It was starting to become more difficult to ignore the nagging issue of the spirit that seemed determined to torture him. If he was not being attacked in the middle of the night with scratches that almost always drew blood, he was being haunted by images of the woman with flaming red hair who seemed to find it amusing to pay him visits that only he witnessed. The spirit liked to remain anonymous when he was around other people, but liked to bring out her claws when he was by himself.
For that reason, he despised the evening hours when the lights would go out in his cellblock and he would be alone with whatever might happen to him in those few hours where there was no one around. Tossing and turning on his cot had become habit for him when sleep became impossible. Winding his arm under the thin pillow, he tried not to think about what might happen during those hours. Everything was peaceful for the moment, but he was not willing to feel secure in that.
Looking toward his locked cell door when he could hear footsteps on the other end, he relaxed only a little when he saw it was the guard. The guards did nightly patrols, but somehow never ran into the spirit. Nodding to the man when he told him to go to sleep, he closed his eyes and tried to put on the impression he was. If only the guards and jail officials knew what they were dealing with; if only they could figure out that the real killer in the jail was invisible to their naked eye.
He did not even want to think about what might happen if the guards discovered a fresh wound on him in the morning. Allowing his thoughts to wander to that dark place was not conducive to obtaining a full night of rest. It was, however, something he was finding more difficult to cast aside. No matter how many times he tried to explain that he would never hurt himself, all the nurse had to do was tell the detectives that his injuries appeared to be self-inflicted. After that, he was hauled off for another stint in solitary confinement where they could "watch him better."
All the time in solitary did was give him the chance to think clearly about what he might do to help himself. There was little Jim or Bobby could do from the outside. Even if they opted to not take the hunt in Carthage, Caleb had a hard time imagining how they would successfully spin a story that would get them inside the jail. Everyone knew who Jim was because of his connections in Blue Earth. Certainly people knew about their family, and that was why they had to be careful.
In the stillness of the night when there was nothing to do but give himself over to the thoughts in his brain, he thought about the boys. He missed them more than words could begin to accurately describe. He had been with them every day for the last several years ever since he got the call from CPS about their father. Raising them, being with them and having that kind of connection to them, had been one of the highlights of his life.
It was for that reason being apart from them was proving to be a tough battle.
It was hard to be apart from them when Sam was wrestling with the truth about their lives. He was only a small child, and was having to come to grips with the scary knowledge that his family hunted evil. Bobby was the one who agreed to take him under his wing while he was visiting, and Caleb was grateful Sam had that support.
Dean was the other kid he dwelled on. He was twelve, and already lost more people in his life than was fair. While this was not technically a "loss" in the sense that his guardian was dead, he was still absent from his life. Swiping a hand through his eyes when he thought about Dean having to handle so much at such a young age, he looked toward his cell door again when he could sense something that immediately brought a chill down his spine.
As a hunter, it was instinct to him to pick up the slightest change in the environment that signaled to him that something was happening. It was a feeling that served him well over the years when he was tracking something in the wilderness, and it was proving to hold true for him now when he could feel something that did not feel right. Getting up from the bed, mindful of it being against the rules, he looked toward the slats in his cell door and saw nothing.
Unwilling to calm down until he was certain nothing was wrong, he stayed by his door. Picking up the sound of footsteps wandering down the aisle, he tensed. If the guard was back to impose their rules that he stay in bed, he would have no choice but to tell him there was something wrong. Holding his breath, feeling his heart make the descent into his stomach, he shook his head when he saw the portly guard take the chance of coming right up to his door.
"Rivers, in bed. Now!"
"There's something in here. If you're smart? You'll pay attention to this, and get the hell out of here."
As predicted, the guard merely rolled his eyes at his statement, and shined his flashlight over Caleb to make sure he did not have any fresh marks. Relieved to be able to present wounds that were all old and healing, he hesitantly walked back over to his cot when the guard once again informed him that he needed to go back to bed. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he hid his head in his hands and waited for something to happen.
The only noise he heard came from the guard making his rounds. The echo of his footsteps soon faded from his ears, but he could still see his shadow move near the end of the cellblock. Wrapping his arms around himself when he could feel the imperceptible shift in the temperature, he could see white smoke coming from his mouth.
Jumping back, nearly tripping over the edge of his cot, he saw the same ethereal presence flow down the aisle past his cell. Striding over to the door once he recovered from the shock of seeing her again, there was no mistaking her red hair. For some reason, she opted to leave him alone for the night, and go after someone else.
Shaking uncontrollably when he heard the the sickening sound of the guard being slammed against the wall, it was not long before he could see the sickening splatter of blood that coated the wall. On both sides of him, he could hear the inmates trying desperately to gain the attention of the guards that were still in the control room.
The guard was still alive, but barely. Listening to the heart-rending sounds of him dying, was more than he could bear. Washing a hand down his face when he considered the enormity of what was happening, he looked at the clock that was positioned across from his cell. It was nearing the time when morning rounds would be made, and the inmates would be woken up for cell check.
Within seconds of the other inmates raising the alarm, the remaining guards in the control room, thundered into the room. The door bounced off the wall with the force of all of them coming in. Once they stumbled upon their friend's corpse, they cordoned off the cellblock and made arrangements to move the inmates to another empty block. Not that it would do anything to help when the spirit had control over the entire jail. Glad to be rid of the block when the guards opened his door and put the restraints on him to transport him to a new section of the jail, he was transfixed on the gruesome sight of the blood that pooled over a section of the block that was taped off.
Behind him, he could hear the other prisoners speculate about what might have caused the death. From their inexperienced opinions of the people who were walking with him, they could have sworn they saw an actual human enter the cellblock. If only they had the slightest idea that it was something infinitely more dangerous. This death, as tragic as it was, only increased his determination to get rid of the spirit.
The new cellblock was located on the other side of the jail. Caleb had never seen this side of the jail before, and liked it. It was newer and did not have the depressing stain of death that now permeated the older section. Reveling in the modern additions to this portion of the jail, he had the fleeting feeling that perhaps the spirit would not possess the desire to travel over to this part of the jail.
The rest of the morning passed in a blur for the rest of the people in his unit. Breakfast was served out in the pod, and he was glad to not be stuck alone in his cell for the breakfast hour. The food was nasty on the best days, but he inhaled it that morning when his mind was in a foggy mess after the night he went through. The other people around him, were passing stories of what they had seen that were grossly exaggerated for shock value.
Picking up snippets of conversation despite his best ability to drown it out, he looked up at the clock that signaled to him that visiting hours were upon them. Wiping his hands with the flimsy napkin, he felt his heart soar with excitement when the guards motioned for him to come over. That only happened when he had someone there to see him, and he was not about to pass that opportunity.
Letting the guards do what they had to to restrain him, he walked with them out of the pod and down the hall toward the conference room. There was no indication from the guards who was there to see him, but he had a good assumption of who it might be. Jim and the boys left for Carthage the day before, and he was not expecting them to change their plans.
Dawn would be the only one who would hold any interest in seeing him, and he hoped she had information for him that would cover both his criminal case, and the spirit. The way he left things with her the last time he saw her, she agreed to do what she could to help him research who might be tormenting people in the jail. Wondering how she would react to the sudden death in the middle of the night, he increased his stride when he thought about seeing her.
Every part of him was exhausted from the restless night he had that culminated in the death of the guard, but he did his best not to dwell on it. There was nothing he could have done about the guard, and that was something his mind was trying to admit to itself. Paying no mind to the restrictive hands the guards had on him, he obediently turned the corner toward the identical row of doors that all led into a different room.
Stopping outside the one that was the most secure with the electronic keypad that allowed people entrance, he swallowed the lump in the back of his throat when the door was opened to reveal his lawyer. It had been days since he had last seen her, and he was curious to find out how Dawn was coping with the unbelievable truth she now had about monsters being real. There was nothing about her appearance that suggested she was struggling, and he was not at all surprised when he remembered how strong she was.
Refraining from speaking to her until the guards left to stand outside, he slowly shook his head in astonishment at what the night held. It was clear Dawn had no clue what happened. Her eyes were focused on the healing wounds on his neck and arm that Jim reacted to the other day. Shrugging his shoulders when she reached out a hand to caress them, he could see the anger in her eyes that she normally only reserved for the courtroom.
"What happened?" Dawn breathed, shaking her head.
"I was attacked."
"When?" Dawn demanded, switching into what Caleb liked to call her "lawyer-mode."
It was difficult to remember the specifics of when he was first attacked. That first night was a blur to him that ended in him being thrown into solitary confinement for the first time. The wounds were painful, but they were slowly healing. The question that was on his mind, was how long it would be before he was the center of the spirit's rage.
With how erratic the spirit was, he knew to expect it shortly. Now that the spirit managed to actually kill someone, it was more than likely that the spirit would be looking for another chance.
"A few days ago."
"By who?"
Caleb shook his head, feeling tears line the bottom of his eyes before he wiped them off. There was no part of him that desired to relive something that painful when he knew what happened next, but there was also no way Dawn was willing to let it drop.
"The spirit."
Dawn opened her mouth several times, before she closed it. There was never a time previous to that moment when Caleb could remember her being speechless over anything. Having her react in the way that she was, let him know that he was not the only one who grasped the seriousness of what was happening.
"I found some information on who might have bit the dust here."
"I'm not even going to ask how you still manage to pull off stuff like this," Caleb said, taking the folder she passed to him. "I'm just going to sit here and revel in it."
"I found all these at the library, and downtown."
Ever since Caleb first met Dawn when she helped him during a hard time in his life when he was accused of murdering his wife, he had come to rely on not only her confidence that she exuded to anyone she met, but also her assurances that everything was going to be fine. Now that she passed the test and accepted the reality of what he dealt with everyday, he was in even more awe at her ability.
Flipping the folder open to the first page that held a faded color portrait of a woman who was in the standard-issue jail uniform of the time, he focused on her hair. Her hair was as brilliantly red as he had come to associate the spirit with, but the rest of her facial features were wrong. It was disappointing, but he was not deterred in his efforts to flip through the rest of the images.
"The spirit killed someone last night," Caleb murmured.
"Who?"
"A guard. It was a bloodbath."
Dawn shook her head, cupping her hand under her chin. "Do any of these look like they could be her?"
"Not so far."
Going to the next picture that was set up alongside the original, he paused on it while he tried to connect the dots to her. This woman had the red hair, and the facial features to match it. Glancing at Dawn and nodding his head to let her know they had the right woman, he focused on the details of this person that would undoubtedly assist them in finding her remains and burning them.
The tricky part would be to find a way to do that while he was still locked up. Dawn would be the only one who would have the option of doing the dirty work while he was incarcerated. There was part of him that wondered how she would feel about breaking the law.
"Is that her?" Dawn pressed.
Caleb nodded. "I think so."
Handing back the folder once he pointed to who it was, he saw her study the contents of the report carefully. It was fascinating to watch her mind work in the way that it did to solve a puzzle like this. Having her handle the bulk of the research, took a weight off his shoulders. Now that he was sure they had the right woman, the next question concerned how she died and where she was buried.
"Florence Ingred. She was born in the late 1800s, and was accused of murdering her housekeeper over an alleged affair she had with her husband," Dawn read, her eyes widening with each word.
"Does it say how Florence died?"
"Not in here, no. It just says she was taken to this jail, and later died."
"I need to know exactly what happened to her. I also need to know where she's buried."
Most normal people would have looked at him as though he was crazy, but Dawn simply nodded her head and tucked her folder back among her things. Caleb did not know what he would have done if he did not have her helping him. Without her vital assistance, the job of researching the case would have rested on his shoulders.
"What are you going to do once you know where she's buried?"
"You might have to get your hands dirty." Caleb paused, allowing Dawn to process that revelation. "Do you think you're up to it?"
"I'll do it."
Even though Dean could feel an immediate jolt that his best friend happened to walk into the same burger joint that he and Sam were in, part of him wondered exactly how Matt knew where he was. Deciding to take things slow with him when he wasted no time in sauntering over to their table and planted himself right in the middle of the action, it was clear Sam did not harbor any of his concerns.
Elated to have someone else there that was closer to his age, he instantly launched into a thrilling tale of their recent adventures. When Sam touched on Caleb's recent arrest, Matt glanced over his way. His friend knew exactly how close they were, and Dean could feel the concern radiating from him. Appreciating it,even if he would never express it, he jerked his food out of the way of Matt's prying fingers.
Sliding out of the booth when he saw how late it was getting, he spotted a waitress that was resting behind the counter. Motioning for Sam and Matt to follow him, he smoothly stepped up to where they were only a few inches apart. This was what he loved; flirting with a beautiful woman. What he hoped was that she might be able to shed some light on their hunt.
"What can I do for you?" She asked, tucking her brunette hair behind her ear.
"I just wanted to know if you would like to have the opportunity to help solve a crime."
At twelve, he was too young to have his own fake ID. That small incidental did not stop him from swiping Jim's on the way out. Sliding it across the counter, she studied the picture, before looking at him.
"You look a little different than the picture on this card. Is this your Dad?"
Dean nodded, playing along with the story they commonly rehearsed for when they were in the company of strangers. Reciting it had almost become second nature to him.
"That's right. He's in town looking into the Welsh and Jameson murders." Dean paused, hitting her with one of his megawatt smiles. "You don't happen to know anything, do you?"
From the look in her eyes when she caught his gaze, she did not. Suppressing the disappointment he had, was the most difficult part. Gesturing for Sam and Matt to follow him from the suddenly crowded store, he was about to slam the door shut when he heard her high-voice calling out to him.
"They were regulars here. Before they died, they talked about someone stalking them."
"Did they say who?" Matt inquired.
"No."
Quietly thanking her for her time, he closed the door and walked out. The air had cooled in the amount of time they had been inside. Wrapping his arms around himself, he was grateful to see that most of the earlier traffic was gone. Sam was quiet while they traveled back in the direction of their motel.
Matt was equally silent, but Dean knew him well enough to know there was something churning in the back of his mind. He still had questions about how Matt was there, and why he seemed to know where they were.
"How did you know I was here?" Dean whispered.
"What are you talking about?" Matt asked.
"Showing up at the pizza place...knowing we were there."
Matt grinned, shaking his head. "You showed me this case, remember? I tried calling you to tell you I was in town."
"You did?"
Reaching for his phone that was tucked in his pocket, he could indeed see that Matt tried to call him. Dodging out of the way when Matt teasingly attempted to grab him, he saw the glowing neon light from their motel.
Increasing his stride to match Sam who was growing tired of being in the cold, he was never more glad to escape from the overbearing cold. Pushing through the door at the first chance he got, it was obvious Jim and Bobby were relieved to know he was fine. Sitting down in one of the dining room chairs, he breathlessly gave them the information the waitress shared with him.
Hunting a ghoul was not an exact science and that was proven true that night. If the victims were reporting episodes of being stalked before they were killed, it would add up with how the ghoul was choosing its prey. Overcome with disgust at this monster, he carefully examined the graphic crime scene reports.
"We might just have to pick this up in the morning," Jim said, looking at the clock.
"Um, actually, I was going to go dig around a little bit," Matt supplied. "See if I can't manage to at least get a trace on this pathetic low-life."
Never one to miss an opportunity to finish a rough hunt, Dean volunteered himself to go. It was obvious Jim was skeptical about letting Dean go out late at night, but when Matt was successful in easing some of his fears, he reluctantly allowed him to leave on the condition he be back before midnight.
Strolling along the rural part of town where Matt seemed to think there was a chance the ghoul was present, he marveled at how dark everything was. Even with the help of artificial light from the street lamp, they were almost forced to pick their way blindly across the open range.
Not that it bothered Dean when he remembered the purpose he had in stopping this monster from striking again. Jogging across the street to reach the other side, he stared straight ahead at the older-style home. Beyond the missing side of it, he could see an old cellar that was just off to the side of the home.
Reaching for his flashlight when he became aware of how unwise it would be for him to be without protection, he slowly looked at the weeds and back paddock that once appeared to hold horses. Turning to walk back toward the cellar when he was not willing to risk a journey into the field, he could see Matt was already way ahead of him on his thinking.
Bending down low to shine his light on the opening while Matt pried it open, his eyes were met with the inviting glow of a light from somewhere down below. Taking a deep breath and ignoring the nervous jump his heart gave, he turned his body and started down the ladder.
Landing on the smooth ground underneath, he took a moment to check everything over. The place looked well-stocked to hold someone for an extended period of time. Running his fingers over a dusty glass jar of a substance that looked like blood, his stomach turned in distaste. Moving on, he lifted his shoe when it touched something sticky that he knew was certainly blood.
Moving back, his eyes landed on the coffin that rested in a darker part of the cellar. Unable to wrap his mind around a coffin being in someplace like that, he hauled the top off the thing and saw nothing apart from cobwebs and small flecks of dirt.
"How are you holding up with everything?" Matt asked, stepping further into the room.
Dean shrugged; talking about his pain over Caleb was the last thing he felt like doing. Most of the time he was able to mask his feelings about it, but sometimes he discovered that some days were easier than others.
"I'm roughing it out."
"It has to be hard, right?"
Dean thought about his answer, before nodding. "Yeah, it is."
Turning around to further explore the coffin, he did not have the time to respond before a fist came from nowhere and slammed into the side of his head. Stumbling back, his eyes watering with tears, he focused on Matt through his blurred vision.
His "friend" showed no sign of stopping his surprise attack on him. Understanding flowed through his veins when he connected the dots. Grief was also another feeling that circled his soul when he thought about the real Matt. There was no way he was alive, and that realization crushed him.
Not able to pause long enough to mourn his friend, he charged at the ghoul at the same time it did. Slamming his knife into its shoulder, he only succeeded in making it angry. The ghoul flipped the script on him, and slammed him against the wall. The breath was knocked from him (and also his knife), but he still fought.
Thanks to the methodical training he received from Caleb, he learned how to execute a number of different kicks and punches. All of those were being utilized to combat the ghoul. His strength was starting to ebb, but he still fought.
"Matt" was stronger than he was, and got him down on the ground. Even at that disadvantage, he still kept going. Delivering a kick to his stomach while he tried to get in a good position to make the killing blow, his defenses were destroyed when the ghoul reciprocated with an excruciating kick to his side that stole his breath.
Coughing, feeling his ribs burn with agony, he pulled his hands away from "Matt" when he hovered over him. His flimsy resistance hardly mattered to the ghoul, who jerked them back and tied them with rope. Pulling against it, he could not understand how he got to this point. Or how he would get out of it.
"You should have followed your gut instinct," Matt taunted.
"You killed my best friend. I'll kill you," Dean vowed.
"Not likely."
It was then the ghoul hauled him to his feet, paying no mind to his injured side, and directed him into the coffin. Landing on the hard floor of it, his spirit was more than willing to continue the fight. That chance, however, was never given to him when the spirit tied his feet. It was impossible for him to move around the bonds he was restrained with, but that reality meant little to him.
"Matt" hovered above him, his face one of victory when he stared at his victim. Consumed with rage over what happened to his friend, he spit in his face. That action only served to infuriate the monster, who had to restrain himself from attacking him.
What Dean did not anticipate, happened when the ghoul caught a whiff of the blood that was staining his stomach and chest from being tossed around the room. "Matt" smiled in a sickening way, before he lowered his head and fed from his shoulder.
The pain from the force of the bite was what ruled Dean's every thought and action. His mind was urging him to escape, but his body was hopelessly tied down. The scream that came from him when he felt the pain, was nothing compared to how he felt when he knew the ghoul had torn through nerve and muscle with the bite.
The pain was blinding in every sense of the word. It blurred his vision, and kept him focused on it. In a part of his mind that was not thinking about the pain, he was aware of Matt gagging him. With his one weapon gone, he could no longer scream for help. His entire body pulsated with pain; his head was throbbing. His ear felt like cotton had been stuffed in it, and his side hurt.
Swallowing against the ferocious lump in his throat, he saw the ghoul finger his knife in his hand. To his relief, "Matt" did not use it on him. Instead, he used his finger to taste more of his blood from the large wound on his shoulder.
"I want you to know," the ghoul offered. "I killed Matt quickly. I had mercy on him. You, however, it's gonna be a long night."
The ghoul turned away from him then, and disappeared up the steps of the ladder. The brief moment of solitude gave Dean the chance to think. The predicament he was in, was enormous.
In that moment as he fought through each breath, he wished he thought to interrogate Matt further than he did. He wished he followed what his gut conveyed to him, and stayed back at the motel.
Because now? Now he knew he was going to die.
