The boys are getting in more and more trouble. I don't know what they're going to do. LOL... Here's the next chapter. Sorry it's short. The next will be longer.

Chapter 5

Sam heard the scraping noises again as the bookshelves slid from the door. The doctor entered the room and turned on the light, blinding Sam. He walked over and removed the straps from his wrist. He pulled a gun and pointed it at him. "Get up!" said the doctor.

Sam sat up like he was told.

"You're going to write a letter" the doctor said as he pulled a writing pad and pen from the pocket that had held the water. He tossed them on the cot. Sam just looked at it. "Take it!" said the doctor. Sam picked it up.

"A letter?" asked Sam.

"Yes, address it to Dean, your beloved brother."

Sam glared up at the doctor and asked, "What do you want it to say?" Sam became nervous. He didn't like the sound of this at all.

"Copy what I've written on the second page of the pad." The gun was still on him, but Sam realized that if he did what the doctor wanted, when he handed it to him, he might have a chance to get the gun. He also thought that even if he didn't, and his escape plan failed, maybe he could put clues in the letter letting Dean know where he was.

"Write it word for word. No tricks Sam, I'm warning you. Don't change a thing. Make it look natural," said the doctor.

Sam read the letter then looked up at the doctor in shock. The letter said,

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Dean,

I can't take this anymore. It's just too hard. I'm tired of always fighting for my life. I'm depressed and I have decided to kill myself. I love you. You have to go on without me. I know I'll never escape my destiny as long as I'm alive, but maybe when I'm dead, I can finally rest. Tell dad that even though we've had our differences, I've always loved him. I'm sorry but I'm going to end it all.

Sam

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Sam closed his eyes. "Dean knows that you've kidnapped me. He's not going to believe that I've committed suicide!"

"Oh, he'll believe it. I mean come on; you've just come out of a 10 day ordeal in a satanic cult only to find yourself in another one? You're mentally and physically exhausted. You decide instead of going through it all again, you'll just end it. He'll believe it, Sam."

Sam wasn't going to argue. If Dean didn't believe, which he knew that he wouldn't, he would realize the letter was a fake. The more unbelievable it was the better. Sam started to print.

"No, that won't do," said the doctor. "That's not how you write."

Sam looked up at him. "How do you know how I write?" he asked.

"I've seen your handwriting," said the doctor.

"On what?" Sam wanted to know.

"I've done my homework, Sam." said the doctor as he raised the gun. "Do it right or lose that hand!"

Sam knew he meant it, this desperate, crazy man. He tore off the paper and started on the next sheet. "Think! Think!" he thought. He changed his d's, looped them bigger than he normally did.

"Try again!" said the doctor. He was getting angry now, holding that gun, aimed at his forehead. "I'm warning you, Sam!" he said, "I know how you write! This is your last chance. You're just as good to me dead as you are alive."

Sam wiped the sweat dripping into his eyes and tore off the top sheet. He began to write again. He wrote it just as the doctor had typed it, in his regular handwriting, conscious of that gun pointed at his forehead. Dean would never believe it anyway and Sam was going to get out of here any minute now. But just in case, he signed it "Sammy." Dean would realize it was fake as soon as he saw the signature. Sam hated to be called Sammy and Dean knew it.

He handed the pad back to the doctor, hoping he'd move one step closer. The doctor took the pad from Sam and read over the letter. "Good, that one should do it." he said. He stuck the letter in his pocket. Slowly Sam stood up and swung. He knocked the gun from the doctor's hands and sent him reeling back. "NO!" yelled the doctor as Sam grabbed his arm and flung him around. He picked up the gun and jabbed it into his ribs.

"Let go of me, Sam! I'm not alone in this house. Let go of me!" Sam threw his hand over the doctor's mouth and pulled his body back against him. Keeping the gun in his ribs, Sam walked him through the door, out into the large part of the basement. He looked around; saw empty bookshelves that had been in front of the door. That was the scraping noise he had heard. Each time the doctor left, he slid them back, so that if anyone came down here they wouldn't know a door was behind them.

Sam looked across the basement and saw another set of bookshelves against the other wall and knew immediately where Dean was. "Dean!" he yelled. "Are you in there!"

"Sam! I'm here! I've been chained to this damn cot! Get me out of here. Why does everybody want to tie me up? Hurry!"

"Hold on!" said Sam as he forced the doctor over to the bookshelves. He still felt dizzy, weak, drugged, but he could do this, he thought, as long as he had the gun. "Move the bookshelves!" Sam said to the doctor, "and let my brother out." The doctor just grinned and said, "I told you I'm not alone here!" Sam heard a noise. He spun around as the door at the top of the stairs opened! The doctor flung himself out of the way and Sam raised the gun.

A gunshot blasted Sam back. Pain cracked through his leg, knocking him to the ground, smashing him on the concrete floor. Another shot...Sam's body jolted.

Distantly he heard voices, yelling. The doctor walked over to Sam. "Guess we're not going to need this," he said as he held up the letter. He said it so coldly, without any emotion whatsoever.

There was agony in Sam's leg and in his side. He felt his arms being lifted over his head, his body being dragged...a door closing...that scraping sound. He thought of the wall being bricked up with Edgar Allen Poe evil, someone discovering them forty years from now, nothing but skeletons in a dark hole.

Blood loss drew Sam into its mire, and finally he succumbed to the dark.