PART 6
Sam was nervous. Throughout his drive back to camp, he berated himself for leaving Dean alone. He was still hurting too much and practically immobile. He felt like one of those bad mothers who left their toddlers in a playpen with a box of cereal and a bottle while they went off to the casino… But he knew he had no choice, Dean had regained enough of his regular self to make any coddling impossible. And neither of them liked to spend too much time on any one hunt, it just wasn't safe to do that, so it was important to try to find Daniel's burial place. He stopped in to see the director and inform him that he was back. Mr. Beauforte was relieved to see him, the kids had been anxiously asking for their newest and favourite counselor.
"How is your brother, Sam?" he asked with genuine concern.
Sam was honest. "He was pretty banged up...he's got some recovery ahead, but he'll be fine. Thanks for asking, sir."
Beauforte smiled. "Anything we can do, you just let us know." He returned to his tasks. He was just about ready to head home for the evening.
Sam decided to raise the subject of Daniel Williams. "Uh, Sir...I need to talk to you about something. It's a little...sensitive."
"Sit down, Sam. What's on your mind?"
Sam sat. He knew this was delicate, but it needed to be addressed for several reasons, and not just for Daniel.
"I...uh, heard about the counselor who disappeared from here a while back. People are very upset about the other deaths...but when it comes to this, they turn away, or change the subject. From what I know, he seemed to be a good kid. I've heard a few things. Was there...something different about him…?" Sam was probing to see what sort of man the director was. He needed to know, he had to decide who could be looked to for leadership when this came to a head. Sheriff McClary was still an unknown, so he had to know...was Beauforte a bigot or a good man?
Beauforte frowned. He looked at Sam with disappointment. "Daniel Williams was a good person. He had every right to be here, teaching these kids. Are you asking about anything specific? Because I'll tell you right now. Danny was kind. He was moral. He was a great counselor. He could make a kayak turn on a dime. And yes, he was gay. He confided that to me when he interviewed for the post. He didn't have to. It was none of my business, just as it is none of yours. But I appreciated his honesty, and his character, and I hope to God that he's ok, somewhere. Sam, I like you. But if you have a problem with that, then you don't belong here. I want these kids to learn to be good, thoughtful, accepting people. No type of bigotry will be tolerated here."
Sam was impressed by his words. He was sure they were genuine. He hastened to assure him he had no such problem. It wasn't his intention when he'd asked his question, but he decided to fill the director in on what was happening. Beauforte had to have his eyes opened to what was going on under his nose. "Sir, there is a reason that I brought this up. I know about Danny. I had to see your feelings on the matter. There are some things you need to know." Sam felt a little disloyal, like some kind of snitch, but this was too important to let slide. Beauforte leaned forward and listened with a serious intensity.
"Go, on, son."
"Danny Williams was picked on after hours by the other counselors. They didn't know about his orientation per se, but they suspected. The leaders have formed a "club" and they are very selective regarding who's fit to be in it. They're anti-gay, for one, and who knows what beyond that. Jeff Reigert is the bandleader. I learned what happened the night before Danny went missing. They forced Danny to admit to his orientation in a "hazing" ritual they have, and then they beat him and chased him out of the park. He went to his sister's after that, and she convinced him to press charges in the morning. And we all know he never made it it, or something happened to him on the way."
Sam let that sink in before he continued.
Beauforte was open mouthed, shaking his head.
"I've known Jeff for years...I always thought of him as a good leader. Are you sure about this, Sam? How can you know this?" He didn't want to believe it. He thought he had a good staff, reliable and decent.
"I know because I was put through the same little ritual, on my first night here. There was a lot of drinking around a campfire. Jeff tried to drug me with something in his bottle, but I faked it. The point was to admit to some terrible secret...and if they thought it rated, you were in. That drug probably removes your inhibitions to the point where you will reveal pretty much anything. It obviously worked on Danny. And when they heard it, they had a great time drumming him out…"
Beauforte's face went red. He was horrified, and furious that this could happen on his watch. "Sam, if this is true, I'm going to get to the bottom of it. I will weed out those responsible, and I assure you they'll be immediately fired, to start with. I'm going to call the sheriff. Poor Daniel—"
"Sir, wait...please. There's more. This is much more serious than a simple bullying."
The director sat down again.
"I know for a fact that Dan went that next morning to lodge a complaint with the sheriff's office. His sister thought he'd never made it, she was told that by Deputy Jessup. She was the last to see him, or so she thought. She's the one who called in the missing person. Well sir, she wasn't the last. We're pretty sure Jessup was. Daniel went to the sheriff's office, but McClary was gone. Jessup took the complaint. And that's where it got really ugly…"
Beauforte interrupted. "Now wait a minute! Deputy Jessup is a good man, a huge supporter of this camp. He represents the Sheriff's office every year with a sizable donation. We could hardly run this camp without it!"
Sam realized he had to tread carefully here. With the Sheriff's Office being a major patron for the camp, it was going to be difficult to convince the director of the reality. "Sir...how long have you known him?"
"Well...my only interaction with him is through this camp. And my church. I don't know him on a personal level. He is thought of as a very upstanding man. I know some have found him to be somewhat rigid in his beliefs—he seems to live a very Christian life, and has been known to be somewhat over-public about that. But I can never fault a man for being too good."
"Well, Sir, too good is not one of the deputy's faults. Deputy Jessup is a dangerous homophobic zealot, and he has no qualms about violently delivering what he believes is god-sanctioned punishment. Daniel Williams found that out. He went there for justice, but instead, we believe he was beaten by Jessup for his orientation and that he died as a result. Sir...I think Danny is buried somewhere here on the hiking trail. And I think at least one, if not all, of your counselors know where." Sam didn't go so far as to tell of Daniel's vengeful spirit. That didn't need to be dealt with here.
Beauforte shook his head in horror and denial. "No! No...how can you know this? And what do you mean by "we"? Who are you?"
Sam swallowed and dove in. "My name is Sam, and I came here to investigate these deaths. And the 'we' includes myself and my brother. And sir...I do know that this happened as I've described. Because Deputy Warren Jessup arrested the two of us for speeding two days ago. He made an immediate assumption that we were gay companions. We couldn't reveal who we are because of this investigation. Well Sir...he handcuffed my brother to a cell and beat him unconscious as a result. There was no car accident. Jessup has his own twisted brand of law and justice, and if we don't stop him more people will suffer or die."
Beauforte sat stunned. Everything he believed in, everything he wanted to see furthered through this camp, was tainted...poisoned by the very people he'd chosen. And Daniel. Daniel Williams was dead, apparently at the hands of an individual he'd thought of as a living example of the ideals he was trying to teach. It was too much. He dropped his head to his hands and wept quietly.
Sam placed his hand on the older man's shoulder, awkwardly. He didn't know how to help him. But he knew what had to be finished. "Sir, I know this is very hard for you. But I need your help to end this. Can you talk to me...please?"
The director gathered himself with a heavy sigh and nodded miserably.
"I need to know about Sheriff McClary. Do you know him? Anything about him? I need to know if we can count on him for real justice, or if he's another liability. I have to know his character."
Beauforte thought about it for a moment. Everything he thought true was in a shambles here, and he hesitated to make a character assessment now that could also be another illusion. "Sam... I've known Don McClary for fifteen years. He's not a churchman, but I've never thought any less of him for that. He's supported this camp through the official sponsorship donation, but also through the community. He's brought countless kids through here, kids who were disadvantaged, or headed for trouble. Kids who fall through the cracks. Again, I don't know him personally, but I consider him to be a good man...a man who proves his goodness through quiet works, not showy words. And I've never heard anything negative. He strikes me as fair. But...I've obviously been wrong before…"
Sam absorbed that. Beauforte was a quality person. His concise assessment of McClary rang true. It made him feel secure, at least they may have him to count on. He thanked the poor director for his candor and asked him to keep it all close-to-vest until Sam had more to pursue, or a clearer plan. The director nodded. Sam assured the disillusioned administrator that they would fix this wrong. Justice would be served.
Beauforte raised his head, asking, "Sam, your brother...will he be alright?"
Sam assured him that he would. The saddened director left for his home.
Sam exited the office and headed for his cabin. He felt odd, like he was being watched. He was uncomfortably aware of the sounds of soft footfalls, crunching pine needles, as he left. But he chalked it up to nerves. He was anxious to speak to Dean and to describe this latest exchange. But he'd wait 'til he'd walked the trail. No reason to wake Dean from healing sleep before it was necessary.
Dean slept until he couldn't stand lying on his stomach anymore. He awoke to the quiet dark of the motel room, fidgety, and hot. And thirsty. He decided to try to sit up, maybe even find his way to the bathroom, and a tap. He held his breath and rolled onto his left side carefully, and swung his feet down. He pulled himself to a sitting position. -ok—ok-it's all good- Well, not all good. It hurt. He broke out in a sheen of sweat, and gripped the headboard rungs hard. He'd been lying down so damn long, he should have gotten up more slowly. He cursed, he always forgot about head-rush. For a moment he was sure that supper was lost. God, the room was stifling. It smelled a bit like a hamster cage.
But the panicky feeling passed. He wiped his face with his hand, and checked his watch. 7:24. He wondered if Sam had started on the trail.—he hoped he'd call soon.
He was reminded again that he had yet to make contact with Maggie. She was gonna be pissed now for sure. Scrabbling around for the switch on the lamp—he knocked the toasted crust of dried flies off the bulb,-and with the help of its dim light he found his phone and dialed Harry's again. Once again it was busy. -Crap— What the hell kind of business was Bill running there? Nowadays everybody had some sort of freaking voicemail, or answering machine. He tossed the phone back onto the bed in irritation and leaned against the headboard. He checked his watch again. It was a whole four minutes past the last time. It was official. He was gonna go nuts in this place. He had to get up.
He visually calculated the distance from where he sat, to the bathroom door. It looked reasonable. But he soon found out that it was hard to do anything while trying to keep from using any back muscles. There was nothing to grab on the wall, just a velvet harlequin picture in a plastic frame, held there by cobwebs and a rusty tack. -Suck it up, Winchester, you pussy!- he growled to himself. He pushed off from the top rail of the headboard and lurched in his chosen direction. But with the stiffness, and his shaky equilibrium, he had no way to compensate, and his over-zealous launch crashed him headfirst into the cheap slab door. - Good thing it wasn't oak- he thought, sliding to the bathroom floor. He decided to stay there for a little while. At least the tiles were cool.
-alright—c'mon- With a groan, he got onto his hands and knees and sought out the doorknob. He grabbed it tightly and hauled himself to his feet again. He rested there for a moment, and when he felt that it was working, he shuffled to the sink and filled a glass, soothing his parched throat. -better— He made use of the other facilities and contemplated the shower. The idea of a shower was good, he wasn't too sure if the reality would be. But he was disgusted by himself. He had to give it a shot.
He got the water running at a decent temp, he didn't want to be shocked when he got in. He stripped carefully. Remembering he had to remove the wrap, he shuffled back to the mirror and tried to turn his stiff neck enough to get a look at it. He hadn't seen the damage yet, and what little he could glimpse from his vantage point shocked even him. - Christ!- That looked nasty. It renewed his vow to make sure that sonofabitch paid hard for this. He reached back and unwound the bandage, gingerly running his fingers over the affected ribs. -yeah, cracked, at the very least—he thought, drawing a sharp breath as his fingertips found the spot the hard way.
He got into the shower, and shuddered as the droplets hit. But once his abraded skin got used to it, it was wonderful. He spent a long time just standing, letting the warm water flow over him soothingly, cleansing some of the anger and humiliation from his soul. He was finally convinced to get out when someone in the neighbouring room turned on the hot tap, blasting him with a shock of icy water. He jerked away from the shower stream with an impressive string of epithets, shutting it off and getting a grip on the rush of pain the sudden movement brought. The only thing keeping him from passing out right there was his determination that he was not going to suffer the indignity of being found in a naked crumpled heap by his little brother. He carefully patted himself dry with a once-white towel, re-taped his midriff, found something clean to wear and dressed. –that was good—right up until it wasn't-
He made his way to the kitchenette, picking up and checking his phone on the way. Still no Sam. He found the box of chocolate bars, much to his delight, grabbing two and sitting himself down at the little arborite table. But when he unwrapped the bar, the scent of the chocolate made him feel faintly ill rather than hungry. He pushed it away and leaned forward, resting his head on his arms on the cool surface of the table. He stayed that way for a little while, wishing he knew where Sam had put his meds. He was starting to feel a little anxious that he hadn't yet heard from him.
It was still lightish outside, but he knew the trail in the woods would have already been dark for a while. At least Sam had left with a good flashlight. For a moment he even thought of driving up there, but he remembered both cars were now already at the camp, he was once again without wheels. The last of the painkiller had by now deserted him. If he could just not-breathe for a little while, his ribs might settle down a bit. He didn't feel up to the task of ransacking the place for the pills at the moment, figuring he'd just stay there with his head on the table. It wasn't so bad. -C'mon, Sammy, call in-
Sam regretted that he was starting his search of the trail so late. He had a good flashlight, but it wasn't the same as searching in the muted daylight amongst the trees and undergrowth. Even the trail, which was fairly clear and free of brush, managed to trip him up at least a half dozen times thus far. He wasn't squeamish about the dark. But here in the trees, every shadow had a menacing quality. It was worsened by the light from his torch, the shadows moved and fled from it as if they had a life of their own. The EMF had blipped a few times, but that was standard. There was no concentrated pocket of energy revealed yet, but the trail was a few miles long, and he wasn't sure where the place was that the other counselors had fallen. He was amazed at the depth of dark amongst the trees. It had an almost tangible, dimensional quality, like a hallway hung with flowing, black velvet drapery.
He carried his cell in his jacket pocket, and his new digital camera around his neck. He smiled at the thought of it. Dean had brought it home for him one afternoon after Florida. He'd been obsessed with the idea for ages. He had gone to a good shop, listened to excellent advice, and come home with one that had a high pixel rating, good optical zoom, and great low light capability. Sam couldn't have made a better choice himself, and it was a hell of a lot better than taking grainy pix with his old phone. At the moment he didn't bother carrying accelerant and salt. Or any unwieldly shovels. He just wanted to see if he could pinpoint the area where Daniel lay. He could deal with the body tomorrow.
He thought of Dean, and he worried about his state. He realized earlier that he'd forgotten to tell him where his meds were, and he hoped he hadn't awakened in need of them yet. He'd let him know they were in his heavier coat when he called in later. He was probably asleep anyway. The forest was much cooler, more damp, than the open areas. He'd thrown a windbreaker on before taking this little hike, more for its convenient pockets than anything else. He was glad of it now. The woods were a strange place at night, an alien environment. Things that hid themselves by day now roamed, or flew, freely...emitting sounds that no one ever heard while the sun shone. Sam found it distracting, even disconcerting. He heard soft hollow sounding footfalls behind him, in front of him, beside him. Every now and then he thought he heard snapping and rustling of the dry detritus that made up the forest floor. He scowled, telling himself to get a grip. He ignored the sounds, listening instead to his own breathing which seemed so loud in the stillness.
Suddenly the EMF lit up like a video game. He was so surprised that he fumbled his flashlight as the unit screamed its high-pitched warning. He retrieved it from the ferns and moved the device in a wide arc, locating the best direction to follow. There was a faint path leading away from the main trail. He picked his way along it until he reached a small rough clearing. It was here that the EMF reached its vocal peak. Sam shut it off for a moment and shone the flashlight over the area.
He wasn't a forestry expert, but he knew disturbed ground when he saw it. Someone had altered the growth pattern here, hauling a number of sticks and twigs to the spot in an unnatural pattern and taking considerable care to replace the plants that had obviously been moved. Forest ecology was delicate, and once plants were uprooted, they rarely bounced back. This area was no exception. The same species were there, but conspicuously wilted and struggling. The rest of the clearing was vibrant with healthy undergrowth. Sam surveyed the spot with his flashlight. It looked like the typical length for a burial, and the EMF backed it up.
He stood back and sighed. "Hello Daniel Williams."