Title: Moonstar
Ch. 11: Puzzle Piece
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Only get pleasure, no money. Welcome to the world thru my eyes.
Summary: Dean is crashing after a string of bad jobs. One last, terrible incident pushes him over the edge. He's on a downhill slide and the Moonstar is the last place he needs to be.
A/N: Apologies again for the posting screwup last time. Won't happen again. If you couldn't review cause of my stupidity, thanks for the thought! I'm glad the last chapter wasn't to confusing cause it carries on in this one. But hopefully some light will be shed on what's going on. Then again it may just confuse the hell out people.
Sam poured over the stacks of papers and photos the two ladies of the Miracle Spring Historical Society had been thrilled to provide him. It was obvious they didn't get a chance to share much of this information very often.
He had checked in with Linda and she had reported that Dean was sleeping peacefully.
Much of it the information he already knew, but the two proprietors, Sophie and Sarah James, twin spinsters, were a mine of historical gossip. It was confusing to talk to them, they so closely resembled one another he couldn't keep track of which was which.
"So what happened to the staff when the hospital closed down?" Sam asked the small woman on his right, who looked just like the small woman on his left, right down to the dress, shoes and earrings.
"Oh, dear me, it seems some of them were brought up on charges but they were never prosecuted." Sophie/Sarah replied. "By the time Dr. Becker was arrested, there weren't that many patients left, or staff for that matter. Patients families had been taking their loved ones out and filing charges. Margaret Reed was one of the---"
Sam's head snapped up. "Who?"
Sarah/Sophie blinked. "Margaret Reed. She was Dr. Becker's personal assistant almost up to the end." She began to leaf through the pages, carefully touching her thumb to her tongue between each turn.
Sophie/Sarah shook her head. "No, dear. It happened at least a month before the police arrested him, I'm quite—"
"What happened?" Sam interrupted, causing both ladies to gasp. "I'm sorry." He said placatingly. "It's just that this could be very important. Who is Margaret Reed and what happened to her?"
The ladies looked each other. "Why, dear, no one knows. She vanished one night and no one ever saw her again. " Sophie/Sarah turned the book she was searchingand pointed at a photo. "This was Margaret Reed."
Sam studied the old photo indicated. A rather plain looking woman with gentle eyes and dark hair tied back in a bun, she was standing next to a man Sam recognized as Dr. Becker. He scanned through the tagline below the picture. "Dr. Nigel Becker, esteemed physician in the field of cancer treatment, welcomes a new assistant to his staff, Miss Margaret Reed, lately of…"
He flipped through the next few pages, skip reading as articles first blessed the good works of Nigel Becker and then slowly began to shift to more and more questions about Dr. Becker's methods and what exactly went on at his 'Cancer Clinic'.
He saw no more mention of Margaret Reed until one headline jumped out at him.
"Researcher's assistant missing . Margaret Reed, assistant to Dr. Nigel Becker of the Becker Cancer Hospital, was reported missing after she failed appear for work 2 days in a row. Already under investigation for his questionable methods, Dr. Becker denies any knowledge of Miss Reed's whereabouts…"
Sam stopped reading and leaned closer to the two ladies who were watching him expectantly.
"So what can you ladies tell me about this?" He tapped the paper and smiled inwardly as the two women glanced at each other conspiratorially.
She lifted Dean's arm and took another drink from the water bottle, pressing his body against the cold walls of the passageway. The doorway from the closet of 203 still functioned. His body was dizzy and feverish, but she had to force him to go on. The passage was pitch black but she seemed to know every twist and turn, where the staircase was that led to the 1st floor. The third, the top floor. The morgue. She moved through them blindly with the practice of prowling them for too many restless years behind her.
He could hear Linda and David talking as he moved behind the walls. He could hear other voices too, drifting in and out of his hearing, could feel the chill movement of the shadow speakers as they wandered through the darkness. They were aware of his presence in only the most simplistic sense. Lost in their world of pain and sadness, trapped in a circle of time and circumstances replaying over and over until eternity, unable or unwilling to free themselves. He might have helped them but they were no threat to him and he felt no fear.
As she moved him deeper into hotels lower floors the wooden passage changed to sloppily laid stone and brick. She dragged his fingertips along the stonework as he walked, feeling the roughness against his skin, relishing sensation once again. The dank scent of the damp walls, roots spilling through in places where the surrounding earth was encroaching on the man made barriers. The feel of the cool walls as he rested against them from time to time.
His footsteps slowed as he came to the end of the corridor, and he started patting the walls on the right side gently, gradually brushing over them with short soft strokes. Finally locating the spot she was searching for with a sharp intake of Dean's breath. She put his cheek against the wall and gradually flattened his body along the stone, eyes closed, hands pressed against the cold surface. "I'm here," he murmured brokenly, a shudder running through him as he lay against the wall. A tear spilled from the corner of his/her eye and they turned their face so that it soaked into the stone and covered it with a soft kiss. "I'm here…"
Sam was headed back to the hotel, armed with a thick folder of photocopies and a head full of little known facts about well known people. Unfortunately, the walking trip back up was not as easy as the going down had been. His thigh muscles were screaming, especially the leg he had been gashed in, before he was halfway back up the 90 degree road he had stumbled down earlier. He was anxious to get back, feeling guilty about leaving Dean in the hands of virtual strangers, no matter how well intentioned.
He was also desperate to share his new found information with Dean and he was disgusted with himself for not suspecting the obvious sooner.
He jerked as his phone buzzed against his hip and he grabbed for his pocket, clawing the phone out. He struggled to keep his papers together as he held the phone to his ear.
"Yeah, this is Sam!"
"Sam, sweetie, where are you?" Linda sounded upset.
"I'm on my way back. Why? Is Dean ok?" His heart started to pound under his ribs and he forced himself to keep struggling uphill.
"I don't know, Sam!" Linda voice was frantic. "I went to check on him a minute ago and he was gone! I checked the bathroom, your car, David is looking for him but I wanted to call you----"
"Dammit!" Sam exclaimed. "I'll be right there!" he shoved the phone back into his pocket and did his best to hurry up the steep streets back to the hotel
They pushed away from the section of wall swiping clumsily at the tear streaks on their face.
His/her shaking breath slowed and he moved unsteadily the rest of the way down the corridor. Drinking the last of the water he dropped the bottle on the ground. Reaching out to the wall, his fingers crept over the doorway with deft familiarity, searching out the secret recesses that would open it. Pain shot up his arm from his injured hand as he probed the small openings, forcing his too large hands to fit.
After a moment he was rewarded with a loud click and the panel creaked outward. Satisfaction put a tight smile on Dean's lips as he stepped into yet more darkness and started probing once again.
The last two blocks of the uphill run almost put Sam out. His lungs were burning and his legs were shaking by the time he staggered through the gardens into the hotel lobby. Linda was waiting anxiously for him.
"Sam!" She exclaimed, taking in his breathless state. "For Gods sake, sit down!" She grabbed his arm and propelled him to a chair.
He sat, wheezing for a moment, the muscles in his legs jumping. "Did you find him?" he gasped, dropping his papers on the floor.
Linda shook her head. "David's looking over the second floor, I've been looking down here, we just don't know where he could be. It's such a huge building and the grounds…Sam , I'm so sorry!"
Sam shook his head, finally getting his breath back. "It's not your fault. I should've stayed." He got shakily to his feet, trying to think.
"I'm gonna check out our room again," Sam said,"and then I guess I'll just start looking. He was pretty weak, I can't imagine he'd go too far." As least he hoped Dean wouldn't stray too far. Right now he didn't have a clue what Dean might be capable of.
Linda nodded. "I'll look around down here, call the cell if you find him, please." She grabbed a flashlight and started toward the dining room.
Sam thudded up the narrow stairs as fast as his aching legs would allow and shoved open their door. The salt line had been disturbed but was still unbroken, he wasn't sure if that was good thing or a bad thing. There was nowhere Dean could hide in the little room. Sam rummaged in his bag and came up with a powerful flashlight, clicking it off and on to make sure it worked.
He opened the closet door and flashed the light around the interior, they rarely hung up their clothes so the small cubicle was empty. On a whim, he stepped in and pushed on each of the walls, then rapped them lightly with his knuckles. Nothing.
He frowned and left the closet, moving back through the main bedroom door and back out into the hall. He took a deep breath and looked around.
Where the hell to start?
When the outer door finally clicked open, Dean shoved forward with both hands and heaved against the resistance of hinges that had not moved in decades, ignoring the pain in his hand and breaking out in a sweat as the door gradually shifted. Her joy when it finally slid out of the way sent Dean's heart racing and a wave of dizziness sent him back against the wall and sliding down to the ground. She backed off and gently encouraged his body to rise, they were so close. God, please, it was finally going to happen.
She sent Dean stumbling through the darkness, every item he brushed up against forming a picture in their mind as clear as day. The metal storage cabinets, the lockers, the large adjustable lamp that hung from center of the room, the table-- She stopped Dean against the cold metal edge and ran his dry fingers over the icy surface. A shiver danced over Dean's hot skin as he touched it, one hand clutched at his head as sensation and image suddenly tore through his mind. He cried out, eyes clenched tight, pain flaring in his hip as he hit something on the way to the ground.
"What are you doing, Nigel?" Margaret shoved against the door of the morgue. Fear quickly spiking into panic when she realized it was locked. "Nigel! Open this door! I know Stephen is with you!" She pounded her fist against the wooden door, rattling the knob with the other.
Dark brown hair pulled from the bun it was twisted into and fell in dark feathers around her face.
Becker's voice came from the other side of the door, so near she would have sworn he had his lips right up to the frame.
"I'm working, Margaret." He said in a warm, lilting voice. "You know I don't like to be interrupted, my dear. "An autopsy requires all of my concentration." She could hear his steps walking slowly away from the door. The sound of muffled whimpering sent Margaret's heart racing.
"Stephen!" She cried, hitting the door with both fists. "Don't touch him!" She screamed, throwing her body against the door. "Nigel! Don't do this! It's only a matter of time before you're arrested! Don't make it worse! Please…for God's sake…don't hurt him…." She pressed her body against the door, weeping now.
Dean rocked against the wall, head back, heels of his hands ground into his streaming eyes, moaning helplessly. He didn't want this……didn't need this…..
To her surprise, the door suddenly opened and she fell forward into the morgue, sprawling indelicately on the floor. Using both hands she pushed herself up off the filthy, blood spattered floor. Her uniform was now blood and dirt streaked, her stockings were torn and her hair had fallen totally free of it's restraints. She heaved herself back to her feet and whirled to face the man she had admired, had once, stupidly, blindly, thought sheloved. Until she had found Stephen...
Becker's pointed, sharply handsome face, his dark eyes all mocked her with a small twisted smile.
"Well, my dear…you did say you wanted in…" His long hands made a graceful gesture.
"You bastard!" She spat, swinging for a slap.
He caught her hand and fought her back. "Tut, such language. Wherever did you learn it?"
He twisted her arm behind her and spun her around, facing the autopsy table where a young man lay mostly covered with a blood stained sheet. Margaret's cry died in her throat as he jerked her arm. Stephen's face was white and wasted with illness. He moved his head weakly against the cold metal of the table. His eyes fluttered.
Margaret shook with sobs. "Stephen! Oh, God Stephen….." She tried to pull free but Becker held tighter.
"There he is, my dear," Becker hissed, lips against her ear. "What a pitiful replacement you chose over me, to weak to be the man I know you need, what can he do for you but die and leave you with nothing. But then you'll probably leave him too, we both know a faithless slut like you has no loyalty."
"I'd rather have Stephen for whatever time I can get than a monster like you forever!" Margaret snarled, wrenching free. "What you did to those people, to Stephen…I can't believe I could have been so blind!" She threw herself on Stephen's body, clawing the sheets away from his cold, pallid flesh. Stephen whimpered and one hand crept upward weakly, to carressher dark hair.
Margaret pressed her face to Stephen's chest. "Nigel, please, I'm begging you." Her quiet voice shook with emotion. "If I ever meant anything to you…don't take Stephen away from me. He and I will go, no one will see us. We'll go far away…"
Becker snorted and curled a lip in disgust. "What a touching request. And what, may I ask would benefit me from agreeing to your heart rending plea? As we have already established, my arrest is imminent. My reputation is ruined, I'm in disgrace, my practice?" Becker laughed. "Let's be realistic, my dear, I have nothing left to lose."
He turned and walked slowly across the room, chin in his hand, appearing to be deep in thought. He opened one of the glass fronted cabinets and withdrew a bottle of clear liquid and a cloth.
Margaret was murmuring broken endearments to Stephen as Becker drifted back across the room.
"You meant a great deal to me Margaret, I have never shared my life with someone before I shared it with you. That loss is not one I can suffer lightly, but," he added, shaking the clear liquid onto the rag as he moved closer. "Your tender request has touched me. I find I cannot deny you your desire to spend the rest of your life with this fading husk, if that is your choice."
So saying he pressed the rag against Margaret's face and grabbed her to hold her still as she struggled, whining through the fabric pressed over her mouth and nose. "Allow me to assist you in that endeavor…." His voice and the world faded away as Margaret's eyes rolled back in her head and she relaxed into unconsciousness.
Dean cried out and shoved himself backwards in the blackness on the cold floor until he was as far back into the corner as he could crush himself, arms curled around his head, knees drawn up, shaking uncontrollably. Gasping over and over "Don't leave me here, don't leave me ,God, don't leave me here…"
You know what? I'm stopping there. I'm really curious what you think of this and I decided to hold off on the punch line a little longer. Don't be too mad, it'll make the story longer.Read and review please. I hope this works, I couldn't figure out any other way to get the background story out there.