A/N: Sorry for the delay; life got in the way. I won't babble this time. On to the story!
It took an hour for the transfer to complete and the boys got the hell out. When they got back to their motel room, Sam started up the
laptop and loaded up the footage.
"Hey, hey. See that? Go back a little." Two hours into the video Dean pointed to the screen when it reached the frame he wanted.
"See. That guy goes right up to her and tells her something. And what is that? Is he pointing to some guy?"
"Yeah, he is. It appears to be one of the men that went missing. I'll see if I can get a better look at his face and find out who he is. He
seems like he might be the one controlling the Siren."
"Great. Let me know when you got something; I'm gonna go see Jackson. Should've heard from him already."
Sam grunted as he perused the film, looking for a better angle and he made a shooing motion with his hand, to indicate that he'd heard
and that Dean could go do whatever he wanted.
Dean's unease continued to grow as he pulled into the apartment complex's parking lot. He continued through the overhang and into
the lobby, muttering to himself about the numerous security cameras in the building. Dean hung a right and entered the first stairwell,
knowing that it would be quicker taking the stairs than using the elevator. The worry gnawed at the pit of his stomach and grew
stronger as he came to a stop, slightly out of breath, in front of Jackson's apartment. The door was open a crack, the lock jimmied with
the tools still in it; Dean pushed the door open with the toe of his boot, drawing his gun as he entered the room.
In the corner, an old turntable played an eerie record; the song contained words from a foreign language, climbing octaves as each
moment passed. It wasn't something he recognized or something that he thought Jackson would listen to. There was definitely a
message there, waiting to be found. Dean made a mental note to bring the record back with him as he carefully picked his way through
the messy room, checking in the kitchen and bathroom before moving on to the bedroom. Dean found Jackson there on his bed, chest
and stomach ripped open, vital organs missing, blood everywhere; a glance around the room revealed the location of the organs. Each
one was partially eaten, pinned to the walls around the room with large nails, the kind used for railroad ties. Blood had hardened where
it dripped down the wall.
The skin and flesh on Jackson's arms was shredded, a long discolored fingernail stuck in the very visible bone. A closer look at
Jackson's head had Dean stepping back with a hand over his mouth. A portion of his skull was torn away, soft gray tissue dangling
from the opening and the rest showed evidence of teeth marks. An open mouth exposed the missing tongue, which Dean found
chopped into pieces in a bowl on the floor next to the beginning of some sort of symbol carved into the hardwood.
The myriad of curses flowing through Dean's mind refused to come out of his mouth, then his reasoning came back and he whipped out
his cell, taking as many pictures as his phone could hold, checked the room over for signs of demonic presence, any presence for that
matter, and used a paper towel he'd retrieved from the kitchen to pick up the fingernail, which he pocketed quickly. Dean fervently
hoped that Jackson hadn't been alive when his injuries were inflicted, but the voice in the back of Dean's mind loudly and incessantly
told him it wasn't the case.
In the doorway Dean paused, glancing back at Jackson one last time, then he headed towards the living room and grabbed up the
heavy gramophone. He hauled it out to the Impala and went back into the apartment to make sure that he'd left no prints or evidence
that he was ever there.
"Hey. You weren't answering your phone." The comment left Sam's mouth the second Dean closed the door behind him. Dean just
looked at him and smirked. "God, Sam, you're such a girl. I got busy with stuff." He tossed his phone to Sam as he pulled out the
wrapped fingernail. "Pull those pictures up on the computer. I'll be right back." And he set the fingernail down on the table before going
out to get the phonograph. Sam looked up from the laptop as Dean lugged it inside and heaved it onto the table. He gave Dean a look
filled with confusion.
"What's with the record player?"
"Gotta listen to this record; it was playing when I got to Jackson's. It's supposed to mean something, some kind of message, you
know. Did you get those pictures?"
"Yeah…Dean, what the hell happened there?"
"I don't know, Sam. Somebody, something, murdered Jackson and ripped him apart."
"Yes, but his brain, chopping his tongue into tiny pieces? It really wasn't necessary. And look," Sam pointed to the pictures,
"everything about this suggests serious anger issues. The organs could have been nailed to the wall with normal sized nails, but this
person used spikes for railroad ties. It takes more force to drive those in, and then the organs have all been partially eaten too.
Whatever did this seriously hates men." Sam turned in his chair to look at Dean when he stopped talking. He watched as Dean
frowned and shook his head.
"Wait a minute. So you're saying that…what are you saying, Sam?"
Sam picked up the fingernail and held to the light. He turned it in his hand strangely fascinated by it, saying nothing until he felt Dean
looking at him in askance and annoyance. "Does this really look like a fingernail to you?" He caught the frown on his brother's face.
"You know what it looks like to me? To me it looks like a talon. What do we know that has talons?"
"Oh, shit. Didn't the books say that the Sirens true form could be bird-like, kind of like their relatives, the Harpies?"
"Yeah, and they also mentioned that Sirens hunger for human male flesh or blood."
"Huh. So I'm seeing a pattern here." Dean plugged the turntable's cord into the outlet and said, "Whatcha wanna bet that this is
Italian?" as he placed the needle on the shiny black vinyl. The same haunting song that had been playing in Jackson's apartment filled
the small motel room and both boys couldn't stop the shivers that traveled up and down their spines. Sam was the first to break the
spell as he reached out and yanked the tone arm off the disc.
"That was really starting to creep me out. I'm no expert, but I'm pretty sure that that was Italian."
"Ok, so what do you suppose that symbol carved into the floor meant? Is it Italian or is it something to do with mythology?"
"Don't know; I'll have to run it through some databases. Oh, I almost forgot, Dean. I got a name for that guy. It's, uh, Loren Garrison.
He's high up in the Costco chain of command. I'm still looking him up, but I got nothing on him so far; clean as a whistle."
Dean nodded and dropped onto his bed, lost in thought. Suddenly he spoke, "If he's our guy, how do you think he's controlling her?
What could he possibly offer her that would keep her from killing him? And what is she giving him in return? Oh, gross. Scratch that, I
think I know what. That's just wrong!"
"What is?"
"Sex, dude; I don't know how he got her to agree to it and I don't know why he'd even want to, assuming he knows what she is."
Dean shuddered. "God, that's disturbing, and I can't get it out of my head now."
"Man, that's…nasty. Just think of something else. Supposing the Siren has been imported from Italy, she must have an accent, right?
But Manny didn't mention one, did he? Maybe we should have another little talk with him."
A/N 2: So I'm thinking that there are only one or two chapters left. Sound about right? Also, I'm thinking about doing a crackfic titled "The Legend of the Woot! Monkey". Would anyone be interested in reading that? Let me know if you do.
Tomorrow (Feb. 11th) is my birthday. Reviews would be an awesome birthday present!