A.N.: Here we are at Chapter 9. This little ditty was only supposed to be ten chapters….yeah that's not happening. :P Thank you so much for reading and reviewing. I hope you enjoy.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
He's stretching his cell phone in the corner of the coffin to try and get a signal the first time it happens.
His fingers shimmer in and out of his sight until they disappear completely.
His hands are suddenly petite and delicate and young. Not a blemish or a wrinkle mars the porcelain skin.
The hands claw and pound futilely at their wooden cage, breath hitching in panic as the mouth opens and a pitiful scream escapes.
Fear so real it aches grips them tight, as they scream for a savior that will never come.
Dean comes out of the vision or whatever the hell that was with a physical jolt so powerful that he curls in on his body to try and fight the anguish that pours into him.
"What the…" he pants.
He has only a moment to catch his breath before he is propelled none too gently into another vision.
Her sunflower colored dress billows up around her as she twirls, gay laughter pouring from her and her father's mouth.
She feels loved and safe and like she belongs. Her father tells her he will be right back, that he has to get something out of the car and she happily plops down in the sand. She has always loved the sand, the feel of it as it glides through her fingers. She wonders what it would be like to go to the beach, she's always wanted to. She can see her Dad bent over into the minivan…when he gets back she will ask him if she can go, maybe for her birthday.
A hand clasps over her mouth and she lets out a muffled squeal before gulping in chloroform.
Everything goes black.
She comes to and she hurts. It's pain worse than she's ever felt before and she cries out for her Mom, shocked when the sound bounces back at her.
She can't remember much, she was grabbed.
Her head pounds and her mouth is unpleasantly dry. She reaches up to press a hand into her head as if that will make all of this go away.
She can't move her hands, they're bound.
She starts to cry and squeezes her eyes shut. That makes nightmares go away, that's what Mommy and Daddy said.
Her eyes open. She's still trapped.
Dean gasps back into reality with fresh tears pouring down his cheeks, his breath sawing out of him in a ragged wheeze. His next breath hisses out in a wisp of visible air as a disembodied voice growls.
NOW YOU KNOW HOW I FELT.
Hopelessness and despair threaten to crush him as he cries out. "Why are you doing this?"
Countless images filter into his mind. Hands and arms and a scratchy voice. The pleasure, the sickness, the fear at being caught, the joy of getting away with it, the elation that he will never have to pay for his sins…
Flashes of a struggle and terrified cries as a little girl fights a faceless man. Until he leans down into the coffin to kiss the unconscious girl tenderly on the forehead.
It's his face. It's his eyes that twinkle with a malicious glee. It's his voice that murmurs. "Sweet dreams Lily." His hands that pound the final nail into place and drop the dirt onto the coffin like he is wrapping his favorite present.
"No," he groans.
It wasn't him, he never did that, would never do that.
This ghost has it all wrong.
"It wasn't me," he whispers, his strength momentarily depleted from the onslaught of emotions.
YOU WILL PAY.
The temperature returns to normal as the ghostly presence leaves the box.
Dean is alone again.
And afraid.
"It wasn't me." He states to the top of the coffin, pleading with the malevolent spirit.
His throat is tight.
"God," he moans, feeling sick at the pictures that depicted him as the killer. "It wasn't me."
There is no response. His breath quickens.
"IT WASN'T ME!" He roars, slamming a fist into the makeshift ceiling.
He hears a whisper of sound.
THAT'S WHAT THEY ALL SAY.