Ragdoll
By, BROXA
Disclaimer: Again, everything you don't recognize is mine.
Author's Note: Sorry, I forgot to include the dates in the last entry. Oh, and about the last part…NO, this is NOT turning into The Ring.
Summary: Her arms were gone from the elbow down, and her eyes were crazed. She never spoke again, except for a single repeated phrase: 'Such a pretty doll…'
.xxx.
November 29th, 2004
For once in his life, Dean had nothing to say. The sight of the girl, so young and beautiful, crumpled at his feet, got to him. Sure, he'd seen dead things before—hell, most of the time he'd been the one who had killed them in the first place. But never before had he seen the fresh corpse of a human. So while Sam paced, Dean just stood in the middle of the highway, staring at the body, his mind blank.
"We need to get outta here…just standing here, it looks like we killed her," Sam said quietly, seemingly very interested in a patch of sky just over Dean's left shoulder.
For a minute, Dean didn't register that Sam was talking to him, but as something clicked into place in his mind, he jolted back to reality and nodded slowly. "Yeah…we'll just let the cops—" the last two words of his sentence ('find her') were cut off by the raucous clatter of an approaching car.
Dean swore under his breath as a set of high heels clattered noisily on the pavement. He looked up to see a teenaged girl in taupe cargoes, a graphic tank top and boho-y sandals hurrying up to the body, seemingly oblivious to Sam and Dean, who were standing awkwardly, trying not to move for some odd reason.
With a subtle gesture, Sam caught Dean's eye, and, with a series of quick hand movements, told him to be quiet. This advice proved useful as the girl fell to her knees on the pavement, and murmured something that would've been unintelligible, had Sam and Dean not been so uncharacteristically quiet.
"Not again…"
This time, both brothers eyed each other simultaneously; before Sam cleared his throat slightly, an odd look in his eyes.
The girl visibly started, lurching off of the pavement in an ungraceful motion. She eyed Sam with wild eyes, while Dean shifted his weight, watching the both of them warily.
"This has happened before? These murders?" Sam asked, a strange note in his voice. Was it panic? Anxiety? Dean furrowed his eyebrows, trying to gauge the emotion.
"Yeah…one every year. You…you didn't do this, did you?" She answered, her voice quavering; she was obviously terrified by the thought of Sam and Dean being the murderers.
"No, no! We just found her here—"
"Almost ran her over, more like," Dean grumbled, and the girl jumped again, as if startled that Sam wasn't alone. She peered nervously around the highway, probably searching for more 'concealed' friends.
"I—oh. I didn't think a human could've done this, anyway…but…" she bit her lip and looked away.
"But…?" Sam pushed gently, taking a step towards her.
"Can we get out of here first? The body's starting to freak me out," the girl answered, and Dean grinned.
"Amen to that," Dean muttered, resisting the temptation to look over his shoulder at the corpse as he hurried back to the Impala. Sam followed, and the girl got back into her rusty old Mercury.
She turned the keys several times, thumped the dashboard smartly, and swore loudly as the engine gave a low moan, and almost turned over, but then died.
"Guess I'm riding with you," she commented, locking the Mercury, and letting herself into the back seat of the Impala. "I'll give you directions to my house, okay?"
Dean only grunted, but Sam answered: "Okay."
.xxx.
Less than fifteen minutes later, the Impala glided into the driveway of a rundown looking house. The three of them got out of the car, slamming their doors almost at the same time, and the girl (who had yet to give them a name) unlocked the cracked front door with a cheap plastic looking key.
None of them said anything –Sam and Dean eyeing their surroundings with a critical eye; the girl preoccupied and nervous— until she waved a hand at the faded paisley couch in an otherwise empty room. The two of them sat down (Dean's eyes widened as the couch almost fell out beneath him; as it was, he sunk almost six inches into the couch), and the girl sank into a plaid armchair.
"So…I'm Sam, and this is my brother, Dean," Sam said conversationally, and Dean looked up from his attempts to free himself from the constraints of the man-eating couch. He grinned and jerked his head at her by means of greetings, and she smiled back, but it was a weak grin.
"I'm Sara. Nice to meet you both," she replied softly, her shockingly green eyes darting back and forth from Sam to Dean.
"Yeah…so, those killings," Dean said, raising his eyebrows as he finally freed himself from the couch. Taking care not to lean back, he perched himself on the edge of the couch and smiled kindly at Sara.
"Right. Anyway, they've been happening since 1991. Every October 29th, a girl –and she's always, like, Playboy gorgeous— disappears from her bed without any signs at all, except for a weird bluish sand they always find scattered over the sheets," she said cautiously, eyes fixed on Dean as though daring him to laugh.
"Go on," Sam prompted.
"On November 29th, they find the missing girl. She's always far from home, but that's not all. Every girl they find is missing a body part—eyes, hair, teeth, arms, hands, fingers…you know. And every last one of them is insane," here she twirled a finger around her right ear, maybe trying to lighten the situation, but far from loosening the tension, both brothers frowned. Dean's eyes were narrowed; he was mentally scanning the pages of their Dad's journal, searching for something related to what she was saying, but Sam's eyes were growing wider and wider. So far, everything Sara had said was corresponding with the dreams he'd been having.
"Not one of the girls ever speaks again—all they said is this one phrase: 'such a pretty doll'. Over and over again. 24/7. The doctors can't figure it out, and the police are stumped."
For a minute, Sam just stared, stunned, at the girl; meanwhile, Dean was staring into space, his lips moving soundlessly as he continued to search the journal.
"It's always the same day? October and November 29th?" Sam asked, and Sara nodded.
"Yes, always. And it's always from the bed, there's always blue sandy stuff, and when they find the girls, they're always nuts," Sara answered frankly, bobbing her head.
Dean, having finished with the journal, turned his attention back to Sara. "You were gonna tell us something back on the highway. Was that it?"
"Well, no…I have an idea of who's doing the killing," she responded, her eyes lighting up. "But don't laugh…see, I think it's a ghost."
"Go on, go on!" Dean prodded, getting tired of her seemingly constant need to be needled for information. Sam frowned, but Sara continued anyway.
"Well, back in '91, there was this girl…Audrey Tine, that was her name. She had this boyfriend, and they were really in love, but he found her cheating on him. He got mad and killed her…dismembered her, actually," she added, raising her eyebrows.
"And…" Dean said impatiently.
"Get this—he killed her on October 29th. They didn't find the body until November 29th. So I think her ghost might be killing people!"
"What about the boyfriend? What was his name?" Sam asked eagerly, his mind racing.
"Oh, his name was weird…Claw, or Blade…some new age shit like that. He was pretty freaky, too, if you think about it. Talon –that was his name!— was a Pagan; he did a lot of weird magic-y shit. He got Audrey into it, too."
"But what happened to him?" Dean pushed, frustrated.
"He blew his brains out; felt bad about what he did to Audrey. They found his body on December 6th," Sara concluded. "And that's all I know about that."
Sam and Dean exchanged glances, the eyebrow telegraph flashing fast. Then Sam stood up, shook hands with Sara, and, muttering thanks and goodbyes, left the rundown house.
"That was interesting…what she said makes sense," Sam commented in satisfaction, his lips quirking up into a smile as Dean fumbled the Impala's keys. "Butterfingers."
Dean snorted as he bent over to pick up the keys; Sam continued walking towards the Impala.
"Holy shit…Dean, look at this!" Sam whispered, and Dean got back up and hurried up to Sam.
"What, what…fuck! My car!" He moaned in anger, eyes popping as he stared at the hood of the car.
Written in what looked horribly like blood across the hood of his Impala were two words:
SEVEN DAYS.
Sam snuck a glance at his brother, who was pale with rage. Wisely, he said nothing; only slid into the passenger's seat of the defiled car. Dean, after smearing a finger across the still moist blood, lifted his lips in what looked oddly like a snarl, and touched his finger to his tongue. After a second of consideration, Dean pulled a face and stalked over to the driver's side of the car.
"Dude, someone fucking wrote on my car. In blood," he growled, sliding into the driver's seat and slamming the door harder than was necessary. Sam, again, didn't comment; he was deep in thought.
Seven days until what?
.xxx.
Far away from the highway the Impala was now hurtling down, the mutilated ghost leered and picked up a pen, holding it with difficulty, as it only had two fingers.
Tongue between its yellowed teeth, the specter leaned close to the battered calendar tacked to the wall, and crossed out a date: November 29th. Silently, it trailed one of its fingers across the calendar, skimming over the remaining seven days, stopping at a date that was circled in red pen: December 6th.
Scrawled messily across the too-small box were three words:
Reunited at last.
.xxx.
Yeah, I realize that there was, like, NO action in this chapter, but ALL of the information is vital to the story, so this chapter had to be written…anyway, I had fun writing it. XDify!
Review responses:
Ghostwriter: Yeah, I realized that…oopsie!
rozzy02: Of course you may! There's your healthy helping of SN fanfic.
fairytalemanipulator: Thanks! I hope you actually didn't cry! XD.