A/N: Blah blah blah, own nothing about Supernatural….I do dream of Dean sometimes lol
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Chap 3 – Liz
Hung from the ceiling, there was a unique collection of hooks: all sizes, shapes and blood remains. You could take your pick on this one; decide what your favorite way to slaughter someone was. "What a nice collection". Dean said sarcastically not able to dodge his eyes away from the tarnished silver. That place had a forsaken feeling, a feeling Dean could feel crawling over his skin like a snake. Maybe because of the massive walls made of a thick stone, covered in moss due to water dripping over the years. Notwithstanding being a damn slaughter house, the place could even slightly resemble an old torture chamber.
Two tables and two sinks also complemented the place, a table on the right, under all the hooks, and one next to both sinks.
The sound of a door being opened and slammed shut behind him made Dean turn around fast, pulling the gun from the back of his pants, and aiming it with shaky hands. There were a few things that made Dean jumpy. Old ladies, planes…slaughter houses.
As his vision focused, allowing him to see and think straight; Dean noticed who stood by the door, which he had previously broken the lock.
The girl, wearing the blue dress was standing still, like a beautiful piece of art.
She was no kid that was for sure. Dean observed better her features, as he was now just a few feet away from her, a fair distant if she was an enemy, a long distant for whatever he was feeling at that moment. Beautiful green eyes, stood out by her pitch black hair, her milk like skin, so white and fragile were undoubtedly from a grown, developed woman. Her dress showed perfectly her mature features. She was the owner of a thin waist, generous breasts; sculptured and pale white legs.
Her eyes locked in a fix glare with his, she was neuter: no fear or apprehension by the gun aimed between her eyes. She possessed an individual beauty, even her lips, were of a pale red, matching her other features.
Dean swallowed hard as he felt himself getting weak. He looked at the gun on his trembling hands then back to the woman. Somehow, pointing a gun on her didn't make sense to him anymore; thus, he dropped it on the floor, as if he was dropping a grenade, ready to explode.
She opens a satisfied, vile grin, rude and charming at the same time.
"I'm Liz". She finally speaks her first words. Her voice was deep, sexy, and calm. Dean felt a delicious coolness sensation breezing through him. Those were good chills. It was exciting like a one-night-stand adventure.
Ok, now Dean had a name. Liz. Usually the name was an important piece of information in his line of work, not now though. Something was off with this girl, she could hypnotize him, even control him. Until he knew the history of that farm, he had nothing; name or no name, it made no damn difference. Still he was enchanted by her name. Liz.
In a quick move, unseen by his human eyes, Liz approaches Dean, looking at him from head to toe, analyzing him like a prey. Better yet, he was a prey, no doubts about it.
'Damn! Pick up the gun!' Dean demanded himself. One part of him had wanted her to come close, the other was screaming for her to stay away. The gun was there, close to his foot, all he had to do was to kneel down and pick it up. And he couldn't, it felt wrong to do it. Besides, he had no idea which gun he had given Sam. If normal bullets were all he had, the gun was possibly useless; if it was the salt, he could have a chance of slowing her down. None of those theories matter, cause he couldn't pick up the damn gun anyway.
"My my… you're one fine puppy. The best gift I've received from the shooting star all these years. I'm pleased". She said in a soothing way. Her eyes eating each bit of Dean.
"I'm no one's puppy sweetheart". His brain said, his body disagreed. Stupid men, always giving in to a woman's charm. In a different occasion, Dean wouldn't refuse those words, but he wasn't even sure what that girl had become yet.
"But you'll be, like all the others were".
"Don't mean to brag". Dean said putting on his best shameless grin. "What am I saying, course I can brag about this. I'm not like the others. You don't intimidate me". 'You make me horny; as weird as this might sound'. He said and thought trying to keep his cool. His body was betraying him; his mind had to remain strong.
"Oh, of course. You're unique…Dean Winchester". She spoke his name cockily. No hate, no fear. Nothing like Dean was used to hear.
Did that bitch have access to his mind too? Apparently she did. It was an unfair disadvantage, even a scary disadvantage. "All of you're unique. Each of my men has…a specific scent, specific blood flavor… you're all one of a kind, but men nonetheless". She despised. Truth to be told, Dean was no different to her than the others one. He was just one more victim of her wish. A wish she had made years ago, while becoming a woman.
He was though, the most attractive one, his body, built with shaped muscles, belonged to a soldier. She could see right through him, he was trained and sharp. Maybe a challenge for her. After all this time, at least one exciting prey, one that would try to put up a fight.
"What are you?" Dean asked, unable to do much. He could talk, stall her. Maybe Sam would come through that door, guns blazing. That was not likely though. A gun blazing was more Dean's style, always shooting first, no small talk. That was the rule daddy taught.
Liz smiles once again, that smile, innocent and lusty altogether. She comes even closer to Dean, enough to smell his scent, one that pleased her yearnings. . He didn't smell of blood, or fear. His smell was appealing, indeed, not like the others…at all. Passing her hands softly trough his wet shirt, she looks deeply inside his eyes.
Liz usually had the full control of her preys; they were never that exciting, that dangerous. She decided, as she felt his strong, conspicuous chest, that she should be careful with him. For some reason, she felt a little vulnerable around him, tempted by his beauty. Vulnerability meant lack of control; which was her concern.
"I'm what you've been waiting for, all your life". Liz says, discarding the long explanation of her existence. Dean was confused. He could feel her cold hands through his shirt, her touch. It felt different from a spirit, at least the ones he had come across so far.
"Am I right?" She asked tenderly. Dean grinned. "Baby". Dean whispered in his most charming voice. " You are-" He began, still whispering as if he wanted her badly. Dean paused. "So...far from what I want. But! A cheeseburger would be nice. Boy, am I hungry." He said jokingly, finishing his phrase in his normal voice. 'Cheeseburger? Where the hell did that come from?' He thought.
'Desperate times come with desperate measures.' Dean smiled, amused by his own answer. Oh well. That was the best he could think of.
Her face goes from tender to annoyed. She wasn't pissed off, but irritated for sure.
"Enough of this game my puppy. I want more". She said thrusting her nails through his shirt, into his flesh. Dean looks down to her hands and his chest. He lets out a moan, a painful moan as he flinches to the pain. As soon as she sees a small stain of blood, coloring Dean's wet shirt, she pulls her long nails back, making Dean moan in pain again.
"Getting rough there, aren't you? Sorry to disappoint, but I've been hurt worse than that". He teases. A few cuts couldn't be her best move, he knew that. Why not tease though?
"Don't underestimate me". She mocked smiling evilly.
Before he could let out another of his comments, Dean's words got stuck inside his mind. There was more on her nails than just some years of rotting death. Maybe some kind of poison? Mixed with his blood? He was feeling dizzy, feverish, all of the sudden.
"Damn". He says with a hoarse voice, when his eyes meet with hers again. He couldn't see all her perfect features anymore; she was blurred, like an illusionary painting. The floor seemed to be dissolving under his feet, and a whirlwind of confusion invaded his thoughts. Madness, he couldn't think straight, he couldn't put one fucking thought together.
"You…bitc…" He started, but couldn't finish as he collapsed right after. The soft skin of his face landed hard on the cold, dirty floor. Dean looks again at the gun, so close and so far from his reach; then shut his heavy eyes, and allow the poison to do its job, taking him into a deep sleep.
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Sam's shining hadn't stopped with the warnings since they had arrived there. He was almost getting used to the continuous bothering.
They were trapped in that farm, and it hadn't been a coincidence. Other guys had been lured before. Car problems! Right! The car was fine, the road where they went through was not. It was all happening once again, the same way it had occurred to that poor boy, who had been the first victim. That stupid heavy rain, not allowing them to go away.
Sam was placing the diary back inside the closet, when a strong wind came in fast and pitiless, getting the door closed abruptly, also killing the dim light from the candle, leaving Sam in a blinding dark.
To be in the darkness was not a good idea, not in the Winchester book, it wasn't. Sam would have immediately tried to reach the door, even stumbling on his feet to get there.
But a sudden vision came up, brighter than the sun, bringing the regular headache, some images and sounds into Sam's mind.
He falls on his knees, forgetting about the weird wind that had left him in the dark.
He focuses on the images hardly; it was quite neat and lifelike, so real and tangible. His visions always seemed to have a great timing to happen.
He saw the girl Dean had spotted from the window before, in a different dress. The same hair and same gracious way of walking.
He stared at the images unfolding before him like a movie.
She's in a slaughterhouse. Beside her there was a little table, on the table; Sam could see one single knife, big enough for a delicate girl without training. Above the girl, there were several kinds of hooks emanating an acid smell of blood.
She paces slowly, revealing a man, on his early 20's, blond hair and blue eyes, panic expression sculptured on his face. His hands were tied together above his head with a thick rope cutting into his skin. His feet were barely touching the floor. His white shirt was more bloodied than anything else. The man looked beyond tired, he was exhausted.
She walked slowly, taking her time, and stops behind him, looking evilly at her prey. Sam spots a whip on her hands. The man cries, helplessly like a lost child.
His already torn shirt shows he had been there for sometime now, going through whatever her sick mind had thought for him.
"Please, no more. I'll do whatever you want, I swear, just please…please, I can't take it anymore". He pleaded, sobbing, choking himself with his own tears streaming down his face like a waterfall.
She seems pleased with his pleas. Putting the whip aside, still standing behind him, she places her arms around his waist, hugging him, and leans her face against his bruised back, making him flinch.
"Don't cry my dear one, there's a thin line between love and hate, pain and pleasure. I'm pleased. You've been wonderful". She says using her tender voice. "We're almost done. But you know, you could have avoided all this. All I wanted was some of your attention. Is that a crime my dear?" She stated kissing his neck. "Now I have all your attention, your body, soul and a little more".
"Oh God! You're crazy!" The men can't fight back the tears. She let go of his waist and grabs the whip once again.
"I prefer to think I'm madly in love". Without hesitating she lashes his back, over and over again, deafened by his loud screams of pain.
Sam opens his eyes again, still not able to see one goddamn thing. He gasps for air, and rubs his temple, trying to ease his headache.
"Holy shit!" He says. That had been a disturbing vision. Too real if you asked him.
Seeing her, doing all that to the poor man, was worse than reading her hatred thoughts on that diary. He was right. She had become a killer, cold and guilty free.
Taking a deep breath, he starts crawling on the floor, leaving behind a wet trail from his clothes.
He feels the floor, each inch of it carefully with his bare hands. He had to get to the door and get outta there. Dean had headed to the opposite side. With their luck, he was sure that his brother ended up with the slaughter house to check, which meant, he could be in danger.
Only Sam's senses were able to guide him now, his sight was useless when black was all he could see.
Slowly and cautiously, Sam made his way toward the door, or what he hoped to be the way to the door.
The loud sound of powerful thunders made Sam's heart race. Thunders weren't supernatural, but darkness played tricks on your mind. The sounds seemed louder, and shapes seemed to move where there was actually nothing moving at all.
Good thing, Sam was well skilled to deal with that kind of situation. Despite of all the fights with his dad, he was now thankful for taking the training, even against his will many times.
With some effort, ignoring the little tricks from his mind, Sam's arm touches a wooden base. The door. Thank God! He had managed to find it even not being able to see his own hand in front of his nose.
Feeling the door, he got to his knees, then got to his feet. He kept feeling the soaked wet door, apparently the rain outside hadn't given a break or gotten softer. Taking the time he wasn't sure he had, losing some of his immaculate patience, Sam looks blindly for the doorknob. His first attempts were in vain; his fingers felt the rough wood and there was no sign of what he wanted.
"Come on". He said to himself. To panic didn't help. Sam Winchester wasn't the type to panic easily. It was a useless feeling if you had to hurry.
His hands go up and down, to the right and to the left non stopping. After a few more missed spots, his fingers finally touch what he was sure to be the knob.
"Thank God". He whispers, grateful for being outside of that pitch black place.
"Dean". He remembers: his vision, the sudden wind, a slaughter house. His brother could be in danger.
Not caring so much about the heaviness of the water drops falling over him, Sam was about to run toward his brother's location, when he feels someone grabbing one of his wrist in a tight grip. He uses his other hand to reach for the gun first, and worries about looking the one holding him tightly after. He aims the gun, and glances at the long, wrinkled fingers around his wrist. Then he looks up to confirm his theory.
"What are you trying to do? Scare the crap outta me?" Sam shouted; his voice louder than the thunders. The old creepy lady maintains her hold on him.
"Put that gun out of my face boy". She demands. Sam had completely forgotten about the gun. He does what she asks apprehensively. She could be the reason why they were in danger as far as he was concerned. Sam then jerks his wrist from her grasp. Useless act, her hold gets even tighter.
"Come with me, you weren't supposed to be here". Her long white hair, now all messy because of the rain, covered half of her slight red cheeks. Sam could tell she had hurried outside.
"No, my brother might be in danger. I gotta go check on him". He tries to jerk his wrist free again. Again it had been useless.
"You wanna save his ass then you come with me. I'm not asking". She demands again, emphasizing she wasn't joking around.
TBC…
Ok people, that's it for chapter 3! Hope you liked. You know what I'm gonnas ask right? Reviews! Please, don't forget to give me your opinion :)
Ohh and I apologize for any mistake you might have found.
There you go Michele! Posted tonight as I promised ;)
Kim!! I need you!! Lol ;)
Have a great week!! See ya!