Against the Clock
by Swanseajill

For summary, author's notes, etc, see Chapter 1

Chapter 8

For the hundredth time Sam tugged futilely against his bonds, wincing as rope rubbed painfully against already raw skin.

He had been left alone in the cabin all day, and although he was grateful that he could track the time, it proved a double-edged sword. There was nothing to do but watch the hands go round — oh, so slowly — for hour upon hour until he was ready to scream with sheer frustration. Screaming, of course, wasn't an option, not with the duct tape still firmly in place. His mouth felt dry as parchment, and he would have given up at least one of his limbs for a drink of water.

He was stiff, discouraged and, although he tried to push it to the back of his mind, more than a little scared.

Getting himself out of this mess was proving to be an impossible task. Despite his increasingly desperate efforts to break free, the ropes had remained stubbornly firm. He knew that his only chance now was to trick his assailant when he returned, or talk the guy into letting him go.

The odds weren't exactly stacked in his favor.

His thoughts turned to Dean, as they had almost constantly over the long hours, knowing that his brother would be frantic with worry. Sam had no doubt that Dean would figure out what was going on – he was far smarter than he often let on – but he was sick and working with very few facts to a tight deadline. And even if he did work out who the killer was, how would he know where Sam had been taken? Sam himself didn't know that.

Still, the confident voice of a much younger Sam kept whispering in the back of his mind, "Don't worry. Dean will save you. He always does."

He checked his watch. 8:30 p.m. Time was running out.

The sound of a key turning in a lock was startling in the silence. The door opened, and his captor walked in carrying a small bag, which he put on the table. He pulled a bottle of water out and walked across to stand a few feet in front of Sam.

He stood there, just staring at his captive. Sam stared back defiantly. He wasn't about to show fear.

After a moment, the other man said conversationally, "You must be thirsty, so I'm going to take the tape off your mouth. I want you to understand that there's no point in shouting for help – there's no one around to hear you. But loud noises make me nervous, so if you do shout out, I'll have to put the tape back on and take the water away. Do you understand?"

Sam nodded. It wasn't as if he had a choice.

His captor bent over him and ripped the tape off in one painful move. Sam grimaced and worked his jaw, grateful he could breathe through his mouth again.

A bottle of water was put to his lips, and he took a long swallow, coughing as the water went down the wrong way. He was allowed another couple of sips before the bottle was taken away.

The other man pulled up a chair, positioned it a few feet away from Sam, and sat down.

Sam observed his captor. Randall Miller looked as mild and inoffensive as he had the previous day. Then, Sam had felt an overwhelming sympathy for the man who had lost his wife so tragically. He found it difficult to see Miller as a serial killer and especially not as the killer of his own wife.

"Why am I here?" Sam asked, his voice raw and scratchy. It was a question he'd pondered long and hard over the long hours, and although he had a few theories, none of them made much sense.

"You know why," Miller said mildly.

"No, I don't. You're going to have to tell me."

Miller sighed. "It's no good denying it. I know you murdered my Karen."

"I… what?" Sam wasn't sure what he'd expected, but it certainly wasn't this. "You think I murdered your wife? Why would you think that?"

Miller leaned forward. "The moment I saw you, I knew you were the one. You look just as they described you."

Sam frowned. "I don't understand."

"The witnesses," Miller said patiently, "the people who saw you with Karen before her death. They described you. I always knew you'd come back in the end, and now you have."

Sam's mind reeled as he tried to process what Miller was saying. It was clear Miller believed every word, and that shot one large hole through Sam's best theory.

There was only one other option. Miller wasn't a psychotic serial killer. He was a murderer all right, but one who was out for revenge. And he'd been trying to find the right man for the past four years.

"I suppose that's what you thought when you took Scott Griffin?" Sam challenged. "But you had the wrong man. What about Del Mason and Vic Anderson? You got it wrong with them, too."

Miller shrugged unconcernedly. "It was unfortunate that they had to die, but I couldn't take a chance. I couldn't risk letting Karen's killer walk free."

"You got it wrong three times," Sam said heatedly. "What makes you think you're right this time? Think about it. I've never met your wife. I've never even been to Springwood."

Randall shook his head. "You're the one. I know I have it right this time."

"What if you're wrong? You'll chalk my death up as another little mistake, and try again next year?"

Randall cocked his head and said matter-of-factly, "If I have to. Karen must be avenged."

The man's quiet conviction was chilling.

Sam tried another tack. "What makes you think this is what Karen would have wanted? I saw her photo. She looked like a nice person. Would she have wanted you to start killing innocent people?"

Miller studied him, expression serious. "You're right. She wouldn't want me to kill people. It isn't my place. It's Karen's right to avenge her own murder, and I wouldn't think of denying her that honor."

An idea took hold, and Sam chose his words carefully. He didn't want to set Miller off. "Are you saying Karen's still here?"

Miller's eyes lit with devotion, and he nodded. "She's still with me. Soon, you'll meet her too."

Miller caressed a large gold locket that hung around his neck on a piece of string. He opened it up, and Sam caught a glimpse of a photo on one side and a lock of hair on the other.

There it was. Proof positive. Dad and Dean had been right. This was a supernatural case after all.

Karen Miller's spirit was the murderer, and in less than thirty minutes, he'd become her next victim.