Part 7
Sam was relieved that Daniel didn't return his greeting. He turned his camera on and took a few shots, leaving it on and ready should there be any other pictures he might need. He was struck by the lonely sadness of the place. Those were feelings Daniel had probably felt for the better part of his life. He whispered to him, promising that he was not like the other counselors, and that there were others who would fight to bring him the justice he deserved. He also knew that the ghost of Daniel was dangerous, and angry. He hoped to gentle him, and told him that Maggie loved him and missed him terribly. He turned away from the grave and was about to leave the clearing when he stopped short.
"Talking to yourself, Sam? Or are you communing with the spirits?" Randy stood at the edge of the clearing. He had an ugly smile on his face. And a gun, which he swung casually in his hand. "Kinda late for a stroll, isn't it?"
Sam decided to play dumb. "Not really. I like the quiet…"
"Oh...you like the quiet. Sure, that's logical. This little clearing is a nice spot isn't it, Sam. Why did you choose it?"
Sam tried another lie but Randy had enough and cut him off. "Shut the f—k up, will you? You think I'm stupid? Hey-surprise surprise, there's no Sam Singer in the registry files at Stanford. At least not for the year you were supposed to be there. Odd isn't it? Why do you suppose that is?"
Sam was about to offer an explanation, but the weasel would have none of it. He walked slowly around Sam.
Sam surreptitiously switched on the video mode of his camera. He hoped it at least would be able to pick up sound, if not picture, in this dark.
"So who are you, really? A cop? Some kind of private dick? Why'd you have to start digging in this shit?"
Sam decided to guide the conversation as much as he could. "I was hired to look into Daniel Williams' disappearance. You told me that you and the other counselors beat the crap out of him and chased him out. But that wasn't the whole story, now was it?"
Randy snorted. "That was just the start of Danny's fun. Little bastard went to the sheriff, tried to get us all in shit. Didn't work out too well."
"You killed him, didn't you?"
He snorted. "You kinda suck at this PI thing, don't you, Sam? No, we didn't off the little fag. Jessup did. Deputy Jessup. Good guy, he thinks straight, you know? He doesn't like queers either. He knows what to do with them, and he just tied up our loose end." He laughed at that.
"Jessup...the deputy sheriff? He killed Daniel Williams?"
"Yeah, that's right. He asked us to get rid of the garbage. So we buried it here."
"You and Jessup?"
"Me and Jeff. We're the ones who run things around here. Those other two pussies, James and Mike—they don't know anything about it. They just tagged along like puppies when we were pushing that little fag around."
"What about Beauforte?"
Weasel boy spit on the ground. "That old holy-roller doesn't know f—k-all. Just walks around with his jesus-smile on while we run the place."
"What about the two dead guys...why kill them?"
His expression changed for a moment. He wasn't so self-assured. "We didn't. It happened just like they said...they just dropped dead. Right around here. Just like you, Sammy..." The weasel leveled his gun. It was a big service revolver, thoughtfully lent to him by his favourite deputy.
Sam tried a new tact. "C'mon, man...you don't wanna do this. You can't keep making this messier, somebody's gonna notice."
"Not messier, Sam...tidier. Give Danny a kiss for me." Randy pulled the trigger without further preamble. He was a cold little piece of work. Sam was anticipating it, he leapt sideways, but not quite quickly enough. It struck the point of his shoulder, grazing him. He dropped and rolled, feeling a flood of warm blood flow down his arm. He gripped it hard with his other hand and tried to scramble out of the weasel's range. Randy swore at his own ineptitude and pointed the gun once again. "I'll blow your goddamn head off this time, you-"
His diatribe was cut short. He stopped and stared, wide-eyed. "You! No, no...you can't be here! I f—king buried you!" he screamed.
Sam saw nothing but a bit of mist, but Randy clearly saw something else. And it horrified him. He stared frantically from Sam to it, and back again. He started to claw at his chest, panting.
"You god-damned queer lover!" he howled at Sam. "You're doing this! You make this stop! You make it go away!" His shaking hand kept the gun aimed at Sam's chest. He was sure that Sam was somehow behind this hideous trick. He was wild with terror, and he pulled the trigger again as his knees buckled. He breathlessly clutched his chest in a frothing panic as his heart beat erratically, then slowed, and stopped. His eyes rolled up. He gurgled out a last sound, fell on his face in the ferns, and lay still.
Daniel Williams was another step closer to justice.
Sam would have been relieved and perhaps, deeply satisfied at this newest twist. But he never had the chance to witness it. He'd been aware of nothing seconds after Randy pulled the trigger that second time. He lay, silent and motionless, sprawled in the undergrowth. Blood streamed steadily across his face from the bullet wound hidden by his unruly dark hair.
Dean had had enough. He had searched around a bit for the prescriptions, with no luck. The ache was too damned distracting, he still hadn't heard from Sam and he needed to plan what to do next. But all he could think of was crawling into bed and curling up like a hibernating animal. Consciousness sucked out loud.
The bourbon caught his eye again. -ah yeah—good medicine anytime… He reached for it and drained half the remaining volume in a few deep draughts. Having eaten nothing for hours, it started to soothe his frayed nerves within minutes, and he felt his muscles relax a little. He checked his watch for the hundredth time, it was pushing midnight. He'd been calling Sam for the last two hours and he was ready to pulverize his damn cell against the nearest wall.
-Somebody answer, goddammit!— The phone at Harry's was constantly busy. He started to think there was some problem with the line. He wished he'd given Maggie his cell number, but he carefully guarded that; the fewer people who knew it, the safer he stayed. So many things could have happened to Sam, and he had no car, no means of contact. All he could do was wait, and he was particularly lousy at that. He felt completely useless. He swore and angrily swept the chocolate bars off the table. The bourbon bottle seduced him again, he took several more deep swallows and put his head back down on the table. He sighed, resigned to wait some more.
He awoke several hours later, parched and stiff, and sheepish that he'd actually slept on the table. He checked the phone in desperation, but no one had called. He got up carefully, waiting this time for the hissing sound to fade before he moved further. He poured himself some water, and then some more. This time he ate one of the chocolate bars and he felt a little better. It was around 4 am. He really couldn't do anything 'til light. Then he'd have to find someone to help him. -Maggie- He'd go and see her...her place wasn't far.
He made his way to one of the beds...Sam's, and lay down. He'd need to conserve his strength to walk the distance. It was just ten or fifteen minutes up the street. He sighed. Might as well be a hundred miles. But he'd walk it anyway.
The night fauna disappeared with the dawn. The other half of the forest life began to wake. The damp that collected in the cool darkness had settled in beads of moisture on everything; the leaf surfaces, the moss and rocks. ..And Sam's nylon jacket.
Dean walked slowly and carefully up the steps of the porch.
He hoped Maggie was up, it was pretty damned early. Maybe she had the breakfast shift again, then she'd be up and nearly ready to leave. The last thing he wanted was to wake her and give her more fodder for her anger. He waited a moment, then knocked, hearing Ivan's deep voice come from somewhere in the house. The door opened and Maggie regarded him without expression.
"Oh. It's you."
"Maggie, I-" Before he had a chance to finish, Ivan bounded through the door, and joyfully collided with Dean. As always, it caught him off guard, and he was knocked backwards and his bandaged side connected solidly with the wooden railing. He grunted as sharp pain lanced through him. It was too much for his weakened state, he blacked out and slid to the floor boards, with Ivan happily doing his best to revive him.
Maggie's pique was instantly forgotten. She hastily called Ivan off and dropped beside her delinquent lover. She lifted his head carefully, he was stirring and struggling to clear his senses. "Dean ! Oh my god, are you alright? I'm so sorry!"
He sat up with a grimace and rested with his shoulder against the balusters. "It's ok...just give me a minute." he assured her hoarsely. When the pain subsided to a manageable ache he allowed her to help him up. He gripped the railing unsteadily and gave her a wan smile. "Mind if I come in?"
"Of course, yes, come in!" she stammered, flustered.
He steadied himself with a hand on her shoulder, as she led him in to the living-room, and he lowered himself onto her couch, leaning forward with his head in his hands. She got him a glass of water and crouched beside him.
"You're white as a sheet!" She wondered what had caused his faint, she didn't think Ivan had hit him that hard… She reached around and found the edge of his shirt. "Let me see!" she demanded, lifting it.
He grabbed her wrist. "Don't Maggie, it's ok, really…"
"No it isn't, Dean, obviously!" She pulled her hand free of his and hauled the shirt up. He sat in acute embarrassment, as she gasped in dismay. "Oh my god! What...what happened to you?"
He sighed, turning tired eyes to hers. "I had a run-in with your deputy. Maggie, I have an idea what happened to Danny. Sit down, here...for a minute."
Her expression changed from concern to alarm. She sat beside him.
Dean winced and shifted before continuing. "Deputy Jessup hauled Sam and me in for speeding, a couple of days ago. It turned into a lot more than a simple fine. He's a dangerous zealot, Maggie. He decided we were homosexual just because we were two single guys traveling together, and I couldn't prove otherwise because I couldn't tell him who we were or what we were doing, or we'd blow our cover. Well, the sonofabitch has a bizarre and brutal hatred of gays, and because of that, he did this to me. He beat me with his damned baton until I "repented" for my sins, and then he cracked a couple ribs for a final reminder. And he forced my brother to watch."
"oh...Dean!", she murmured, her eyes welling.
He hated having to say the rest, but he had to. "It was pretty damned clear he'd done this before...he had his little speech well practiced, and he wasn't angry or upset. He was just smiling weirdly, totally calm. He knew exactly what he was doing and he was so sure that it was right. Maggie...I think Daniel went to the sheriff's office that morning. I think he met with Jessup." He could see the horror dawning on her face, but he had to tell her. "I'm sorry, Maggie, but I think Jessup may have killed him."
"No...no!" she moaned, shaking her head and dissolving into tears. Dean enfolded her in his arms, holding her for a long time until her sobbing quieted. She was almost calm again when she was suddenly struck by a terrible thought. "That bastard was supposed to help Danny. He went there because I convinced him to! Oh my god, if it hadn't been for me, he'd still be here! I sent him right into the lion's den!"
He knew how she felt. "You didn't know, Maggie! What you did was the right thing under normal circumstances. It's not your fault!"
She was silent for a while, battling to come to terms with it all. She wiped her eyes, remembering that poor Danny wasn't the deputy's only victim. "What about you? Will you be ok? Oh, Dean, your back...I can't believe you're even walking around like this!"
He snorted. "Yeah, well...I'd rather sleep for a freaking week, but I don't have much choice. There's more, Maggie. My brother, Sam, he's disappeared."
"Your brother is missing?"
Dean nodded.
"Oh, no! Oh... What are you going to do?"
"I don't know yet. Go up to that damn camp first, I guess. That's where he was last."
Maggie sat back in silence. The results of Dean's terrible beating blended in her mind with the memory of her distraught brother the night he was attacked at the camp. She shuddered, and shook her head to rid her mind of it.
"Maggie...are you gonna be alright?"
She sighed. "Yes. No. Dean...if Danny was treated the same way as you were, well he was just a skinny kid, you know? He was fit and healthy, but he had no real stamina, and he took medication for arrhythmia. Oh god! If he suffered what you went through, it surely would have killed him!"
Dean didn't know what to say. He wasn't in any state to soften this, in fact, his current state screamed that she was right. He was tired, and consumed by worry for Sam. And he hurt terribly. He had to be sharp, so the meds he'd been prescribed were out of the question. He still hadn't found them, anyway. A thought struck him. Maggie had said Dan had arrhythmia, a heart problem. The connection was glaring, the victims' hearts had stopped. And the ghosted bruises...it all added up to a perfect poetic justice. He didn't know if he should try to discuss this with her or not. He was grateful for her support at the moment and he didn't want her to reject him as some kind of delusional lunatic. He stared without focus at the carpet for several minutes, acutely aware of how much the walk had wiped him out.
Maggie got up. "I need some tea….I'll be back in a minute." She needed to collect herself. She cried silently while filling the kettle, and had got a grip by the time she had the tray ready to carry back in. She placed it on the coffee table and was about to ask how he took his, when she realized he was asleep. She watched him with sadness. He looked worn out, curled up against the arm of the couch. It brought fresh tears to her eyes. She knew now that her Danny was lost to her forever. Dean was just beginning that nightmare.