Disclaimer, Summary, Rating: See Chapter 1.
THE SCENT OF YOU
Chapter 17
It took them ten minutes to make their way to a rusted-up ventilation duct obscured by shrubbery at the base of an exterior wall; they had memorised the placement and scope of the college's security cameras as best they were able, acutely aware that they could not afford for Sheriff Henson or anyone else to end up with CCTV footage of them on campus at this hour or even worse, doing a little pre-breakfast B & E.
Having come prepared, Dean liberally sprayed the rusted frame with a solvent to make it quieter and easier to pull free and they carefully clambered inside the duct, with Sam pulling the cover back in place. Laboriously they made their way through the vent system to the staff laboratory, as even at this hour cleaning and maintenance employees were occasionally present and the slightest noise they made would echo. By the time the pair of them clambered back out into the corridor – something that uncomfortably put Sam in mind of Mary Worthington hauling herself out of her mirror after them – his knees and the palms of his hands were dirty and killing him.
They slipped into the staff lab and using tongs, carefully removed the 'satanic football' from the drawer and placed it in the small carry-sack they'd brought. Creeping out of the lab, they were able to exit into the grounds via a side door and hunkered down in the shelter of the wall where two of the campus buildings joined in a right-angle. Coming outside so far from the bolt-hole of the ventilation system was a calculated risk, but trying to destroy the thing in situ was far too likely to result in the smoke alarms being triggered or something equally as horrendously attention-drawing.
They placed the carry-sack on the paving stone but didn't bother to take the 'rock' out again as the carry-sack would have to be destroyed also. Sam liberally poured rock salt over the thing followed by kerosene and Dean flicked a cigarette lighter and held the flame to the stuff.
"Uh…Dean…"
Dean didn't speak aloud, but the expletive he mouthed was clear as the small blaze merrily consumed the carry-sack, gasoline and salt, only to leave the 'rock' smoking but otherwise apparently undamaged.
"I'll try the Holy Water." Sam liberally splashed the sanctified liquid over the rock, and yes, there was smoky hissing as the water began to pit the surface…slowly. At the current rate of progress they would have to immerse the 'rock' in an entire swimming pool of Holy Water for about a month before it dissolved.
"Wait…let me try something." Bringing out his serrated hunting knife from the back of his waistband, Dean used to the handle to break off a pebble-sized chunk. "Now let's try it again."
Once more they applied salt, kerosene and flame, and this time the stuff burned away to a crisp that dissolved under a few splashes of Holy Water. Exchanging resigned looks, they broke the 'rock' into small pieces, destroying each one thoroughly but as fast as they dared as the half-light gloom around them inexorably became brighter and the number of people traversing the corridors on the other side of the wall became increasingly frequent.
"Man, this isn't going to cut it," Sam fretted as the last grains dissolved into smoke under Holy Water droplets, checking his watch. "It's nearly half-seven and we still haven't found the source and there are already too many people about…"
"Yeah – whoa…"
"What?" Sam asked as he tried to look whether they had a clear run back to the staff lab where they could access the ventilation system.
"I finally had an epiphany too," Dean caught Sam's sleeve and pulled him back down. "I just realised…we're crawling around the vents so we're not spotted by any of these people cleaning and opening up…what if one of them is also the demon?"
Sam blinked in astonishment at his own failure to have ever considered this blatantly obvious idea.
"Think about it - UNT Amarillo and the fugly been sharing floor space for forty years, but in all that time nobody here has ever noticed anything unusual, and no urban legends about strange sightings has cropped up," Dean pointed out. "But the demon has to have free and unfettered access around here, so that means it has to be either literally or metaphorically invisible."
"And what better way to hide in plain sight?" Sam agreed. "Literal invisibility isn't likely considering that we could see the 'Satanic football' so…Possession like Meg Masters, or something that's taken human form?"
"Doesn't matter," Dean dismissed, "but I'd lay odds that whoever it's possessing or imitating is one of these working stiffs-!" his voice rose sharply and both ducked down reflexively as a large man carrying a pair of stepladders came barrelling along the corridor on the inner side of the wall.
"You're right," Sam praised as they began to make their way back inside the building to the staff lab. "Students are no good – they change every four years. Same with faculty – they get promoted, they retire, they die, and they're too conspicuous. But the people who actually do the work, the cleaners and cooks and gardeners and secretaries who make sure that everything runs smoothly…"
"Yeah, nobody notices them as people," Dean said as they slipped back in through the side exit and he pulled the door closed as quietly as he could. "Old Fred the caretaker or Doris the cook, someone who's part of the furniture…"
"Someone who fits the paradox of a person with no power but who can go anywhere unchallenged," mused Sam.
"Like those top-secret military installations," Dean said, "where the only two people with unrestricted access to all areas are the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs and…" they looked at each other and chorused, "…the cleaning lady."
"I'm going to have to get a list of all the ancillary workers and support staff," groaned Sam. "What time is it?"
"It's seven…forty-two in the a.m. now."
"Damn."
"Hang on…another train from Epiphany just pulled into the station. Can we get to the roof through the vent system?"
"Sure?"
"Then shag ass, MacDuff, and lead on."
Continued in Chapter 18…
© 2006, Catherine D. Stewart