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Chapter 6

"I know what you're going to say, Judith." Kendall said tiredly. He didn't even look up as his wife entered the dank, dimly lit cellar where he sat hunched on a low stool near a large whiskey barrel. He held a nearly empty bottle of scotch in one hand and a tattered book in the other. Judith stood over him and he could feel the anger radiating from her.

"Have you completely lost your mind, Kendall? Those boys are from the CDC, for god's sake!"

"God has nothing to do with this, and you know it, Judith," the innkeeper waved the book weakly towards his wife, who began pacing, her anger at her husband palpable. He understood her anger, he was angry himself. "This isn't going to stop, you know. It's getting a firmer hold on me by the day. I can't control it."

"But you gave that boy some of the scotch! The scotch! He has a taste for it now, there's no going back."

Kendall sighed and lowered his head. "He didn't drink that much."

"You know as well as I do that it isn't about the quantity. That liquid has properties that we can't even begin to understand. I can only hope that the pills I gave him will counteract some of the effects."

Kendall's head snapped up. "You gave him those damn pills?" He looked at his wife incredulously.

"I had to do something! Dr. Roshi is the one who told us where to find that book, you know. He was right about that and what he described," Judith stopped, remembering her encounter with the healer. She closed her eyes as if to block the vivid images his visit had left with her . . .

Just days after the deaths of their guests, an unusual stranger had arrived at the Castle Freeman Inn. He claimed to know how they had died and how it was all connected to the "evil" surrounding the castle. Dr Lohiri Roshi, a handsome, middle-aged, dark skinned man, described himself as a descendent of a long line of healers from Africa. He explained that the sangomas, like himself, are herbalists skilled in traditional medicine - very powerful medicine used to create harmony among the living and the dead. At first, Judith had thought the man was crazy. But, as she listened to him speak and describe his theory, she began to tremble, and she felt the bile rise in her throat. What he described was horrific. If it were true, she feared for her husband's life.

"Mrs. Conroy, I can help you. I know why your guests have been dying." His dark, soulful eyes beseeched Judith, and she caught herself staring at him, nearly mesmerized by the dark pools.

"H-how could you possibly know that?" A lance of fear sliced through her, "unless, you had something to do with it."

The "doctor" laughed.

"No, Mrs. Conroy. As I explained, I am trained as a traditional healer. I've continued the legacy that my family held in Africa through countless generations. I know why it's happening and I know how to stop it. I'm offering my services."

Judith's fear was not assuaged. She suspected that the man was at best a fraud, and at worst, a murderous psychopath. Still, she managed to keep a brave face, and question him.

"Why would you do that? I can't see how any of this is your business."

"I need to fulfill my calling. I have been directed here. There are angry spirits here because of the work of one of my ancestors. He used his power to create discord and pain. Your husband inadvertently unleashed it and I am here to reverse the damage before more people die."

He told Judith where they would find a journal from the ship that had transported the whiskey and wine barrels from Europe. It would explain how and why the evil was surrounding the castle. He had made some medicine in his apothecary and suggested that both she and her husband take it to ward off attacks, and in Kendall's case, possibly reverse the effects he had been suffering. Although skeptical, Judith accepted the pills, "just in case" the doctor was right. Neither she nor Kendall took them, however, especially after they read the journal, which was exactly where Dr. Roshi said it would be – in the wine cellar, tucked away in a small compartment behind the first whiskey barrel.

Kendall's angry voice interrupted her recollections.

"You and I both read that journal, woman! So you know what could be in those pills. You haven't taken any have you?"

She shook her head in disgust. "No, of course not. But this is working out perfectly for us. Mr. Whitman is our guinea pig. We'll just wait to see what happens to him. I hope it works. If it does, then you can take the pills, too. I don't want to have to do what we did to the last guests. The last thing we need is another death and more investigators nosing around and ruining business."

………

Sam lowered his brother as gently as possible onto his bed. Thankfully, they had been given adjoining rooms, so he had all of their supplies in close proximity; although he had no idea what to do for Dean other than wait it out. He thought briefly about calling 9-1-1 or hauling his brother down to the car and to a hospital. But he dismissed it when he realized he couldn't explain Dean's condition unless he attributed it to the whiskey, which he was sure the ER doc would just dismiss and tell him to sleep it off. Sam was pretty sure that whatever happened to Dean was connected to the deaths, and traditional medicine was not going to help him. The younger Winchester felt helpless as he sat on the edge of the bed and watched his unconscious sibling. The stillness was the most unsettling, and Sam watched carefully to reassure himself that Dean was still breathing. The head wound was no longer bleeding, which was one less thing for Sam to worry about. But his brother's coloring was off, and, as he touched his hand to Dean's forehead, discovered a fever had developed. Come on, Dean will you open those eyes and talk to me? What in the hell is happening?

Sam replayed the evening's events over in his mind and he knew he was missing something. Something was off about the Conroys. Where's Kendall, anyway? Judith seems nervous, way more nervous than when we arrived in the afternoon. In fact, she was really laid back at first. I guess her husband attacking us unnerved her. Still . . .

Sam's thoughts were interrupted by a low moan from his brother. He breathed a sigh of relief at the sound and hovered over Dean expectantly.

"Dean?" He prodded softly. "Open your eyes, man. Say something."

His brother's green eyes fluttered open, attempting to focus. Pain registered in his eyes as he looked up at Sam's worried face.

"Dean?" Sam repeated when his brother closed his eyes tightly, his face contorted in pain. Dean groaned and attempted to speak, although his voice was weak and gravelly.

"Sammy? Wha-what the? What hit me?"

The younger man looked at his brother sympathetically and gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze.

"I wish I knew, man. I was hoping you could tell me. Do you have any idea what made you pass out like that?"

Dean raised his eyebrows. "You mean besides the scotch?"

"Uh, yeah, dude. You didn't drink that much."

"Sure as hell feels like I did. Although now that you mention it, I remember seeing strange things, like orbs and really intense colors. I heard a voice I didn't recognize. I remember feeling peaceful, though. Then I woke up here, with you."

"How do you feel? I think you have a fever." Sam placed the back of his hand on his brother's forehead.

Dean rolled his eyes and regretted it instantly as a sharp pain hit the top of his head. "Shit! That hurts."

Sam brought his hand back immediately. "What? What is it?"

"Killer headache, that's all."

Sam winced at Dean's choice of words. "Well, I can see if Judith has any more Ibuprofen."

Dean nodded slightly and attempted to lift his head. He groaned again and dropped his head back on the pillow.

Sam frowned. "What's wrong?"

"Why am I still wearing this damn monkey suit?"