Chapter 4
Searing white flashes of pain. Blood spattered wall. A pentagram marked on the concrete floor in red paint. Flickering candles, fighting to stay lit in a sudden gust of wind. Chanting, Latin words, their meanings only half understood. The glitter of silver, a knife, slashes through the darkness. A scream. His own.
Sam's eyes flutter open and he gasps at the sudden wave of dizziness and foreboding danger that threatens to overwhelm him. The sharp stabbing agony slowly starts to fade as the sound of chanting drifts into Sam's mind, unnoticed at first among the many jumbling thoughts, until the low raspy voice causes Sam's brain to scream with recognition. The voice from his vision. His head jerks up and he sees the old woman swaying distractedly as she continues to chant beyond the bars of the cage.
After the second knock, Bethany opens the door. Dean doesn't even attempt to hide his desperation when he begins his plea.
"Bethany, I need to know if there's anything else you remember about the night your friends were taken?"
A mixture of confusion and worry clouds the features of the teenage girl. "Why, what's wrong?"
"Something kidnapped my brother, the one who was here with me yesterday."
"Oh my God," Bethany whispers as she leans against the doorframe for support.
"Listen, if you know anything you have to tell me right now, even if it sounds stupid or…impossible."
"I told you everything I know, I swear. If it helps I can come with you and show you the direction I think my friends were taken but that's it, I don't remember anything other than what I already told you and the police."
"Thank you," Dean replies sincerely.
Bethany nods as she reaches for a coat and steps outside, closing the door behind her. "Anything I can do to help, somebody needs to stop this thing before it gets anybody else." She locks the door and slips the key into her coat pocket. "So you were never an FBI agent, were you?"
Dean shakes his head as he begins to cross the road to where his car is parked, relieved there may be a chance – no matter how small – that this girl may know something that can help him to find Sam. "Me and my brother, this sort of thing – the paranormal, I guess – it's kind of our job."
"So you're like a ghost hunter or something?"
Dean manages a faint smile, "something like that."
"It is time."
The voice is so normal, so human-sounding, that Sam almost falls over from shock. The old woman before him slowly lifts her head to look at Sam and he realises for the first time that she's blind, her eyes coated over with a milky-looking substance.
"Time for what?" Sam demands, not particularly surprised when the woman fails to answer.
Two men step out of the darkness, one the older man Sam saw before, presumably the woman's husband, and the other is tall, fair-haired and looks to be about late 20's. The latter has a sharp knife, only the point of which is visible from beneath the long sleeves of his jacket. As they move towards the cage, the younger of the two staring unblinkingly at Sam, Sam begins to back away, worried. Whoever these people are, it's clear to Sam from their gaunt faces and blank eyes that they're not human.
The door to the cage swings open, presumably triggered by a switch somewhere Sam guesses, and the younger man steps inside the cage. Sam immediately throws himself forward in a desperate attempt for freedom, landing a punch square in the man's jaw. Although the impact bruises his own knuckles, the other man remains completely still, showing no sign that he even felt the punch. After a few more seconds pass, Sam hesitant of what to try next, the man slowly takes a step forward and reaches out. Sam tries to back away before he realises he's already at the back of the cage. The man's hand lands on his arm and a shudder passes through Sam, so strong and cold that his vision blurs. Sam sways for a moment as the feeling spreads through his entire body before he collapses, barely enough energy to continue breathing, his strength almost completely drained.
When Sam opens his eyes again, he finds himself to be lying on cold hard concrete, a red pentagram drawn out around him. He tries force himself into a sitting position but his hands and ankles are both tied so he settles for rolling over to examine his surroundings. He's in the same warehouse building as in his vision and the old woman is chanting in Latin at an altar a few feet away. Her husband and son are both holding cut wrists over a chalice, letting a dark black substance that Sam isn't entirely sure is human blood drip into it.
Sam clears his dry throat, struggling to speak. "Why are you doing this?" He manages to choke out.
"It's the only way we can stay alive," the older man replies, making his way over to Sam, while rolling the sleeve of his shirt down over the wound on his wrist.
Sam shakes his head, confused. Whoever these people are, they're definitely not vampires and if they're some type of zombie then they're a species that's new to Sam.
His confusion must be evident to the older man, whom continues to explain with a lopsided grin on his face. "You see, Margie," he nods his head towards his wife, "made a deal with the devil." The man chuckles, revealing half-rotted, yellow teeth. "Saved my life she did. Cancer, doctors said I wouldn't last another week but she found a way. Sacrificing a few humans careless enough to walk around these parts in the middle of the night is a small price to pay if you ask me."
A look of disgust crosses Sam's face. The man simply sneers and walks over to his wife. Sam takes the opportunity to glance across at the youngest of the family, the son, still stood by the chalice, staring into the dark liquid within. Sam twists his arms, trying to pull at the rope, then rubs the rope against the concrete when that fails, in an attempt to wear it away. Think, Sam, there must be some way out of this mess.
"Hey, come look at this!"
Dean turns at the sound of Bethany's voice.
"Dean!"
He heads in the direction of the sound, trying to locate Bethany through the maze of trees and undergrowth. Finally he finds her, knelt by one of the many small streams that flows through the woods.
"Drag marks. Think your brother could have been dragged along here?"
"It's worth a shot. Let's go."
Dean glances across the shallow stream, not more than a foot deep in the middle, and at the continuing drag marks on the other side, before beginning to make his way across the stream.
I apologize it took me about a week longer than I said to update but I came back from holiday to find the house flooded so everything's been a little hectic. Anyway, the next chapter will be the last in this ficand it's already half written so it should be up pretty soon if I'm lucky enough to avoid any more crisises.