Part 12 (Final)

Unblinking eyes were focused on me. I stared back at the figure that was standing before me. The stranger's haunting blue orbs bore right into my soul, causing me great confusion. He titled his head in an innocent gesture as I began to back away slowly from him. There was something odd, like I had seen him before. Yet nothing sprang to mind when I tried to recall anything. Slowly a small smile curled across his lips, expressing a slight emotion. I frowned.

Something told me not to fear the man in the trench coat. Then a flash of white light brought me back into reality.

Pressure was being applied on my face before I could sense I tiny peck on my forehead. The injury was nothing from what I gathered, sure it was a pretty deep gash but I don't think it was too serious. My guessing was that an infection was battling with my immune system. I could feel strong arms around me. Creaking my eyes open, I discovered what was touching my face. Or should I say who.

I could feel myself burning up, as I became aware that I was nestled into my equally wounded brother. He didn't seem to notice his own pain, or rather he was ignoring it. His priority was my health and well being. I found his face, tracing my fingers along his stubble jaw line. My brother squeezed one of my hands and planted a kiss on that back of it, a gesture of comfort.

"Dean?," I croaked weakly. "Is that you?"

His mouth tugged into a strained smile as he studied my face. Relief and worry glazed his green eyes.

"Yeah, baby girl," he replied. "It's me."

I sighed, thankful that it wasn't another illusion like the funky dude in the trench coat. My grip on his hand tightened as squirmed, causing me discomfort. On doing so I realised we were in the backseat of the Impala, my eyes scanned about.

For I all I knew, more demons could've turned up and ripped chaos onto my family. I wouldn't have been any the wiser since I had passed out. Then I found him. His focus was on the road as he drove us away to safety, he seemed to be ignoring me. I knew it. He was pissed at me again. I had grown used to him lecturing and scolding me over anything I did, so getting the silent treatment was normal for me. He wasn't even checking me to see if I was okay. Turning my head away from my distracted father, I grimaced as it strained the wound. Tears sprang to my eyes, causing my brother to worry even more.

The tears wasn't the result reacting to agony, it was the result of feeling shamed and rejected. I wasn't gonna let them fall, acting like a snivelling baby wasn't gonna make a good impression. Blinking them back and swallowing the large golf ball lump in my throat, I glanced up at my brother. Sweat was gathering on his brow also, trickles sliding down his temples as he held me close. Our hands were smeared in blood, the red liquid belonging to us both, linking our DNA like a fierce chain.

My brother pushed my damp bangs outta my eyes with a trembling hand, observing every twitch of my facial features. I did the same. My mind was hazy due to the infection raging within me, but I was aware of an argument brewing between my Dad and brother. Dad was the first one to make a statement:

"I know your worried, son, but believe me, if we take her to the hospital, social services will be on our asses. Look at her! What possible explanation can we give the doctors for the state she's in? They'll think we're abusing her and they'll take her away from us. We can't afford that risk!"

I flinched at the words, hospital and social services. Two bad words that had been burrowed into me since early childhood. Hospital, even though I was deemed almost allergic to the idea was I nicer imagine, compared to scary social workers ripping me from my family and shoving me into a foster home. My fingers curled around the material of my brother's shirt as my brain flashed with horrid thoughts and images. A timid whimper escaped my lips.

"Ssshhh, sweetheart," hushed my brother soothingly, stroking my hair gently like he used to do when I was little. "It's okay, I'm here. Nothing is gonna harm you. Nobody is gonna take you away from me. I'll kick their asses all the way to Vancouver if they tried."

A thought entered my head as I began to feel extremely drowsy. Had I be smacked across the head by the demonic gang of psychopaths? I musta been, since I endured several rounds of face rearrangements, courtesy of CJ. A history of fights and scrapes had made me recognise the symptoms of concussion. This bout of concussion was gonna be a bitch on first inspection. My head was beginning to sag with fatigue and my eyes began to droop like a basset hound. A curse word signalled my brother's panic.

"No. No. No," he said, holding my face in his hands. "Chrissie, don't close your eyes, sweetheart. Please stay awake for me. Please."

He swore once again as my energy was draining fast and furiously, my skin turning a ghostly pale, highlighting my bruised and battered face even more. Despite all my strength and determination, exhaustion overwhelmed me. The last thing I heard was my brother screaming at my Dad as my eyes rolled back. Lights out. Again.

I musta been seeing things, the man in the trench coat was back again. His piercing blue eyes burned into my mind, almost sending me into a relaxing trance. A expression of serious intelligence and wisdom on his face, combined with a flash of naivety.

"Alright, mister," I started, snapping myself outta my daze and glaring up at him. I folded my arms. "Who are you? Why are you always in my head? Are you Freddy Krueger in disguise or something?"

The man appeared confused at my statement, he blinked down at me and shuffled slightly in his statue stance.

"I am bemused by your reference" he replied with a frown.

I studied the face further. There was something about him, something was telling me that this figure was familiar but I could not remember. I wrinkled my nose and sighed in frustration, I really dreamed some freaky stuff.

"We will meet again, my child," added the stranger. "The time will come when you remember my name. You will remember what I am."

As daylight streamed into my vision as I opened my eyes, I was greeted by an unlikely sight as I stirred from my slumber. Squirming underneath bed sheets, after noticing an IV drip sticking outta a vein in my right arm, I blinked up at my weary looking father.

"Daddy?" I whispered, my voice muffled by an oxygen mask that was clasped over my nose and parched mouth.

My Dad leaned forward in his seat and grabbed my white hand, his eyes full of regret and guilt. Guilt and regret of creating me probably I assumed.

"Yeah, baby, it's me," he answered gruffly. He avoided my puppy dog eyed gaze desperately. "Your in hospital. You have an infection because of the gash at your pelvis. Your brother and I have told the doctors that we rescued you from a break in at the motel. It's our way of getting you off the radar of social services. Let's hope they believe it."

It would explained my brother's absence from this moment, though I could guess he would be kicking up a storm whatever ward he was on. The term, bed rest, is forbidden and easily ignored in my big brother's mind. If he was gonna keep a vigil over an injured family member, then folks better allow him as they would face his wrath if told otherwise. I prayed that he was safe and well. With shaking fingers, I removed the mask from my face, not caring whether or not I was permitted to do so.

"I'm sorry," I uttered, my tone apologetic and wretched. Tears began pooling in my green orbs as I added more to the broken statement. "I'm so sorry for being so much trouble. I'm sorry for not being brave. I'm sorry for being stupid and reckless. I'm sorry for being clumsy and weak. I'm sorry for being your daughter."

My Dad's eyes confronted my own, his brow furrowed as his face flushed with his own battling emotions. The most prominent was remorse. My truthful words appeared to have stirred something within him, carving out chunks of his hearts as he looked upon my battered and recovering frame. A solitary tear dropped from his dark eyes. I was stunned. This was a side of Dad I had never seen before.

"My God," he said with a thick voice, gripping my hand tighter. "What have I done to you. I'm the one in the wrong here. Not you. You've done nothing wrong. You've always been innocent. I'm the one who has screwed up. I've been a lousy father to you, and to your brothers. Too much pressure and stress has been put on your shoulders. I've made you grow up too fast. I can't protect you anymore. What kind of father am I if I can't protect my own child. If any one should be sorry, then it's me."

My broken heart, my shattered soul, was pulled from the darkness by my Dad's revelation. More tears were spilling down his face as he realised his neglect. He was silently begging for my dead mother's forgiveness. The sight of my father in private anguish caused distress within me. His hands caressed my face, catching my salty tear drops with the pads of his thumbs.

"The day you were born," said Dad. "I knew I was blessed."

A kiss was planted on the tip of my nose, then again on my forehead. Tears streamed down my black and blue cheeks, sobs hitching my breathe. God knows how long I had been waiting for a moment like this. It wasn't dramatic and gushy like in cheesy soap operas and overrated chick flick movies, it was sincere and simple.

Now I knew the truth and furthermore, to which demon bitches can suck it! My Dad did love me.

And so concludes the final part of Chris's nightmare kidnapping plot.

Be honest, what did you guys think? Now, what will happen next with pre-teen Chris?

What mischief and trouble will come here way now as her training cranks up and the hunts begin?

Keep reading for more of Chris's early hunting adventures.

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