BETA: - Wonderful Vonnie

A/N: - Thank you so much for reading and leaving those awesome reviews. Wow…I AM STUNNED!! Thanks friends, for giving me so much support---I Love You All.

I wish everyone… **~** MERRY CHRISTMAS ** ~** Have a Happy Holiday.

Now, where were we…

PORTRAIT

Sam was sitting in the back row in his class, where he usually would never sit. But today he really wasn't feeling like he was up for school, but after the encounter with his father he had to come anyway. The thought of his father and brother made his head hurt as a wave of burning rage flooded through him. His nostrils flared in an unknown anger and he gritted his teeth. He looked mindlessly at the open book in front of him and breathed furiously.

"…all particles are moving over the bed, although at different velocities according to size…" Professor Jenkins was drawing something on the huge blackboard as he was lecturing the students. Most of the students were dozing or muttering in a low tone, but Sam was never like them. He was the one who always listened to every word with raw concentration. Except today, he wasn't in the mood for it; everything around him seemed to smother him.

"…retardation of large clasts can cause the development of lodgement…" Sam grabbed a fistful of his hair as Mr. Jenkins words sounded more foreign than ever and extreme weariness swept over him. He didn't have any idea what was happening to him and why everybody around him looked malignant.

Sam startled heavily as someone nudged him lightly in his side and saw it was a friend of his poking him.

"Sam, hey. Mr. Jenkins is calling you."

'Oh great, now what?' Sam thought vehemently and stood up. He certainly felt that he wasn't going to like what Mr. Jenkins was about to say.

"Sam, are you feeling well?" The kind professor asked Sam gently.

'Gosh, am I looking that miserable?' Sam closed his eyes for a moment and swallowed angrily.

"Yes Sir." Sam's reply was curt.

"You sure or is there something bothering you?" Mr. Jenkins quirked his eyebrows, as he was watching the young man with concerned eyes.

"No sir, I am fine." Sam averted his gaze. He did not like the way his professor was talking to him, like he was some kind of sick child and needed attention. He pressed his lips together into a thin line, as another wave of vexation started rising inside his veins. Part of him did not have a single clue what was going on with him and why he was feeling so angry at everyone who tried to talk with him or showed any concern or something.

"Well, you seem kinda' distracted," Mr. Jenkins muttered quietly and put his chalk and duster down on the table. He could feel that something was not right with this boy, Sam Trescott, who was one of his favorite students. He was the smartest student he had ever met and not to mention too shy. He started in this school only two weeks ago and with his smartness and attitude, he had already won most of the teachers hearts. But today, he seemed utterly distracted and sickly.

When Sam didn't answer Mr. Jenkins let the matter go and asked, "So Sam, have you arranged money for your trip?"

Sam's cheeks became red of shame and anger shot up through his already screwed brain. 'No. Nada, I still haven't arranged the f****** money alright! I am sick of this crappy life.' Sam was fuming as his eyes burned with unshed hot waters. But he stubbornly held it in and answered with clenched teeth.

"No."

Mr. Jenkins noticed him carefully. "What, you don't want to go?"

Sam remained silent. Hands were gripping the sides of the desk fiercely.

"Tomorrow is the last day of submission. If you don't submit the money by then, I am afraid that will affect your grade."

'Don't you think I know that already? I never get anything I want, and this is no exception.' Sam was literally screaming in his head but didn't say anything. He knew if he tried to speak at all, something bad would come up and he would regret it later.

Mr. Jenkins was asking him something but he didn't seem to hear. He was lost in his own wrathful thoughts, but suddenly something caught his ears.

"So, that freak's not only a freak; he is a pauper too." Someone whispered with a chuckle.

Sam's head shot towards the source of the voice and his nostrils flared. That was Ross Matthew, one of the richest students in the class and not to mention the greatest jerk of the year. He was the number one bully in the school and had some goons who followed him like shadow and obeyed every word like they were the last words of the world. They never liked Sam, because Sam did never pay hood to them and certainly became a hero to all other girls and teachers with his smartness and attitude. So they could not digest it easily that someone new like Sam would get this much attention rather than him whose father had donated lots of money to the school's foundation.

"Don't you dare Matthew…" Sam fisted his hands and thumped lightly on the desk. He was breathing furiously, like a dragon.

"Or what?" Matthew spat venomously and shot up from his seat. "You daring me…" he stopped for a moment and smirked humorlessly. "…street-rat?" His voice was increasing.

It was all like a flash, no one ever would have imagined it. In a fraction of second, Matthew's collar was grabbed fiercely by Sam and his face was only a couple of inches away. He hissed like a rattled snake, "Matthewww…" and Matthew squirmed like a kitten and tried to pry Sam's iron gripped hands off his collar.

"Sam, back off." Mr. Jenkins practically ran and grabbed Sam with one hand and pried Matthew away from him. Matthew jerked Mr. Jenkins hand off him and snarled. "That son of a…"

"Enough Matthew," Mr. Jenkins scolded and released his hold from Sam. "You, get out from my class." He ordered Matthew.

Matthew was dumbfounded. "What the…this freak had started all of this."

"I saw who did," Mr. Jenkins eyes were somewhat cold. "…now go, before I send you to the principal."

Matthew stared at Sam for some second and then gestured as he was going to slit his throat. As Matthew stormed out of the hall, Sam suddenly felt lightheaded and swayed slightly.

"Sam, are you alright?" Mr. Jenkins maneuvered him gently to his chair and looked cautiously at his face. Sam's face was flushed red and his forehead was covered with a fine sheen of sweat as if he was running a temperature. He tried to touch him but Sam furiously backed away. "I'm…I'm fine."

Mr. Jenkins didn't push the matter and returned to his desk.

Sam didn't understand what was happening to him. He felt that an unnatural sensation was continuously nagging him, breaking his sanity, making him act like crazy. He knew that Matthew was fair game, but still; the way his anger level was rising, he could feel his entire energy was slowly seeping away from his body. He couldn't breathe without panting, his head was heavy like someone put thousand of bricks in it and his eyes were burning like acid and everyone around him looked like some kind of fiend.

-

Sam was walking by the cafeteria after finishing his second class of the day, when suddenly he was forcefully yanked by the collar and his face smashed into the lockers with a loud bang.

"So, what were you saying Trescott," Sam watched the Matthew boy advancing at him with his four goons. "…you seemed to have been threatening me…" He spat on Sam's face. "Didn't you?"

"Back. Off. Matthew." Sam warned.

"And if I don't," Matthew smirked evilly and stepped forward. He inclined his neck so he could make eye contact with the much taller boy than him. "Who's gonna rescue your sorry a** now," he chuckled, "guttersnipe."

Without thinking anymore Sam placed a punch directly into Matthew's face and instantly broke his nose.

"Ahoowww…." Matthew screamed and two of his goons jumped on Sam and pinned his hands to the wall.

"You bloody son of a…" Matthew wiped blood from his nose. "You filthy low life, how you dare to punch me…" he blew a hard punch into Sam's gut who doubled over in pain. "…you beggar, who doesn't have even fifty dollar in his pocket and still keeps his game face on, huh!" He clamped Sam's chin tightly with one hand and hissed. "…is your father a beggar too…"

Before he could finish his sentence, Sam suddenly kicked hard at his gut and elbowed one of his goons, who held his hands and cast off his right hand instantly. The other boy was so dumbfounded seeing Sam being active like this and punching the other like thunder, he didn't get enough time to defend himself, when Sam viciously punched his face too. The other students were cheering him, but Sam didn't care. He was bellowing with outraged anger, his head felt like it was going to explode anytime soon. He breathed furiously and stepped towards Matthew, who was panting, holding his gut while hunched over, like a lion advances on its prey and grabbed his throat. He pushed him until his back hit one of a locker and growled like an angry wolf.

"If you ever say something like this again, you won't have time to regret it. You get that?" Sam's blue green expressive eyes stared burningly at him and Matthew squirmed like a pup.

"Okay, okay. Please let me go." He begged as his voice trembled in intense fear.

All of a sudden a piercing pain shot up in Sam's head and he muffled a scream under his breath as he released his hold on Matthew. His chest hurt so much and it was harder to breathe. He could hear someone calling him. 'That's it, that's it my boy. Let it out, let your all wrath out…come to me my boy…come to me…' his legs almost buckled, as he felt is entire strength slowly fading away and he grabbed his head.

He jerked awake when someone touched his elbow lightly and shied away. He saw that one of his friends knelt beside him, worry was clearly showing on his face.

"Sam, hey you okay!"

Sam didn't answer instead he grabbed his backpack and ran clumsily to the exit.

Sam breath became shallow in rage when he saw his brother was waiting outside the school hall and talking to someone. 'So Dean has been following me the entire time so he can keep an eye on me? He really feels that I am some kinda' freak and can't take care of myself. He thought I would never notice him!' As soon these thought entered in his mind, he heard those unnatural words again. 'Yes, Sam. They think you are a freak. They think you are useless and a pathetic brat. Come to me and I will make you feel better. I will give you whatever you want. Come to me son, come to me…come…come…'

Sam nodded in anticipation to the unknown supernatural voice and ran towards the backside of the school hall leaving Dean unaware that his little brother was already gone.

John was pacing nervously in the motel room after telling Bobby what was going on with his baby boy. He was sure Sam's unnatural and erratic behavior wasn't usual, and it may have some connection with the thing they were searching for. He also had noticed that those missing persons were all teenagers or in the early stage of adulthood. What was frustrating him, was that his delay in searching for the witch or whatever it was had allowed it to take control over his son. What kind of father was he? Not only did he make his son sad with not giving him such a small amount of money, he couldn't even protect him from getting hurt. He shuddered at the memory of his youngest son lying on the bed unconscious, face deathly pale, the only color decorating him that of dried blood tracks which had flowed from his nose and then later burning with extreme rage and throwing those foul words at his family. This wasn't his Sammy; his sweet baby would never have spilled those rants, not without getting hexed or spell bounded by some supernatural source.

"John, you there?" Bobby's rough voice came from the other end of the line.

"Yeah Bobby, what have you got." John asked urgently.

"Well, what you told me about Sam's condition, I think you're dealing with a 'Strigoilor'."

"What? A Strigoilor? You mean Striga, like the one that had attacked Sammy twelve years back?"

"Well, something like that or something not. A Striga like the one that attacked your son lives only on a child's life force. There are so many kinds of witches you know. Some of them drink the fresh blood of children, feed on corpses and eventually suck energy out of pure souls. That Strigoilor is one of the last kinds, which I think has attacked Sammy."

John's knees were trembling with terror after hearing what had Bobby just told him. Oh no, no, no, not again. Last time that damn Striga almost sucked his baby's life out of him. And now, one had its sights fixed on him again.

"What do you mean by pure soul?"

"Well, the myth says that Strigoilor can only feed from those humans beings, who still have their virginity intact. They have to be young and their soul has to be pure and generous. I think Sammy might be one of them."

John's mouth hung open with shock. 'What, pure soul, intact virginity' what the hell was Bobby talking! Though John was worried so much for his youngest, he still felt a pang of pride hit inside his chest. Yeah, he knew it; Sammy was a pure gold-hearted boy, yet a virgin. He smirked unconsciously, when he thought that was why that damn Strigoilor didn't choose Dean, because Dean had lost his virginity at the age of fifteen.

"How you come to know this much Bobby? You are not even here?" John was clearly astonished knowing the depth of the knowledge of his older wise friend.

He heard Bobby chuckled. "Well Winchester, it's being called research. Have you been doing that lately you idjit?"

John remained silent. No, he didn't research at all. He left all research work on his youngest son's shoulder and tried to find that witch blindly. No, he didn't research, because he was so much preoccupied with making Sam miserable with his orders, work pressure, hunting, scolding etc, etc.

He startled, when Bobby spoke again. "When you told me about Sam, I researched and found a death omen over where you are living now. Then I searched the victim reports and found all the missing persons were teenager or early adults. I called some of the locals, whom I know and when I find out that those missing teens were acting weird like you said Sammy did too; I came to my best guess that this is a Strigoilor which is kidnapping these teens."

"Oh my God."

"Hey don't worry. Sammy's still not missing right. So that means we got some time. Listen, that thing can't directly feed from it's victim. They need victim's permissions to feed from them. And they can't directly hurt them as Striga does. They can only feed of them by aggravating their six adversaries like anger, greed, infatuation, vanity, passion and envy. With each raging human adversary, they suck the life forces which are continuously draining through it. Sounds familiar John? "

"Yeah alright. But what do we do now?"

"First of all, don't let Sam out of your sight. Then find…" But suddenly stopped by John's interrupting.

"Oh my God, I let Sammy go. I let him go to the school." John frantically rubbed his temple.

"Damn it John, you shouldn't have done that after you saw your son passed out with a bleeding nose. Now get him back home before it's too late." Bobby sounded irritated.

"Alright alright, I sent Dean to keep an eye on him. I'm calling him. Hold on okay…" He put Bobby's call on hold and pressed Dean's number.

"Dean I got a problem. I called Bobby and he told me something…" John's heart leapt in his throat when he heard his oldest son's panic stricken voice,

"Dad, Its Sam."

"What! What happened with him Dean?"

"Dad…" Dean's voice trembled. "…Sammy is missing."

Sam was standing in front of the bungalow, and his eyes were fixed on the house. He didn't remember how he got there or what he was actually doing here. He just remembered, he felt that he needed to be here, someone was calling him in a very soothing tone, a low humming voice. He didn't realize when his backpack slid off his almost slacked shoulder and quietly looked at the main door when it opened.

"Come in Sam. I was waiting for you."

Sam knew that voice; it was Mr. Williams who was calling him. He remembered the polite old man who patched him up, fed him cookies, drew his portrait and gave him twenty dollars. Yes, he was the only person who cared about him, thought about his well beings…Sam sighed; if his father cared about him like that, he would have felt better. He startled, when Mr. Williams called him again and slowly entered in the house.

He didn't even react when Mr. Williams grabbed his hand, something he usually didn't let anyone do and followed him like a remote controlled robot. Sam's eyes were now completely catatonic, face cold like stone. He wasn't in himself anymore, his power was gone; his spirit left his body…he didn't even know, who he was, as he gave his entity to that powerful thing, who had him totally under his control.

They entered in a new room that Sam had never seen before. It was a semi-dark room; some florescent dim light and candle were the only source of light. Sunlight was totally blocked by heavy curtains. There was a portrait of Sam situated on the stand in the middle of the room and two other portraits were leaning on the opposite wall.

There was something else in the room though Sam was too oblivious to notice. There were one young boy and one young girl who were being held by a rope up on the ceiling. Their heads were stooped to their chest and their flesh was deathly pale. They looked so much like dead; the only sign making them look somewhat alive were their chests moving up and down, yet barely. Those other two portraits were of those kids, which were almost, yet not totally completed.

The most gorgeous thing in the room was Sam's portrait, which was also incomplete but nonetheless was looking beautiful. In that picture, Sam was sitting on a couch, one hand on his lap other on the hand-rest. One leg crossed the other way stylishly and face was tilted slightly upward showing his skyrocketing personality very neatly. He was looking like some arrogant prince instead of his usual calm and sweet teenage self. Though he was wearing the same worn out jeans and shirt with a worn out jacket, his entire limbs were drawn perfectly and the shades of colors were just unbelievable. His golden skin was virtually blazing and the most amazing, yet also shocking things were his eyes, because they weren't yet colored. They were just outlines of his eyes and also his lips, hair and some limb not yet finished coloring.

Mr. Williams stared at his own artwork for sometime then turned to his live model who was still standing beside him like a clay model. He maneuvered the catatonic young man gently to the couch and caressed his face lightly. "What a gorgeous boy you are, and so pure inside." He inhaled his essence heavily and shuddered with an unnatural satisfaction. "I've never met someone like you before Sam. You're so ennoble and have so much true power inside your heart. You are going to be my best work and you know what…" he hissed in a low tone. "…whenever I suck your life force through my painting, I feel so strong myself. What you're holding inside you, is so much more powerful than you even know."

Sam's head lolled limply in his confined grief but no sign of recognition showed in his eyes. They were dull and lifeless, the painter had drawn almost his entire feature and nearly sixty percent of his life force had been sucked out. He had no sense about what was going on around him as he stepped inside the trap of the witch 'Strigoilor' and he did it willingly.

That was what the clever witch had been doing; he attracted young people by showing helplessness and generosity and then made them rely on him. He put his own thoughts inside their head and aggravated their rage, anger, hatred towards their own family, beloved ones. Once people fell under his spell, he needed their final permission to come to him blindly, leaving their family behind. He made them feel that their family didn't love or care for them anymore so he coaxed them to come to him and stay forever until he sucked them dry. But he couldn't suck him physically; he had to do it through a secondary source. He couldn't touch any human kind in real, he had to capture their entity into some substance like mirror, sculpture, or paint and that was the most difficult part of his evil entity. Unlike his other evil relatives, he couldn't suck blood or corpses; he needed a pure soul, who had never been touched by any sin. Purity gave him strength, fuel for his livelihood. Once his brush stroked on the portrait, the models life force slowly seeped away from their body and entered into his mouth.

That old man or Strigoilor again inhaled Sam's essence as his face morphed into its real feature for a mere time. It smirked devilishly and again turned into the human form. He went to the table and picked up a paint brush and a color matted pallet. He poured some raw oil color into different bowls and mixed it with a brush. He looked at Sam again and then stroked swiftly on the picture.

As soon that brush touched Sam's picture, his whole body shuddered like he was being electrocuted and he gasped painfully. His eyes were rolling white and his mouth gaped open as his life force began to seep out from his body in white and made its way to the witch's opened mouth. The witch was still sucking Sam's life force, when suddenly the door of the room burst open and someone sprinted in---

"NOOOOOO, SAAAAAAAAAAMMMMMY…"

TBC

Ouch…ouch…please, don't hurt me. I know, you guys want to kill me now—for leaving such 'wonderful' (:P) cliffie. But, it's Christmas guys!! Okay, I promise (I know I suck), I will post the next and FINAL chapter soon.

So Friends, what do you think about this chapter, huh!! Well at least I let you guys know what actually was happening. But, all I can say that………… that 'Strigoilor' is a nasty witch than 'Striga' and can not be killed by a simple bullet or salt gun or holy water. Soooooo……be ready for some ACTION.

Finally, if you like this chapter please 'REVIEW'. I always say that your words, suggestions mean a lot and I appreciate them and you know that too. So, please, read and review and I will update faster.

Thank You,

Ritu.