Thank you guys for all the reviews. Sorry for the bit of the wait. Here's Chapter 8. I hope you enjoy. Please review. Oh and sorry I can't seem to get the ruler button to work to split the chapter into individual scene sections so it might seem to jump from one scene to another. Silly internet, (and sorry if that doesnt seem to make any sense lol).
Chapter 8: -Tied up.
Sam peered down through one of the numerous holes that had been created in the roof trying to stay out of sight and as quiet as possible. Below him, he watched as Alex was drugged and his brother was knocked unconscious by a man with a rifle.
Anger coursed through his veins as he watched them being dragged out of the remains of the motel room and back into the town, disappearing out of sight as they were dragged round the corner.
As the mob disappeared, Sam jumped nimbly down from the roof, his feet hitting the floor with a dull thud, his gun drawn. He looked round quickly, making sure the area was clear, his senses alert and highly receptive.
He climbed out of the window, hurrying through the fields towards Alex's house. He was desperate for answers and determined to hear the whole story. He needed to know how to defeat whatever it was that was cursing the town and save his brother and Alex.
Dean and Alex were dragged down the main street towards the old rundown jail.
"What the hell are you doing?" Bob shouted running out of the café as the mob hauled the pair past. "Stop this! What is wrong with you people?"
Peters looked at him before nodding towards several members of the gang who walked towards him, knocking him off his feet. They dragged him backwards into the café, one of the men, no expression on his face; hitting him over the head with a gun, knocking him out. Tying him up and gagging him, his head bleeding profusely, the gang rejoined the rest of the mob, which kept up its quick march like an army.
The mob finally came to a halt outside the small ancient jail adjacent to the town square. The sheriff and the four men dragging Dean and Alex entered the building and made their way down to the cells.
Dean was dragged over to the far side of the last cell and was thrown to the ground carelessly. One of the men lifted him up by his upper arms as Sheriff Peters applied heavy iron shackles to his wrists, chaining them to the wall above his head. The guy holding him released him, letting him slump against the cold brick wall as he started to come round.
Next, they dragged Alex over to the other side of the cell, her body collapsing to the floor with a loud thud as to the two men who had her let go.
Dean groaned at the far end as his throbbing head brought him back to reality, his face where he'd been hit with the gun, burning intensely. "Aww man," Dean cursed, as he rattled the shackles that held his hands, wincing as he squinted up at them.
"Are you going to be quiet, or do I have to gag you?" said the sheriff callously. Dean stared at him, hatred in his eyes. Peters strode over to him, whacking him over the head with his fist. "Well?"
Dean winced, his head pounding. "I'll be quiet," he conceded, thinking it better to stay awake and able to speak. He grimaced as he strained his hands against the tight heavy chains which cut painfully into his wrists.
The sheriff gave him a probing look before turning to leave the cell, returning shortly afterwards with a handful of men and women.
'What the-' Dean thought, as several of the men pulled Alex to her feet, whilst the women began to remove her clothes, leaving on only her undergarments.
One of the women then bent over a lilac square box she had brought with her, opening the lid and lifting out a delicate but simple long white cloth dress. The two men holding Alex lifted her up as the woman slid the dress over her feet and up to her waist, the lower half fitting perfectly. The woman, with the help of the other, slid the dress up to her chest, one holding it up as the other undid Alex's bra clasp and slid it off her arms from under the dress. She then proceeded to push Alex's arms into the sleeves. She pulled the dress tight around Alex's limp body, doing up the zip at the back. The top half of the dress was boned and corseted, making it mould snugly to her body.
The woman then bent down again, bringing out a pair of delicate silk laced sandals, whilst the other brushed Alex's curly hair. Doing the sandals up around Alex's feet, she stood up and stepped back. "Just like her great great grandmother," she smirked with satisfaction, turning to look at Sheriff Peters. "She's ready."
The two men supporting Alex carried her over to the wall, Peters shackling one of her ankles to a chain which was set into the stone and clapped her hands together in front of her in ancient iron handcuffs. He backed away, taking one last look at her as she lay on the stone floor, before ushering the others out and turning the key in the old rusty lock, leaving Dean and Alex alone in silence.
Dean, who had watched in a shocked silence, looked over at the figure lying unmoving in a pool of moonlight which seeped through the barred window nearby. Realisation dawned on him as he looked over at the person the town was about to sacrifice.
Sam crept round the back of Alex's house, checking to make sure there were no unexpected surprises. Satisfied, he moved along the side of the house, looking for a weak spot. Deciding on the back door, he forced it open, the lock slowly splintering the wooden frame.
Once inside, he found himself in a utility room. It was an airy space with a clinical look, the only furniture being a large washing machine and tumble dryer. Piles of dirty laundry lined the floor as he made his way into the house, trying to make as little noise as possible. He was hunting and on his word he swore he wasn't going to cock it up, his brother's life depended on it.
Pushing aside the door, its creak echoed ominously around the deathly quiet hallway. Noticing light coming from the cracks around a door, Sam leant his ear in close trying to determine how many people, if any, were in the room. The only sound he heard was a distant clink as china hit a surface.
Turning the tired handle and placing a palm flat against the wooden door, he pushed it open, coming face to face with Jack, Alex's 'father.' He didn't seem to notice as the uninvited guest walked into the room slowly.
Sam inherently checked the room, his eyes scanning the area, silently memorising everything that filled the kitchen, his gaze finally stopping on the hunched figure who was staring down at the table in the far corner of the room. Sam's hand still hovering near his side where his one precious gun rested moved towards the table and cleared his throat.
Jack raised his eyes and turned his head away from the black coffee in his mug to look at the stranger who had invaded his quiet reverie. "Who are you?" he muttered gruffly, his red eyes staring into Sam's own.
Sam took a seat on one of the rickety wooden chairs and looked at him in a sombre and disconcerting way.
"What is going on here?" he said, not answering the older man's question. He needed answers and he needed them now!
The older man studied Sam in silence, a tense atmosphere choking the room. Finally looking down at his coffee, he muttered, "Trust me, you wouldn't believe me even if I told you."
Sam gave him a piercing look, before saying, "They've taken my brother. I need to know!" the bitterness in his voice cutting through the air like a knife.
"This town is cursed."
"How? Why?"
"We … this town committed a terrible crime two hundred years ago. We … a woman was killed … was condemned to the fiery depths of hell," Jack faltered, reeling off the words he'd read a thousand times. He stared down intently at his coffee mug.
"Elizabeth Green," Sam prompted, biting back his impatience.
"Yes … how do you know her name?-"
"That doesn't matter," Sam cut across. "What happened? Why do you think there's a curse?"
"Because this town has been condemned."
Sam shifted in his seat as he watched the older man hunch over, sagging against the table. Sam could have sworn he was aging before his eyes.
"This town killed an innocent woman! My family, this town, we've all had to live with it."
"Why do you say your family?"
"Because my family … was vital to her condemnation."
Sam took out the journal he'd slipped inside his jacket and opened it, finding the ancestral tree of the town Dean had placed inside it. Following the lines from the 'death list' back up the tree, he found what he was looking for.
"It was your family that called her a witch and seducer. A crime punishable by hanging!"
John slowly nodded his head. "He had an affair, his wife found out and cried witch. At her execution, Elizabeth condemned the town which had condemned her. She said, "Many years from now when this is all forgotten, a child will be born on this day, and she will bring with her the death of those who have brought about my death, and eternal misery to those that witnessed but offered no voice of reason and showed no mercy." My wife was a descendant of the woman that destroyed her life and I am a descendant of the man who betrayed her to save his own skin."
Sam stared into his eyes as Jack looked up at him grimly. He watched as the man's eyes shone with unshed tears. "Alex is the last descendant of Elizabeth," Sam said. "Her birth has caused the destruction of this town."
Jack nodded silently.
"But how is there a descendant even alive in the first place? I read that she was very young and unmarried."
Jack winced slightly. "She believed he loved her as much as she did him. Her diaries survive, telling of her love. They have been kept a secret, hidden in my family for generations as a reminder of sin. She became pregnant and he paid her to leave town. She gave birth to a daughter whom she left to the care of a nurse a few towns away from here, before returning here to meet her fate. Six men and women condemned her. Most of us that remain are dead. The curse is coming true."
The pair sat in an uncomfortable silence, Sam trying to think of a plan.
"You have to stop them, before history repeats itself," Sam said firmly.
"I can't do anything. They won't listen to me. I've tried. They've turned into mindless slaves only devoted to one thing," Jack mumbled self-pityingly.
'And Dean?' Sam thought weakly. "We have to do something!" he said, composing himself.
"It's too late."
Sam sneered at the man in disgust. "Fine, if you won't, I will." He stood up fast, knocking the chair over backwards to the floor.
Jack didn't move or so much as look up. Sam scowling, stormed out of the kitchen and opened the front door, the street deserted. He ran across to the Impala which was still parked in the motel parking lot and opened the boot looking for weapons.
"Weak spineless self-centred man," Sam hissed angrily under his breath as he shoved as many guns and grenades into an empty bag as he could before hauling it over his shoulder and slamming the boot down harder than was necessary.
Looking around him, wishing he had his brother or even his father as a back up, he headed after the mob wanting to know exactly what was going to happen.
Nearly an hour past in silence as Dean struggled against his shackles to no avail. Finally, Alex began to stir, groaning slightly as she felt her cheek pressed hard against the cold stone floor, her whole body numb but at the same time burning with pins and needles.
As she began to regain control of her limbs, she struggled to sitting position, leaning her head against the wall, closing her eyes and breathing deeply with the effort. Looking down, she saw the cloth dress in the moonlight. Finding herself attired in an outfit she'd never seen before, she looked quizzically at Dean.
"You really don't want to know," he muttered, pulling on his chains with all his might struggling to break free.
"Great," she muttered under her breath. "So what's the plan?" Alex asked, as she crawled away from the wall and into the circle of moonlight that spilt through the barred window. Her figure looked eerily translucent in the pale light, reminding Dean of a ghost. The chain around her ankle tautened, cutting into her skin, forcing her stop, wincing with pain.
"I'm working on it," Dean muttered under his breath, his cheeks flushing in the darkness, his eyes avoiding hers.
"You don't have a plan!" Alex exclaimed in dismay.
"Hey. I'm working on it! I'll think of something!"
"You better come up with something quick, cos if I die, you're the first person I'm coming back to haunt!"
Dean grimaced. "Nice to know," he said, as he heard the mob cheering outside.
Crouching down in a nearby alley behind several large dumpsters, Sam watched as the mob stood to attention facing the jail. He watched as the sheriff walked out of the building and faced the crowd.
"She will die at daybreak," he called out into the deathly silence which received a roar of cries and cheers.
"What about the boy?" someone in the crowd yelled.
"The boy too if he does not repent."
Sam, kneeling behind a bin muttered under his breath "That's hardly likely," knowing his brother's knack for letting his mouth run wild, often making a bad situation ten times worse. He cringed at the thought and the fact that he only had a few hours till dawn.
Peters held up his hands for quiet. "We only have a few hours till dawn. We must work together to erect the scaffold. I have the plans," he shouted, holding up a wad of old browning paper.
The crowd's roar increased and on receiving orders, filed out and began finding the pre-prepared rock, rope and timber necessary. They dragged it to a beautiful ancient oak tree which stood in the centre of the large and open town square and began to build.