A/N: Wee, reviews!! I am also glad that someone other than me has seen this film!!! wink, wink Here is pulse pounding chapter two...one day at a time...meaning that is how I will post each chapter...hope you likey thus far!!!!
Disclaimer: Shout out to Anthony Hickox and Eric Kripke...Waxwork and Supernatural belong together like peanie butter and jelly, hehe...
Sam had walked throughout the entire gallery seeing enough wax figures to last a lifetime. Yet he had not been able to find his brother. Somehow Dean had slipped past him, and the man was never known for his stealth skills. A daemon could smell him at twenty paces and a woman could hear his idiocy at five. Sam shook his head, turned down one row, then stopped at a large scene that was standing all by itself against a back wall.
The infamous Dr. Jekyll stood over his metal work table, beakers and science books strewn haphazardly. The doctor's lab coat was covered in some kind of chemical. In the man's left hand he held a full test tube. Inside housed a yellow liquid that was unusually bright in the dimly lit room. His hair was scraggly and unkempt. It was as if he had not slept in days. Sam laughed in spite of himself. This was a wax sculpture, not a human being of which had any true feelings or emotions. Yet there was something otherworldy about all of this.
As Sam continued to stare at the amazing detail, for it was wonderful work, he felt a shove from behind. Unable to sturdy himself, he fell headfirst into the display. Toppling over the rope that had somehow come undone, he landed on his stomach. When he looked up, everything was different, wrong somehow. As he looked around, he saw that he was no longer in the museum.
Hans smiled, wiping his hands together. The job was done and master would be pleased. He swung around, once again marching out of the room. Entering the curator's office, he stood at attention, as if we in the army, waiting for further instructions. David sat with his back to the door, staring into a small mirror. When he heard the small man enter, he turned around.
"Well?" David crossed his hands in front of his face. Hans stepped forward, his smile wider than before.
"It is done sir. Numbers 17 and 18 are here and accounted for. Your collection is complete." Hans looked up at Junior who smiled down at him.
David rubbed his cheek slowly, purposefully. He closed his eyes half way and sighed heavily. Turning back to the mirror, he flicked on a small light that was attached to it. David thumbed his chin, then spoke.
"It better be my son. If memory serves me right, things did not go too well for us the last time, did it not?" Hans swallowed hard. Junior had yanked him out of that damn Venus fly trap, thankfully before he became fully digested. He still had nightmares.
"Yes sir, I do. But this time will be different. There is no connection with these two, no way for them to know of our intentions."
David smiled then tilted his head. In the light, his face could be fully seen. His left cheek was peeled back, and bone was shining through. David picked up a spoon, waving it over a candle on his desk. As it heated to the perfect temperature, he placed it to his face, heating the wax that now covered every part of his body.
That night 20 years ago had taken something from him, but he had used his 'death' as a way to become that which he held so dear. Falling into that vat of wax had been a curse and at the same time a blessing. Now as long as he maintained his face, no one would ever be the wiser. He in fact was older, much older than even his outside appearances would suggest. He had the face of a man in his late 50's, yet he was 5 times than that, if not more. Young Mark Loftmore had tried to kill him then, fouled his plans, but now he would get what he needed, no matter the cost.
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"Excuse me sir, but unless you have a broom and dust pan, I kindly suggest you remove yourself from my floor!" Dr. Henry Jekyll stood over Sam as he lay on the cement floor. He looked perturbed, not welcoming the fact that there was a strange man in his laboratory.
Sam stood, wiping his hands on his...pants? His clothes were not his own. His jeans and t-shirt was gone, replaced with cotton pants held up with suspenders. Under this was a white silk blouse. His hair was slicked back with some sort of grease. Sam felt so out of place.
"Did my Emma send you? She knows that I need complete privacy when I work, that...never mind that. Now enough with the dour expression and get over here and help me." Sam snapped to attention, not sure why, and rushed to the man's aide. Henry handed Sam a small vial, telling him to be very careful not to drop it, no matter what. Sam nodded furiously, holding it tightly in his hands. Henry turned from Sam then read something in his journals.
"Now, just a little more of this and the transformation will be complete. Ah, now. Hand me that tube there my good fellow, won't you?" Henry motioned to his left, never taking his eyes from his book. Sam picked up a large test tube filled with red liquid. He handed it to the doctor, who yanked it from his hands. Henry mumbled something then slammed the book shut. Spinning round, he almost banged into Sam.
"Away young fellow, you are going to get in the way otherwise." Then he looked Sam up and down, really noticing him for the first time.
"My word, you are a rather large specimen, aren't you?" Then he skirted around the younger man. Holding the tube in his hand, he poured it into the other that he had originally been holding. He motioned furiously at Sam to hand him the vial. A green liquid shimmered inside. Henry popped the stopper then poured the now orange liquid with the green. The mixture hissed, bubbled, then silence. Henry grinned evilly then downed the new concoction.
Sam watched as Henry rushed to his journal, throwing it open. He scratched every minute down in it, every detail of what was happening. Sam began to wonder if anything was going to occur, when the doctor started to breath funny, to turn red, and undo his tie. He tossed off his coat, throwing it onto a small chair by the table. Sam backed away as Henry slammed his fists on the table, groaning slightly. Then a growl erupted from him, causing Sam to throw a hand to his face. Suddenly maniacal laughter sprang forth from the doctor. Then he hunched over, all noise ceased.
Sam leaned in, not knowing what to expect next. As he stepped forward, a hand on the doctor's shoulder, Henry spun around. The once handsome face of the good doctor was gone. He was now menacing and vial. His teeth were as sharp as a dog's and his eyes were red like rubies. He sprang at Sam, laughing. Sam rolled out from under him, ending under the table.
"Come back my son. I only want to play with you." As he reached under the table for Sam, he smiled.
"Then pick your bones clean with my teeth!" Henry, now Edward Hyde, threw his head back and laughed. Sam closed his eyes.
"No, no." Sam said aloud. "This isn't real. It can't be. I'm dreaming, I'm in bed, having a crazy nightmare, and none of this is real."
When Sam opened his eyes, Hyde grabbed him by the throat, his smile even wider than ever. Sam banged on the man's arm, feeling flesh and bone. He wasn't imaging this, wasn't dreaming. Sam continued to fight against his impending doom, screaming for his brother, wherever he was.
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Dean scanned his surroundings unsure of just where he was. The floor below him was no longer covered in cheap red nylon carpet. He was now standing on a cobblestone street, but where? As he knelt down to examine it, a whinny stirred his concentration. Looking up, Dean saw a hansom cab and the driver looked at him ominously.
"I suggest you move young man. Blocking traffic could shorten your years by a tremendous lot." Dean jumped out of the cab's path. The man whipped at the young Shire. It snorted then galloped off down the long narrow road. Dean glanced after it then back to his current position when he saw an older woman who looked to be maybe five years or so older than himself. She was leaning against a large brick building, a bottle in her hand. She tossed it back then gasped as the liquor burned.
The woman moved from the darkness and Dean recognized her right away. It was Mary Nichols. The first victim of Jack the Ripper. Damned if he wasn't here in Whitechapel. As Mary threw the empty bottle into a trash bin, a dark figure exited from the alley Mary had been standing in. Dean started to move forward when Mary swung around.
"Well, ifen you ain't me Johnny on the spot." The woman said with a strong cockney accent. Mary curtsied and almost fell over. The man gripped her wrist, helping her up. Mary giggled, thanking him kindly. Yet when he did not let go, she called him a foul word then spat at him.
"Let me go ya ingrate. Ifen you don't pay fer it, you can't grab it. Savvy?" Jack held her wrist firm, not letting go. Now Mary was scared. She yanked her wrist back again. Jack grabbed her face, gripping it so hard it left a bruise on her left cheek. Mary tried to scream, when Jack sliced her neck. Mary fell to the ground. Jack placed his hand ever so gently behind her head. Blood trickled from the wound, so to make sure none ended up on him or the victim, Jack set a thick layer of butcher's paper under her.
Then he cut at her neck once again, slower this time, severing all major vessels. Mary gagged, then all functions ceased. Jack continued his ritualistic and sadistic killing, cutting into her abdomen several times. By this time Dean had already thrown up twice. He had read many books, seen all the movies, but never had he thought he would experience the Whitechapel Murders firsthand. It was the worst feeling in the world.
Once Jack was finished, he cleaned his knife on the already filthy papers, then tossed them in the nearby trash bin. Since the butcher shop was just down the street no one would be the wiser. He stood then began to walk away, when he was knocked to the ground. Dean had gotten his courage back and decided to take charge of the situation.
"What are you doing damn you? Get off me!" Jack swung around, knocking Dean to the ground. Dean landed on his back, but did not back down that easily. He flung himself at the man, the both of them crashing into an abandoned grocery. Jack grunted, saying something in Polish, then kicked Dean in the stomach. Dean landed hard on a lone wooden pallet, smashing it under him.
"How did you see me? How did you find me?" Jack yelled, waving the knife around, precariously close to Dean's face. Dean scooted backwards trying to avoid becoming a human shish kabob.
"Wait just one second. I never meant to get in your way. I just..." Dean began, but Jack had ulterior motives. He jabbed the knife in Dean's direction, stabbing him in the shoulder. Dean groaned, then suddenly a realization hit him. If this was all a display, then he was just perceiving it as reality.
"Okay Jacky boy." To test his theory, Dean jumped up, coaxing Jack to come at him.
"You might be able to kill poor defenseless women, but how about trying to grow some balls and come after someone you can really take on."
Jack's eyes grew ten times their size and he lunged at Dean, the knife at the ready. Dean closed his eyes, praying it would work. Jack sailed right through him, landing on the floor behind him. Dean opened one eye, then the other. When he did not see Jack, a smirk flashed on his lips.
"You little shite!" Dean heard the words and jumped. He ran from the store, hauling ass as he did so. Slipping and almost falling on the broken storefront, Dean skirted around the alleyway. He still did not believe any of this, but knew he had to get out of there fast.
Dean stopped at the same spot where he found himself twenty minutes ago. He slowly reached his hand out, not knowing what he was going to feel. Yet when his hand disappeared into nothingness, he knew he had won this round. Just as Jack emerged from the store, Dean slipped from the terror and back into normalcy. Landing hard on the tacky red carpeting, he looked back at the display and saw that it was back to normal, except now that Jack's head was turned in his direction, a menacing look on his face.