Chapter Fifteen – The Newspaper & The Rada
Isabella did not make contact with the Winchesters and the young professor. The three returned to the apartment, calling out her name, hoping something would happen. The night was spent doing further research and checking on Grammy. Her voice was thin over Amy's cell. The old woman was set for bed at seven.
The hunters did finally relax. Amy suggested a round of beers, enough to make them sleepy, especially since Amy and Dean had napped their afternoon away. Sam agreed to a sleeping pill around nine. Either Sam took it voluntarily, or Dean would shove it down his throat – the older brother was concerned for his younger sibling's well-being. It was obvious Sam was upset about this particular case. Amy, knowing Isabella best, was deeply saddened by the event, but Sam was taking this in a completely different way. It showed.
Amy had a later class at one the next day, but it didn't mean an early rising for the others and continuing the investigation. Isabella would be helped, Sam could get whatever-it-was out of his system, and Dean would grin at the sheer thought of his long-awaited vacation.
The three were in bed by ten, sleeping easily with the help of a sleeping pill or beer.
O.O.O.O.O.
The figure stepped before the darkness, hooded and clocked, stroking the necklace with a vile attached to it, with a gloved hand.
In its other hand, the figure angrily dropped a fresh newspaper on the altar. It was opened to a small, but well-advertised article on one of Northwestern's professors. There was a black-and-white photograph of Professor Aimes Cromwell at her desk, smiling, with her hands folded neatly by her laptop. In bold letters, above the picture, read:
KANSAS GIRL IN THE BIG CITY
The title itself wouldn't take your eyes off the picture. For there it was. A circle, drawn in blood, around Amy's image.
O.O.O.O.O.
She seemed to be the first to always wake up. At the least the night had been peaceful, one of the rare occasions Sam didn't wake up screaming or having a terrible vision. Peaceful. Too peaceful for her taste. It didn't feel right. Waking up with a stream of sunlight on your face at ten o'clock. Everything was celestial. But Amy felt a wave of guilt crash over her; in those few moments of enjoying her morning, realizing she could sleep in and not leave for class until after twelve, she had forgotten, for only a moment, about Isabella.
Climbing out of bed sleepily, Amy stretched her arms and, not even caring about her unbrushed and creased hair, left her bedroom.
The hall was quiet and the guest room door was closed. Sam was sleeping there and Dean had the couch.
She was careful not to disturb him; Dean seemed to be the one to drink most during the night. He would obviously sleep in a bit more.
With coffee on the ready, Amy walked to her front door to pick up the paper, which was always promptly delivered at eight o'clock each morning.
Right outside the door, were her apartment complex newsletter and a newspaper, just as expected. She picked it up lazily, closing the door quietly behind her, and returned to the kitchen.
She disregarded the newsletter and paper. Coffee seemed to be the only thing that mattered. Plus, in her opinion, the others should have been up by now and everyone should have been continuing looking into Izzy's case.
Amy drank from a clay cup, painted purple and glazed appropriately, a gift given to her by an art student at Northwestern. She drank slowly; the first taste woke her up. The second made her realized what the day had ahead for her – and them.
Her hand searched the kitchen counter for the newspaper. The headline wasn't exciting: MAYOR REBUILDS PRISON.
Oddly enough, Amy found, in the top right corner, and advertisement for an article that had the Northwestern logo and the headline: KANSAS GIRL IN THE BIG CITY: The Most Interesting Professor at Northwestern University of Evanston.
There had been an article printed already? Amy was slightly annoyed. She tried to give Professor Saton's nephew a chance, but Amy hadn't exactly enjoyed the interview between her and Carter Lynn.
She went to Page Five, as the advertisement directed, and found the bold print KANSAS GIRL IN THE BIG CITY and her picture.
KANSAS GIRL IN THE BIG CITY
-C. Lynn
Northwestern University of Evanston presents an honorary award to a noteworthy professor every year, rewarding this individual with respect and a reputation to last throughout the decades (it also includes a ten-pound plaque.)
Amy couldn't help but laugh. She realized Carter Lynn was a satirical writer, adding some humor in his articles. Most of it was completely harmless. The 'noteworthy professor' continued reading.
Aimes Cromwell, age 26, is an astonishing individual and, in my opinion, was the only candidate for this award. A native from Lawrence, Kansas, this small town girl achieved the greatest dream possible – not only is she Northwestern's youngest professor in history but her students have the highest average in her art classes than in any other class. She is popular among her students and fellow colleagues, as well as with her community. Amy, as friends call her, teaches Art History and although she is still on her way to receive a PhD in her field, this woman, obviously gifted with a radiant beauty, was equally matched in brains. Like any young bachelorette, Miss Cromwell enjoys her time with her friends and is just like any normal girl…
Her eyes squinted down at the paper as she read further on…
This young woman loves movies and books, and has a variety of interests in other areas: Psychic Conventions and Paranormal Investigation-
Eyes widening and mouth dropping-
She takes an interest in reading about psychics and 'ESP', as well as attending a psychic convention back in January. One can say Amy Cromwell has taken a creative turn in her artistic world. Recently, with sad regards, Miss Cromwell has involved herself in the investigation of a car crash of a previous student, Isabella Jamison, age 21.
Jamison, arriving back home from California, crashed her car nearly two weeks ago and has suffered a comatose state since the tragedy. Police know nothing of how the car crashed, or why the car crashed, and Miss Cromwell has warm-heartedly taken out the time to help as much as she can. Aided with the help of friends and police, it is suspected (by some) that Miss Cromwell believes Jamison's investigation is in need special services – not the FBI – but supernatural.
"I'm going to kill him!" Amy squealed, gasping at the same time. From the living room, Dean was stirring. Amy gripped tightly around the paper and said aloud: "'By some'? Please, by HIM!"
Just recently, an Illinois man, Daryl Greene, was shot in his home and left for dead. Police can draw no connection between he and Isabella Jamison, except for the fact the man had a ritualistic altar in his basement – all centered around Jamison.
Amy didn't notice Dean, wearing jeans and shirtless, stood beside her, looking over her shoulder and down at the paper.
I guess one doesn't need to call a Ghostbuster for this one. Contact an old friend, or a professor, and it shows that Amy Cromwell is no ordinary girl from Kansas.
Professor. Overachiever. Attractive. She definitely shows interests in many different areas.
O.O.O.O.O.
Amy was heard in the shower – she was yelling, not at herself, but to the imaginary Carter Lynn.
Sam turned his head from the hall. He sat back on the couch, in jeans and a regular white T-shirt, listening to Dean finish the article.
Dean threw the newspaper on the center table and balled his hand into a fist.
"So, what are we going to do about it?" Sam asked.
Dean pursed his lips and said, "Amy's going to go into work early and try to ensure her work won't be affected by this…you're going to continue helping Isabella…and I'm going to hunt that son-of-a-bitch down and show him some 'paranormal investigation.'"
Sam, sighing, rubbed his tired eyes and shook his head angrily. "Man, Amy does not need this…"
"She's freaked dude," Dean noted, "she's worried of what people will think – especially Northwestern people – and Isabella's family…if they read this…"
"This Carter guy wrote everything down that will definitely make things a bit more interesting now."
"Oh, it'll get interesting." Dean grumbled and finished buttoning up a dark blue shirt. "And when I kill Lynn, things will get better."
"Yeah," Sam agreed, "but let's focus on hunting one evil at a time. Save Lynn for last."
"Oh, I'll get that bastard," Dean gritted his teeth angrily. He reached over to grab the newspaper again, he read a few lines, and laughed sarcastically. "And what's with this… 'bachelorette'… 'attractive'…what's he trying to do – expose her or date her?"
He threw the newspaper angrily off to the side, Sam catching it instead and reading the article for himself.
"Please man," Dean barked, "you take care of Isabella's problem, I'll take care of Amy's – we meet in the middle."
"Look, calm down…Carter Lynn is scum…" Sam tried. Dean's neck was clenching and his fists were still by his side. "Amy will be okay. Carter Lynn has a reputation of being a dirtbag. Northwestern won't be hurt by this, Amy won't be hurt by this, and Amy will definitely not get burned by Northwestern. And we HAVE to focus on Izzy…okay…just chill…"
Dean leaned forward in his seat, relaxed a bit, and stared down cold at the newspaper in Sam's hand.
Her voice could be heard from down the hall, through a locked door, and in the running shower – Amy was upset and she continued to mumble on.
Sam rubbed his hands together and ran a hand through his hair.
"Amy will go to Northwestern," Sam planned, "I will go through Daryl's address book more carefully and find someone else to question…you contact Grammy and see if she's willing to try again at the hospital…then you will help me find whoever caused Isabella's crash. Okay?"
He must have mumbled a "Whatever" and Dean angrily sat back in the couch, shaking his head furiously.
O.O.O.O.O.
Amy stomped through the halls of Northwestern, attired in brown-beige striped slacks, a white blouse with a matching brown vest, and heels, carrying her bag by her side. She was still upset and her hair swayed continuously along the sides of her face. Her destination was to her office first – then off to see Dean Karajan. His reaction was a giant question mark to her. Either Northwestern would be just as upset that one of their own was humiliated…or they would be upset at her for her new "interests."
Sam agreed that Amy deny what Carter Lynn had printed. "Basically," Sam had said, "accuse him of stalking and for libel."
She found herself in her office, quickly setting up her laptop on her desk and pulling out the newspaper article. Once she had the paper rolled tightly in her grip, Amy left to the door but was stopped by a sad expression-
Professor Saton, looking equally upset, and even depressed, stood before her – in his hand, he clutched the same newspaper article.
"Ian…" Amy sighed sadly.
"My dear…" Ian whispered. His voice was hoarse. "I'm so sorry. I called Carter the moment I read this…gave him a good yell…"
She retreated back to her office and sat down in her chair. Ian followed; the professor sat across from her, and shook his head grimly.
"Ian, I don't know what I should do…I mean…you know the truth…" Amy noted. "I could accuse your nephew of printing false information and etc…but do you think he would back it up with whatever evidence he has? And if I'm found lying…could I lose my job-"
"My dear, Heavens no," Ian barked. "My idiot nephew will not lead to something that disastrous. Speak with Karajan. Tell him simply that Carter got carried away – say you had a friend that was attending the psychic convention, and you were merely there to take a look around…as for the 'paranormal investigation'…"
"Maybe I can just say I've taken an interest in the case. My friends, Sam and Dean, are police officers who are lending a helping hand-"
O.O.O.O.O.
"-I called them because I know them personally, and I felt they could help more with the case," Amy said, sitting across Dean Karajan.
He was a very tall, slender man. He didn't look like he was in his early fifties. Perhaps it was because he dyed his hair every month to hide any grays. His hands were folded before him, the newspaper article itself laid beneath his large hands, and Dean Karajan was upset about the article as well.
Amy knew this, obviously. She also knew that Karajan was sympathetic with her. And the more she lied, the more he was inclined to believe her.
"I'm afraid Carter Lynn got only one thing right in the article by stating I was a professor at Northwestern…the rest is his crazy imagination. Carter also printed a story involving my friend, sir, so that just makes the situation even worse, if the family of this poor girl reads this-"
"Professor Cromwell," Dean Karajan laughed. He raised his hand to silence her easily, and Amy shut her mouth slowly. He laughed again and said, "I've dealt with Carter Lynn before. He has been known to exaggerate and never get the full story." He cocked his head to the side, signaling that everything would be okay. "If you'd like, I'll give a statement to a friend of mine – at the very same newspaper – for print regarding Lynn's article. Also, we could press charges for Lynn following you and also harassing others to get information on you. I'll have a talk with a lawyer friend and see if this is worth a prosecution."
"Dean Karajan," Amy sighed, "I'm glad for your faith in me. But I was just honestly worried about what this article would have you think of me. Now that I know that you're on my side, I don't want to turn this thing into something bigger. Professor Saton, Lynn's uncle, is talking to him and warning him about the trouble he may have. No prosecution. Your faith in me is enough."
The dean smiled and nodded his head. "I commend you for that, Amy." He always sounded sweeter when he called her Amy. "I suggest keeping away form this Carter Lynn. Sounds like a bad apple to me. You understand that if you change your mind and you want Lynn punished for this, I always have friends willing to help me out."
Amy laughed, relieved, and said, "No thanks boss." She grinned. "Your connections will not be needed." She got up to leave, smiling, and turned to the door.
"I'm glad you felt inclined to come to me, Amy," Dean Karajan said before she left. "You are the only professor, the only candidate that I could think of for this award. Your character there…definitely defies who you are."
O.O.O.O.O.
Dean and Sam, in the Impala, were headed to another address. Dean was on the phone, with Amy, while Same drove.
"…Okay, sounds good to me…" Dean said to Amy. "I talked to Grammy. She'll head over there about one. You have fun with your class today, okay?...alright. Talk to you later."
He hung up, stuffed the phone into his pocket, and flipped through Daryl's address book and his father's journal at the same time.
"Everything good?" Sam asked.
"Seems like it," Dean sighed, taking a break from the address book and going back to the journal. "The dean believed her. So I think she's okay now. She'll meet us afterward."
"Good good good," Sam sighed, relieved, and turned to see that Dean was flipping through several different pages. "Dad have any good info on Rada or anything that could be helpful?"
Dean pursed his lips and shrugged. "The only info here on voodoo is stuff we already know. We've done the other research. Looks like we just have to find the one responsible and kick their ass and destroy the altar, Sammy boy."
"Sam," Sam corrected, "and the actual finding of this person has been frustrating enough. Where's this address we're going to?"
"Someone called Harp Genesis," Dean explained, "the label beside this guy is Charms and Stuff. Doesn't sound that interesting, but he had one of those star things beside his name. So he's worth checking out."
O.O.O.O.O.
They came to a small house in a rather expensive neighborhood. It was a cottage, fit for one person. Sam parked the Impala across the street and he and Dean exited the vehicle and crossed the street, up the walkway, and to the grand door. Dean looked around, confused, and said, "A 'Charms and Stuff' guy lives here?"
Sam grinned, knocked on the door, and instantly met with a strange looking man – he was tall, but skinny, and wore an oversized T-shirt and pants. This man was obviously on drugs, his face was pale and his eyes were sunken in.
"Yeh?" the man asked, leaning against the door frame.
Dean and Sam, at the exact same moment, pulled out fake police badges.
"We're here to speak with you sir," Sam explained, "about a murder that occurred recently."
O.O.O.O.O.
"Daryl…wow…" Harp sighed, sitting on a leather sofa, his sunken eyes looked almost wet.
Dean and Sam, sitting opposite of him, leaned in just to hear the man's soft voice.
"We're sorry…" Sam whispered.
"He was a good guy…" Harp continued in that same hushed tone. "I don't understand…"
"We believe a client shot him," Dean continued. "Someone who might have been upset that Daryl didn't do exactly what he, or she, wanted. Do you have any idea of what this might be about?"
Harp, confused, gave an expression as if he were just remembering where he was. He swallowed, pinched his eyes shut for a moment, and said, "Daryl came to me about a month ago…" He wiped his face from the single tear that appeared. Harp continued, "He needed the 'good stuff'…said a client of his was wanting something big…"
Dean and Sam looked at one another, then back at Harp-
"I gave him what he needed…in higher dosages…"
"Dosages of what?" Dean asked.
Harp shrugged and simply said, "Narcissus flower…Egyptian root…some herbal weeds from Central America…"
"Wait," Sam interrupted, confusing Harp for just a moment, "Daryl had you labeled as a 'Charms and Stuff' guy…not 'Herbal' guy like the others."
The thin man laughed, his voice cracking. "I'm not like Misty, man." He grinned again. "I have the same stuff, but used for different purposes…the Herbal guys sell to Daryl for actual mixins'…my stuff is used for protection."
"Protection…for…?" Sam asked.
"You guys are funny cops," Harp grinned, but went on anyway. "Daryl was a good Vodouisant. He would never hurt someone too bad. He would curse people to give them small stuff, diarrhea, cramps, forget something important…my stuff, Daryl buys it to ensure the person, who is being cursed, is protected…"
"I'm not following, Harp," Dean questioned.
He sat up in his seat, looking a bit more sickly, and Harp explained: "Lets say you want to curse your lying, slut-whore-of-a-girlfriend…you go to Daryl…and you want something bad to happen to her…you just don't know what exactly…Daryl advises to do something like…make her hair fall out…her teeth get more yellow…something bad, but simple…so, Daryl gets paid to curse this particular bitch…" He swallowed, thought for a moment, and continued. "Daryl is good at curses…so he curses the girl…but Daryl makes certain charms so that the girl is protected…basically, the curse doesn't last long or cause any damage in the long run…and the charms will eventually end the curse and the bitch goes on with her normal, full-hair and white teeth, whore-slut-bag-life…with that damned plumber we used to have come here once every month-"
"Umm, Harp," Sam interrupted. Harp stopped talking, almost forgetting what he just said, and turned to Sam. "Daryl came to you for a higher dosage…which meant he needed extra protection on this one…"
"We believe a client wanted to attack a girl…put her in a car accident-"
"Car accident?" Harp coughed. "There's no waaayyy man, Daryl would never do that."
"Yes, but…" Sam added, "this client will give Daryl a good amount of money…and Daryl decides to do it…what exactly would he do…"
"Man, he would put extra-protection on her," Harp said. "Knowing Daryl…he would do something that would not even cause pain. Cause an accident, yes, but nothing physically harmful to the girl. Maybe scare her…"
"These charms, are they like voodoo rituals? If the person who made them, died, would the charms go away?" Dean asked gently.
Harp shook his head. "Charms last. Especially good ones. My guess…Daryl did a pretty good protection charm. He almost tripled all the dosages I usually give him. This girl is protected." He grinned slowly. "Trust me."
O.O.O.O.O.
"Well, Isabella is protected all right," Dean said as he and Sam got back into the car. "But it doesn't help…we don't know, Harp didn't even know, who the client was…"
Sam, sitting in the driver's seat, tapped his hands on the wheel and bit his lip.
"Isabella is protected…" Sam said slowly.
Dean looked at him oddly and questioned, "Yeah, you're point?"
Sam turned to Dean quickly and said, "Voodoo rituals…they're a connection between the person doing the curse and the person getting the curse…thus, that's why if the curser dies, the cursee is freed…"
"Yes, duh?"
"Which means…" Sam thought aloud, "maybe Isabella…being the way she is…maybe she can somehow connect to the one doing this." He thought for another second, continuing: "Maybe if she's the one that actually concentrates and meditates…without the help of psychics…maybe she can, deep down, figure out who is doing this…I've seen it – her emotions are affecting the way she is now…when she gets upset, she fades away…but if she really focuses…she can find who is doing this…"
Sam started the car and pulled out into the street.
Dean nodded his head approvingly, but sighed: "Yeah, the problem is…Isabella is gone."
O.O.O.O.O.
3.10 PM…
Sitting in the apartment, Dean looked up at the black clock and sighed. "Time sure does fly when you're having fun."
On the center table were dozens of articles of voodoo rituals and any papers specifying ritualistic voodoo spells. Some articles dated back to the fourteen hundreds and others were found in present day. People had been arrested, after finding evidence of voodoo rituals, accusing them guilty of the cursee's death.
Sam flipped through the pages of his father's journal, jotting down any note that could be helpful. Dean was busily working on the laptop, printing as much as he could from Amy's printer, and jotting down his own notes.
The door to the apartment and Amy stepped through, even her steps were joyful as she walked in and left her stuff in the hall. She came in, sticking her hands in her back pockets, and smiled. "Everyone looks so busy."
Dean looked up and winked.
Sam grinned and asked, "Good day?"
"Finally," Amy sighed. "One of the most relaxing days. Two days ago things were normal…the last two days have been hell…did you find anything?"
"Just doing background info," Dean explained. Amy came around to where he was sitting and sat down next to him, sitting on the arm of the sofa. "Any sign of Izzy?"
Amy shook her head and ran a hand through her hair. "No sign. I tried screaming her name out, but it hasn't worked."
"We need her here," Sam sighed. "She can be the only one to save herself."
"Now that she's AWOL," Dean chuckled sarcastically, "we're back to the beginning. Nothing."
Amy rested her hand on Dean's shoulder and announced, "Grammy gave me a call. She's at the hospital with Izzy. Apparently they read the article Lynn wrote…they're pretty upset." She crossed her arms over her chest. "But Grammy comforted them, assured them Lynn's just a petty writer." She grinned.
"Well, Lynn's not a problem," Sam smiled back, "but Izzy is still in a heap of trouble. We don't know why Daryl's killer is extending this."
Dean: "Maybe the killer didn't know the amount of protection charms Daryl put on Isabella, maybe he can't break 'em, you heard what Harp said."
Sam: "The killer must be doing something wrong…they're losing their hold on Izzy…if her emotions are affecting her current state…it means the amateur Vodouisant – Daryl's killer – is messing up. But why prolong this?"
Amy: "Maybe he doesn't want Isabella dead."
Dean and Sam looked at Amy oddly.
"You said so yourselves that Daryl would never hurt anyone, especially kill them," Amy thought, "what if the client realized this…he could have gone to someone else…but he wanted Daryl to do it…maybe killing Isabella isn't the thing…maybe it's something else…"
"Maybe…" Sam thought, "maybe whoever did it, he or she, maybe they thought this whole thing could lead to something…not death-"
"But hurting her in a different way," Dean realized, "not death…maybe putting her family through this-"
"Or her family…" Amy thought sadly. "What if they wanted to go through this."
Sam ran his hands over his face in aggravation. He sighed loudly and snapped, "We can't be thinking like this!" He shrugged and sat back on the couch. Dean and Amy were looking at him. "It's just," Sam explained, "all these assumptions and guesses…good for normal investigation but not for us. We need Isabella here, she can save herself if she tries…but if we keep thinking like this, we're going to be pointing fingers at the wrong person."
"Sammy, chill," Dean snapped back, "we'll get through this." He looked up at Amy, then back at his brother. Sam was so upset and this time it was showing more than ever. "Okay," Dean decided, "break time. We've been working since nine this morning. We take a break and we'll get back to it around four. Okay?"
"Isabella's life is at risk, here-" Sam argued, but Dean fought back, "But if Isabella isn't supposed to die, then we can afford to waste time. If someone wanted her dead, they would have killed her by now."
Sam, remaining silent, rested his face in his hands. Amy walked over to him, sat down, and rubbed his back.
"Eat something, okay?" Amy tried soothingly. "You guys get a sandwich to eat and a beer." She turned to Dean, giving him that look that said: "Take care of your brother." Dean nodded in agreement. Amy looked down at Sam and said, "Everything will be okay." She sighed and said, "While you guys take a break, I'm going to go down to the complex indoor pool. I need to swim a few laps, clear my head."
"Yeah, sounds like a good idea," Dean agreed. "You swim, we'll take a breather. Go ahead."
Amy nodded and leaned over to Sam to kiss him on the top of the head. He looked up, smiling half-way, and nodded.
The professor left the boys in silence while she went off to change.
Sam sighed and laughed at himself. "Sorry," Sam whispered, voice directed at Dean, "I didn't mean to freak out…it's just…"
"I know man," Dean sighed. "We've dealt with the big bad before…this has been more complicated for us. We're not even dealing with demons. We're dealing with a psychotic human being."
O.O.O.O.O.
The boys had done as told: They made a few sandwiches, grabbed two beers (one for each), and sat down to watch something on TV, other than news. It was a sports channel. Both Winchesters loved sports, especially football, and it felt like years before they actually sat down and watched a bit of the game. As they ate, they heard Amy coming from the hall and turned to her.
She was wearing a red, Speedo bikini; she wore black sweats and had a towel draped across her shoulder. In her hands were a small, silver key and a pair of goggles. Her hair was tied back in a pony tail and she walked across the living room in flip-flops.
"I'll be back in half an hour," Amy said, leaning down to Dean, placing a small kiss on his temple.
Dean grinned up at her and said, "You look good." His eyes couldn't help themselves. It had been a while since he'd seen her stomach. He remembered her slender stomach, and small lines outlining her abs, back when they were in 1997 and Amy had dressed like an exotic dancer. Dean was gazing at her and Sam coughed loudly.
"Umm, have fun," Sam grinned, staring down at Dean. Dean gave that look that said "What did I do?" and he turned to Amy and smiled.
"I'll be back," Amy laughed, trying to hide the blush. She realized she was comfortable in walking around in a bikini around the Winchesters. They used to spend a lot of summer-pool-days together in the younger years. But now that she and Dean were together, Amy wished she had grabbed a shirt to put over .
She left them rather quickly, almost skipping to the door, and closed it behind her.
Sam shook his head, laughed, and continued to eat.
Dean was still in a gaze. His younger brother laughed at him; Sam continued to chuckle until Dean noticed.
"What?" the older Winchester snapped.
"God, it's awkward," Sam laughed. "I mean…we've seen Amy in a bikini before…and now it's like you're actually staring at her…oh boy…"
"Hey, she's my girl, so you better not be staring," Dean threatened.
"Dude, are you serious?" Sam smirked. "Amy's never been that way in my eyes…you, on the other than, you two always had a thing…but now…geez Dean. Are you guys actually in a relationship now?"
"Oh c'mon," Dean complained, taking a swig of his beer, "we're taking a break. Don't go Oprah on me and 'Lets talk about our relationships'…"
Sam swallowed a bite of his sandwich and leaned back in his chair. "But you're calling her your girl…you got defensive around Officer Blake when you first met him…even Lynn's article got to you…and now…you're staring her down…" He shook his head and laughed. "Dean's got a girlfriend," he sang annoyingly. Sam was quick to dodge a flying chip at his head, and he laughed even more.
O.O.O.O.O.
The article about Amy, with the blood circling her face in the photo, was placed on a different table. The hooded figure, whispering something under their breath, stroking the vile around his neck, waved his hand over Amy's photograph, smudging the blood from the circle onto her face.
O.O.O.O.O.
She flip-turned, kicked from the wall, and Amy shot through the water quickly. She raised her arms and scooped them through the water while her legs were busily kicking to push her through. She swam with a pair of goggles on and took a breath every four strokes. She flip-turned again when she reached the opposite wall.
It was a fast lap, she was determined, and she continued to stroke and kick faster as she went lap by lap. Taking another deep breath, Amy pushed herself to go faster and forced her arms to work harder.
The indoor pool was located in its own special location by the front office. All who lived in the complex had their own key to get in.
Amy had been lucky to be the only one there. Everyone else was either at work or school. No kids and no adults to ruin a good swim. She even dimmed the lights a bit and closed the curtains to give the place a more serene atmosphere. As she swam, her eyes could see the clean blue water through her goggles, and since there was barely any light in the place, the walls and everything else looked gray. The only bright light in the pool were the lights on the bottom of the pool. Amy had found ways to sneak into the pool after the hours were up, and she could turn on the lights herself and swim. Swimming was a way to escape the stress that always seemed to find her. Swimming made the headaches and migraines go away. Swimming made her forget that the dead always seemed to find her.
Something wasn't right. Amy was in the middle of flip-turning when her stomach seemed to churn and, instead of kicking off the wall, flipped herself over and she pulled her head out of the water. She pulled her goggles off, strands of hair had found their way to the sides of her face, and Amy looked around.
No one was there. No one had opened the door; it was loud enough for people, even in the water, to hear. Feeling silence and not even a presence in the natatorium, Amy was sure it was okay to continue swimming. I'm just paranoid, she thought. She was going to do another lap soon, but decided to just tread water for a minute.
She placed her goggles back up on the floor, and dunked her hair in the water. She pulled off the hair tie and let her hair free in the water. Running her fingers through her hair, Amy popped up to the water's surface and treaded for a minute. She turned herself around and swam in circles until she could get that sick feeling in her stomach to go away.
But it came back again, stronger this time, and Amy snapped her head around to view the entire pool area. There was no one, still. Her stuff had been placed on a chair and her goggles were just on the natatorium's floor now. She was alone, treading water, fear growing deep within her. She dunked her head again, under the water, and came back up, spitting out the chlorine-filled liquid. Amy licked her lips and continued to turn around in the water. No one was there…
Her head was painfully dunked down into the water. Amy felt her entire body ache as she was pushed down, twelve feet, all the way to the bottom of the pool. There wasn't a body pushing her down. Amy, without her goggles, couldn't make out anything but a blue blur.
People tell you, when you're in that situation, to not thrash around or open your mouth so that you lose air or have a panic attack and drown. But Amy had forgotten everything. She seemed to forget how to do anything but fight back the pressure that was pushing her down. She opened her mouth, screaming through the water.
Air was slipping away from her…she thought she still had it…she continued to gasp through the water…
From the top, looking down at her, Isabella's mouth opened and she screamed. "AMY!"
Isabella could only see that something was keeping Amy down there.
O.O.O.O.O.
Dean and Sam, watching the game, were surprised when Isabella appeared before them. They jumped slightly, and didn't have time to say anything-
"Get to the pool! Amy's DROWNING!"
O.O.O.O.O.
Amy was still fighting. She had managed to push herself off the pool floor, but something was still pushing her down. Her loose hair was swimming pass her face. She couldn't see anything but her hair now…she opened her mouth, a bubble popped up onto the surface…
She got free! Somehow she had done it. Amy pushed off from the floor and swam to the very top. But just as her head got above the surface, and she struggled for air, Amy was pulled down again.
Oh god, oh god, oh god…was the only thing she could think of. The last breath of air she had taken seemed to be the only precious thing she had. She didn't feel arms or a body push her down, but a heavy pressure that scared her so much she screamed.
Air. It was leaving her now…she was gasping and screaming through the water again. She felt her back being pinned to the bottom of the pool and her ears popped. Her hands pressed against the pool floor, trying to push and kick her way back to the top…
Her chest hurt. She felt tired. Her arms and legs refused to kick and push as hard she wanted them to…
She blinked slower this time…until her eyes closed and her arms were floating above her. The phantom pressure, whatever it had been, was gone.
O.O.O.O.O.
A/N: Thank you all for your great reviews! And I'm glad to say that I've had over 100 hits to my chapters, so I'm glad so many people are enjoying them! "That Ol' Black Magic" is ALMOST done. Maybe 4 or 5 chapters left. I really enjoyed the episode "Hunted"! And I can't wait for more!
REVIEWS/COMMENTS APPRECIATED!