Curtain Call
By, december.morning
Disclaimer: Uh…no. Hey! Has anyone ever noticed that Sam and Dean, if you take the first three letters, spells SAD? Coincidence? I think not.
Summary: His foot on the final step, he turned to face her and gave her another eerie, fake-smile, and whispered, "This is my scene."
Last time in Curtain Call: Dean discovers the lair of a serial killer underneath the stage, and the boys head off to the Green Oaks Insane Asylum to talk to Clarissa Davidson, where Dean is mistaken for a patient in the asylum.
Author's note: Y'know last time, when I said The Chef was from the 70's? I made a mistake. He's from the 90's.
.xxx.
August 18th, 2003—Green Oaks Insane Asylum
Sam and Dean stood in front of room 526, face to face with a "Vacant" sign. While Dean stood, arms crossed, eyes flinty, Sam pushed the sign aside, cupped his hands on the grimy glass, and peered into the room. No doubt about it, room 526 was empty: damn near everything in the room was covered in a thick layer of dust, except for one thing: a picture of a blonde woman, in a cracked wooden frame, propped up on the nightstand. He clicked his tongue in irritation and said, "Yeah, Nurse Whatsername lied. Room's empty."
"That room has been empty for fifty years, son. Ever since Ms. Davidson died," rumbled a deep voice behind them; turning around, the two found themselves toe to toe with an elderly doctor with a mop of salt and pepper hair, who was smiling rather forlornly down at them. "Who told you to come here?"
"The nurse at the front desk…did you say Davidson?"
"That'd be Nancy Tentilucci. She's been difficult ever since her father's…accident. And yes, I did say Davidson. A Melina Davidson used to room here. I believe we have her daughter, Clarissa Davidson, now. Unfortunate, really…she had so much potential…" the doctor sighed, his eyes far away, as if he were remembering something from long ago. He probably would have stayed as he was, just standing there, remembering, had Dean not cleared his throat loudly.
"Where's Clarissa roomed?" Dean asked urgently, "We need to see her."
The doctor surveyed Dean for a moment, then, his weathered face softened into a smile. "You seem like nice boys. She's in room 332. Just follow the signs," he said kindly, and as the two turned away, both saying 'thank you', he sighed and turned back to the glass. With a melancholy smile, he pressed his fingers against the glass.
"They can help, Melina. They'll help Clarissa…"
He could have sworn he heard a contented sigh whisper through the hallway, but he quickly wrote it off as his overactive imagination. Running a hand through his hair, he turned away, his nametag glinting in the white hospital light: Dr. Richard Bates, PhD.
.xxx.
August 18th, 2003—Green Oaks Insane Asylum, room 332
Dean knocked on the door, and they stood, hands jammed in pockets, until a thin 'come in' reached their ears. With a triumphant smile, Dean opened the door slowly, and walked into the room.
Clarissa, emaciated and pale, lay on the bed, her arms draped limply over her stomach. Her unnaturally pale blue eyes were fixed on Sam; she seemed to be ignoring Dean. The brothers stood, somewhat awkwardly, until Clarissa smiled weakly, and waved a thin arm at the uncomfortable-looking chairs sitting at her bedside.
"Thanks. I'm Officer Tyler, my partner here is Officer Kramer. How are you doing, Miss Davidson?"
"As good as can be expected. My mom was hacked up right down the hall, how do you think I'm doing?"
Sam and Dean exchanged glances, then Sam leaned closer to her, clasping his hands in his lap. "How did Green Oaks get out of that one?"
"The crime wasn't reported. Doctor Bates covered it up, said she died of natural causes. But I know," she said flatly, turning her head to look out of the window. "I saw them carry the skeleton out."
"Doctor Bates? Any relation to Joseph Bates?" Dean asked quickly.
"Yeah, they were brothers. Richard, that's the doctor's name, he's kind of twitchy. Seemed real nervous after they carried Mom's…skeleton…out of the room. They closed up her room…he said it was out of respect, said he liked her a lot, but I think it was out of guilt," she answered. "You know, you're going to think I'm completely nuts…"
The two exchanged mirthless glances, then Sam smiled wanly. "Nothing is too out there for us, Clarissa."
"Did you hear about James? My boyfriend? I'm in here because the police think I killed him," she said hesitantly.
"Yeah, we read about it in the paper. That's why we're here," Sam answered, raising his eyebrows. "You didn't kill him, did you?"
Her eyes seemed to harden, and her head snapped up, so she stared Sam right in the eye. "No! We might've fought, but I loved him…he was my best friend," she whispered, biting her lip. "I didn't kill him, but something did…"
"What did you see, Clarissa?" Dean asked, his eyebrows furrowed. He was obviously ready to go through his inventory of spirits and demons.
"Well, he went on the stage –it was weird, he looked dazed— and he knelt, kind of like he'd been pushed, and started screaming. Then this cloud thing came over him, and he stopped screaming, and when the cloud was gone…well, all that was left was a skeleton."
"When he was screaming, did it seem like he was in pain?"
"Oh, yes. I'd never even seen him cry before. It had to hurt something awful for him to even wince," she murmured. "Have you ever heard of The Chef?"
"Yes, we found some old newspaper articles about him in the theater," Sam replied, his thoughts racing.
"Yeah, you would've," she answered bitterly, turning her face away. "My mom had a diary…she brought it with her…"
"A diary?"
"Pretty little thing…all pink…" she whispered, then murmured something unintelligible. "Find the diary. Now, go away."
.xxx.
August 18th, 2003—Lucky 7 Motel
"Find the diary. That's about the most useless piece of advice we've ever gotten," Dean grumbled. "You know, she might actually be insane, Sammy."
"No, I don't think so," Sam said distractedly, from his position on the lumpy bed; he was busy looking up the case files of The Chef's murders, courtesy of the Pennsylvania police files. "Hey, Dean, look what I found. All of the victims were connected to the show. The Phantom of the Opera, the Bates' play that flopped?"
"That's weird…"
"The victims were Melina Davidson, Antoine Tentilucci, Paulina Lutz, and other assorted actors, musicians and crew men from the show. And get this: the first killing occurred two months after the show. There's no mention of The Chef before then," Sam said, turning the laptop so that Dean could see.
The two of them stared at each other, Sam's mouth slightly open, Dean's eyes wide. Then they both began talking at once.
"I don't think it's a coincidence—"
"Maybe Melina knew something, that could be why—"
"We're goin' diary hunting!"
.xxx.
August 18th, 2003—Green Oaks Insane Asylum
"Winchester style?" Sam whispered, and Dean grinned and nodded.
"Yup. If I was religious, I'd thank God that her window's on the ground floor," Dean answered. "Get down!"
They threw themselves to the ground; a split second later, a guard meandered past one of the glass doors.
"Dude, this is like a James Bond movie!" Dean commented, with a cocky grin, as they stood. While Sam kept a lookout for any more guards, Dean was carefully peering through the windows, looking for the telltale, dust covered room 526. "Bingo!"
"Put the gloves on first, Dean," Sam muttered, withdrawing a pair of rubber gloves from his pockets. Dean took them and put them on, stretching the rubber over his hands as quietly as possible.
Taking care to be extremely quiet, he slid the window up, then coughed into his elbow as a thick layer of dust permeated the air. Still coughing, he swung both legs through the window and landed in a crouch on the floor, Sam following. Another layer of dust floated up, shimmering faintly in the weak light of Sam's flashlight.
"Whoa. Welcome to the Kingdom of the Dust Bunnies," Dean said distastefully, running a finger over the grimy nightstand. When he lifted it, the finger was stained black with dust, and you still couldn't see the surface of the nightstand.
"Yeah, make sure they don't eat you. I'll look under the bed."
Dean extracted his own mini-flashlight from the pocket of his jacket, and they searched in silence for about ten minutes, until Sam, who had worked his way over to the over-turned bookcase, whistled softly to get Dean's attention.
"What'd you get?"
"I found the diary."
"Lets read it!"
March 2nd, 1991
I checked myself into Green Oaks today—I got Clarissa, bless her heart, to tell them that I had some obscure psychological disease. I don't, of course, but now that I know Joseph's secret, I don't feel safe in the real world. And Antoine and Paulina are dead…Raul and Carlotta in the play. With me as Christine, it only makes sense that I'm next.
Clarissa says I'm being ridiculous. Joseph is dead, after all; I watched him put a gun to his head the morning after the show. But two months later, I saw him kill Antoine. I recognized his face. Somehow, Joseph is behind this. Maybe he survived somehow?
I don't understand why Joseph is doing this. Yes, the play was far from perfect, but killing the actors and actresses? It just doesn't make sense.
Yesterday, I told the police that I thought –no, knew– that Joseph Bates was The Chef, but they didn't believe me. Apparently, the cops aren't apt to believe women who have their daughters check them into asylums. I really tried to make them believe me, but they had some doctor sedate me, and when I woke up, I was here, with my arms in restraints.
Richard likes me, so he let me go, but he made me promise not to leave the bed. Now, it's dark, and all of the doctors have gone home, except for a few night nurses, who don't do anything but get buzzed on cappuccinos in the kitchens.
Oh—there's someone at the window. Maybe it's Clarissa? She knows that the window is the most convenient way to visit me; if she were to go to the main desk, she'd have to be accompanied by a doctor, and that just doesn't work.
I'll go see who it is…I'll continue this entry after Clarissa leaves.
"That's the last entry," Sam murmured, flipping through the cracked and yellowed pages of Melina Davidson's diary.
"So Bates crept through the window, grabbed her and dragged her to his hellhole?" Dean said quietly, after a few minutes of stunned silence.
"Looks like it."
"All right…let's go back to the motel, do some research on the play, and then we can bust this ghost's ass!"
.xxx.
August 19th, 2003—Lucky 7 Motel
"So, all of the characters from the play are dead. Bates killed 'em all?"
"No…in the obits of The Inquirer, it says the dude who played The Phantom died of a heart attack. Natural causes, Dean. Bates needs a new phantom," Sam answered, tapping away at the keyboard of the laptop.
"And we're gonna give him one!" Dean said enthusiastically. "I always knew this face was meant for Broadway."
"No…I look more like the original Phantom. Don't you see what he's doing, Dean? Killing off the original actors, musicians and crewmen? He didn't get the play right in life, so he's going to try and put on the show in death," Sam replied, slamming the lid of the laptop down.
"We don't have any indication that Bates is dead, Sammy. He could still be alive."
"No, we do, Dean. In the diary, Melina said she saw him put a gun to his head, and pull the trigger. He committed suicide, but remember how he stormed out of the theater before the closer of the play?" Dean's nod encouraged him to continue. "The bastard must've thought things over in those two months between his death and Antoine's murder that he wanted to try again. He's got the three main characters –Christine, Carlotta and Raul–, now all he needs is the Phantom."
"Sammy. I'm not gonna let you do this!" Dean yelled. "You are not offering yourself up on a platter to this psycho!"
Sam stood up, and walked over to his brother, his expression almost disturbingly calm.
"Dean, c'mon. The only way Bates will show himself is if he has someone to kill. Besides, if you're gonna salt and burn the bones, you need someone to distract him—he's hardly just gonna let you rip up the walls and torch his skeleton."
For a minute, Dean stood and glared, thinking hard: how to get out of this corner Sam had boxed him into? Then he sighed loudly and scowled.
"All right. Fine. But we're doing it tonight."
"Lets go, then."
.xxx.
Whew…long one! But I really like this chapter…probably my favorite, aside from the last one…gotta love those creepy hidden rooms!
Did anyone catch the aliases? Tyler and Kramer? Tyler's the singer from Aerosmith, and Kramer's the drummer from Aerosmith…as far as I know, their music was never used in the show, but I figured Dean would like them, since they're classic rock.
In the next chapter (which may be the last), the boys face up against Joseph Bates/The Chef, and we find out just why Richard Bates felt guilty about Melina's death, and why he covered it up.
Review responses: (Only two? I'm sad…)
Ghostwriter: Yay! Someone thought that was funny! That review made my day, thanks for taking the time to let me know how I'm doing!
lunarsun-solarmoon: Thanks! I'm glad you like it, and I hope this update is quick enough for you!
Please let me know how I'm doing! I'll finish the story nonetheless, but hearing what you guys think of my writing really makes my day. I won't say how often I check my email for reviews, but it's pretty often.