Chapter Nine – Darkness
Daryl Greene slammed the door shut of an old '60s Beetle. He cursed at the damned old car as he held a full brown bag in his arms and dangled his keys around his fingers. He was a very tall man but hunched whenever he walked. His skin looked burned and dry and his eyes were quite pale. His arms revealed past scars and burns and the thirty-something-year-old man walked up the garbage-infested pavement of his driveway before entering a small house that was painted green. The paint had been chipped and no flowers grew in the area, so Daryl liked to call his home "The Land of All Great Dumps."
No one could possibly live in this type of area. Except for Daryl Greene. He liked it, actually. The neighborhood was quiet and there were no children. The only people who lived on the street were druggies or ex-cons and child molesters. Daryl Greene had no need for material things. He didn't care that he drove a crappy car and lived in a house where his only companions were the dozens of cockroaches hiding beneath his bed.
The beige door squeaked opened as he stepped upon the threshold of The Land of All Great Dumps and closed the door slowly behind him.
He made his way down a narrow hallway that eventually introduced a living room with a broken couch and a television set that Daryl could only watch three channels.
The carpet was pink. A bright, happy pink that reminded you of cotton candy or something rather.
The brown bag was placed carefully on the floor. The man had not come home back from a grocery trip.
The walls were covered in strange symbols. There was a Latin verse written along the ceiling all around the house. The small gray kitchen itself had its white tile floors covered in different symbols.
Daryl reached into the bag and stood up slowly and smiled down at the small vile in his hand.
He opened the glass vile and threw the cork down on the ground. He first removed the blue jacket from his broad shoulders and stared down at the vile. He poured the sand from within into his palm and then threw it over his head. Once that was down, he poured more of the white sand into his hand and threw it around the pink carpet. It looked like snow.
As the man put the vile down on the kitchen counter, he clapped his hands together and couldn't help but glance at the dozens of tattoos along his arms.
He turned around and felt his heart stop.
The house was filled with light – mostly because Daryl didn't like curtains so the sun came in whenever it wanted to.
There was one corner of the house that was covered in darkness.
The figure was hidden within the shadows. Daryl placed a hand on his chest as he gasped: "Good Lord. Don't scare me like that."
The figure replied with silence.
Daryl sighed and said, "I've been watching the news. There was one little report about the girl. Glad I could be of help."
No response.
"Ummm…" Daryl grew nervous. His client said nothing.
"Cash was good…I can buy the necessary viles and herbs I need for the next five or six months…" he explained.
No response from the dark figure.
"Look…" Daryl snapped, but there was a hint of fear in his voice. "I'm sorry you're not getting the reaction you wanted. I did exactly what you wanted…the car accident…the girl…sorry, but this is a complicated sort of thing…normal people usually don't do what I do…so I did the best I could…I am an expert in this field."
It was like he was talking to himself.
Daryl gritted his teeth together. "You're not getting your money back, if that's what you want." He spat at him angrily and put his hands on his waste. "I only did this favor because you were willing to pay the price. And I needed the money."
The figure remained in its seat.
And Daryl Greene was now looking at a black gun being pointed at him – what was more horrifying was that the gun had a silencer.
"Look…" beads of sweat were growing on in his face. "I have a kid in college. She hates my guts, but she needs the cash…please…" God, please, no… "You need me! Remember!" Daryl shouted. "You can't handle this on your own! You're just an amateur. The forces you're meddling with-"
Like a coin being thrown against the wall, the bullet was released with a small sound and a hole was made in Daryl Greene's chest.
The man fell dead to the floor – his tattoos, charms, and viles unable to save him.
O.O.O.O.O.
Sam's hand moved quickly away from Isabella's arm. He had spent the half hour with his hand wrapped around her wrist. Grammy had suggested that, since Sam was the "stronger" psychic, he would be more capable of getting some type of clue than she or Amy.
Grammy and Amy spoke quietly outside as Dean sat in the hospital room against the wall with his eyes scanning their father's journal.
No one noticed what had just happened. Sam had his hand around Isabella's wrist and then there had been a brief flash. No vision. Some sort of flash. He saw a man for a moment and…pink carpet?
Dammit…Sam closed his eyes in frustration. Why can't these things be clear…
Sam questioned whether or not he had really seen something. He had been in the hospital room with Isabella for thirty minutes. He could have imagined it. But the feeling…
A man…pink carpet…this doesn't make sense…
He looked up and noticed Grammy and Amy were now talking with someone.
"Dean…" Sam called and motioned to the glass window that peered into the hallway.
The brothers turned and watched as a young officer talked with Amy and Grammy.
"Let's see what's going on," Dean kept the journal close to him and he and Sam stepped out of the room for a moment.
Amy was laughing and Dean and Sam stared oddly at the three.
"Dean, Sam," Amy smiled.
The officer, in his blue-black uniform, turned and greeted Dean and Sam with a half-smile.
"This is my friend, Blake Evans, Blake…this is Sam and Dean. They're very good friends of mine."
Blake held his hand out and shook each of their hands. He had black hair and light-colored brown eyes; a small smile and strong cheekbones.
"I understand you share a concern about Isabella Jamison?" Blake asked. "Amy has asked that I look into this personally. I can get a referral and check things out. You two cops?"
Dean nodded and said, "From Kansas. We came to visit Amy and this happened…we feel there's more to it…I'm her boy friend, by the way…"
Blake smiled and nodded. "I understand that."
Sam couldn't help but scoff at Dean in a laughable manner.
"So…" Dean eyed Blake. "How do you know Amy?"
"Don't you remember?" Amy asked. "Blake was one of the officers who was at the pool…the night with that madman…"
Natiskawa…
"Oh," Sam nodded.
"Yeah," Blake replied. "Interesting night. I had a few questions for Amy. But yes…she's contacted me again asking for a little help on the inside."
"Can you?" Grammy asked, staring at the attractive man. "Is that in your jurisdiction?"
"I'll do what I can, this is still an unsolved case…we have a detective or two who feel this was some sort of a personal attack, actually," Blake explained. "And I may be involved soon enough."
"How, exactly?" Sam asked.
Blake sighed. "Someone leaked the story and now a bunch of magazines and some newspaper reporters have an interest in this. I don't want to notify her family yet. I'm afraid things may get crazy here soon…"
"Why is it bad that people know Isabella's story?" Amy inquired.
"Unfortunately," Blake explained regrettably, "there's a rumor out that this was some sort of suicide-gone-wrong…plus Isabella is a young actress in Los Angeles…so…"
"Great," Dean rolled his eyes. "Paparazzi."
"Gee," Isabella appeared out of thin air again. She had left to check on her parents in the hospital cafeteria. She appeared directly beside Dean so he jumped slightly at the sight-and-sound of her.
Blake gave Dean an odd look.
"I didn't think I was that famous yet," Isabella commented, eyeing the police officer.
"Well, he's a cutie," Isabella remarked.
"So, where do we start?" Amy asked Blake hopefully.
The young officer shrugged and said, "Ears clear. Eyes open. I got some of the boys at the station doing the best they can to get a confirmation in case something was wrong with the car before it crashed – there could be a lawsuit as well – and from there…unless we have any sort of lead…nothing now."
"Nothing!" Isabella shouted. Again, Dean reacted, since she stood close beside him and Dean couldn't help but stick a finger in his ear.
"Dammit," Dean grumbled, recovering from Isabella's shout.
"Pardon?" Blake asked.
"Oh, nothing," Sam jumped in quickly. He eyed Isabella and motioned for her to be quiet. "There's nothing we can do in the meantime?" At least anything normal…
Blake shook his head. "I'm going to speak with Isabella's doctor. Maybe ask her parents a few questions." He turned to Amy and said gently, "If you need my help, give me a call…and if I find anything, I'll notify you."
"Thank you Blake," Amy gave him a serious, thankful look. The officer nodded toward Dean and Sam and then said bye to Grammy and left.
Amy sighed and shook her head. "Man, we're really in the dark here."
"It's okay, honey," Grammy comforted.
"So," Dean asked Amy, "why is it Officer Blake seems to be eager to help you."
Amy understood the tone. She laughed and said, "We first met with the whole Natiskawa thing. And I helped him with a certain case…"
"You helped the police out?" Sam asked. "You mean like…psychic help?"
Amy confirmed with a giddy nod. "Patricia Arquette got nothing on me." She laughed. She stared at Dean and explained, "It's not a big deal, trust me. Blake owes me."
Grammy crossed her arms over her chest and asked, "Well kids, I'm not sure what we do now."
Everyone (except Grammy) could not help but stare at Isabella sadly – as if they had failed her.
Isabella met their eyes and said, "Stop looking at me like that." She bit her upper lip. "I know you guys will figure something out…"
Sam gave her a hopeful smile. A smile that would usually calm even the most tense of spirits. But the look in his eyes gave away the idea that maybe this case would be different…
"It'll be okay…" Isabella assured bravely. "It'll be okay…"
O.O.O.O.O.
A/N: Update ASAP! Thanks for all of the reviews/comments…MORE would definitely be appreciated!