Deana: Well here it is: another chapter to our odd and random story!
Samantha: well at least I'm in this one
Deana: Says who…?
Samantha: The fact that there are gun shots and you shouting a lot sort of clarified it for me
Deana: Fine…don't spoil it…now remember readers, what do we do to get more?
Samantha: listen to her, she might actually go so far as to take me hostage, then Unspoken Words probably wouldn't get updated and...It's just all to terrible to think about
Deana: I would never hold you hostage…just keep you against your will, and guys, I WILL do it if I need to so I get reviews.
Samantha: I don't like being held host...against my will, so please? For me
Chapter Six Corny Movies
Sam's PoV
I stared at her, she was completely insane. Not that I didn't know that already. Blood smeared over the blade that rested in her hand.
I looked down at her feet and had to look away almost instantly to stop myself from throwing up. Emily smiles back to me, and then she lifts up the body before me and vanishes from sight.
Dean's PoV
I heard a scream, but where did it come from? Glancing around the bare room I wonder at our chances of escape.
A moan, from the other side of the wall? Hmmm, where's the door? Doors, the most annoying things every invented, they squeak and falls off their hinges, and no matter how many times you kick them in they solemnly refuse to open for you. But where the hell are they when you need them? No where to found of course.
Ok, plan B, if you can't get around it or under it or over it, you blast through it. I bang against the wall, trying to get Sam's attention.
"Sam!" I yell. "I'm blasting through, drop!" I then proceed to find the one place where the wall looks different. Running my hand across it I realise it's not stone as I was lead to believe, but this door shaped rectangle was painted and apparently reinforced wood. Real smart spirit girl.
I frown, convenient. This must be what actors in terrible films feel like.
Cocking my gun I shoot a couple of times. Praying that for once you've had the sense to listen to me if you're in the room. A pile of plaster showers down around me as I realise I have no bullets left. I knew I should have grabbed the refills.
"Sammy?" I call as I search for something to defend my self, something, anything? Sighing I drop lower, the perfect demon fighting stance, drilled into my head by my Father from when I first joined the "Family Business". Digging into my pockets I couldn't help smiling grimly, this could be better.
My fingers brushed my '67 Chevy Impala keys and I bite my lip. If that ghost child hurts my baby it'll wish it'd never been thrown out of existence.
Kidnapping my brother, heck I can handle that with some decency, hurt my car and I will hang you with an electrical cord and send you to hell where you can spend the next few hundred years working on a beautiful sun burn.
I cough once or twice, "Lil' old Sammy's gotta stop getting into trouble,"
Sam's PoV
I stand up, brushing at my clothes, yet only succeeding in making the bloody streaks more prominent.
"I object to being referred to as 'Little Old Sammy" I pause, "And next time? Call louder!"
I watch with, mild interest as Dean's face mutates through the colour spectrum.
Losing interest in his incoherent rage at Emily for kidnapping me, at me for being kidnapped and at anything else which might respond. I gratefully inhale the fresh air and blink in the hazy sunlight filtered through a cloud of dust and into reality, or what passes for it when we're around.
Trust Dean to blow through the wall. Scowling, I flick plaster and dust off my face.
"So Sammy, have a good reunion with our old friend?"
"It's Sam." I murmur, "Not Sammy."
Dean rolls his eyes and then starts slightly when he sees my hands.
Once again he starts a bitter tirade, this time just against Emily. "Are you ok Sammy?" he asks, completely ignoring my annoyance at the childhood name. He says Mum used to call me that, but as far as I'm concerned Sammy is a seven year old wimp, Sam is the demon hunter. I shrug.
"I'm fine Dean." He raises his eyebrows at this remark giving me his Sammy-I-can-so-tell-you're-lying-to-me-and-you-better-tell-me-the-truth-soon look that he perfected by the time I was four. I always crumble under that look.
"My ankle got twisted." I murmur quietly, as though if I am quiet enough he won't care. I make it sound ok, but I know my ankle is broken.
The look softens slightly but I can tell he's unconvinced.
I didn't get to answer that look.
Dean's PoV
Ridiculously theatrical laughter echoes around the room and we both have our guns out without second thought. Here she is, once again with the demeaning laughter. I feel like I'm in a corny movie, all I need now is the suspenseful music and I'll start laughing too.
"Getting better Sammy." my voice is teasing. Trying to make light of the situation.
"I think it's time we…uh…took our leave." Sam's voice comes out shaky, not at all what he probably thought it would.
"What? Not scared are you Sammy?" I drawl the words out and he tries not to laugh at my 'Classic Cowboy' stance.
"No, I just don't particularly want to get dragged through another wall." His eyes darken at the reminder and we back out slowly, prepared to come back with better equipment at a later date. Or better still, I'll come back at a later date and Sammy can stay home and rest.
I turn to Sam, motioning for him to follow me and we start to make our way out.
Laughter echoes horribly down the corridors as we break into a run. Determined to escape.
"You were doing so well but: Run, run, as fast as you can. You won't escape me little Deany and Sam." We skid to a halt, the very stones of the corridors mutating around us. Sam is limping, I wish I could hold him up, but for now I am powerless.
"What do you want now?" my voice is angry, but I know it's only for Sam's sake that I show no fear, and he's grateful I hope, fear would scare him, and me.
"Me?" a shape shimmers into focus, as if it's always been there, we just haven't noticed it yet. I fight hard not to roll my eyes, of course I was talking to her, who else would I be yelling at? I mean really, are all ghosts cursed to dumb and selfish? Maybe it's just the ones I run into.
"Get out of the way Fuzz ball." I say.
"Fuzz ball?" the teasing girlish voice raises to a shriek.
"You'll pay for that, Winchester brats!" Emily swoops at me. This time she fastens her freezing hands around my wrists. I close my eyes as she throws me at the wall; I collide with a sickening crunch and slide painfully down, cartoon style.
Yep, this is just like a corny film...
And that's my last conscious thought as I hit the ground and fall into darkness. My last sight is not quite so reassuring, its of her, with a big, blood smeared knife, walking towards me...a bottle of gas in hand, a smirk on face and Sam no where in sight.
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Deana: Well there it is…
Samantha: No, I don't like being tied to chairs -struggling- please, some one stop her!
Deana: If you want to save Sammy, both her and in the story…review, and if you don't, review, and if your indifferent review! Don't worry, Samantha is safe…
Samantha: No, no, Deana, put the gun away, Dean? You can't just leave me here! -Deana walks away- SOME ONE HELP ME!