Previously: The man in the suit snapped his paper closed and tucked it underneath his arm, pained tension gone from his face only to be replaced with a cold smile that froze Mel to the core, scaring her with the grim intent written on that calm, chiseled surface. His eyes, having appeared faded before, were now pure white.
Mel sank to her knees, eyes riveted to the scene even as darkness began to encroach upon her vision, so she was still watching when the door opened with a deceptively innocent jingle again as Caroline walked in. Only…it wasn't Caroline. Her face was utterly still, no hint of its normal grin apparent, and her eyes were black, absolutely black.
Chapter 6: The World Exploded, Part II.
Ebony eyes sweeping across the room languidly, Caroline—or at least, the thing that looked like her—smiled, a grotesque parody of human expression that twisted her face into something inhumanly evil. Briefly, her eye fell on the nervous man, who had straightened from the crouch he'd fallen into after being…pushed back, before focusing on the man with white eyes standing near the middle of the room. "Well, well, well," she said slowly, lazily, "what have we here?"
Momentarily allowing his eyes to stray from his primary focus, the now all but limp students who had been reduced to feeble twitches as unconsciousness took hold, the businessman gazed at her with a vague air of annoyance, the barest of creases forming between his eyebrows as his eyes narrowed. "These mortals were loud," he said, voice carrying in the stillness, face hardening once more as he turned back to his prey. "I found it necessary to restore order and silence."
Not-Caroline held up her hands in a placating gesture and shifted to the side slightly in a display of deference, smile never wavering. "Fine," she said easily. "I'm here for the Winchesters, not them, anyway, so I'll just collect what I came for and be on my way." She turned to the now-calm man hovering at her side, whose eyes were now completely black as well, and gestured toward the two fallen men who had attacked earlier. "I've got a car waiting outside; load them up."
Making to move forward, the man was once again halted by an unseen force which he strained against in vain, causing the nervous tension to return once more and the smile on Caroline's face to falter slightly.
"Look, friend," she said as she herself attempted to take a step forward only to encounter a similar problem, the smile dropping completely in anger. "I'm not trying to step on any toes, here, but those two are mine; I spent weeks tracking them down and am not about to let them be snatched through my fingers by some…"
She was abruptly cut off by a single, graceful gesture of a hand demanding silence. "Go back to your pit, youngling; these mortals have offended, and I will not leave until I have exacted my punishment upon them."
At that point, Mel found herself unable to pay attention as her lungs began to demand oxygen in earnest, yet as before, she found herself unable to do anything. There was nothing to fight against, no noose or tie to loosen, no tightening grip to batter against. Collapsing onto her side, head connecting roughly with the battered floor of the diner, she found herself blacking out and wondered if this is what it was like to die, to slip away into the consuming darkness. It really wasn't as bad as she thought it would be, now that the fogginess had descended. In fact, it was almost comforting in a way, and she felt herself slowly relaxing into the expanse. A place where she didn't have to worry about why Caroline's eyes were completely black, a place where the man with the white eyes was just a distant memory, a place where the cute guys at the table hadn't been tossed around like rag dolls, a place where life was the way it had always been: simple…ordinary…peaceful…quiet, blissfully quiet…
Air—sweet, pure air—suddenly found its way back to her, and Mel inhaled sharply only to spark a coughing fit which raked her frame harshly, chest spasming with the almost unfamiliar yet necessary sensation. For a time, that was all she could focus on, the painful pleasure of drawing oxygen into her lungs once more, but even as she concentrated on breathing—which while significantly eased by the return of voluntary, productive, inhalation, was still proving more difficult than normal—the more immediate concerns of her surroundings came flooding back, and her eyes flew open to take in the scene around her.
It was as if the world had exploded around her, and chaos reigned, destroying everything in its path. Winds such as she'd only ever felt during one of the winter's major blizzards whipped through the diner, sending everything light enough flying dangerously around like airborne landmines. Napkins, menus, bits of the newspaper, utensils, even the construction worker's hard hat—which she saw whizzing by far too close to her face for her liking—scattered across the room creating a whirlwind with the man with white eyes at its center.
Unaffected by the torrent, his clothing remained in perfect order, his gaze was locked with Caroline, who was braced against the winds but remained the only other person left standing. They were shouting at each other, but while she could catch a word here and there, the din created by the connecting of debris with the walls and furniture was enough to drown out the majority of what was being said. It was clear, however, that anger had long since become the dominant emotion in their discussion as both faces were broadcasting displeasure to the point of irrational rage. Hands raised, it looked as if they were gesturing wildly at each other, and Mel thought—and it was only a passing thought because how could it actually be true—that the winds were reacting to the motions, sending items spiraling at each other regardless of the obstacles.
The construction worker who'd come in earlier, devoid of his helmet, lay a few feet from her, sprawled across the floor in a limp heap. Blood poured from a gash on his forehead where something had struck him, a pool steadily growing beneath his head suggesting he'd been that way for some time at least. Beyond him, the table of students was entirely, eerily still now except for their whipping clothing as the wind tore at it, battering them like a demanding child asking them to get up and play.
Movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention, pulling her focus easily away from what the back of her mind suspected was a tragically morbid scene, and she saw the nervous man braced against the winds, seemingly oblivious to the objects continually making contact with him and raising all number of cuts and bruises, making his way slowly toward one of the two young men she'd seen tossed aside earlier…the taller one who lay a little behind her to the left. Barely five feet away, his progress was slowed to inches at a time, and Mel watched in a disconnected, vaguely interested fashion as the young man began to move slowly as if waking, head rolling back and forth as if to clear it.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, Mel realized that allowing these two to come into contact was a bad idea, the nervous man with the black eyes was bad news, and she began to test her own limbs cautiously in anticipation of movement. She wasn't sure what she'd do just yet, but she'd have to try something.
Or not, as it turned out, as the second of the pair rolled into view from behind the counter he'd collapsed under, arm extended with gun in hand. Even amid the chaotic clamoring filling the diner, she could hear the sharp retort and watched with bated breath—aided by the difficulty of breathing against the violent gusts—as bullet after bullet slammed into the standing man's torso, causing him to stagger back under the onslaught. To her amazement, the shots appeared to cause little damage. Rather, it was the unbalancing the impacts caused which helped bowl the man over and send him crashing to the ground and skidding within arms' reach of Mel.
Terrified at the sudden proximity and suddenly oblivious to everything else, she scrabbled against the floor for anything she could get her hands on, grasped the first thing her fingers encountered, and heaved/rolled it at the man with all her might. The tiny glass container impacted his face sharply, which sent the top flying and white granules scattering into the air in a miniature cyclone before being separated into the swirling mass that now hung above everything.
Immediately, a violent reaction occurred as twin wails resounded, rising above the noise of the wind. Mel watched as tiny bits of smoke and blood simultaneously sprung from the nervous man's face where about a third of the salt had fallen down, responding to what little gravity could be brought against something so small and lightweight considering the circumstances. He clawed at the area with both hands, desperately rubbing the surface even as she recoiled as began crawling away as quickly as she could. The wind seemed to respond to his agony as it redoubled its efforts to batter the rustic diner into oblivion, and breathing once again became difficult as she struggled to inhale against the onslaught.
Chin tucked down in an attempt to breathe easier, she collided with the stools in front of the counter and jerked, startled by the impact, before making her way to the left toward the man she'd been intent on helping earlier. It wasn't a conscious decision at that point, panic and fear telling her to get away as quickly as possible, so a moment later when a hand grabbed her by the arm and pulled her roughly that way and around the corner into the relative shelter created behind the counter, she lost it and lashed out against the confining grip, which refused to let go and simply tightened. A face rose in front of her, then, capturing her gaze firmly and calming her down as she responded to the casual, assessing, pained eyes of the armed man who'd fired the gun moments ago. Also tucked away behind the counter was the taller man, almost awake now, and a slightly battered but intent Mac, who was looking at her with concern.
Taking a mental breath and calming herself through sheer force of will, Mel focused on the face in front of her and realized that her rescuer was attempting to yell something at her, mouth forming the word deliberately, likely in the hopes that she'd either hear him or be able to interpret through lip-reading.
'Salt.'
Mel frowned in confusion for a moment before remembering the reaction she'd witnessed moments before and all but dove for the cupboard door the tall man was leaning against, insistently motioning him aside as she scrabbled to pull it open. Seconds later she had several of the spare salt shakers in hand, and she turned around to show her prize to the cute guy, who smiled in response—oozing charm despite the circumstances. She smiled back slightly, the motion tense and bordering on hysterical, as she handed over her bounty, reaching back into the cupboard for several more which she passed to Mac even as she held on to two for herself.
Her hands shook as she twisted at the tops—parodying the students and their childish antics of earlier—and then turned back to the two men, eyes begging for direction, answers, anything that would help her understand what to do next, how to make sense of the situation, how to survive it.
The shooter, who rose up into a half-seated position with a pained expression—freezing in place for a moment, eyes squeezed shut, as he seemed to try to collect himself—glanced around to make sure he had everyone's attention before pouring a handful of salt carefully into his palm, making a fist, and raising the hand in an exaggerated throwing gesture. His companion nodded immediately in comprehension, as did Mac, but Mel was still confused. However, there was no more time as the three men scrambled into crouched positions as quickly as they were able, all of them moving slowly with cautious, pained motions eased by the rush of adrenaline and necessity. Mel scrambled to copy them even as she tried to figure out what was going on.
Raising a fist, the shooter began a countdown to…something.
One.
Hands raised to grasp the edge of the countertop in anticipation.
Two.
Muscles visibly tightened in preparation…of throwing the salt into the swirling air above, Mel realized as the nervous man's reaction coupled with the shooter's motions finally added up.
Three!
Four hands simultaneously sent a cloud of salt into the air which was quickly whisked away to be followed by rapid, successive follies and hands were refilled and launched.
As before, the reaction was nearly instantaneous but much more violent this time, a booming shriek that increased rapidly in pitch to the point of shattering glass, causing the glasses also resting below the counter to explode outward onto the four cowering figures. Mel turned her face away as she felt sharp edges bite at her face, hands flying up to cover her ears, salt forgotten, and an instant later felt a warm body drag her to the floor and cover her protectively as the assault continued. The screaming had plateaued and continued at its ear-shattering level, the very air vibrating with rage and pain, bringing a flush to her cheeks as she began to cry silently, begging for it to stop.
Seconds later she realized that it wasn't just her face that felt warm; the very air was beginning to heat, and she twisted her face slightly to look sideways across the floor as an orange glow began to rise up, reflecting against the lacquered surface of the fake wood paneling Mac had painstakingly maintained for years. Deeper and deeper, the orange glow became until the breath burned in Mel's chest and she could once again feel the oxygen being stolen from her. Her breath sped up in panicked response even as her eyes slid shut in silent prayer that this nightmare be over.
A moment later, her wish was granted.