Sorry it took so long to update. I've been crazy busy.
This chapter has lots of exposition. Sorry 'bout that. I am getting somewhere with it though, I promise. Please let me know what you think.
Disclaimer: Don't own, just playing, yada yada
Part 4
No colors anymore, I want them to turn black
Sam watched Dean drive off and turned back to the house with a frustrated sigh. On one level, he understood why his brother was acting this way. Dean had never been a "caring and sharing" type and preferred to put on the macho act to cover up his feelings. Lessons learned from the age of four, no doubt, but sometimes Sam just wished he could get Dean to talk to him, tell him what Sam himself wanted, no, needed to hear. He needed to know Dean gave a damn about himself, cared about something other than fulfilling his role of Sam's protector.
And Hell might freeze over.
Sam walked up the driveway to the Wallace residence, a small ranch-style house that looked out of place in a down of decaying Victorian-era relics. He had reached the front door and raised his hand to knock when the door swung open. A petite red-haired woman rushed out and almost ran straight into him before she noticed his presence and quickly stepped back with a startled yelp.
"Who the hell are you?" she demanded, staring up and him with an irritated expression in her hazel eyes.
"Sorry to bother you, ma'am," he began.
"I'm not interesting in buying anything, volunteering, or hearing about your religion," she growled.
"No, nothing like that," he stammered as he pulled out his wallet and flashed his FBI badge. "I'm Special Agent Walsh, and I'd like to ask you a few questions."
"About what? Is it Keith? Have you found that worthless bastard?"
"No, actually, I'm looking into the disappearance of your daughter, Krista."
The woman's eyes flashed in anger.
"A little late, aren't you?"
"We, uh, we're looking at some of our cold cases, hoping to gain some new information."
"I gave you information but no one listened. My worthless bastard of a husband took off five years ago, no word, nothing, until a year later when he apparently decided to come back and snatch Krista. I told the sheriff, told another FBI guy who came through, but the sheriff had convinced himself that she just 'ran away', and the FBI guy wasn't any better. I mean, seriously, what the Hell? Does your IQ drop as soon as you get a badge?" Sam could almost see the waves of anger radiating off this woman. He took a deep breath before trying to placate her.
"I'm sorry, ma'am really, I am, but I promise, I'm not like that. I'm really trying to help."
"You really want to help? Find Keith. Find him and you'll find Krista. God knows I've tried, but it's like they've disappeared off the face of the Earth! I gave you all I had, now use it! You and the rest of your law enforcement buddies can make yourselves useful for once. Now, if you'll excuse me," she said, brushing past him and walking quickly to her car, "I'm going to be late for work." She climbed into her car, started it and backed out of the driveway with a screech of tires. Sam watched her drive off as several questions passed through his mind.
Is she right? Is this just a normal case of parental kidnapping? Or is it really part of our case? He looked at house for a few moments before an idea arose in his mind.
Only one way to find out.
He quickly glanced around at the surrounding houses for witnesses, but the street was silent. Cautiously, he made his way around the house, stopping to check each window. At the back of the house, on the third window, he found what he was looking for. He pulled out his cell phone and checked the picture he had taken earlier for comparison. The symbol carved into the window of the Wallace house matched it exactly. This was their case after all…
The reaction to Sam's arrival at the next house couldn't have been more different. Miriam Schneider, a tall, large-boned woman with graying brown hair, had answered his knock at the door with a cautious greeting and upon hearing the reason for his visit, she had warmly welcomed in to her home. Now, after listening to her chatter for nearly an hour while she served him coffee and cake, unable to get more than two words in edgewise, he was truly anxious to get to the heart of the matter. Time was running out, in more ways than one.
"Mrs. Schneider--."
"Please, call me Miriam."
"Miriam, about your daughter's disappearance--."
"Yes, yes, I'm sorry, I went off on another tangent. It's a bad habit I've had since…well, a while. What did you need to know? Anything I can do to help, I will." Sam gritted his teeth in frustration. He finally broke through her babbling.
"Did you notice anything strange before she disappeared? Anyone watching the house or your daughter?"
"No, no, I didn't notice anything like that, and I think I should have, I was always more cautious after Freemont was killed. Such a terrible thing! You wouldn't expect it in a small town like this, but you never know. My mother always said--."
"Freemont?"
"My husband, God rest his soul. A more wonderful man never walked the earth. He…"
"I'm sorry to have to ask this, but how--?"
"Oh, it was horrible! A hit and run. Apparently his car broke down and he was walking to the gas station when…" For the first time, the woman's voice faltered. She was silent for a moment while Sam shifted uncomfortably in his chair, sorry he had dragged up the obviously painful subject. He gave her his most sympathetic expression and soon Miriam recovered and continued her narrative.
"Well, anyway, they never found out who it was. The sheriff checked every single car in town and the neighboring towns, but he didn't find anything. It must have just been someone passing through, probably drunk and never realized what he did. I mean, really, how could someone just do something like that and not try to help?"
"I--."
"Liesel was absolutely devastated. The sheriff thinks that might have been why she eventually ran away, but it really doesn't make sense to me. She was even closer to me after that. All we had was each other, you know, so why--?"
"What made the sheriff think she ran away?" Sam interrupted, trying to keep his tone even.
"Well, he said he didn't find any evidence that anyone else had been in the room, and believe me, he went over the place with a fine-tooth comb."
"Have you, uh, made any changes to her room since she disappeared?"
"Mercy, no! I couldn't bear to. You know, I've always had this feeling that she might come back. Silly, I know, after all this time, but--."
"May I see it? Sometimes we can look at a person's and get an idea of their state of mind. Maybe I can figure out if, er, why she might have run away."
"Oh, of course, then. Please, follow me." She continued to talk as they descended the stairs, but Sam didn't bother to follow the one-sided conversation. When they reached the room, Miriam opened the door for him and he stepped through. Liesel's room was similar to Bethany's: full of the reminders than an eight-year old girl had lived there.
Miriam was uncharacteristically silent as she stood at the doorway to her daughter's room, and Sam was (with a twinge of guilt) grateful for the break. After making a slow circuit of the room, he made his way over to the window and opened it. Carved into the sill was the now familiar symbol.
Yahtzee.
He carefully closed the window and turned to face Miriam, trying to think of the gentlest way to break the news.
"I…don't see anything that would indicate your daughter left on her own accord. I'm sorry, I wish I could tell you more…"
"It's OK. I didn't really expect…well, it's been so long. I just…I just want to know that she's…in a good place, I guess. I've prayed everyday, just for something to tell me what happened, that I could…say goodbye. I…sorry, I'm babbling again," she said, her voice cracking on the final words.
Sam put a gentle hand on her shoulder, relaying as much sympathy as he could in his expression while his stomach churned in anguish. He understood her more than he would ever admit.
"Thank you, Miriam. You've been very helpful. I wish I could stay longer, but I need to interview a couple more people." She looked up at him with a teary smile.
"No, thank you. You're trying to help. We need more people like you, Agent Walsh. If someone like you had listened earlier, then maybe…"
"Maybe what?" She sighed.
"I had a friend…we became friends because of what we had in common, you see. She lost her family, too, and…she didn't handle it well at all. I just think if someone had listened, someone had tried to help, she wouldn't have…" Sam felt a twist in his gut. He had a good idea where this was headed.
"What was her name?" he asked in a low voice.
"Annette. Annette Lawson."
Damn.
"Mia Lawson's mother," Sam said, almost to himself.
Someone I couldn't save. Damn, damn, DAMN!
"Yes. Her husband disappeared about a year before Mia did. So many people tried to tell her he ran off and came back to take Mia, or that Mia ran away, just like they told me about Liesel. Annette never believed it. She said her husband loved them both too much to ever do such a thing. I guess she was right. A couple of months ago, they found her husband's body…well, his bones. Annette told me, she said 'if that is Nick, then my family is really gone.' I read in the paper that they had identified him, and when I went over to see Annette, to check up on her, I saw the police were already there. The sheriff told me…" Miriam fell silent, tears coursing down her cheeks. Sam nodded and gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze.
"I'm very sorry for your loss," he said, his words sounding hollow in his own mind. "Will you be OK? Is there someone I can call for you?"
"No…no. I'll be fine. Just…just find out what happened. Please."
"That's why I'm here, Miriam."
That's why I'm here.
Sam flipped the collar of his coat up against the cold and made his way to the last address on his list, going over the information he had gathered in his mind.
Four girls, all eight years old, gone without a trace. Their fathers are dead or missing, too. Surely that can't be a coincidence. And that symbol… I know I've seen it before…
Soon he reached the house, a two-story brick structure that appeared to be well cared for. He rang the doorbell and stepped back to wait. After several minutes of silence, he tried again, ringing the bell and knocking loudly.
"Mrs. Martin? Jane Martin?" he called after the last round of knocks.
"She's at work." He spun around and saw an elderly woman peering over the fence from the neighboring yard. The woman regarded him with suspicion.
"Do you know when she will be back, ma'am? It's important that I speak with her." He flashed the badge and the woman's gaze widened.
"Is something wrong?"
"No ma'am, I just need to ask a couple of questions."
"Oh, well, OK. She probably won't be home until 9 or so. She works late most of the time."
"Is there another family member I could talk to sooner?"
"No, I don't think Vic will be home until late, either. I'll tell them you stopped by, though."
"Thank you," he said, with little enthusiasm, and started walking back toward the town center. Tonight was too late. He and Dean would already need a solid plan by then. They'd have to do it with the information he'd already gathered. He just hoped Dean had fared better.
Dean awoke in darkness. With a gasp, he tried to sit up, immediately regretting it. The sudden movement awakened the screaming pain throughout his body, and he clenched his teeth to keep from groaning. When the pain had subsided to a dull throb, he opened his eyes again, hoping to clear away the darkness of before but the world remained pitch black.
Damn it. Where the Hell am I?
He tried to prop himself up to a sitting position, but the pain reawakened and he sank back to the ground. His hands felt as if they were on fire, and when he cautiously raised one to his face, he could feel the damp stickiness, smell the metallic odor of his blood. Suddenly he remembered: the black cloud, being dragged, the struggle to save himself, and then falling into blackness. Panic threatened to overwhelm him as he tried to stay rational, fighting his inner voice of doubt and fear.
Stay calm…stay calm…this can't be Hell, it's too early...
Demons lie…you screwed up somehow…and now…
No…this isn't it. If I were dead, would I be able to feel, to smell blood?
It's a prison, of flesh, and bone, and blood, and fear…
No…NO!
A faint, far off noise caught his attention, and he squashed his panic, listening intently, trying to discern what he heard. As the sound slowly increased in volume, he thought he heard…
Is that…singing?
The tune was vaguely familiar, and with a start he realized he recognized it.
"Risseldy, Rosseldy,
Hey bambassity,
Nickety, nackety,
Retrical quality,
Willowby, wallowby,
Mow, mow, mow."
Dean almost laughed.
As if it couldn't get any worse, on top of everything else, now I'm stuck in the middle of a Hitchcock movie.
He listened intently, trying to figure what direction the noise was coming from. As the singing came closer, he tensed, waiting to see the source of the sound.
"She swept the floor
But once a year,
Risseldy, rosseldy,
Mow, mow, mow,
She swore her broom
Was much to dear—."
The singing was broken by a gasp of surprise, followed by dead silence. Dean held his breath, straining to hear the movements of whatever had made that noise. After what seemed like an eternity, he was about to release the pent up air in his lungs when something cold and soft brushed his forehead. He flinched away from the touch, his startled cry immediately echoed by a chorus of shrieks.
"He moved!"
"He's alive!"
"Get back!"
"Don't touch him!"
Dean collapsed against the wall, almost laughing with relief. Kids. A bunch of kids had found him. Sammy would never let him hear the end of this.
Suddenly a horrible realization struck him.
They can see me, but I can't see them. Ah, damn it! His laughter died instantly.
The silence was broken by a voice, high pitched and young.
"Hey mister, are you OK?"
No, I'm pretty freaking far from OK.
He heard the voice again.
"Lees, go find Emmy. She'll know what to do." He was pretty sure it was a little girl.
A different voice answered, another girl.
"No, I'll go. You three stay here, watch him, but don't get too close. We don't know if he's safe." Dean thought he heard a rustle of fabric as the owner of the second voice left to get "Emmy". The three remaining kids waited in silence for a couple of minutes before starting a hushed conversation.
"How do you think he got here?"
"No idea."
"He's really beat up. What do you think happened?"
"I can hear you," groaned Dean.
"Well then why didn't you answer before?" asked one of them.
"Lees, hush!" Dean heard a slight movement as one of the kids settled down next to him. "Are you OK, mister? Where do you hurt?" It was the first girl he had heard. Dean chuckled faintly.
"Everywhere…"
"What happened?" the girl called "Lees" asked.
"I don't…really know," he admitted truthfully.
"You'll be OK. Emmy will be here soon, she'll know what to do," another voice assured him.
I don't suppose Emmy is a really hot EMT or anything, thought Dean. Nah, I'm not that lucky…
"What's your name?" asked the girl sitting next to him.
"Dean. Dean Winchester. And yours?"
"I'm Bethany. Bethany Miller."
A/N:The chapter title is from Paint it Black, by The Rolling Stones.
The song the girls are singing is "Risseldy Roseldy, an American version of an old Scottish folk tune. It was the song the schoolchildren were singing in the Alfred Hitchcock classic The Birds.