Chapter Twelve
Isabella stood before her body. Strange, she thought, to stare at her own almost-lifeless body. Apparently it was just her mind keeping her alive now. Was she a spirit? A soul? What exactly did an 'out of body experience' mean? But she was still her. Twenty-one-year-old Isabella Jamison. Failure in high school. College dropout. Pathetic actress. She didn't have a solid form. Yet, she was still the same girl. All of this made her feel guilty. I should have earned my way into college. I should have done something more than try to pursue an acting career…
She had not revealed herself earlier, but Isabella had been at the Misty Lantern. She heard everything. The dead man, Daryl Greene, was dead. And he was the one responsible for all of this. Her heart ached. Was it possible for her to feel sad? The woman, Misty, claimed that Daryl would never hurt anyone like this. And that he had an accomplice. So. Had an innocent man died for this? Was Daryl Greene even innocent?
What if Amy and her friends are now in danger because of me?
Now standing directly beside herself, Isabella leaned down to take a closer look of her pale complexion. She was still breathing. Quietly, and gently, but still breathing.
And as she felt her heart ache again with a whirlwind of emotions, Isabella slowly began to fade away.
O.O.O.O.O.
Carter Lynn, parked across the street in a forest green Jeep Cherokee, leaned as far back as possible to not be seen, but to also make sure he could see as well.
Amy, along with two other gentlemen, left a place called the Misty Lantern. They drove off in a black Chevy Impala.
He wrote something down in a pocket-size notebook and threw it into the passenger seat. The engine turned on and the vehicle drove across the street toward the herbal store.
O.O.O.O.O.
"Daryl Greene was innocent?" Dean scoffed while he turned onto the main street to head back to the hospital.
"It's just a feeling…" Amy defended herself. "Misty said Daryl would never do anything like that…she was telling the truth. But whoever shot Daryl…he's the one we have to go after."
"Impossible to go back to Daryl's place," Sam noted, going through the dead man's address book. "Police will most definitely be there. Especially after that altar…"
"Hold on," Amy announced from the backseat. Crossing one leg over the other, hand resting on her laptop, she answered a vibrating phone from her jacket pocket. "This is Amy Cromwell…" she answered, rubbing her forehead with her thumb. Her eyes widened a bit, Dean could see from the rearview mirror. Sam turned in interest. "Blake…" Amy sighed. She sat up more in her seat to listen more intently.
"You found what?" Amy gasped in disbelief. "No no…it is helpful…are you still at the crime scene…okay, yes. Yes, send it directly to me. Thanks."
She hung up quickly and, just as fast, propped her laptop into her lap and logged into her account.
"What's up?" Sam asked.
"Blake just sent me a few J-PEGs of Daryl Greene's body…"
"His body?" Dean asked, slightly grossed out. "Not sure if I want to see that."
"Coroner took images of his body for evidence. Daryl had odd markings – tattoos and scars – all over his body. Sound familiar to you?" Amy asked as she began to open her e-mail.
Sam shrugged as he thought for a moment.
Amy glanced at her screen then turned the computer around to show Sam.
The images were taken of Daryl Greene's arms and chests. He had various black tattoos on him – odd symbols – along with several scars that made similar markings.
"Those scars were made from burnt marks," Sam noted. He met Amy's eyes and said, "He put them on himself."
"Sounds like protection charms and the whole caboodle," Dean muttered.
The car was suddenly quiet. Dean continued to drive while tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. Sam reached into the back to get the computer from Amy as he stared down at the other photos. There was a clean, detailed picture of Daryl's chest – showing the gunshot wound.
Sam shook his head and sighed heavily. "Daryl put those things on himself to protect him from evil…" He looked up at Dean who nodded in agreement. Dean replied: "'Guess Daryl wasn't ready to protect himself from a human."
O.O.O.O.O.
Grammy sat next to Isabella in a brown chair. Sitting by the hospital bed, the old woman leaned over, balancing herself on her elbows, while holding Isabella's hand. E yes closed, and breathing softly, Grammy hummed to herself. She could reach as far back as to Isabella's childhood. Unfortunately, her psychic abilities could not break the invisible wall. If only I could break it, then Grammy could see who it was responsible for Izzy's physical and spiritual state. How terrible, Grammy thought. Her thoughts lingered for a moment to the young girl's parents. The real father hadn't shown up yet. And her mother, Hero…So devastated. So broken…
She rubbed her old hands on the young girl's. The longer she held on, the stronger the pull was onto the girl's mind.
I'm comin' to get ya chica, Grammy thought. Hold on…we're gonna save ya…
O.O.O.O.O.
There was a fresh altar now. A different picture of Isabella, posing for some sort of magazine, framed in an antique silver piece on a wooden table. Blood. Rose petals – fresh and dead. Pebbles. Beside the table, three dead birds were hung from strings. Blood was still fresh on their wings; there were drops everywhere on the floor around them.
A dark figure roamed by, glancing at the altar, and then moving to a different table. The person pulled a gun from the heavy coat and placed it elsewhere. The figure then took something else from the table – a necklace. A silver chain and there was a small vile attached to it. The tiny vile was filled with a few droplets of blood. And a tiny lock of human hair. Getting what it needed, the dark shadow left the altar and exited through a door in a bright light.
O.O.O.O.O.
Dean entered Isabella's hospital room with a hot cup of coffee, bought from the gas station across the street. Anything was better than hospital coffee. He strolled in, finding Grammy by Isabella's side. She was still humming.
"REO Speedwagon?" he laughed, placing the cup of coffee into Grammy's free hand.
The old woman looked up, smiled, and took a long sip from the drink. She glanced toward Dean, smiled gratefully, and asked, "Do you have a problem with REO?"
He winked and Dean mentioned, "Not my kinda music." He looked back at Isabella's body. Her small hand still clutched in Grammy's grasp.
"Any change?" the young hunter asked. He sat down in a chair beside Grammy and leaned back to relax.
Grammy shook her head sadly. "It's like I'm ramming my fist into a very hard wall. But I'm getting closer. In a way…it's like I can hear her calling out to me from the other side."
She turned quickly to Dean and asked, "Any sign of Izzy?"
"Nah," Dean explained. "No sign of her. Amy guesses she's just takin' a bit of alone time."
"Poor girl…" Grammy whispered.
"I know, but we'll get Izzy through this…" Dean tried cheerfully.
Grammy laughed and turned to Dean. "I didn't think you were this thick-headed." She cackled a fun, little laugh. Dean stared blankly at her, not able to find the words.
"Sonny," Grammy laughed. "I didn't mean Izzy. I mean Amy. Is she here?"
"Yeah," Dean stuttered. "In the bathroom."
"Boy," Grammy sighed, "the girl is very tired. And worn out. And you know she doesn't like hospitals-"
"I know-"
"Yes, I know you know," Grammy laughed again. "But please. You kids go back to her place and rest. Good detectives need a break too, ya know. But Dean, seriously, get the girl outa here and let her rest. Okay?"
Dean, taken aback, stood up from his chair and made his way to the open door. He turned back and asked, "What about you?"
The sweet old lady grinned. "I've spent longer times doing what I do. I'll be fine."
There was no reason Dean had to be told more than once. The crime scene was off-limits and they would have had Officer Blake call and give them any useful tips. They were sitting ducks in the situation. And Dean knew they all needed a rest.
He nodded his head, giving Grammy a silent goodbye, and Dean left.
Grammy turned back to stare at Isabella's body. She placed a firmer grip on her hand and closed her eyes. The humming slowly began to continue…
O.O.O.O.O.
Sam had a notepad on his knee, scribbling things down as he thought of random things to investigate. He scratched his head, trying to write as fast as he thought. Scratching his chin and then his head again, Sam found his inspiration and quickly began to write away.
Hero – mom
Greg – stepdad
Vic – stepbrother ???
Real dad – MIA ?
Boyfriends?
California-related ppl ???
Dean, out of the blue, sat next to Sam and leaned over to see what he was writing. "What's that?"
"List…" Sam muttered. "Suspects."
"Well that's nice…and your key people are her family?" Dean muttered.
Sam cocked his head to the side and rested his hand on his knee annoyingly. Tapping the pen against the notepad, the younger Winchester explained: "Someone hired Daryl to do this job…someone shot him…my guess…Daryl was never going to go to the edge. And his client was upset." He turned his head wildly to Dean and continued. "And Daryl is dead…and by now, the cops have taken apart that altar for evidence…"
"Which means that the thing done to Isabella should have been destroyed," Dean added, after all, the one performing the curse and the altar itself was now destroyed, "which means there is someone else out there continuing the damn thing. But who."
"Isabella never hurt anyone…" Sam thought. "As far as I can tell…she was a decent person. The only time she probably pissed anyone off was when she dropped Northwestern-"
"And headed to Hollywood," Dean finished. "And god knows there are some angry-jealous-crazed people there."
"Dean…" Sam whispered. Both brothers looked at each other and then down at the list of names. "Anyone could seriously be doing this to her. Keeping her in a coma…how will we ever know?"
There was the worry. Dean sensed it very quickly. First there was worry. Then anxiety. Finally, guilt.
"Dude…we'll get to the bottom of this," Dean assured. "We just have to go through more detail on this one. Trust me. It's just another job."
"Yeah," Sam sighed. "Maybe you're right."
Dean nodded and looked back down at the notepad. "Why's Vic underlined?"
"Just a vibe…" Sam whispered. "Nothing too big. I dunno. He could be upset about Izzy's state…"
"Or something else…" Dean noted. "You do your psychic thing…I'll do my thing…and we'll finish this crap and finally have that long-deserved vacation." He smiled widely and slapped Sam on the shoulder. His younger brother only grinned and shook his head while he stuck the notepad into his pocket.
Dean rose from his seat and stretched his arms. "Lets get back to Amy's and chill a bit, right? Beer would be good."
Sam stood up too and rubbed his temple. "Yeah, actually does sound good." His eyes peered around the hospital. "Where is Amy?"
O.O.O.O.O.
Amy was crouched in the corner of the bathroom. Body trembling and eyes welling with tears, she made small gasps of breaths as if she were hyperventilating.
She was not alone in the bathroom. Two figures, attired in hospital ware, looked down at her closely.
"Get away…" Amy pleaded, feeling beads of sweat roll down her face.
The two figures were patients. Dead patients.
Pale skin. Open wounds on their arms and chests. They continued to look down at Amy.
Amy turned her face away. Her body was shaking even more now. A line of blood escaped through one of her nostrils.
Soon the two figures had gone and a nurse on her break entered the ladies room. She found Amy, unconscious, lying on the floor with a bloody nose.
O.O.O.O.O.
AN: Not much, just wanted to make a short update. I had to re-read all the past chapters to remember exactly what I'm writing. I apologize for any errors – I'm a little rusty. Comments/Feedbacks GREATLY appreciated.
Happy New Year! Hello 2007!