And thanx again for reviewing—it really helps me out a lot. And I love hearing what you guys have to say.
Also, as far as the whole end of Chapter 9 goes, it's feasible. I went to summer camps with a guy that was blind and he competed in all our challenges, including the running/climbing ones. So…..yeah. Okay, now on to what you're really here to for.
---------------------------------------------
Chapter 10What the hell am I doing? Sam pushed the thought aside, as he tried to concentrate on keeping his long legs from colliding with each other. After all, what would be the point of launching an insane and completely irrational escape plan if tripping over his own two feet thwarted it. He knew it was a stupid move, but he also knew he was in danger and he wasn't gonna let some power-obsessed spirit take him out. I'm a freakin' Winchester, for God's sake. Inevitability caught up with him mere seconds later in the form of an uprooted floor board causing him to gasp as the sharp pain radiated through his foot.
For a brief moment, Sam lost contact with everything, the thick, stale air offering his only support. Frantically, he swung one arm across himself shielding his face and stretched the other one out as far as he could. If I can prevent at least one more injury… Sam held his breath, braced himself, and waited for gravity to have her way.
A scream escaped through Sam's lips as his body struck the floor, the wood that greeted him was as strong as concrete. The impact stole his breath away, and his chest burned something fierce as he madly tried to regain a normal breathing pattern. He willed himself to move, but his body refused.
"Now, that wasn't a bright thing to do, was it, Sam?" Sam sensed Myrah's presence nearing him, shivering as each step she took toward him intensified the biting cold that encompassed the empty house.
Sam bit his tongue and flung his arms out, desperately trying to contact something, anything that would help him reach a standing position. Please, God, not like this. Please… He managed to pull himself to his knees before a sharp piercing pain surged through him and it's source forcing him into the floor once again. Sam's head slammed against the floor, but the swiftness of the impact caused it to snap back. Sam yelped in pain as Myrah yanked his hair bringing his face to hers. The once dull ache grew to the magnitude of a freight train plowing through his brain with each passing moment. Where's Dean?
Sam could feel his eyelids falling and if it were possible, he swore his darkness was growing deeper and more ominous with each fleeting second. Myrah's voice continually echoing in his ears as his consciousness waned and abandoned him.
"You're mine, Sam. You're mine."
----------------------------
Dean tightened his grip on the steering wheel. He's gonna be ok. He's fine. Sam is completely fine. As much as he wanted to believe it, Dean couldn't allow himself too. What's that they say about preparing for the worst?
He shot a glance over at Jessie, who turned quickly to stare out the window avoiding his gaze, nervously chewing on her thumbnail. Why won't she look at me? She's acting like this is all her fault…I'm the irresponsible pathetic older brother.
"There—That's it! That's the house." Jessie stated quickly, her pitch bordering that of a scream, as the old white house came into view.
Dean jerked the wheel to the left, guiding the car onto the dirt road leading to the house, and threw the car in Park. He scrambled out of the car and popped the truck, searching and pulling out only the essentials. He'd actually done the research this time and knew exactly what he was dealing with and thus exactly what he needed to get the job done.
Once he was certain he had everything, he shouldered his pack and starting to run towards the house when he heard Jessie call out to him. He turned to see her stepping out of the car, moving towards him.
"Jessie, get back in the car!" Dean shouted the command, his tone ought to have left no room for any argument on Jessie's part. But Jessie was stubborn, almost as stubborn as Dean.
"I can help you Dean. Really, I can." Jessie called out, continuing moving forward.
"No. No. Get back in the car." Dean said, through clenched teeth, concern for her safety and anger at her resistance intertwined in his reply. Stay calm. Don't lose it.
"Dean, I—"
"That's an order!" Dean roared, rage consuming the words. He took a deep breath, attempting to calm himself as he watched Jessie's face rapidly morph into one of complete shock and fear. He knew that look. That was look Sam got on his face whenever their father has used that line on him. I just can't let anyone else get hurt.
Dean sighed heavily, he thought about attempting an apology, but the thought died before it even reached his lips as Jessie flung the passenger door open and sunk down into the seat. She shot one more angry look at Dean, locking eyes with him to ensure he saw it, and slammed the door shut. Smiling to herself as she saw him cringe at the sound.
Dean watched Jessie for a moment more, hoping that she would stay put. When she made no further attempt to get out of the car, he turned and started back toward the house.
The old stairs creaked under his weighted steps and the floor boards moaned under the added pressure. Dean peeked through the windows on either side of the door, he couldn't afford to be caught off guard and he definitely didn't want to end up giving Sam a chest full of rock salt. He remembered all too vividly what that had felt like.
He touched the door knob gingerly with his left hand and positioned himself against the door, shouldering his gun on his right. With one swift movement, he threw open the door and stepped into the room, cocking the gun. He did a quick scan of the first floor, and then proceeded, carefully examining behind and around every old piece of furniture and down every hallway and in every room calling his brother's name but receiving no reply.
Frustration and anxiety began to weigh on him as Dean approached the winding master staircase. He shuddered as a cold breeze whipped past him from behind. He brought his gun up and turned to find the source, but met nothing but darkness.
Dean shook his head and began making his way up to the second floor. Since when did I become so jumpy? He was almost at the top, when he felt the cold pass again. He turned once more, leaning over the rickety banister as he searched for what years of work experience had told him was a spirit lurking around. But again, nothing. Dean shifted his pack over his right shoulder.
"Sammy? You down there?" Dean frowned and began to step away from the banister when he felt the steely frigid grasp on his neck, followed by the sound of ghostly laughter as he was tossed like a rag doll over the edge.
------------------------------
So, so...what do you think? Lemme know!