Everyone, I am so sorry. The good news is I am back on track. I got kind of got stuck writing chapter ten, and then eleven. So, until I finished them I didn't want to rush it with posting. But the other thing was I was in Florida, and my trip was extended (Not by choice). So, here is seven. I will update daily or every other day from here on out. I promise. I love you all. Thank you for your reviews. Lo
Chapter Seven
Dean walked up to the front door of the address Catherine had given him, her address. He looked at the house with fearful apprehension. The green painted, vinyl sided, blue trimmed house held answers inside of it. Dean stood on the concrete steps and looked up at the night sky. God, he hoped she could answer some of his question. He was starting to sound like a broken record. Each place he went to he had hoped for answers, and yes, he was starting to get some of them, but not enough. He still didn't have Sam.
Just like Dean had predicted back at the club, it started to snow. Little white frozen crystals started to collect on his navy blue pea coat. He smiled and brushed the flakes off of his shoulders. He looked up at the sky again, but instead of the black star embedded heavens, all he could see were white specs falling down towards him, falling heavily now. Dean stared in awe as the white flurries started to dance around in the air more vigorously. One frozen flake landed on his eyelash; he could see the snowflake in his peripheral vision as the shimmering white sliver of snow started to melt. Dean could see the beautiful shape, or symbol, of the snow starting to dissipate.
Dean laughed at the irony that one small object held inside its frozen form. A symbol? Dean smirked. Why had he thought of it as a symbol? Maybe it was symbolic of many things like winter, and Christmas, but the snowflake's shape itself wasn't a symbol. Was it? This whole damn mess had started with a symbol. The symbol Dean was searching for. And then he had found it dangling from the ear of Katsuya. Maybe the snow was just mocking him, laughing at him in its representative splendor. Dean shook his head, and walked up the rest of the stairs. "Man," he thought, "I need to sleep."
Dean knocked on Catherine's front door and waited. He heard someone shuffling around inside and then the lock on the inside clicked and the door swung open. Catherine was standing there, staring at Dean. She looked flustered. Her blond hair was a mess, pulled back into a bun, strays flying wildly around the top of her head. She had on a blue apron with daisies delicately embroidered on it that was decorated with a heap of flour.
"Come in, boy. The weather is awfully dreadful," she said, motioning for Dean to enter her fireplace-warmed house.
Dean entered the house, brushing the half melted snowflakes off of his coat. He followed her into the living room and sat down on her sofa. Catherine sat down on the chair next to him only to suddenly get up and bolt out of the room. Dean took this moment to look around her house; there was a crackling fire burning in a fireplace, above it was a brick mantel that had various framed pictures strewn across it. Dean stood up and walked over to look at them.
He picked up the first picture frame and smiled. It was a picture of Catherine and a baby. She was a lot younger then than what she currently was, so he assumed it must have been her baby. He set the picture down, and moved on to the next one. He didn't pick the frame up this time. Instead he stared at the picture intensely – it was Tabby. Catherine must have been her mother, the owner of the diner. That made sense now. They both were the only ones in the town with British accents. Dean mentally kicked himself in the head; it should have been so obvious. Tabby was wearing a cap and gown in the picture, her graduation picture. Dean moved onto the next picture. It was a picture of a young boy, maybe in his late teens or early twenties. He was smiling and holding a soccer ball in his hand. Dean picked up the picture and stared at it.
Catherine came back and noticed Dean staring at the picture. She had two tea cups in her hand and set them down on the side table. Dean heard the clatter from the glass hitting the table and looked up. Catherine smiled solemnly at Dean and walked over towards him.
"That was Benjamin, my son," she said with a sigh. "He loved football. It was his passion."
"What happened to him? If you don't mind my asking," Dean said, carefully choosing his words.
"No, it would have come up in our conversation anyway. Come sit, and drink some tea. Then I will tell you about Benji," she said, her smile sweetening slightly.
They both sat and Catherine leaned over her chair and picked up one of the tea cups, handing one to Dean. Dean lifted the rim of the cup right underneath his nose and sniffed the liquid. It smelled like mint; deliciously aromatic. He sipped it and looked up at Catherine, waiting for her to start the conversation.
Catherine understood what that look meant, and started speaking. "Benjamin, my son, was sacrificed," she blurted out.
Hearing the word sacrificed caught Dean off guard. He spit the tea back into his cup and stared at her in disbelief. "Excuse me, he was sacrificed? Don't tell me that is what is happening to my brother."
She lifted her hands and gently set them in her lap. Her eyes locked with Dean's as she spoke, "I'm afraid it is. The leader of that cult, or coven, is Katz. He is the one who killed my Benji."
"How? I mean why… What about Tabby? She didn't seem too fazed by all this! Hell, she was the bitch that set my brother up!" Dean yelled.
"That bitch is still my daughter, so watch your tongue. And I am sorry about that. Tabby is blinded by Katz, just as I was… I was until they took my son's life. Then I realized how wrong I was to follow some man with idle hopes of resurrecting this God, as Katz calls him, but he isn't anything but a monster. I saw him… that thing." She paused and closed her eyes, as if she was remembering all of the small details of her son's death. "The thing that started to come forth, is who Katz and the others worship; their God."
"So you are saying some demon worshipping freaks have my brother?" Dean asked. "How do I kill it? Why do they want Sammy? Where is he?" Dean popped out one question after another. He was finally getting some answers, and he didn't want to miss any vital answers, so he asked all of the questions at once.
"I don't know how to kill it… Your brother," she paused again, and looked directly at Dean, "did he ever encounter a demon? I mean something evil that might have touched him?"
He lifted a curious brow, and stared at Catherine quizzically. "How did… I mean… yeah. Why?"
"I'll get to that, but first let's cover some things. Your brother isn't the first. There have been others, a lot of others. You won't find any of their names anymore. Katz runs everything. He has everyone in this town believing in this master of his. Police reports, newspapers, everything… He makes it as if that person doesn't exist anymore," she said, picking up her cup, but she didn't drink it. She set the cup in her lap and traced her finger around the top of the cup.
"I found that one out already. I tried to file a missing persons report, but the fat pig at the desk told me he didn't exist," Dean said angrily, thinking about his visit to the police station.
"You won't find one either, a file on him anymore that is. They make it as if that person was never born. I don't know how they do it. I mean… you think that someone would have caught on, but it has worked so far…" she trailed off, and then set her cup back down on the side table. "That symbol, the one that Katz wears, he can sense everyone in the coven. Everyone else bears the symbol on his or her body, but Katz… Katz he wears it – his earring. Everyone else has a tattoo somewhere, like mine," she said as she lifted up the sleeve of her shirt, revealing a black tattooed symbol on her forearm.
Dean set his tea down on the side table. He leaned over and traced the symbol lightly with his index finger. "What does it mean?"
"A lot of things, but I don't have time to go into detail. Katz probably knows you are here already—."
"How? I mean, he is at that fancy club that he owns," Dean smirked, adding sarcasm to his tone.
"That symbol connects us all. We are all part of the coven," she replied solemnly.
"Even Tabby?"
"Yes," Catherine said flatly. "She is blinded by it. Even when they offered up her own brother, she didn't think twice… She handed him over, and watched him die."
"Why Sam?" Dean asked nervously.
"It gets complicated, but I will try to explain it the best I can. Your brother, as all of us, has an essence around us… like an aura. It is what makes us human. When your brother encountered that demon, it left a mark, a dark mark." She looked directly at Dean. "They need him to bring forth the demon, use him like a portal. Something with a human aura, but demonic as well."
"Sam's no demon," Dean interjected angrily.
"I know, but when that demon touched him it left that mark. I could sense it in him when he came to the diner that night," she said, averting her gaze towards the fireplace. She knew what Dean was thinking. "I am sorry I lied. He was there that night."
"Yeah, well…" Dean didn't know what to say. Did he forgive her? No. But he needed to stay calm, because as of right now she was the only one giving him the answers. "Where is Sam? And when is this ritual going to take place?"
"I don't know when the ritual will be. They probably have started some of it—."
Dean cut her off before she could finish, "What do you mean, started some of it?"
She kept her gaze fixed on the crackling fire. She couldn't face him. She lowered her head slightly, and whispered, "He is probably already bound to Katz."
"You mean… the symbol?" Dean asked fearfully.
"Binding one to the coven is a ritual on its own. I can't sense it, though. Only Katz can sense us all."
"This is some crazy shit lady. How do I stop it, break the ritual," Dean inquired.
"All you have to make sure of is that Sam—."
Before Catherine could continue her front door burst open, sending snow flying wildly into the foyer. The cold breeze flickered the fire in the fireplace. Catherine and Dean shot up out of their seats and stared at the front door. Someone was there, Dean could hear a muffled clap coming from outside. Then someone came in from the outside, black coat littered with white snowflakes, and he was clapping his leather-gloved hands together. It was Katz.
"Job well done, Dean," Katz said, smiling sarcastically at the hunter, and then stopped clapping and stared at Catherine sternly. "Catherine, you disappoint me," Katz said as he dusted the snow off of his jacket. "Here I made you part of our coven, and you betray me?"
Dean didn't need to hear anymore. Katz had just openly admitted that he was the leader. It wasn't like he hadn't believed Catherine, but hearing the information straight from the guilty suspect made it a closed case.
Dean leapt over the sofa and charged at Katz. He was inches from punching the Asian man in the face when he heard Catherine scream. Dean turned around quickly and stared wide-eyed at the scene he had turned around to face. Catherine was being held at gunpoint by another man, one of the security guards from the nightclub. Dean turned back around to glare at Katz.
"Let her go," Dean warned, spite for the man laced in every word.
"Or what?" Katz said with a smile. "You are in no position to demand anything from me." Katz looked at the man who was holding Catherine and nodded. "Kill her."
The man didn't hesitate – he pulled the trigger. Dean closed his eyes and looked away as blood and brain matter spilled from the fresh bullet hole in the side of Catherine's head, splattering across her sofa, and unfortunately across Dean's face as well. He felt the warm blood dripping down the side of his face. She was dead. All of his answers, and hopes for answers, gone. Just like that.
Dean couldn't help but feel empathetic for the older women. She had died helping him. That was a heavy burden to carry – someone's death. He heard a loud thud and looked back over towards the security guard. He had dropped Catherine onto the floor like a child's overused rag doll. Dean stared unfocused at the dead women. The shadows on her body flickered as the light from the fire moved; blood poured out from the wound in her head. He felt a pain in his heart as he stared at her - it was remorse.
Dean turned his attention back towards Katz. He wanted nothing more then to kill this man. He bit his bottom lip harshly, trying to hold back the rage that boiled deep within his veins. Katz took off one of his gloves and stuffed it into his coat, and then he did the same with the other hand. He walked over to Catherine's body and kicked it. He had no sympathy for the life he had just ordered someone to take.
"One problem taken care of," Katz said, and then turned and looked up at Dean. His lips curled up into a thin smile and he licked his lips. "I have a job for you, Dean."