other man, knowing he was too furious with him to not yell if they made eye contact. "Sam, I'm sorry," Blaine's voice was broken, soft. Sam heard Dean's voice in the back of his head reply with, i Damn right you are, but that's beside the point /i . But Sam kept walking until he got to the Impala, stopping in front of the car and looking at its sleek, black exterior body. God, Dean had put so much effort and care into this car. It was his baby. But now it only reminded Sam that his brother was in a bad place right now.
"Dean, you better not die before I find you," Sam grit out between clenched teeth. He prayed his brother could hear him. Dean was strong, and stubborn. He knew he'd hold on as long as he could, but Sam didn't know how long that would be. He thought about all the others. About their wounds, their causes of death. Blaine's voice entered his head and he whispered about how badly his brother had been beaten up. Sam had to close his eyes to get all the thoughts out of his head. That was not going to happen to Dean. Not on his watch.
"What are you going to do?" Blaine's quiet voice made Sam wince. He turned and glared at the man, noticing that Blaine's eyes were red. Sam was instantly angry. What right did he have to be sad? It was his brother that was missing, not Blaine's. But Sam calmed himself at that thought, knowing that his anger was being fueled by something other than hatred for Blaine. Besides, Blaine had lost his brother to this thing. If anything, Sam should be lucky that he hadn't found Dean's body yet. Blaine was still looking at him with wide eyes, waiting for directions, anything. He half looked as though he expected to be yelled at. Sam thought briefly about granting him that expectation, but immediately thought otherwise. Blaming Blaine wouldn't change what had happened already. And he needed all the help he could get. He couldn't turn the man away now.
"Mary Reynolds knows something," Sam whispered slowly, obviously trying to keep his voice under control. "I'm going to find out what it is and then I'm going to go find my brother." Blaine started to shake his head, about to ask how Sam planned to do that, but Sam wouldn't have it. "Don't ask me how. But I'm going to find him." He said it more to convince himself than Blaine.
Sam walked around to the driver's side of the Impala and stopped abruptly. He felt like crying as he realized the doors were locked. Since when did Dean lock the doors? Why did today, of all days, have to be the one day when Dean locked the doors? But he wouldn't cry. Not right now. Crying was reserved for late nights, locked away in the bathroom of some dingy motel room, while Dean was sleeping peacefully, safe and sound in bed. Sam let out a low breath and looked over at Blaine. "Dean has the keys," he said forlornly.
Blaine looked at the car sympathetically and then nodded towards his Oldsmobile. "We can take mine," he gave.
Sam eyed the other car as though it were a traitor. It would have to do, though. But as he looked back at the Impala, he saw the yearbook lying on the seat, taunting him through the glass. He closed his eyes, knowing that Dean wouldn't like what he was about to do. "Sorry, bro," he whispered softly as he pulled his arm back and roughly slammed his elbow into the window. The glass shattered and Sam felt a sharp cut form on his elbow, but he ignored it. He reached in and grabbed the yearbook, popping the trunk before he pulled himself out, careful of the glass shards still stuck in the window. He walked around to the trunk and gathered whatever he could carry.
Closing the trunk, he threw a duffle bag at Blaine, who caught it awkwardly before nodding. "I'm driving," Sam said forcefully, holding his hands out for the keys. Blaine looked at him, not knowing how in the world this younger man had managed to gain such control over him. But he obeyed after only a second's hesitation and pulled the keys from his pocket. Sam jumped into the car and started it up. He was peeling out before Blaine even had his door closed.
If there had been a cop on the road between the woods and Mary Reynolds' house, Sam was sure that he would have been pulled over as he drove at least forty miles above the speed limit. He gave a small prayer of thanks that there hadn't been, because he was damn certain that he wouldn't have stopped. Blaine had his feet braced on the floor of his car, one hand gripping the handle above the door, white knuckled. The other hand was tangled into the duffle bag, with the yearbook stuffed securely under his arm. He looked nerve wracked as Sam sped his way through town, but he wisely didn't say anything.
Pulling up in front of Mary Reynolds' home, Sam took a few deep breaths to calm himself down. The last thing that woman needed now was for Sam to burst in there angry, spewing off swear words and smacking her around a bit. Not that he'd ever actually hit her. If he was going to get anything out of her, he needed to be calm, sedate, and maybe he could pull a few guilt trips out just to be safe.
Grabbing the yearbook, he got out of the car. Blaine followed suit, but at a more leisurely pace, obviously still adrenaline shocked from the car ride. Sam ran up the steps, nodding at the officer perched on Mary's porch. The officer gave him a small nod of acceptance and Sam entered the house, looking quickly around and spotting Mary sitting on a couch in the living room. There was a young woman sitting with her, holding her hand. Mary looked a bit better than last time, though it was obvious she had only just recently stopped crying.
Sam came into the room, ready to get down to business. Mary didn't give him the chance. She stood immediately when she saw him, a large smile coming to her face. "Did you find him?" she asked, the hope in her eyes almost sending Sam over the edge. "Did you find my Hank?" She looked around, expecting to see her husband stroll in any moment. But when she didn't see him, she looked back at Sam, frowning. She looked once more and it was apparent in her eyes that by now she had realized someone else was missing. She looked at Sam, horror in her eyes. "What's happened? Where's my Hank?"
Licking his lips, Sam put a hand on Mary's shoulder. "Mary, I know that there's something you're not telling me. You know who the ghost is." Sam knew he was venturing on guesses now, but he could only hope that it would give Mary the incentive to talk. "Piggy is the ghost. You know that, don't you?"
Mary looked at him, horrified, as though he'd sprouted horns out of the top of his head. She shook her head, her face crumpling as she slumped back into the couch. The young woman who had been sitting with her stood up, angrily. "Just who do you think you are?" she demanded. "This woman's husband is missing. How dare you come in here and upset her like that."
Sam glanced at the girl, anger flashing in his eyes. He looked back at Mary. "Mrs. Reynolds, please. It has my brother." At that, Mary froze and looked up at him, her mouth half open, her bottom lip quivering. "Whatever you're hiding from me, I need to know." Mary looked as though she wanted to say something, but instead her face fell again and she put her head into her hands.
"No, no I can't," she gasped between sobs.
Sam clenched his fists, grinding his teeth to keep from yelling at the woman. Didn't she see? Didn't she see that she could help save the life of not only her husband, but of Dean as well? Sam felt like hitting something, but he restrained himself. He took a step forward, willing to keep trying until he got what he needed out of her.
But the front door opened then and all eyes in the room went to the officer who stood nervously in the door. Mary took in a shuttering gasp. The officer took off his hat and Sam felt his heart skip a beat. "Mrs. Reynolds," the officer said gently. "I need you to come with me now."
Mary shook her head, her eyes wide and wild. "What? No…tell me what happened," she said, clutching onto her dress slacks as though they were her only hold on life.
The officer took a breath and put on his most sympathetic look. "Mrs. Reynolds, please…"
"Just tell me where he is!" Mrs. Reynolds screamed, surprising everyone in the room at the ferocity behind her voice. Sam looked down at her and realized she already knew what had happened. They all did.
With one last sigh, the officer looked down, upset at having to be the one to bear the news. "They found your husband's body up near Carl Hannigan's house." He paused a moment, letting the information sink in. "It was the same as the others," he added quietly.
Mary looked utterly devastated. Her mouth was half open and her eyes were staring at the opposite wall. She slid back on the couch and leaned against it for support. The young woman with her took her hand and apologized, but Mary didn't seem to notice her. Sam took a breath, knowing that he was an asshole for doing this, but he wouldn't let the same thing happen to Dean. He got down on one knee and put his hand on Mary's knee, waiting until she looked up at him.
"Mary," he said softly. "Please. You know whose doing this. Please tell me. Don't let my brother die like this."
That seemed to get through to her. She tilted her head to the side and clasped onto Sam's hand, looking at him the way a grandmother looked at her grandchildren when they said they were going off to war, or moving across the world. She patted his hand and nodded, tears rolling slowly down her cheeks, dripping onto her sweater.
"We called her Piggy because she was so chubby," Mary whispered, her eyes going distant. Sam gave a small sigh of relief that he was finally getting somewhere. He got up and pulled a chair close, holding onto her hand as she continued. Blaine had found his way into the room and stood behind the chair. The young woman was leaning back, watching the whole thing suspiciously. "It was just a stupid nickname. She wasn't even that big. But we were kids, and we didn't know any better."
Sam leaned forward, licking his lips, wanting to spur along the story. "What happened?" he asked, trying to be as gentle as possible, fearful that at any moment Mary would shut down and whatever secrets she kept with her would disappear forever.
"It was Carl's idea," Mary whispered, her face losing all emotion, her eyes devoid. "We just all went along with it."
i "Come on, Piggy, you're gonna love it," Carl ragged, taking a swig of the beer he held in his hands. Carl turned and looked at the teenagers who were following him. A girl was walking amongst his friends. She looked out of place. Pete Flannery walked directly behind him, his letterman sweater draped over Susan Meyer's shoulders. Matthew Westridge was trailing behind Hank Reynolds, who had his arm around Mary Browning's waist. The girl walking in the middle of the ground was hugging her stomach self consciously.
"Where are we going again?" Piggy asked, a lisp evident in her chubby cheeks. She was, by far, the biggest outcast of the group. The others were all sporty, tall and beautiful. Popular kids in school. Piggy was short, kind of chubby, and wore thick glasses, making her eyes look twice as big as they really were. She was the sickly kind, missing days of school at a time for unknown reasons. It was often the butt of jokes around school, coming up with stories as to why fat, dirty Piggy wasn't in school.
"You'll see," Carl said, turning to wink at her. "We found it the other day. Well, actually, Hank and Mary found it while they were fucking like rabbits out here." Carl let out a strangled laugh.
"Shut up!" Hank spat, but smiled as he pulled Mary in closer. "Just because I snagged myself the most beautiful girl in school," he said and kissed the top of Mary's head. She smiled up at him before turning to look at Piggy.
"You found yourself a boyfriend yet, Piggy?" she asked, a malicious grin across her face.
"No," Piggy admitted, totally oblivious of the joke that was being made at her expense. "But my Mama tells me to keep trying. There's a person out there for everyone."
"Yeah," Carl rolled his eyes and nudged Pete in the ribs. Pete was beyond drunk and laughed a little too loud and a little too long. It spurred Carl on. "Ah, we're here," Carl said, holding his hands out as the group broke into the clearing.
Piggy walked to the front and frowned as she saw where they were. "What's so special about this?" She turned to look at Carl. "You said it was something I would die for."
"Oh, you will," Carl grinned and walked forward a bit, kneeling down. "Take a look at this."
Piggy came forward and kneeled down next to him. "What is that?" she asked.
Carl grinned. "It's an open grave," he said, holding his hands out and twinkling his fingers. He gave out a ghostly noise and Piggy glared at him. "You think maybe a zombie popped out of it?"
"Or maybe grave robbers came and stole the bones," Susan mocked, sneering at Piggy.
Piggy eyed the open grave and shook her head, suddenly not feeling comfortable with the whole situation. "There shouldn't even be a grave yard out here." She stood up. "I'm going home."
Carl got to his feet quickly, putting an arm around her shoulders. "What? Come on now," he held his beer up to his friends. "We all brought you out here to show you this and you just want to go home? Piggy, you're one of us now. You don't want to be with your friends?"
Piggy eyed him warily. "No, I mean yes. I mean…I'm not scared."
"Oh really?" Carl said, eyes lighting up with amusement. "Well, prove it."
"How?" Piggy asked, looking from one face to the others.
Carl pointed to the coffin in the open grave. "Get in."
Piggy's eyes went wide as she looked down at where Carl was pointing. She shook her head. "No, you're crazy."
"Oh come on," Carl pretended to be angry. "If you want to be our friend, you've got to prove that you're not a scaredy cat."
"I'm not!" Piggy demanded.
Carl raised his hands into the air. "Then get in." The air around them had taken on a somber note. Piggy looked at each of them, hoping to get some help from someone. But she was only met with cold eyes. They were all looked at her, waiting. Piggy didn't have many friends. But if this is what it took to have some, then she would do what they asked.
"Okay," she said and climbed down carefully into the grave. Her skirt caught on a root and it tore a little. "Oh," she said in disappointment and sadness. "Okay, I'm in," she announced, looking up at Carl.
"Get all the way in," Carl said, his face fierce. "Lay down in that coffin."
Piggy looked down at it. "But a body was in here once," she said, eyes wide and tearful. She didn't want to do this, couldn't they see that?
"You want to be our friend, don't you?" Carl asked, waggling his finger at her. "You can't be unless you lay down so do it!"
Piggy bit her lip and looked down at the coffin. She held back tears as she sat down and laid back, feeling dirty and disgusting lying in the coffin. "Okay," she said, her voice breaking with fear. Carl moved quickly and jumped down, slamming the lid of the coffin shut. Piggy immediately let out a scream and started pounding on the lid. "No!" she screamed. "No, please! Let me out!" The fear was so evident in her voice.
"Carl," Susan called from above them. "She sounds really scared, maybe we shouldn't do this."
Carl glared up at her. "It will only be for a little bit," he growled. "She's got to learn her place in the food chain." He looked back down at the coffin as Piggy continued to scream and cry and pound on the lid. "Little piggies don't make it that far." He latched the lid closed and got up. "Help me bury it."
"What?" Hank asked. "Carl, you can't be serious."
Carl looked at them, exasperated. "It will only be for a little bit. We'll come back in half an hour and let her out. Stop being such a baby."
The group started to pile the dirt on top of the coffin, drowning out Piggy's screams and cries and pleads for help. /i
Sam stared at Mary with wide eyes. She had stopped talking and now sat breathing slowly, staring off into her wicked memory. Sam didn't know what to think. It was disgusting, cruel, horrible. How could someone do something like that? Sam was used to fighting evil when it came in the supernatural form. But this, this was something Sam didn't know how to deal with. Mary was a human being. She wasn't some monster. But now, sitting in front of her, she looked like the worse kind of monster in the world.
"What happened after that?" Sam asked, unable to keep the disgust out of his voice.
Mary looked up at him, shell shocked at having told her story after so many years of keeping it secret. She started crying again and taking small gasps. Her talking was almost incoherent. "When…when we came back. We were going to let her out and…and everything would be fine. But…but when we got to her. She was dead. She was already dead. We didn't know," Mary sobbed. "We didn't know that she as sick." Sam frowned. "She had epilepsy. She'd had a seizure from all the screaming and she died."
Sam had heard enough. He pulled back, sitting and glaring at Mary. It was all he could do to keep from reaching out and punching the wall over and over again. A person like Mary Reynolds deserved everything that was coming to her. He suddenly didn't feel so bad about Hank or Carl or Pete. "Can you tell me where this was?" Mary nodded and Sam pulled out the map of the woods. He threw it at her and she looked at him in shock. "Then show me," he growled, staring at her hard.
Mary sobbed but pulled a pen from her blouse pocket and marked exactly where the grave was, not even taking the time to read the map. She knew where it was without having to look. She'd seen it so many times, looked at it so many times.
Sam was stewing as he watched Mary draw out where the grave was. She wrote the name of the grave stone above her mark. But he was hardly paying attention. So, he finally knew who Piggy was. Just some poor girl that someone had decided to play a prank on. A deadly prank. How could human beings do something like that to each other? Sam didn't know. Maybe they weren't human beings. Maybe they were just the scum of the earth.
Suddenly, a thought struck him. It struck him so hard that he nearly jerked in his seat. He looked at Mary and grabbed the map right out of her hands, rushing for the door. Blaine watched him go and turned to look at Mary, confused.
Mary shook her head at him. "We were just kids," she said. "We didn't know any better."
Blaine stared at her for a minute before his face formed into a glare of anger. He pointed his finger at her. "You were sixteen. Any sixteen year old would know better. Any human being would know better," he spat before running out the door to catch up with Sam, who was already climbing into the car.
Blaine hopped in, looking over at Sam. "What is it?" he asked, seeing the look of determination, mixed with horror, written on his face.
Sam started the car and sped off. "I know what's happening to the victims," he said, his jaw set in a firm line. This wasn't happening. He had to be wrong. He prayed that he was wrong. But he knew that he wasn't. The bodies, the injuries. Suffocation, blunt force trauma to the back of the head, the scratches, the hours between abduction and finding the bodies, the way they looked like they had been in a fight, the broken hands, missing fingernails. He knew he was right. There was no question.
Blaine frowned. "Wha…what? What's happening?"
Sam swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. i Hold on Dean, I'm coming. Just please hold on, /i he thought to himself as he said the words that had put such determination and fear into his heart.
"They're being buried alive."