Reprisals - Chpt 6

The sun had just finished clearing the Eastern horizon when Dean shook hands with the motel clerk and strode from the office. He and Sam were headed to Oklahoma to put an end to this job, the spirit of Edward Jacob Simons and Carol Guinardi's torment. If they'd moved slower by as little as ten seconds that morning Dean would have heard the news report that the clerk turned to watch just after the door closed behind him.

"…and in local news this morning police are baffled by the brutal and bizarre murder of a woman while in the care of a local area medical center... We'll have more details on this horrifying story when we return…" assured the perky newscaster as she nodded with her practiced solemnity.

--

Miles unwound behind them and though Dean's music selection was typical, as was the volume, Sam noticed a certain difference that he couldn't quite put his finger on. It wasn't the same as the richness he'd been feeling lately, this was like the weight of a finely crafted blade, perfectly weighted and balanced, sharp and unseen unless it was caught in just the right light. He wanted to ask Dean what it was about, but he didn't want to either.

Sam leaned back closing his eyes and worked hard to convince himself that there were tons of reason for his big brother to take this one personally. This spirit had hurt them both, it had been tormenting a helpless woman unchecked for two decades give or take, the parents were horribly neglectful according to the puzzle pieces they'd managed to assemble, and the fact that the man who'd become the spirit had been a serial killer, heading in the same direction as John Wayne Gacy made them both sick. Sam knew though that no matter how much he might rib Dean about being more of a child than knowing much about them, he really was only teasing. The experiences they'd had with Lucas and Michael alone, not to mention that Dean had practically raised him belied his brothers' natural ease with children. He's going to make one hell of a dad one day. Sam thought feeling lips stretch just a bit as he scooted down in the seat and jerked upright against the seatbelt, his back reminding him that there was still a lot of healing to do.

"Still hurts?" Dean asked without taking his eyes off the road.

Forget 'Mom' vision… he doesn't miss a thing! "Little…it's alright though… Dean…" he started then shook his head.

"Hmm?"

Sam shook his head again but it only served to make Dean glance at him, "What?"

"Did you read the summation I printed up for you?" Sam asked limply. He knew Dean hadn't read it, they'd both woke up within minutes of each other, what he wanted to know was what exactly the hell was going on with his brother… Maybe I'm just being hyper-sensitive… I mean… it's DEAN….

Dean shook his head, "I figured I'd just let my legal advisor run it down for me…" he smiled easily and turned down the radio.

And so Sam did. He watched Dean carefully when it came to details he'd read in the transcription and saw his own disgust for what this reprehensible man had stolen from children, mirrored in his face. There was more he noticed though, a kind of sadness beneath the anger. The correlation that came immediately to mind was the idea of a beautiful perfect birthday cake in a bakery window, with glistening icing that was made just to melt on the tongue, but when you cut into it you find the icing is paint and the cake is no more than styrofoam.

"Why are you looking at me like a bug?" Dean asked not even bothering to glance out the corner of his eye, "You've been doing that since the hospital…"

Sam shook his head and smiled sheepishly, his hand caught in a mental cookie jar, "Sorry… just wondering how you're holding up with the concussion and all."

"I told you… you're not driving until I can't see straight anymore…" Dean admonished as Fat Bottom Girls began to play from the tape in the deck and Dean turned it up reflexively and smiled at the tune.

Sooner than they'd thought the sun leap-frogged them and they found themselves another room in yet another motel. They were half a day's drive away from Mountain Park Oklahoma, where jurisdiction for the now defunct Camp Chipwanee grounds lay. Not to mention Edward Jacob Simons' property. It only made sense that he would be buried in the area. Mountain Park was little more than a one stop shopping area and neither of them figured to have much difficulty finding what they'd need at the Town Hall. If need be, they would be able to gain access Simons' property through the woods at the edge of the defunct campground and remain hopefully unseen by any potential passers by.

--

"Dean! I told him… I told him I wasn't afraid! That I knew it wasn't dad!..." Sammy squirmed and tugged against the vise-like fingers. He was being dragged by the hair out of the cage and across the living room toward the makeshift altar that the thing using John's image had created.

"Good job runt…" Dean nodded, his face stony, his eyes deep emerald as he sneered and held up his gun, pointing it directly at John's head…

"You can't beat me..." the thing grinned hideously.

"I don't have to… I know you…" thirteen year old Dean sneered and watched as Sam finally squirmed free and bolted for the door. This time, instead of turning the knob and dashing out of this nightmare and back into his own consciousness he stopped and turned, watching as the visage of the John thing closed on Dean and became someone else. He became a skinny man with clown-like make up that seemed to be smeared all over his face.

Dean's heart froze for a moment before taking off at breakneck speed, threatening to lurch into his throat as the skinny man with ash tray breath grabbed his chin and leaned in. He grinned with cracked yellow-brown teeth, his eyes flicked from the depths of Dean's green ones to the wide curious Sammy eyes at the door. "Such a treat…" he breathed copious fumes into Dean's face and licked his lips while looking at his little brother.

"Don't you touch him!" thirteen year old Dean growled with his almost grown up voice as something gnawed with little rats teeth in his belly, "Sammy get out of here NOW!" he shouted and seemed frozen. The hand that held his head did so with a frightening amount of strength, he saw from the corner of his eye Sam finally turn the knob and dash out of the nightmare.

The skinny man caught his eyes and smiled while holding his head still, pressed against a cold stone wall, "Ahhh, alone at last…" he breathed mashing his stinky mouth down onto Dean's.

Wake up NOW! Stop this!... STOP!

Air hissed from Dean's mouth as he snapped awake, his right arm swinging out in front of him while he drew his left over his face. Sweat dripped down his neck and back feeling like a finger tracing an erotic path and his body jerked reflexively until he was sitting firm up against the wall steadying his breath with his hand over his mouth and his eyes wide, searching the darkness in disbelief.

Several moments later his straining bladder forced him into the bathroom where after he was done he stood in the dark, his hands trembling slightly as he reached for the towel and avoided looking into his own reflection. Just a dream, is all. Yeah but Sammy… Sammy wasn't there… but he saw… no, he didn't… it was just a dream, it's just this case… I am gonna salt and burn that son of a bitch as soon as this is over though …nothing's going to happen to Sam, it's okay… he breathed deep and could have sworn he smelled that unforgettable blend of stale cigarette smoke and fermented b.o. He grabbed his toothbrush and squirted a wad of minty blue onto it before scrubbing the lingering taste of disgust from his mouth.

Dean cast a glance at Sam's bed as he slid back under his own covers and thanked whatever powers there were in the Universe that he hadn't woken him up. He drew the blankets up to his neck, punched the pillow under his ear and lay on his side facing the wall, his eyes wide open for a while before he finally drifted off again, into dreamless sleep for the remainder of the night.

Another one Dean? Sam wondered curiously as he watched his brother brush his teeth almost violently, as if he'd eaten something out of one of those Fear Factor dares.

--

In the morning, with Dean sprawled on his back like he'd seen him ten thousand times before, Sam forgot momentarily about having seen him start awake in the middle of the night. He smiled as the door swung shut hard behind him, the noise, not really a slam rousing his brother.

"Mmmm mornin'," Dean grunted stretching the length of the bed and sighing contentedly as Sam set down the breakfast he'd brought.

"Morning… it's 7:30, before you ask… I figure if we hit the road by nine we should make it to the hall of records by about 2:30, 3:00…ish, then depending on what we find there..."

Dean nodded, "Ish?" he questioned sitting up scratching his bed-head and once more raking across the staples in his scalp, "ouch," he sighed more out of habit than any actual pain. "How're you?" he asked eyeing the cast then sliding his gaze up to Sam's neck. The bruises were still painfully clear but at least they were starting to green up a bit, a sure sign that they were healing.

"Long as I chew my food I'm alright…" Sam shrugged smiling then met his older brothers eyes, his expression deadly serious, "I gotta say you were right though," he admitted.

"I was?..." Dean muttered over his first sip of coffee, "'bou what?"

"That whole… relationship with my left hand… have you ever tried brushing your teeth with your left hand?" he grinned as a light went on almost dead center in his brain and he asked over his brothers' smile, "Hey… did you get up in the middle of the night and brush your teeth?"

"Hmm?" Dean grunted looking at Sam like he'd asked him if he'd just sprouted wings, he shook his head then remembered as an uneasy feeling woke up within him, "Yeah, I think I did… case of cow pie mouth I guess…"

"Hmmm," Sam nodded ripping into his egg sandwich.

"What?" Dean asked tilting his head to the side wondering what had woken him up anyway.

"Another weird dream?" Sam asked.

Dean thought for a minute and shook his head, at a loss, "Not that I recall… how 'bout you? Any premonitions Kreskin?"

"Naah, don't expect any, we know this is an angry spirit, we know why it's angry…"

"Yeah, the guy it used to be was a psychopath…."

"Exactly… the only read I think I can get on it is like at the house y'know? That totally hostile vibe but… nothing else really," he explained as Dean went into the bathroom.

"Well… once we get there are you gonna be willing to try and see what you can sense?" Dean asked.

Sam shrugged, "I'll give it a shot if you want me to… wait a minute, I thought we were going to hit the hall of records and see where he's buried then do our little song and dance and call it a night…"

Dean swung his head around the door jamb and shrugged, "Course that's what we're going to do but I got a couple little side trips planned."

"Oh really?" Sam asked, "Like to where?"

This time Dean's smile really was of the 'wouldn't you like to know' variety as he said, "You'll see…"

"Dean we're not going to go bug the parents… they don't give a damn!" Sam frowned remembering an incident in a store not too long ago when a parent made the mistake of raising their hand to their child within sight of Dean. It wasn't something simple like the child had been crying for a toy or throwing a tantrum for no reason, the fact of the matter was that the child was blatantly and obviously frightened. It was Sam who'd realized the child was sensitive when the lost spirit they were looking for walked through a clothing carousel and started the child crying. To this very moment the events were a blur in Sam's mind. One second he was pointing out the location of the distraught spirit to Dean and the next the child had begun to scream and the parent's hand was in the air.

In just another second Dean was there, the woman's wrist cinched in his frighteningly powerful grip, his eyes as hard as malachite as he stared down the speechless woman and said softly, "She's just scared,"

"Of what?" the mother challenged even though she was wavering on her feet.

"It doesn't matter, she's your daughter, she's scared, be a mother," he admonished and disappeared before the woman had regained her senses.

"Oh yes Sam… yes we are…" Dean nodded.

"No Dean… they don't know, they haven't been there…" he tried to persuade and nearly fell off his chair as Dean stormed from the bathroom, his face a visage of rage as he hauled him bodily out of the chair.

"No! They don't know! They weren't there! They left her alone to fend for herself against this thing! They abandoned her!"

"She ran away…" Sam countered matter-of-factly.

"They LET her!" Dean railed in return, his hands tight fists entwined in Sam's hoodie as their gazes met in a stony stalemate.

Dean swallowed hard and smoothed Sam's shirt, "After what she lived through, they might as well have left her in a ditch once they won the settlement, they could have…" he didn't know what he expected really, whether it was as simple as support or as complex as belief it didn't matter. That the mother in particular had abandoned her, emotionally if in no other way made him furious.

"What Dean? These are regular people, they don't know what we do… they haven't seen what we've seen… you know that as well as I do…" Sam rationed.

Dean nodded, his lips pursing as he leaned in and said simply, "Mother is the name for God on the lips and hearts of all children…"

Sam nodded, "Great movie… but Dean… look I know this case is hard for you… I know how kid-stuff makes you crazy…"

"Do you!" Dean barked sarcastically, his face a sneer of pure sarcasm, "Well alright mister know-it-all… you tell me? What exactly is it that you think you know huh?" he challenged, part of him ready to drag the huge steamer trunk out from beneath the stairs of his mind, ready to throw the contents open before his brother, in fact part of him just salivating at the possibility of finally relieving some of his burden to someone who he oddly enough, now believed could still support him no matter what.

Rein it in there cowboy! We made a deal! never, Never… NEVER! Do you understand me! There ain't no frikkin' way so just you put that chest back and forget about it! NO ONE, NEVER! PERIOD! End of Statement…Besides, what I went through… squat, nothing, nada…those other kids, those 987 pictures you got buried in here? Simons' victims?… they're the ones to do this for, you… buddy you got bupkiss… suck it up.

Dean drew a breath and nodded at the voice in his head. That voice was right after all, he'd been lucky, blessed beyond belief in fact. He had no right to complain.

It was as if someone had thrown a bucket of cold water over him Sam noticed as Dean nodded, apparently to himself or some inner sensibility and bowed his head, "You're right Sam… sorry man… like you said… it's just… kids…y'know? There's three kinds of people you don't hurt y'know?" he questioned, his eyes searching for forgiveness.

"Old people, kids and preggers… I know," Sam nodded smiling and counting himself barely victorious over an almost overwhelming urge to throw his arms around Dean. He could almost feel how healing such a gesture would be to his big brother but something held him back, maybe Dean just wasn't ready for it yet.

--

They stood at the periphery of what appeared to have been the demarcation of a yard, once upon a long ago anyway, and took in the ramshackle planks of gray wood attached by the merest definition of the word to the decaying wooden skeleton of the structure.

"Why would you want to come here?" Sam asked shaking his head thinking that this place made the Benders' stead look like the Ritz.

"Call it a morbid fascination…besides, what're we going to do until tonight when we can get to the cemetery to do what we do best?" Dean asked with an odd mix of snide and sobriety as he left Sam standing on the edge of the woods and approached the house with nearly magnetic surety.

"Stay away from pitchforks or anything else sharp would ya?" Dean admonished wryly as Sam angled toward the barn and he toward the house.

"Hey, fiberglass bludgeon…and an iron baton… don't worry about me," Sam assured him shaking his head.

"And glass, and crystal, and jump-ropes and pencils…" he rattled to himself and thought, Don't you get it by now Sam? I can't help it, it's what I do… as he moved from the padlocked back door to the cellar door that had long ago been broken into, probably by the cops or local teens looking for a perverse thrill. Either way Dean didn't care so long as no one surprised him. He didn't want to kill some sad squatter that was for sure.

He couldn't really have given a solid explanation for why he wanted to check the place out, why he felt compelled to ensure that the previous residence of this malevolence had been nothing more than a man in his earthly life but if there was one thing Dean Winchester did well, it was follow his instincts. So, with that in mind, he descended the mold slick cement steps into what he would soon discover was the first level of the cellar.

The walls were little more than stacked cobblestones cemented with clay-like mud with many an area exposed to bare earth thanks to time and poor efforts at maintenance while the house was inhabited. Down here the temperature was easily ten or more degrees cooler than it was outside and through the open cellar doors a cool wet wind rolled off the surroundings hills and into the chamber singing old earthy songs as it came in and raised his hackles to attention.

His gun in his right hand, flashlight in his left he really wished for no more than his cell phone to work down here but there were no towers in this little area and they weren't quite up to paying for satellite phones consistently just yet. Okay so this is a little creepy and yeah I wouldn't mind listening to Mr. Peabody rattle on about Early American architecture for a while… why am I doing this? What in the hell am I hoping to find out? Just how big a freak this bastard was? Cause… know that… How much worse… shut it… no evidence… never happened… nothing do you get it? Why won't you let me forget then? Hey don't blame me! I'm the one who put it in the damned lock box… you're the one who dragged it out! Did not… Yeah huh! He shook his head and grasped at the wall as the voices arguing in his head made him dizzy. "Shut up both of you!" he whispered angrily then chuckled as the beam from his flashlight fell into something very dark gray. "Wouldn't that just be a pistol… have Sammy find his way down here and hear me having a conversation with myself… well okay more of an argument but… still at least I've got a concussion as an excuse…" he chuckled out loud and wondered if everyone occasionally felt a little unhinged as he moved cautiously toward the light eating darkness with just a glance behind him to ensure that there really was no one blowing on the back of his neck, making his skin crawl.

Well what have we here? he snarked to himself as the light penetrated the darkness and bounced off a wall in front of him. He swung the beam to the left, another wall, to the right, a not-wall. He entered the narrow passageway cautiously and felt the ground slope beneath his feet as he continued the scent of decay and mildew redolent in his nose. Why am I doing this again? Oh yeah, 'cause I'm a masochist…this guy wasn't into anything, he was just a garden variety serial killer… just another Gacy wannabe that couldn't let go of his pathos even in death! Heh, pathos… Sam would get a kick out of hearing me use that one…but something drew him forward, deep into the heart of enemy territory.

He knew it had only been a couple hundred yards and perhaps another ten feet down judging by both the incline and the change in temperature he'd noticed but he felt the walls wanting to close on either side of him. The passageway was narrow enough, barely enough room for him to fit from shoulder to shoulder and the ceiling only a few inches above his head. Snug fit… if the snug doesn't fit ye must acquit… he thought arbitrarily as the idea of the walls closing around him seemed to clamor even more loudly for his attention than before.

Just ahead a few more yards the beam from his light diffused into what was obviously a more open area. He cast a glance back over his shoulder wondering if there was anything worth seeing at the end of this little habitrail, Just go do your duty, then you can say you swept it from stem to stern and know you did your best, I mean hell man, you're already here… you might as well look around…This was the voice that helped him through those moments when even he needed a little extra fortification, and sometimes it sounded like his dad, sometimes like Bobby, Joshua, Shep, and even the recently departed Caleb or Pastor Jim, sometimes it even sounded like himself, like now.

What he found upon entering the central chamber stunned him deep inside and turned his blood cold. Pounded into the floor he found pegs, corkscrew types that people used to chain their dogs in their yard and still let them run around a bit. Heavy duty chains linked with medieval looking shackles and manacles, the newer aluminum a stark contrast to the black irons. There were four pegs and sixteen leads with corresponding irons. His mouth ran dry and he blinked hard as his eyes took in a few more details, slowly at first. Each wall of the central chamber had a door that as he walked around he realized culminated in a cell where there were steel or iron rings embedded into much more well constructed walls and yet another from the ceiling.

I'm gonna puke…what is it with freaks like this and chains? he wondered, his mind flashing back to the basement of Aaron Beyers' house where much newer chains and shackles were secured around the central "I" beam that supported the living room floor. Aaron Beyers however had been what most shrinks would call 'disorganized' he was opportunistic and frequently made due with what life handed him, which according to the pictures he'd had taped to the room Dean had found himself in, was plenty. Something isn't right here… yeah where do I start? he scoffed at himself returning to the main hallway that led him to this place, I don't mean it like that… yeah… I know… that crawly feeling in my guts? Yep that's the one…try not to feel it…

"Dean? Where are you?" Sam's strong voice carried down the corridor as Dean took one last look over his shoulder, into the 'pit' as he already thought of it and slid his gun into the back of his pants.

"Down here Sam…" he choked with the driest mouth he'd ever felt and turned, his feet tangling upon themselves as he felt something shove him hard between his shoulder blades sending him careening into the wall. This time though, he caught himself and turned as the sound of a big wheel on cement rolled into his head and he felt something grasp him by the wrists. He felt his body take flight only to land seconds later almost perfectly in the crook where the floor met the wall. Ouch! he thought feeling his head jar against the stone wall though without the damage caused at Carol Guinardi's house, and lastly his eyes fell on his gun laying almost perfectly in the center of the four pegs.

Just freakin' brilliant Dean, the cops would've taken his toys, there wouldn't be any stakes, or chains or manacles… get it? Yeah… I get that now…thanks.

"Sammy! Get the shotgun!" he called and felt himself dragged across the pit before he was flung with as much care as a rag doll into one of the cells where the door slammed and the deadbolt locked itself just before that big wheel roll rang out again and he was able to identify the sound. It was laughter, and behind that, the sound of something miserably heavy scraping on rock as his flashlight flickered and finally went out casting him in penetrative darkness.

Please… have the tummy ooglies started? I need to know.

Thanks.

sifi