Down, down. Down, down. The star is screaming.
Beneath the lies. Lie, lie. Tschay, tschay, tschay.
Careful, careful, careful with that axe, Eugene.
The stars are screaming loud.
-Pink Floyd, "Careful With That Axe Eugene" (1995)
A high-pitched scream came up from behind them, and Dean whipped around, gun at the ready. The hallway was empty, no light anywhere nearby. As fast as he could Dean turned back around, gun up and ready to deal with the man at the end of the hall.
Who was no longer there. But the light, the light that shouldn't have been on after all these years, was still there; a single bulb coming from the direction of the emergency stairwell. The hotel would've been cut off from power years ago.
Dean didn't even have enough words in his vocab to describe how wrong the situation was. Beside him, Bethany was shaking, eyes still locked on where the man had been. "H-He...he flickered and disappeared," she choked out. "Oh god, he's gonna come back, isn't he? He's a ghost, isn't he?"
Probably the ghost they were looking for. Considering they'd been thinking about Gina last, and had no names or anything to go on, Dean was more than disturbed. Add in the fact that Sam was missing, with some psycho ghost on the loose with an axe-
They were more than screwed, they were fucked.
Blood. The frickin' cops who knew what had really happened. Dean turned to her, ready to ask again, except something made him stop. "Shh," he told her, then looked over the railing. Nothing caught his eye, but the sound came back again. Tap. Tap. Like the sound Dean's footsteps had made when he'd walked across the floor.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Another scream resounded through the hotel, leaving the hairs on the back of Dean's neck standing on end. He had no clue where the sound had come from; it echoed throughout the lobby.
Then suddenly, it was cut off. The ensuing silence was enough to leave Dean on edge.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Then, the tapping changed to another sound. Creak. Creak.
The sound of the stairs. Dean whipped his flashlight over towards them, and still saw nothing. No one was walking up the stairs.
But they were. And they were getting closer.
Bethany, who'd remained silent up until this point, turned to get up in Dean's face. "We need to go," she said desperately, eyes pinned to the invisible walker on the stairs. "We need to go, now, please!"
"No kidding," Dean mumbled. He wouldn't be a damn bit of good to Sam if he wound up getting slaughtered by whatever the hell spirit it was who was doing its best Jack Nicholson impression.
Which, by the way, not cool. A guy with an axe. Jesus H. Christ.
"Go," Dean ordered. The only place with a light was outside the door of the emergency staircase, and considering the elevator was out of commission, it was time to get off the second floor. He ran for the stairs, saw Bethany stumble behind him at first but then quickly matched his speed. The light was getting closer, and the bag was banging against his shoulder blade, and behind him, all he could hear was the creak, creak getting louder and louder.
As they neared the door, however, he felt Bethany hesitate. "Go!" Dean said, or meant to say, but it came out as a hoarse shout. Not that it mattered: the sonuvabitch knew right where they were. Dean fumbled with the handle with one hand while managing to keep hold of his flashlight and his gun with the other, then all but fell through the door when he got it open. It slammed shut behind him, and then there was nothing but their panting breaths and silence.
"Fuck," Dean whispered, looking around. No lightbulbs inside the stairwell, and if they were, they wouldn't be on, like the one on the other side of the door. He wasn't going to sit and think about the impossibility of it, or how there shouldn't be any power working, and god, that was a hell of a lightbulb to last all these years.
Beyond his thundering pulse, Dean could still hear the echoes of the creaking in his ears. The door had no window to see through: just wood. No telling if the guy with the axe had come back or was standing on the other side.
Either way, it was time to move.
Stairs led up and down, and Dean really had no clue which way was better. Up meant the third through fifth floors, and the hunter part of him yearned to get up to the fifth floor and figure out just what the hell was going on. All of this had to do with that floor, Dean was sure of it.
The other part of him, the brother and very human part of him, was desperate to find Sam and get them all out of the fun house. Sam could very well be on the fifth floor.
Or Sam could be trapped in the basement, far away from Dean if Dean decided to travel to the top floor.
"A-Are we...what do we do now? He's coming, you know that right?"
Very well aware, thank you, Dean wanted to snap at her, but it wasn't her fault, and snapping wasn't going to do a lick of good. "C'mon," he said, heading down. "We've got to see if we can find the basement."
"Basement? Do you watch any horror films? That's where nothing ever goes right, and people die!"
Dean shot her a look as they hurried down the stairs. Bethany managed a weak glare back. "I've watched horror films," she continued. "And you know what? I don't want to be that woman that always stands and screams and screams until she gets kidnapped or killed."
"Good," Dean said, stopping at the bottom. No stairs to the basement. Of course. "Because anyone dying isn't in the plans."
"So...the plans are...?"
"Find my brother," Dean said, making sure his gun was loaded. Salt rounds wouldn't kill whatever the hell it was, but it'd sure make it go away in a hurry. "And then get the fuck out of dodge. Now back away from the door."
Bethany quickly did as she was told, then as a second thought moved up close to Dean. He spared her an incredulous glance, but she gazed back with her chin held high, daring him to say anything. He shook his head but let her be. Truthfully, having her right there would make things easier. As a civilian, she hadn't made his life more difficult than it could've been yet. Plus, it meant he didn't have to worry about pulling her out of harm's way, which, considering the way the night was going, was bound to happen at some point.
Slowly he grasped the handle on the door, testing the warmth. Not frozen, but then again, with a nastier spirit, things didn't get colder. And Dean was pretty sure they were dealing with a nasty-ass spirit.
As fast as he could Dean ripped the door open and aimed his gun out. Two doors greeted him, one on each side, both closed. The hallway ahead of him stretched out for a ways, and it ended out into the lobby, near the stairs. No one was there. Not a sound reached his ears.
With sure steps he moved into the hallway. "Check the door," he instructed Bethany, reaching for the one on the left. It was a swivel door with a small, round window near the top, and he could faintly make out counters and cupboards inside. It gave easily under the pressure of his hand.
"Locked," Bethany told him. Dean turned and found a solid wood door with an ornate looking handle. OFF CE – E PLO EES NLY ran across the top in tarnished, gold letters. A few of the letters had obviously fallen away, leaving it more desolate then before. Still, Dean committed the room to memory and turned back to the room they could get into.
He edged his way inside the swivel door as carefully as he could. Sure enough, inside was the kitchen. Once upon a time, he was sure it had been state of the art and pristine. Now, though, it looked like a trashy diner gone wrong. The formica on the counter-tops was peeling off, revealing grime and mold beneath. Black spots dotted the walls above the sinks and from behind the large refrigerators. Dust and cobwebs hung everywhere.
"Ew," Bethany whispered succinctly. Gross as it was, it was still in much better condition than it should've been. The floor tiles were still all in place, the paint was barely chipped, and it would only take a good washing or two to get the kitchen up and operational again.
This didn't look at all like a place that had been abandoned for over fifty years. Dean fought the urge to shift uneasily, instead forcing himself to focus. This entire place was just messed up. The sooner they found Sam, the better. Dean could really use his brother's out-of-the-box thinking right about then.
Dean's cell phone rang suddenly and loudly in the silence. Bethany shrieked and flew away from him, her hands coming up in a flimsy attempt at karate. Dean slowly raised an eyebrow at her in askance. "Sorry," she apologized, her cheeks turning red. She quickly returned to his side, fingers twisting in front of her like a chastised child.
Despite everything that was going wrong, Dean found his mouth twitching into a grin. "Should've let you go Mr. Miyagi on Jack Nicholson up there," he said while digging his phone out. Sam shone on the caller screen, and Dean instantly flipped the phone open. "Sam? You okay?"
"Yeah, I think so," Sam said. His voice seemed distant, echoed, but he sounded coherent. "Sorry, not a lot of cell reception down here."
"Basement?" Dean asked.
"I think so. I just remember the sensation of falling and then...wham."
Dean didn't like the sound of wham. "You hit your head?"
The pause was telling enough. "Are you and Bethany okay?" Sam asked instead, neatly side-stepping the question. Dean pinched his lips and added another thing they were going to talk about after getting out. He hated the new 'I'm fine don't worry about me I've done enough' thing Sam had going for him ever since they'd joined back up. Like he didn't want Dean to worry, or worse, he thought Dean might not worry.
"Yeah, we're okay, now that we got away from whatever the hell he was," Dean said.
"He? What happened?"
"Guy with a penchant for an axe and scaring the shit out of people," he said, scanning the room with his light. Off in the corner was a small hole in the wall with a wooden door. Dumbwaiter. Beside it was a much bigger door, fit for humans to walk through. Maybe it led to the basement. "Keep your eyes peeled."
"Was that Bethany screaming then? I heard two screams and then-"
Suddenly the room's temperature dropped. "Wait," Dean said, and Sam stopped talking. Bethany inched closer, shivering.
"What's going on? Dean?"
"Cold," was all Dean said. Sam's sharp inhale was the last thing he heard from his brother. Dean quickly side-stepped in front of Bethany with one turn, scanning the door. Nothing. But, considering their ghost, that didn't mean squat.
A prickling at the back of his neck was all the warning he got before cold air brushed past his phone-less ear. He's coming, he heard whispered in a frightened, very female voice. When he whipped his head around, he saw nothing.
"What was that?" Bethany whispered, in serious danger of possibly ripping his skirt with her tight grip.
"We're leaving," Dean told her. "Sam, we're headed down, and we might have something on our asses."
"You're covered, just get down here."
Dean shut his cell phone and tossed it into his pocket, already reaching for Bethany, only to find her hightailing it towards the door on the opposite side of the kitchen. He followed after and reached past her for the door. It stuck a little but finally opened after a good, hard tug. He grabbed the flashlight he'd tucked under his arm, then watched as the kitchen's main door swung open, hard and fast. "Go!" he yelled, and Bethany needed no further encouragement; she took off down the stairs.
Dean grabbed his gun and aimed towards the door, lips curled into a snarl. He sounded a shot off through the doorway, then to the left and right of it. There was a howl of rage that left Dean fighting off a shudder, but nothing materialized. Moments later the ovens near the door pulled away from the wall, flying towards Dean.
He darted through the door and slammed the door shut behind him, then hurried down the stairs. Salt didn't do shit, only pissed it off. Great.
The door at the bottom was open, and Bethany was anxiously bouncing and waiting. "Hurry!" she yelled. Dean cleared the bottom door just as the wooden door above began splintering. The heavy thud against the door made it clear that someone was chopping through. Axe-Man clearly knew his weapon.
As fast as he could Dean flew after Bethany into the basement, all while slamming the door shut. The sound of the lock being thrown was loud in the ensuing silence, and slowly Dean began backing away, reaching for the bag on his shoulder. Iron rounds, maybe. Smaller gun, easier to load. A little more hardcore, but this sonuvabitch wasn't stopping.
The prickling feeling was back, a sure sign that he was being watched. Before he could turn around he was being grabbed and pulled backward, Bethany gasping in surprise beside him.