Johansson's adherents had taken up their places, still within the circle of protection but each now knelt at the apex of five of the six points on the Seal of Solomon etched onto the floor. Hoods shadowed their faces and sleeves hung from flexed wrists as hands were joined palms together. An expectant hush had fallen over the gathering as the Sheriff stood silently at the sixth point of the star next to the altar.
Johansson centred his thoughts, pulling in his senses shutting out the room and its occupants to concentrate on the small orb of power which had gathered inside him. In front of him, placed carefully on the unholy altar, lay the scroll of skin parchment, which had been so carefully collected. On it was written, in his own blood, the ritual words of the summoning.
Breathing in slowly, filling his lungs with the incense the Sheriff let the fragrant fumes fill his purified body, let it cleanse the day and the ordinary from him as he reached out and unfurled delicate vellum.
He didn't need to read, he knew each syllable by heart yet he looked down considering the dirty red lettering spidering over the yellow parchment, savouring every curl and flourish as he recited. Each of the ritual words had been imbued with power as he'd written and now as he spoke every phrase took on a life of its own; threading from his mouth their sound interlacing with the tendrils of smoke swirling above them.
"I conjure thee O spirit Eblis strengthened by the power of the Almighty Satan. I conjure and command thee come forth to me who speaks the most unholy petition. Appear forthwith and show thyself to me here outside this circle in fair and human shape, without horror or deformity and without delay.
Come I conjure thee by Him to whom all creatures owe obedience, by whose name the elements are overthrown, the air is shaken, the sea is turned back, the fire quenched and the earth shudders. Speak to me Eblis and obey my will.
I command thee to be ruled by whom thou owest obedience and abide and accept his name the one who has dominion over thee. Come answer my calling, do whatever I desire for thou are conjured by the Name of our Lord Lucifer the true God."
A hiss of escaping steam from the brazier broke into Johansson's concentration. Irritated by its disturbance he re-focused drawing on his followers, pulling in their strength as he spoke the words again, louder this time, throwing more of his power, their power, into the meaning.
More smoke curled dark and massive from the smouldering fire. He commanded again, feeling it echo through the emptiness of the bunker as he raised the timber of his voice laying more emphasis and significance into its portent.
Power crackled, sparking in the air and the black vapour billowed but still the spirit did not manifest. Johansson swallowed back the disappointment knowing that he must not let doubt enter his mind.
Taking up the athame he pulled back the sleeve on his left arm and ran the sharp edge the full length of his forearm, from elbow to wrist. Blood welled from the deep gash, glossy and rich red its rivulets snaking across his white flesh, dripping onto the missive beneath.
"By the four beasts, by the fire, by the unholy Angels of heaven and the Mighty Wisdom of Lucifer answer my demands and perform all that I desire or be cursed and flung into the very depths of the bottomless pit. There to remain in unquenchable fire and brimstone lost even to memory."
Using the blood, writing, Johansson scribed the name of Eblis and his magical symbol onto a small piece of the vellum, rolled it and placed it in a black box. After sealing the wooden container he wrapped it in iron wire then placing tip of his knife in one of the coils he held it over the flame of a candle.
"As thy name is sealed within this box, choked by a sulphurous, stinking substance and burned in the fire. So shall ye be sealed in the pit and suffer the flames of Hell."
The rumbling took Johansson by surprise and he staggered as the ground shook. Around the circle the supplicants cried out in fear as the very air around them seemed to explode sucking the oxygen from the atmosphere as it rushed past pulled in by the swirling, boiling, vortex of smoke hovering over the brazier.
Concerned only with halting the ceremony John aimed and the bullet deliberately missed Johansson's heart by six inches clipping the Sheriff's upper arm ripping a hole right through fabric and muscle but the man remained standing.
For a moment as the sound of the shot echoed through the chamber nothing seemed to move save for the billowing, thickening gaseous cloud. It shivered expanding outward for microseconds then collapsed inward rising sharply, elongating as it ascended high above the frozen figures in the circle.
Cursing John fired again this time aiming to kill but the robed figure was moving now, backwards away from the hunter spun by the force of the first impact and by his desire to escape the attack. The second bullet went wide smacking into the far wall.
John saw Johansson, clutching his bleeding arm, land heavily and squirm onto his hands and knees trying to scrabble away but the robes hampered the Sheriff's progress snagging his legs wrapping them in swathes of purple. The man ferociously wrenched at the vestments, grabbing handfuls of material from around his thighs and knees but John got the impression Johansson was not a man in panic. He was furious, incensed his eyes flashing with unsullied hatred even as he pulled free and continued to crawl.
John hurled himself across the space determined that the sonofabitch wasn't going to escape.
Xxx
The pain in Johansson's arm was nothing to the indignant hatred burning in his heart. How dare these men desecrate his ritual, they had no place, no right. He'd worked so long and so hard, taken so many risks to get even this close to fulfilling his plans. To add further injury the spirit had been manifesting, its form taking shape over the brazier and these damned fools had barged in and destroyed everything but he would get his revenge, these blasphemers would not turn him from his purpose.
Pulling at his tangled vestments in vexation he crawled towards his fallen knife but before he could reach it a black boiling cloud filled his vision. Spiralling, twisting and spinning it speared towards him. Shock opened Johansson's mouth in an echo of his mother's dying expression and the arm of smoke forced itself down his throat.
Xxx
Pain seared across John's chest ricocheting down his arm and leg as he hit the ground pushed from the path to his prey by a tackle from the left. John hadn't stood a chance the momentum of the driving attack from the heavy set figure carrying him to the floor, the weight of his assailant pinning him down by an arm. Grappling, rolling John fisted his fingers the man's clothes pulling his enemy over his own supine body and crashing him into the hard concrete floor. He heard a groan whoosh from the man as he launched himself upward in one flowing movement to straddle the semi-conscious figure.
The fist smacking into the man's temple was instinctive, self preservation and John was raising his clenched fingers again even before he felt the jarring blow vibrate all the way up his arm. Blood gushed from his assailant's broken nose pouring over the lips and chin. John's knuckles contacted again slamming into the already damaged tissue forcing the head back and to the side. He drew back his arm a third time but was aware enough to rein in his response as he felt the conscious tension leave the body beneath him.
Breathing heavily John dropped his arm, his gaze immediately raking the semi-darkness for his foe. Bill was holding his own against two of the Sheriff's followers, two were down and he assumed that the other had fled but where the hell was Johansson.
Cursing under his breath, fearing that the Sheriff had hightailed it along with his acolytes John pushed himself up and off the unconscious body. Readying himself he swung round searching. In that instant he caught a movement in his peripheral vision.
Twisting, side-stepping the dark shape advancing on him the hunter brought his arm up to ward off the attack but the knife was already arcing inside his defences. John jerked back instinctively but the blade grazed his cheek splitting the skin along the cheekbone. It stung like fury and John found himself inhaling the warm metallic tang of his own blood but that didn't stop him grabbing for the forearm before his assailant could return and strike again. Jabbing his finger ends into the dips on either side of the wrist bones, digging into the sensitive tissue he squeezed until nerveless fingers opened and the athame clattered to the floor.
Keeping his hold John yanked on the arm twisting it up his assailant's back pulling the attacker forward, chest to chest, locking their bodies together to prevent further attack. Hot breath raked over the bare skin of his neck and he shuddered at the sudden, overwhelming feeling of depravity.
"Good to see ya again John. How's Mary?" The voice whispered insinuating its timbre into his ear. "Oh I forgot, she died."
He'd called him John. It took several seconds for John to realise the portent of what the man had said. Neither he nor Bill had used their real names or even their Christian names as part of their alias. How could the man know about him, about Mary? He tightened his grip but the captive held so close flexed, pulled back and John found himself face to face with Johansson's sneering smirk.
"How are those boys of yours, Dean and little Sammy?"
John blinked stupidly at the Sheriff.
" They must be growing fast. I hope you're taking good care of them for me."
Heart clenching painfully in his chest John couldn't breath, his muscles tensed painfully, locking his limbs. He couldn't take in, sort out, make sense of the words. What was this man saying?
Finally after an agony of irresolution he moved. Whatever…this was one child murderer that was never going to see a trial.
Maintaining his grip on the wrist, pulling to keep his opponent wrong footed John ducked, corkscrewing his body, free hand reaching back seeking his own knife. His fingers closed around the hilt and he dragged it from its sheath but before he could deploy the weapon Johansson had borne downward wrenching his arm from John's grasp.
John was falling, thrown off balance by the Sheriff's actions and he tensed waiting for the jarring contact with the floor but it never came. He was airborne, rushing above the blurring concrete surface of the chamber, helpless, unable to halt his progress. He slammed into the wall, bones crunching together painfully and like a marionette whose strings had been cut he slumped hard to the ground beneath.
Struggling to drag in breath John fought against the rising pain but everything around him faded, greying out. His last conscious view was of Johansson's grinning features above him and the man's burning yellow eyes.
XXXXXXXX
"My best guess…? It was a demon." Bill laid another ice cold damp cloth over John's swollen cheek. "The bastard fool summoned a Goddamned demon."
John tried to shift away from Bill's fingers as they trailed down his chest and pressed lightly on his ribcage.
"Ouch."
Pain lanced through John's torso, front to back and he couldn't help sucking in a sharp breath. The inflating lungs pushed against his broken ribs from underneath and the aching pain became sharper and more intense.
"Jeese Bill."
His friend grinned, "Johansson sure did a number on you." Bill applied a light pressure stopping John's movements. "Keep still. You got at least two broken ribs and a couple more cracked but the rest I reckon is superficial"
It didn't feel superficial, the cut on John's cheek smarted, his eye was closing with the swelling and his whole body throbbed painfully with each heartbeat. Thankfully Bill stopped pressing the damaged area but remained gazing down at the mottled bruising spreading across his friend's chest.
"What?" John was ungraciously irritable he hated being an invalid but he hated being treated like one even more.
"Gonna have to strap you up real good 'n tight. It'll hurt like heck but at least you'll be able to sit up and it'll minimise the danger of you puncturing a lung. " Bill grinned again as if it was a great joke before lightly smacking his friend on the thigh. "Can't have you lyin' around all day."
"Was Johansson a Demon all along?" It wasn't like John had never heard of demons. He'd come across stories, mythology. Christian, Hindu, Jewish there were numerous mentions in the books he'd read but nothing about them walking the earth as actual beings. "I mean…how…When?"
"Strictly speaking he's not a demon he's possessed by one." Bill was still sitting by the bed. "Goddamn it he practically invited the thing in. You can't mess with that sort of thing without consequences."
"You mean he wanted to be possessed?" Why would Johansson open himself up like that John couldn't see the advantage?
"No, I don't think he meant that to happen, I don't think he was possessed when he…he killed those kids, that was pure Johansson but the stupid s-o-b summoned it...a demon! Idiot probably thought he could control it for whatever reason but you can't control something like that…" Bill rose and ran his hand through his hair, "…from what I saw it had manifested in the smoke, then when we broke the protection circle it went after Johansson, jammed itself down his gullet and hey presto one possessed lunatic."
"We have to find him."
Snorting his derision Bill crossed to the table and began re-packing the First Aid kit. "Yeah you and whose army… There's no point John. Johansson's dead meat already, I never heard of anyone surviving possession intact… There won't be much left." Bill tapped his temple to illustrate his point. "…that's if his body survives…and as for a demon how do you capture something that's all smoke and mirrors."
Anxiety tumbled in John's gut tying it in tight knots. It disturbed him that his friend wasn't going to follow up on the hunt. He'd always looked up to the more experienced hunter, respected his friend's knowledge and skill but Bill seemed ready to dismiss Johansson as if the man was already dead. John couldn't leave it up in the air he needed to know and he couldn't ignore what the thing had said to him.
"Bill…" He tried to sit up but fell back with a groan.
"…need some painkillers?" The elder hunter was already re-opening and rummaging in the First Aid box.
"…it knew me."
The silence which followed quickly became unbearable. Bill stood unmoving staring down at his hands holding the pill packet.
"…It called me John."
"You must have miss-heard it couldn't possibly know. There was a lot going on." Popping two capsules from the foil sheet Bill reached for a glass.
"It knew about Dean and Sam…" John's throat tightened. "How did it know about my sons, Bill?"
Sighing Bill sat heavily, slumping onto the hard wooden chair behind him and rubbed his face with callused fingers. "Honestly?" He looked tired and John noticed that his friend's hand trembled. "I have no idea. This is way beyond my expertise." He shook his head. "Who knows what Demons can do? Maybe they can read minds."
"Do you think my boys are in danger?" Fear threaded through John's anxiety.
"No…John…there's no reason, why would it…" Bill faltered he obviously couldn't give his friend the reassurance he wanted.
John struggled to sit this time managing with gritted teeth to get himself up and leaning, back to wall. "I need to call Jim."
"John it's…" The protestation burst from Bill but John already had the phone in his hand and was dialling.
"Hello…" Jim's voice was thick with sleep, blurred and unfocused.
"Jim…"
"John? What is it? Are you all right?" The Pastor was fully awake now and his worried concern enveloped John as the hunter struggled to find the words he needed.
"Its four in the morning John…what's wrong?"
"The..the boys they okay?"
"Yeah, yeah, they're fine. Sleeping…" Relief flooded through John he'd suddenly been so afraid, "…I'd have called if anything was wrong."
"I know you would" Hesitating for a moment John quickly made up his mind. He couldn't take any risks. "I'll be back to pick them up as soon as I can…"
"John? What is it?"
"You keep my boys safe Jim." John disconnected. He'd wanted to say something more, to ask his mentor, let Jim make him feel better. Yet he couldn't explain, not when he didn't know himself what he was scared of, but there had been something in the yellow eyes of the demon which had frightened John, frightened him to his very core.
XXXXXXXX
Dean was a meanie. When Dad was gone he got all bossy an'… an'… just like Dad. Sam kicked at a stone and sent it skittering across the driveway. He'd wanted to go to the park. There was a great park down the road from the Pastor's and they'd gone there lots of times but today Dean had said 'No'.
Sam kicked another stone aiming this time towards the large gatepost at the entrance to the Mission. His brother had told him he had a job to do for Pastor Jim and that Sammy could help if he wanted. Most of the time Sam loved helping his brother watching him clean Dad's gun, passing him the oiled cloth or cooking because Dean always let him press the buttons on the microwave but today Sam didn't feel like doing a job, he wanted to go to the park.
Shrugging his shoulders, Dean had turned and walked away and Sam had stuck his tongue out at his brother's retreating back but it hadn't made him feel any better. He hated being the youngest; no one had any time for him.
This wasn't strictly true and he felt a small twinge of guilt about his ungrateful thoughts because Dean nearly always made time to be with Sam despite Dad making him train and stuff. It had been Dean that had taught Sam to read and do his numbers, Dean that bathed him and cleaned up his skinned knees and Dean who laid with him at night until he fell asleep.
Bored Sam found himself wandering, through Pastor Jim's high panelled hallway to the big old-fashioned kitchen. Martha, the Pastor's housekeeper was busy preparing the evening meal for the 'guests' that were staying and Sam drawn in by the smells watched her mixing and rolling the pastry. Her pies were the best Sam knew 'cause Dean had told him as he munched his way through seconds and thirds and his brother always knew about things like that.
Humming to herself and unaware of her young observer Martha had nearly tripped over Sam stepping backwards into him but on seeing him she had smiled broadly, slipped him a couple of cookies and a tall glass of milk with a conspiratorial wink before shooing him out into the yard. She didn't have time for him either.
Leaning on the gatepost Sam gazed down the road in the direction of the park. It wasn't fair other kids got to go, an' everyday. He could hear them shouting and squealing. It sounded like they were having fun. Finishing his milk he set the glass down and slid around the post, still leaning on it but now outside the boundary of the Mission's grounds. If he bent forward he could see the swings and some dark haired boy laughing as he seesawed higher and higher.
Gradually Sam, scraping his back along the fence, worked his way nearer so he could see the merry-go-round and the monkey bars and the ice cream truck. From where he was now he could see a Dad messing around, throwing and catching a ball with his two boys. Sam's Dad played catch but it wasn't for fun he said it was to quicken their reflexes, make them faster but it made Sam cry. Unconsciously he rubbed his chest remembering the thudding hurt of a hard ball thrown with full strength.
A particularly high screech followed by howls of laughter had Sam straining to see and he stepped further down the sidewalk neck craning.
"Sounds like they're having fun huh."
Sam started surprised at the person being so close without him having heard or felt the presence. He turned regarding the owner of the voice with silent suspicion. Dad didn't like him talking to people. He'd drilled it into him and Dean again and again that people were bad news, that you didn't talk to anyone, not motel maids, not clerks, not waitresses, not cops, not nobody. He barely gave Sam permission to speak to his teachers.
"Hi I'm Pieter."
The name sounded like Peter but the way the man said it sounded weird.
Sam shifted uncomfortable with the stranger's close proximity and his heart took a lurch as his eyes slid past the slender figure to the gateway beyond and he realised that the man was between him and the safety of the Mission building. Sam's eyes flicked nervously to the gateway and back to the man. His mind raced. What would his brother do?
"I …I gotta go. My Dad's inside." Sam tried to edge around the stranger but the man caught him by the arm slamming the small body up against the fence. Sam pulled but the grip was firm, digging into the fleshy part of the muscle on his upper arms.
"Now Sammy we both know that's not true, don't we." The grinning, threatening face was now only inches from Sam's own.
Panic set in and Sam struggled trying desperately to dislodge the strangers grasp. He didn't like this man, didn't like him being so close or touching or …or anything.
"L..L..Lea…ve me alone."
"Awe come on Sam that's not very friendly not when we're practically blood relatives, family."
What did the man mean? He'd never seen him before and Dad had said they had no family. Deep down Sam had such a bad, bad feeling. Something was wrong, really rotten an' nasty.
Fetid breath brushed over Sam's face. "Come on Sammy we can be real good friends if you'll let me..." The stranger pressed closer.
Sam breath became rapid as his fright heightened. "Let me go, let me go..." Blindly, desperately he fought hitting and thumping the thin unyielding body in front of him with his small fists but the iron grip held him fast against the wooden fence. A hand clasped his jaw forcing his head round, forcing him to look into the cruel face that was inches from his own, to look into the eyes of the stranger.
With a sob of fear Sam wrenched himself away and fell hard to the ground. Limbs flailing he scrambled backwards scraping the skin on his back as he gained his feet. Then not waiting and with no thought other than to get away from the horrible man, Sam ran.