Chapter 10

He stroked her golden blonde hair as he stared into her soft, blue eyes, not seeing the terror that they held as they returned his stare, only seeing 'her' eyes locked on his own, the eyes he would never forget, the eyes he'd stared at all her life, the eyes he'd enjoyed taking the life right out of. This one wasn't as beautiful as 'she' had been, but she would do. He'd had her now for hours, most of the day actually, as he prepared her for what he was now anxious to do, bathing her in 'her' soaps, lotions, and perfumes, washing her hair in 'her' shampoo and even dressing her in 'her' clothes. He'd made this one into 'her' in both look and scent, just as he had with the last one, the first one he'd taken after he'd taken 'her'. If he stared long enough, he could envision this one even being 'her', which is exactly what he wanted, what he needed.

He grabbed a handful of her hair, running his fingers through it before he wrenched it back, pulling out a fists worth by the roots and buried his face in it, inhaling deeply to take in the smell and smiling a broad, satisfied smile as her cry of pain was silenced by the duct tape he'd spread across her tear-streaked face. She silently begged him with her eyes to stop, the beg going totally unheeded as he threw the handful of hair he had clutched in his hand down to the floor and grabbed another. Her eyes went wide with pain and fear as she felt her head being slammed forward into the steering wheel of the car he'd sat her in and driven her out to some dark, deserted road, the oversized luxury vehicle with enough room to have a tea party in if he'd really wanted to. Blood coursed down her cheeks and into her eyes from the large gash the force of the impact had opened in her forehead, the red flow exciting him even more as he listened to her muffled screams came from behind the tape, her bound arms preventing her hands from making any attempt to staunch the flow. He'd tied them behind her back, not really tied them, but duct taped them together from wrist to elbow, as he had done to her legs as well, from ankle to knee, making it impossible for her to move or scream. Duct tape was better, it wouldn't leave any bruises or rope burns.

She tried to breathe through her nose, barely being able to draw in enough air since she'd started crying when she'd awakened as their joy ride began, the tears giving way to the snot that currently plugged it, her only relief coming when she'd just blew it out and down the front of her dress but blessedly being able to finally draw in an almost full breath through her now relatively clear nasal passageways.

"Oh my god, look at the mess you've made of yourself," he chastised her, wiping her nose and chin with a handkerchief he'd pulled from his inside jacket pocket. "Mother and father would be so disappointed in you if they could see what you've become Trish."

Still staring at him, not only with fear and pain in her eyes, she now looked confused and wondered who the hell 'Trish' was, and why she was going to die at the hands of this madman that had gone through an awful lot of trouble to obviously make her look and smell like her. She hadn't had long to ponder the thought as she felt the large hand clamp into a fist and wrap around another mass of her now bloody hair, her scalp oozing where the first chunk had originally been anchored but was now currently scattered across the floor mats on the passenger side. She let out another muffled scream as he drove her body into the steering wheel once again, chest first, the impact driving all of the air from her lungs as she felt ribs break under her skin. She panted through her nose, trying desperately to breathe, knowing she wasn't long for this world but not wanting let go anyway.

"Oh Trish, I'm sorry it has to end like this, but you're time has come I'm afraid," he whispered into her ear as he wiped her nose once again, pressing his free arm across her chest and into the seat as he clamped his thumb and forefinger over her nose, cutting off all of her air as he stared almost lovingly into her eyes. She bucked and jerked as much as she could in the seat, but it was no use. Without the use of her arms or legs, all she could do was stare back at him with nothing but hate and contempt in her eyes until everything went dark, her racing heart no longer sounding in her own ears. She was dead, and he was euphoric, at least for the moment.

He climbed from passenger side of the car and raced around, flinging open the driver's side door and sliding her over to the center seat before climbing in behind the wheel himself and starting the engine. Grabbing her by the hair one last time, he rested her head on his shoulder, just as Trish had done, and drove off, the scent of her shampoo filling his nostrils as he drove. He didn't have far to go, the old house well on the outskirts of town and surrounded by nothing but dark and deserted roads in every direction, pulling into the garage and closing the door behind him before killing the engine as he took a moment to sit in the dark to gather his thoughts. Once he'd replayed the events over in his mind a few times just to enjoy the thrill again, he climbed from the car, grabbing her by the arm and dragging her out with him. He threw her over his shoulder and carried her down to the musty basement below, him being the first person it had probably seen in over fifty years. He tossed her lifeless body down onto the cot he'd set up in the corner and grasped the tape from her mouth, yanking it off with a quick pull to expose her dark blue lips. He pulled her jaws apart and started digging in her mouth, grabbing hold of her tongue and pulling it out past her lips as far as he could and holding it there with two fingers before he balled his other hand into a fist and slammed it into her mandible, driving it up and slicing off a nice, large piece to add to his collection, which now stood at three. Adding it to the jar he'd already placed the other two in, he laid down beside her, resting his head on her shoulder before falling into a light sleep, almost jumping from his own skin at the sound of his phone ringing in his pocket however much longer later he didn't know.

Pulling the cell from his jacket, he cursed when he saw the time, knowing there could be only one reason for the late night intrusion into his privacy. Nobody else would have any reason to call him at nearly two a.m.

"Hello…yes, this is he…I see…ok, I'm on my way, I'll be right there."

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Dean's sleep had been perfectly peaceful, until a gruff toned voice broke the silence in the room and his brother's overly boisterous 'What the hell was that for old man,' shot out. Their discussion went on back and forth, an occasional snicker and dig at his own personal expense being thrown in every now and then for good measure as Bobby took full advantage of his slumber. His head was still partially in the clouds and he struggled to pull it free, sensing he didn't have a whole lot of time to do it in. He knew he had to wake up, and he had to do it now before Sam and Bobby left. He had to stop them. He couldn't let them salt and burn Trish's bones before he found out more of what was going on. In the few moments before he'd nodded off, he had seen her, and this time she wasn't alone, the vision giving him a moment of complete clarity as her words echoed in his head. He remembered her begging him to remember, to remember everything, and now he finally realized what it was she had been trying so hard to remind him of.

She had told him she was dead already, and up until then he had no clue what she'd been talking about, the dead often being confused, but now he knew she was trying to get through to the only person that could help her. Someone had killed her, and he was pretty sure it was the same someone he had seen making his escape into the woods before all hell broke loose and his entire world had been turned upside down. He was also pretty sure that that same someone had killed again. Dean knew that somehow he had to stop him, but in order to do that, he needed to know more, and he was positive she was the only one that could tell him, and if Sam was successful tonight, their connection would be broken and he'd never find out.

"Sam," he said, or at least thought he'd said, until he realized it never actually came out of his mouth. He continued listening to his brother and Bobby talk as he tried again, the room suddenly going totally dark except for the sliver of light sneaking in from the hall through the cracked open door. "Sam, wait," he finally got to actually come out, the closing of the door as his brother left leaving the words hanging in the air and going totally unheard.

"Shit," he swore out lout, angry at himself that he just couldn't pull himself from his drug-induced stupor a little faster as he tried to figure out what the hell to do next. The easiest solution would be to call his damn brother or Bobby, but since he had absolutely no idea where his phone may have gone, that was pretty much out of the question. 'The nurses can call,' he thought as he started groping around the bed looking for the damn call button. He knew it had to be there somewhere; he'd had it earlier when he'd made his idiotic request that pretty much put him in the predicament he was now in. Feeling around in the dark for almost forever, he finally felt the cord he knew the damn thing was attached to and gave it a yank. It moved all of an inch before he heard the plastic piece at the end clanging against the metal of the bed somewhere closer to the floor then to his hand.

"Great, just great! How the hell did the damn thing get down there anyway?" He asked out loud, knowing he wouldn't get an answer, but not caring and asking it anyway.

Like the old pro he thought he was by now, he wrapped an arm around the bedrail for leverage and brought his good leg over, twisting his hips and upper body in one motion to leave him propped completely on his side as he inched himself over little by little until he'd worked his entire body over to the edge of the bed, practically leaning himself up against the railing. Releasing his arm from the metal rail, he dropped the barrier between himself and the floor and started feeling around blindly for the cord again. It brushed against his fingers and within a matter of seconds he had it in his hands once more and gave it another gentle tug, hoping it would free itself from whatever was playing tug of war with him. It didn't. It just made that mocking clink sound again, indicating it wasn't going anywhere.

"Son-of-a-bitch," he cursed at it and gave it an even harder tug, ending up with the same results. With his hand still wrapped around the cord, he starting walking his way down it, praying it wouldn't be so far down he couldn't reach it. He let out a quiet 'yes' when he felt it hit his fingertips, to be immediately followed by something not quite so quiet or positive when he realized, albeit too late, just how far his upper body was hanging over the edge.

"OH SHIT," was all he could say before he felt gravity take hold of him and pull him down with it, shoulder hitting hard against the floor first, followed by his hips, the heavy weight of his legs following right behind and completing his drop like a rock and driving all the air out of his lungs momentarily.

He felt the needle that had been in his hand rip free on his way down, and he felt something else rip free right along with it, the thought not really occurring to him over the last couple days until just now why, exactly, it was he never needed to find much use for a bathroom and nobody ever questioned him if he needed one either. He just felt the sudden pull, then the warmth, the pain not catching up with his brain until he'd finally sucked in a lungful of air, which was instantly forced right back out, leaving him unable to breathe at all. Unable to speak or even draw in air, he curled in on himself as much as he could, his knee pulled tight into his abdomen as his one good hand cradled his throbbing groin, his only thoughts now on trying to not pass out from lack of oxygen.

Somehow finding the strength to suck in a few mouthfuls of air as the screaming pain finally released it's death grip on at least his lungs, he started with slow, deep breaths, needing to calm his racing heart before it jumped from his chest and ran screaming away in surrender. He didn't know how long he'd been laying there, curled up on his side, the word agony not even scratching the surface of what he was feeling right now as he tried uselessly to gauge time. It could have been minutes, hours, or even days, he just couldn't tell. He started counting the beats of his heart, each one pulsing in his ears at a steady interval, the throbbing pain that accompanied it never seeming to subside, not even a little. He counted off eighty beats, figuring he needed to add just a few to normal since he wasn't exactly in any normal situation, tucked that number away, then counted off another eighty, the monotony of the task taking his mind off the pain he felt and even slightly calming him. He'd made it as far as sixty sets, and even hour by his calculations, when that usually unwelcome feeling he'd become so familiar with over the last couple days first came over him, the instinct to fight it all but gone as he just let it take over, his body starting to jerk and twitch on the floor, but not as violently as it usually did now that he had no fight left in him, the voice coming through loud and clear in his head as everything else inside it was gone, his pain included.

"Dean, can you hear me? Please tell me you can hear me," she begged, well aware of the pain he was in. She leaned over him, her form fully visible to his eyes as it glowed before him in the dark, lighting their little corner of the universe just enough to see each other. She was beautiful in that light. Her long, blonde hair glowed; her lips were full and pink, her skin a radiant creamy white. It was a far cry from how he remembered seeing her the first time, laying bloody and broken on the ground next to her mangled car and very much dead.

"Loud and clear sister, what's on your mind?" He asked her, deciding it was finally time to let her speak, and since she was making him feel pretty good right now, he'd let her give the Gettysburg Address if she wanted to. He was literally her captive audience.

"You don't look too good there," she said in a calm, almost soothing voice, trying to sound as inviting as possible and hoping that this time she'd succeed in her attempt at conversation and he wouldn't shut her out again like he usually did.

"Thanks. That's not what the ladies usually tell me you know?" He tried to say it with a smile, the upturn at the corner of his lips totally forced and not even close to being sincere.

She let out a girlish giggle in response to his attempt at lighthearted humor, knowing full well just how much pain he was in and not really wanting to add to it. "I'll bet they don't. I'll tell you something though, if I wasn't dead and you weren't … well, you know, I'd be all over you in a heartbeat."

"Sweetheart, in my current condition, I don't think that will be happening anytime soon," he squeaked out, curling in on himself just a little tighter even though he hadn't felt much since she'd initiated contact with him this time, and he'd finally let her. He knew he was bleeding and probably twitching all over the floor, but right now, he felt it was a fair trade.

"Yeah, another time, another place… story of my life," was all she could say.

"So, are you going to keep me company until Sammy gets back?" He asked, it sounding more like a beg, but not caring.

"Do you want me to?" She asked back, already knowing what he'd say.

"Yeah, I think I'd like that. Somehow though, I don't think that's going to happen," he told her, some sadness in his voice as he spoke.

"Why do you say that?" she asked curiously.

"Because my brother is on his way to the cemetery to dig you up and salt & burn your remains, that's why."

"What on earth would he want to do that for," she questioned, her voice a mixture of confusion, curiosity, and horror all at the same time.

"Destroying the body releases a spirits hold on this world, hopefully sending them on to the next one. He's hoping to send you on to the next one and away from me."

She pondered that thought before responding, "I think I'm about ready to move on the next one, this one hasn't exactly been a barrel of monkeys."

"Well, if I'm right, Sam's been gone for at least an hour now, which doesn't give us much time to get to know one another better, so, I think now would be a good time for you to tell me everything I need to know about the crazy son-of-a-bitch that killed you so I can stop the guy."

She shook her head in acknowledgement before continuing, "So, you've finally remembered everything you saw?"

"I remember seeing that guy that bolted from your car into the woods and I remember you telling me you were dead already. That's about it, so why don't you start filling in the blanks for me?"

"He's already killed again, you know?"

"I know, you introduced us earlier, remember?" He replied, the memory of her and the other woman at his bedside still very fresh in his mind.

"No Dean, he's killed again, tonight. There are three of us now, not just two. I know he's out of control and needs to be stopped, but it's just not that easy for me," she choked out, almost sounding as if she was starting to cry.

"Well, just start at the top then, ok, and tell me everything I need to know," he just stared at her as he listened to her begin her story.

"He wasn't always this way. He was a loving, caring person once. I guess it's true what they say about not being hugged enough when you're a kid because lord knows he wasn't. Maybe if he had been, we'd be alive today and you wouldn't be here right now. He was something of a prodigy growing up, starting high school a year early, graduating by the time he'd just turned seventeen and heading off to college. He was always taking classes, day and night, even over the summer, probably because he never wanted to come home, but it paid off. Home wasn't exactly a warm, inviting place to be. He graduated in three years and applied to each and every medical school that would take a twenty year old, and believe me, after graduating top of his class, he had plenty to choose from. Even finishing med school in record time wasn't good enough though. Nothing was ever good enough. The more he excelled, the worse it got. Then I got sick, and since he was a doctor, he was expected to fix everything, which he obviously couldn't. He was pretty much shunned after that, and since he was already cold and distant, that just turned him into an emotional nothing. He started drinking pretty heavily after that, our parents always reminding him of his failure of not being able to fix 'their little princess'. I know he didn't hate me, he just snapped when we started arguing that night, but when he did what he did, something else happened inside him too. I'm not really sure what exactly it was, but for some reason he likes reliving that night over and over, and he's using other women to do it. I loved my brother Dean, but you need to stop him before he kills someone else."

Dean stared at her in a stunned silence, the last sentence he'd heard repeating itself in his head and not really being able to believe it. "Hold it a second, you're telling me that your brother is the one that killed you?"

"That's exactly what I'm telling you. My brother turned his anger at my parents towards me, and I guess in a way, it was partially my fault. If I hadn't gotten sick, they wouldn't have blamed him for not being able to fix it. Our parents made both our lives hell, him being outcast and me being hidden away like a dirty little secret. Our perfect parents couldn't have any imperfections in their perfect world and decided to just ignore what was right in front of their faces. If they only knew what they'd turned him into."

Dean was shocked. He couldn't imagine ever killing Sam, even when their father had made him promise to do so if the time ever came. He'd promised it, but he didn't think he could ever actually do it. He was his brother after all, and there was no bond greater then that, at least to him. Her brother had been the one that killed her, killed others, and almost killed him. Now, Dean was angry. Unfortunately for Dean though, her brother was also human, and he didn't kill humans. He needed to talk to Sam and Bobby, needed to figure out what to do next.

"Do you know how he's doing it, or where he's hiding the bodies?" He asked, needing just a little more information.

She just shook her head as her image starting to fade from his eyes, not wanting to leave but unable to make herself stay. "I'm sorry Dean, I have to go now."

"Wait, I have more questions, you can't go yet," he almost screamed, but only in his head. No words came from his mouth, just the movement of his lips as he felt the pain slowly starting to creep it's way back into him.

"I have to, Sam's here, but don't worry, I'll be back, I promise. Remember these names, Jennifer Thompson and Claire Talbot," was the last thing she said before she was gone.

"But if Sam's here, how can you still be?" He questioned, having a pretty good idea how and cringing at the thought. Didn't serial killers keep trophies?

Dean could feel his body finally go still, the intense pain he'd felt earlier finally reduced to cramps and a throbbing ache. He could feel the warmth against his face and realized when he felt it's wet stickiness that his nose had been bleeding the entire time he'd been talking to Trish. He let out a moan when he felt the warm towel pressing against his skin as Bobby tried to clean up the mess, all the strength he had left in him used to open his eyes and look at Sam, who was kneeling next to him with a hand resting heavy on his shoulder. He looked at his brother with the intention of telling him everything he could, but all he could spit out was "I know everything Sam," before another wave of cramping hit him and he just passed out.

"I think you better call the nurses now Bobby," Sam told the older man, and Bobby wasted no time in doing so, rising to his feet and heading for the door in a near sprint, pretty fast for an old man. Sam took the towel Bobby had left on the floor and continued wiping the blood from his brother's face, staring the whole time at the other pool of blood now on the floor as he tried to figure out where the hell it was coming from, or maybe he knew, he just wouldn't let the thought into his head.

He heard the loud voices in the hall approaching fast, the bustle of activity around him suddenly nerve-wracking as nurses and a doctor essentially pushed him out of the way to do their jobs. He heard one of the doctors ask a quick question then pass off an order to a nurse who immediately ran from the room, the words echoing in his head when he realized he'd been right about the pool of blood on the floor and staining his brother's hand.

"Whose the urologist on call?" He'd asked, the answer he heard peaking his curiosity.

"Dr. Waterson's on call tonight," she'd answered.

"Page him and tell him to get over here now, guess it's about time he saw his sister's handiwork for himself."