What can i say, work has been crazy. sorry once again for the delay, hopefully work will calm down soon, but i dont know.
thank you all again for the wonderful reviews, i am glad you are all enjoying this as much as me. :) as always, let me know what you think of the newest chapter.
ETERNAL
Chapter 8
Dean sat indian style on the bed, papers spread out around him, Kerri laying quietly at his side. She had been trying to help but her eyes kept sliding closed while she stared at the provenances. Dean couldn't blame her though, since she still looked like death warmed over. Her skin had regained a little color, but she was still far too pale, dark circles dampening her usually expressive eyes. So now she just laid there, half awake, studying the photos in Dean's hands. And in his mind, it was so terribly wrong. Kerri usually had so much energy, so much life in her, but now it seemed as though some part of that had been wiped away.
The elder Winchester glanced up at his brother as he continued to go through the hundreds of documents in front of him. Sam was sitting at a small table, laptop open before him, pouring over every bit of information he could find. Dean knew that Sam was pushing himself because he blamed himself for Kerri's current condition, but he just didn't know what to say to make the younger man listen. This entire mess was just as much his fault as it was Sam's. Hell, he could even blame Kerri, since she was the one that wandered off with the bad guy to begin with. Dean almost had to laugh, he and Sam were both blaming themselves while Kerri wasn't blaming either one of them, and probably never would.
"Hey." Dean nudged Kerri with his elbow when he saw her eyes close. "Are you paying attention?"
"Yeah." She replied weakly, eyes still closed.
"Oh yeah, then how do you know what I'm showing you if your eyes are closed?"
"Osmosis."
"Nice try."
"Come on, Dean. I told you what it looked like, can't you just find it yourself?"
"I tried that already and your description matches exactly two hundred and twelve paintings."
"This sucks." She sighed, forcing her heavy eyes open.
"Yeah well, if you had ignored the bad guy like I told you none of this would have happened."
"Whatever. How many have you gone through?"
"This many." Dean stated, holding up a stack of papers.
"More or less than half?"
"Less."
"I'll give you fifty bucks if you just throw the rest away."
"You know." Sam began, watching as Dean seemed to consider the offer. "You'd both be done by now if you weren't complaining about it so much."
"And what are you doing over there, Geek-boy?" Dean mumbled, laying another photo on the bed in front of Kerri.
"Looking for a way out."
"Why don't we just go out the way I came in?"
"You said you climbed up a storm drain, it's probably flooded by now."
"I hate logic."
"Wait, stop." Kerri broke in, placing her hand on Dean's arm. "This is it." She continued, pulling the picture from his grip.
"You sure?" Dean began, searching another pile for the painting's provenance.
"Yeah……… positive." Kerri spoke softly as she stared at the reproduction.
"If it's doing it again don't look at it!"
"It's not, I'm just looking."
"Yeah well, don't come crying to me when you're fifty."
"Thanks for caring. What's it called?"
"Uh." Dean began, still sifting through a pile of documents. "Apparently, it's a painting of something called. Tire no noggin."
"What?" Kerri sat up, grabbing the paper. There was no way that that's what it was called. "Tir-na-nog."
"Tira who?"
"Tir-na-nog. It's Irish Gaelic."
"How do you know that?"
"It's the name of a pub."
"Where?"
"Galway, Ireland."
"When were you in Ireland?"
"I went with Brian once."
"Who's Brian?"
"My ex-fiance. What's it matter?"
"Nothing, I'm just asking. So, you're being attacked by a painting of a bar?"
"I would assume that the bar was named after something else."
"The land of eternal youth." Sam chimed in, staring at the computer screen. "It's said that Niamh was the queen and she fell in love with one of the Fianna from Ireland, Oisin. She brought him back there where they spent three happy years together. But he got homesick and went back to Ireland only to find that three years in Tir-na-nog were actually three hundred in Ireland. He was still as he was the day he left, but everyone he knew and loved had long since grown old and died."
"Well, if the picture's supposed to be keeping him young then it obviously isn't working. What's the dude, like fifty?"Dean began, climbing off the bed and retrieving his duffle.
"Sam?" Kerri began, rolling her eyes at Dean as he sat on the bed again. "Can you do a search of William Bramhurst?"
"I did that before, it didn't turn up anything."
"How far back did you go?"
"Back to the first missing girl."
"Anything before?"
"No, I couldn't find anything. I mean, he moved here right before things started up, but I didn't see a similar pattern anywhere else."
"What are you getting at, Kerri?"Dean asked, trying to follow her thinking.
"Well, who knows how long he's been doing this. If it keeps him young then he can obviously live forever."
"But Sam just said that there wasn't anything else that fit the pattern."
"Maybe he jumps from country to country?"
"But why leave the bodies in plain sight? Why not bury them, or at least try and hide them?"
"Pride? Maybe he's been doing this for so long that he just wants to see if anyone can catch him?"
"Well." Dean began, cocking a gun. "He's done wondering."
A sudden knock on the door made all of them freeze, the knob slowly turning before anyone could react. Sam was the first to move, jumping to his feet and slamming the door closed.
"Mr. Connors?" The muffled voice behind the door asked.
"Uh, just give us a minute."
"Do you want me to make squeaky bed noises?" Dean whispered, earning a smack on the back of the head from Kerri.
"Get off the bed and go hide."
Dean just smirked before grabbing the papers and duffle, bringing them with him as he hid beneath the bed. Sam then did one quick scan of the room to make sure everything was in place before opening the door.
"Sorry about that." He began sheepishly, standing in the doorway.
"Yes, I'm sure." The butler began, annoyance written all over his face as he tried to look past Sam and into the room. But Sam just pulled the door closed a bit more, his large frame blocking the space from view.
"Mr. Bramhurst sent me to ask after Mrs. Connors."
"She's resting." Sam stated curtly.
"Um hm. I was also sent to inform you that there will be a dinner served at midnight."
"Thank you. I'll make a decision about it later."
"It wasn't a request. All guests are to attend."
Sam just nodded, smiling weakly before closing the door in the arrogant man's face.
"What kind of person forces people to go to dinner?" Dean asked, sliding back out from under the bed.
"The kind that has ulterior motives." Sam answered, pacing the length of the room.
"What ulterior motives?"
"My guess is that he knows you're here. With everyone else at dinner, it will be easier to find someone wandering around the halls."
"Well good, then I can ventilate him in private."
"Dean, you're not gonna shoot him."
"The hell I'm not."
"Dean--."
"Sam, this guy is killing innocent women! He doesn't deserve to breath."
"You can't just walk up to someone and shoot them, Dean. There's gotta be another way."
"So what? You're just gonna sit around here and think while Kerri gets the life sucked out of her."
"You know that's not what I meant."
"I'm still in the room, you know." Kerri's voice was quiet, yet still forceful, making both Sam and Dean fall silent.
She knew that Dean was worried about her, but she also knew that taking it out on Sam was not going to make matters any better. No, they needed to keep themselves calm and destroy the artifact and then get the hell out of there. Bramhurst was already on to them, and Kerri didn't want to stay there a minute longer than she had to. Dean cared, that was not something that she would deny, but that same attentiveness also made him reckless. He would fight for the ones he loved, no matter what, and that had always scared her. Because, eventually there would come a day, when he didn't walk away.
"Look, Dean." Sam reasoned. "Let's just do some more research, make sure we have every angle covered before we start shooting people."
"Alright, fine. But if he even so much as looks at someone funny, he's done."
"So?" Kerri asked, sinking further into the soft pillows. "What's the plan?"
"Dinner's in an hour."
"Well thanks, but I'm not really hungry, Sam."
Sam just rolled his eyes, suddenly feeling double teamed by the two people sitting before him. "You know, you should be resting right now, seeing as how you have to be your charming self again in an hour."
"Sam, I don't want you two going down there. It's like walking into a trap."
"Walking through the door was like walking into a trap, Dean. Kerri and I will just mingle around, see who knows what, while you go take care of the painting. That way, we can call you if anything seems off."
"I don't like it. I don't want either of you near that guy again."
"We'll be fine."
"Just like last time?"
"I won't loss her again. I promise."
"He didn't loss me, Dean, I lost myself." Kerri chimed in, seeing the guilt growing in Sam's eyes.
She had actually told the truth the first time, she had simply gotten lost. Well, she had started out as just being lost, but then lost led to wandering and that somehow led to her walking away with Bramhurst. So really, the only person Dean had to blame was her.
"I'll talk to you about that later." Dean scolded, pointing at Kerri before turning back to his brother.
"Look, Dean." Sam began, trying to plead his case again. "Even if you do walk up and shoot the guy, we're still stuck here. And, as I recall, you're wanted by the FBI. So what, shoot the bad guy and go to jail, or listen to me and get out of this mess?"
"I'm gonna change your name from Geek-boy to Wet blanket-boy."
"So we do this my way?"
"Yeah, yeah." Dean mumbled, throwing the duffel on the bed with a little more force than necessary.
"Aright." Sam began, scrubbing his face. "Kerri, you rest, Dean and I are gonna figure out a way out of here."
The brothers had been at work no more than fifteen minutes when another knock broke through the heavy silence. Sam was on his feet in seconds, his long legs carrying him quickly across the room as Dean once again hid any trace of his involvement. He rolled he eyes as Kerri smiled up at him with tired eyes, Dean mumbling while he climbed once more beneath the bed.
"Privacy my ass, people knocking on the damn door every five seconds."
As soon as his brother and his mumbled tirade were hidden from view, Sam pulled open the door. The young hunter's heart skipped a beat when he saw the man on the other side. He had been expecting the butler, or another of the millionaire's staff. But standing there before him, smiling as though he didn't have a care in the world, was William.
"Sam." He smiled, expending his hand, but Sam was having none of it.
"Yes?" He asked coldly.
"I came by to ask about your wife."
"I told your butler that she was resting."
"Yes, he mentioned that. I was just hoping that I may speak with her."
"I'm sorry, but that won't be possible."
"Now, Sam, I was hoping there'd be no ill feelings between us. After all, what happened to Kerri was just an unfortunate incident. Obviously she should have had more to eat before those drinks."
Sam took a few deep breaths, counting to ten before looking the man in the eye once more. Maybe he could just let Dean shoot him? "Listen. I know that that's what Kerri told you, but forgive me if I don't see it that way."
"Are you calling your wife a liar?"
"I'm calling my wife tired and confused. She's never been sick like this before, and I don't believe for a moment that this is the result of spiked punch."
"I assure you, Sam." William smiled, emphasizing his name. "That I have only her best interests in mind. Please let Kerri know that I asked after her, and I will be seeing the both of you down at dinner shortly." And with that he turned and left, a sinister smile still plastered on his face.
"You still think I should let him live?" Dean dead-panned, sitting down next to Kerri, as he checked and loaded the weapons.
"For now." Sam sighed, moving to sit by his computer. There was no doubt about it, he really did hate that man.
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Forty-five minutes later Sam found himself leading a still weak Kerri into the large ballroom, though now the space was filled with a number of large, round tables. The knot in his stomach was only growing tighter as he made his way into the room. It seemed like everyone was staring at them, whispering about them behind their backs, and Sam could barely stand it. After the way that woman, Charlotte, had come onto him earlier, the young hunter wouldn't have been surprised if she had gone throughout the entire room, spreading her awful rumors.
He was there to help them, didn't they get that? He was trying to keep more innocent women from getting hurt, trying to stop a sadistic killer before he stuck again, but all the people around him seemed to care about was who was going home with who. And Sam found it sickening. After all, if he wasn't careful, if he wasn't at his very best, then Kerri could be lost that very night.
"Sam!"
Sam nearly jumped when he heard his name shouted across the room, his heart beating a little faster when he saw the source. Mr. Edmonds was pushing out a chair from a near by table, motioning Sam over to join him. But well, he had wanted to talk to the people who knew Bramhurst best, it was just unfortunate that one of those people seemed to be Charlotte.
"You know we can go back to the room." Sam whispered, his arm on the small of Kerri's back, leading her towards the table.
She still seemed a bit out of it, well, a lot out of it actually. Thankfully, she had finally managed to stay awake for longer than a few minutes, but, other than that, there wasn't much change. She was still far too pale, and her skin was cool to the touch. Sam knew that there was no way she could defend herself, or even keep herself standing and walking if left alone. No, she needed him, and he wasn't about to let either her or Dean down.
"You're the one that wanted to mingle. I was perfectly happy where I was."
"Thanks for the encouragement."
"Hey, I help out where I can."
"You think you can do this?"
"As long as you wake me up when I nod off."
"Samuel, Samuel." Mr. Edmonds clapped Sam on the back so hard that he nearly fell forward. "Come join us, boy. I'd like you to meet my wife, Margaret, and her friend Charlotte. And these are my good friends, Mr. and Mrs. Ashton, and Mr. and Mrs. Trumly. Everyone, this is Samuel Connors and his beautiful wife Kerri."
Sam nodded to the table's occupants, avoiding direct eye contact with a staring Charlotte, before pulling out a chair and lowering Kerri into it. She was right, this was his idea, and whether he liked it or not, this was the only way they were going to get the inside scoop on William.
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Dean made his way quietly through the empty halls, moving with such precision that he was little more than a shadow in the large house. He knew where he had to go and knew what he had to do. He had to destroy the painting, plain and simple. Shooting Bramhurst was just an added bonus. He knew he would raise suspicion, that he was about to blow what little cover they had, but that was the way it had to be. After all, what are the odds that, out of thousands of painting, the one evil one would catch fire?
But Kerri was in trouble, standing right in Bramhurst's cross-hairs and Dean didn't give a damn how obvious his plan was. The painting needed to be dust, and that was all he cared about. He had dragged her into this, volunteered her when he knew that she wouldn't say no, and now she was fading away right before his eyes.
He had thought about burning the entire corridor, to try and make it seem less like a targeted thing, but then, with his luck, everything there would probably burn expect that one damn painting. No, he was going to stand there and watch it go, personally making sure that it wasn't going to hurt Kerri, or anyone else ever again.
He rounded another corner, stopping for a moment when he spied the correct gallery. It was beautiful to say the least, with multi-colored lights glistening off of every surface and a soft, almost angelic like music ringing from somewhere ahead of him. He followed the sound, drawn to the beauty of it, the perfection of it. It was like listening to music the way it was meant to be played, every note a song unto itself.
Dean followed the sensual music, the chords and melodies wrapping themselves around him, the soft voices calling to him, beaconing him. He didn't know where he was going, all he knew was that he had to be there. He could feel the cool breeze on his face, small the damp morning grass as he drew ever closer to the large painting.
"Come with us. Be with us." It sang, and Dean obeyed.
Because there, in that beautiful land, there was no time, no pain, no loss. He could feel a warmth flooding over his body, feel an energy coursing through every one of his veins. He had never felt so strong, so alive, so young.
Young. Dean instantly pulled back from the painting, trying to block the voices that had somehow made it deep within his mind. He had never felt so young. He wanted to be sick, the true reality of what was happening settling down over him. Whatever that painting had stolen from Kerri had just gone into him, he was feeding off her youth, just like Bramhurst.
His hands shook as he soaked the canvas in gasoline, the voices still echoing in his head, song still wrapping itself around his mind. It was almost like whatever was inside the painting didn't care that it was about to be burned right back into hell. Dean hesitated for a moment as he lit the match, wondering that, if by burning the painting he would be hurting Kerri. It was obvious that she was still attached to it somehow, and the thought of anything else befalling her was almost too much for him to bare.
But, a moment later, he made up his mind, watching in satisfaction as the corner of the painting burst into flames. There was a hundred percent change that Kerri would be hurt if the painting remained intact, and a slight chance that she would be ok if it wasn't. And Dean, well, he was a gambling man.
His spirit sank, however, as he watched the painting, a line of fire eating its way across the canvas. But, instead of leaving ash in its wake, all it left was the painting, as fresh and perfect as the day it was created.
"Well." Dean began, the voices rising again as the fire burned out. "This blows."