A/N: I don't think I've ever done a blanket thank-you before and I hate doing it now, but I am so tired, y'all. I want and hope to reply to them from last chapter. Please don't think I don't appreciate every single word and please don't hate me if I don't get around to it this one time! (insert puppy eyes here)

Don't Judge a Book
Chapter Nine

They were trapped in a car with a madman, and that wasn't hyperbole.

If not for the car's engine growling more than purring, they might have been able to hear a pin drop. Rick had barely even started getting over walking right into an ambush and seeing AJ choked out right in front of him; no way was he coming to terms any time soon with the insanity of what he'd just been told in a startling, calm way from a startling, calm son of a bitch. He'd expected perversion and general overall wrongness, but this guy was nuts. He was completely bonzo. Evil spirits. Poltergeists. Monsters. Those things were one hundred percent Hollywood and bad novels. This guy believed it all, though. The wacko probably thought the bogeyman was real. Worse, Rick thought he thought they should believe it all too.

And as long as the guy had a gun pointed at his little brother, there was not a damned thing Rick could do to improve their situation.

"You're," AJ said, dazed, "mister, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but you are … certifiable."

That wasn't something AJ would usually let slip, but all things considered it summed up everything rolling through Rick's head just fine. He darted his gaze to the rearview mirror, more than a little concerned the observation would result in a bullet-sized hole in his brother's head. That wouldn't be a rational response, but this guy seemed far beyond rational.

As if to prove that very point, the guy's reaction wasn't to shoot AJ but to let out something that was probably a laugh. Or it might have been a choked sob. It was difficult for Rick to tell. Either way, confidence was not instilled. Before he returned his attention to the road, he saw AJ's expression become baffled above and beyond the shell-shocked, just-been-choked look he still wore. Rick wanted to see this nutball pay for what he had done to his own kids and for almost killing his little brother. A padded cell and a straitjacket would be a good start.

"Yeah, you might be right," Wacko said, still chuckling. "The jury is still out on that one."

Rick surmised that a crazy man with a loaded gun who knew he was crazy but didn't seem to mind it all that much was just a hair better than a regular old crazy man with a loaded gun. At least he could tell himself the chances of an accidental gun misfire were slimmer with a self-aware crazy man. Unfortunately, it occurred to him the chances of a non-accidental gun misfire were greater. In the end, Rick wished no matter what that he were nowhere near a crazy man with a gun. The way his thoughts were spinning about in his head made him think perhaps he himself might be a little crazy.

"Poltergeist," Rick said. "Really? Like that girl from the movie. 'They're he-ere'. That kind of poltergeist."

"I don't expect you to get it right now," the guy said, and he almost sounded sad. He almost sounded sane. "To be honest, I wish you wouldn't have to get it once we're there either. But you will, and I'm going to need your help. You fit for duty, Country Club?"

"Well, that would depend," AJ said, reasonably.

"Fair enough," Wacko said, also reasonably. "We're just going to do a little redecorating. If it all goes right, no one should get a scratch."

Jesus, Rick wished this guy had the courtesy to not be so damned cryptic. It was like being held at gunpoint by a giant, scruffy version of Yoda. Rick hated those damned Star Wars movies. Wacko leaned over Rick's right shoulder.

"Step on it, Grandma. We don't got all night."

The slow pace hadn't been intentional, but now that it had been pointed out Rick realized why he wasn't exactly setting land speed records. The sooner they got to the Sanchezes', the sooner this guy was going to go from contained crazy man to unleashing his master poltergeist-busting plot, and Rick couldn't exactly be certain that didn't involve harming rather than helping the Sanchez family, never mind offing him and AJ in the process. He did not buy the guy's assertion that no one would get hurt; AJ already had been. Threats of worse had already been made.

Rick depressed the accelerator. The engine roared. He had to admit, for a psycho he had a nice set of wheels. He pictured the guy on some insane quest to vanquish evil, riding his big black car into the dark corners of the supernatural world. That idea might make an interesting book, if it wasn't written by a hack.

"So you do this kind of thing often?" Rick asked. "Fight the things that go bump in the night?"

"Someone has to."

Of course someone did. It would be unconscionable to leave all those make-believe monsters free to do make-believe things.

"Of course someone does."

Rick wasn't sure why he'd asked the question, or why he was still seeking some kind of logic here. It was pretty clear there were no satisfactory answers forthcoming about anything. Crazy people didn't follow the known laws of reason. This guy might not be a pervert (then again, he might still be that – no proof to the contrary), but Rick had no regrets about getting those two little boys away from Mr. Nutbar back there. In the short half hour he'd known the guy, he already felt his own mental stability wavering. A whole lifetime of that inflicted on impressionable children's minds was as much abuse as hitting or touching inappropriately were.

He turned onto West Kalmia, now only about two minutes from their destination. He was glad he wasn't going to have to keep trying to squeeze information out of the guy, but as they got closer his muscles tensed more. Rick had to be ready for anything, any chance to take this guy down before he did permanent harm. Frankly, though, he wasn't anticipating much; whatever funny farm he escaped from, their crazy man was scary competent. Rick wouldn't be surprised if he had military experience, seen combat. He frowned. The guy was about the right age. He thought of another Vietnam vet doing 'crazy' things that he and AJ had dealt with only a couple years ago. Hell, on a good day Rick wasn't sure the effects of Vietnam would ever not ride around on his left shoulder with him. And he knew AJ sometimes thought he was insane himself.

Rick didn't much like the idea he and Mr. Nutbar might have anything remotely in common.

"Damn," the guy said, ducking his head to look out the windshield. "We're not gonna have an easy time of this."

Once again, Rick couldn't decipher what that meant. Instinctively, though, he looked ahead to the Sanchez house. At first glance, it looked fine except that the lights were all on. But then they weren't, and then they were again. The effect of the lights going off and on was almost strobe-like in intensity, and in those brief spasms of illumination Rick saw something that chilled him. The whole family stood at the big family room picture window, hands pounding against the glass and fumbling at the sills. Like they were trapped, their house a cage. Why weren't they at the doors?

As he drew the car to the curb in front of the house, and in those momentary flashes of light, Rick saw Josh Sanchez had blood running down the side of his face. He wasn't sure if he was grateful to see only tear tracks on Rosalie and Cristina's faces. They appeared completely terrorized, as frantic as Rosalie's voice had sounded on the phone. The flickering lights only added to the frenetic energy he could practically feel from his safe spot outside. He didn't have the first clue what this crazy, maybe not so crazy after all, guy expected him and AJ to do. Rosalie suddenly went down, her chin banging against the window frame before she disappeared. Josh and Cristina lunged as if reaching for her. Holy fuck. They had to get the family out, whatever the hell was going on.

Without thinking, Rick lurched out of the car and headed up the sidewalk. He made it all of five steps.

"Hey," the guy shouted. "Hold up, you jackass."

Oh, he was the jackass now? Rick spun, and it was then he remembered the crazy man had a gun aimed at his brother. Not for long, though. He watched the guy tug AJ out of the back seat, stare at them for a millisecond and then tuck the gun into his waistband. Priorities. Get the Sanchezes out first, and then find a way to take down the crazy man. Right, sure. Okay. What?

"What in the hell?" AJ said softly as he walked a few steps toward Rick. "What's happening?"

"I told you already," their captor said. He yanked the keys from the ignition and darted to the rear of the car. "Poltergeist."

Rick wanted to think this was some elaborate hoax. It had to be. Allen Funt was going to jump out of the bushes and shout "Smile, you're on Candid Camera." at them any second now. Except he knew that seemed even less likely than a poltergeist at this point. He heard Cristina wailing, things shattering inside the house. He didn't know how none of the neighbors had woken up. That might be for the best. His mind continued to whirl, trying to keep up with what was happening in real time.

"Take these," the guy said, shoving something small and soft at Rick and AJ.

"What are they?" AJ said, holding up the sachet in confusion.

"Doesn't matter right now, Blondie. Listen up. I won't have time to hold your hands in there."

Crazy man with a gun was now crazy man with an axe. And a gun. Rick had a random thought about Lizzie Borden, which he then thought shouldn't have ever been his first thought in any situation.

"First we get in there, bust the door down if we have to. You two hustle the family out as fast as you can. If you can."

So far, so good. That was the first logical thing the guy had said since Rick had known him.

"Then get your asses back in. These packets need to be placed inside the north, south, east and west walls of the house. Not near the walls. In them. I'm carryin' enough for the whole deal, but I don't think I'm going to get it done by myself. Consider yourselves enlisted." The guy spoke quickly and surely, like this was another day at the office. "Works best if they're put in the corners and on different levels of the house. Screw that this time, just get them all in on the main floor. This isn't going to be easy, boys. Damned thing looks pissed off."

AJ nodded as if he understood completely, but his face looked slack and stupid. He took the fierce-looking machete the guy handed him and gawped at it, then at the hammer handed to Rick.

"You'll need something to break through the drywall," the guy said. "I'll go right for the north and west. You two think you can handle east and south if I don't get to them?"

"Sure?" Rick said, because he did not have the first clue what else to say.

The next thing Rick knew, Mr. Not-So-Nutbar brushed them aside and made for the front door with the axe ready. The screaming and crying hadn't let up at all. His palms felt clammy and cold. He glanced at AJ, who simply stared back at him with wide eyes. Rick still wasn't sure what the hell was going on. There wasn't time. The thud of metal against wood startled him. The door being kicked in had him moving. He didn't think, couldn't.

Inside, the chaos he had imagined became very real. Lamps and framed photos were flying every which way. A stereo blared into life, crap music coming from somewhere upstairs. It took him a moment to accept this was actually happening. The chair launching itself at his head was proof enough. He ducked at the last second, splinters cut into his cheek from the chair all but disintegrating against the wall above his head.

"Rick." AJ looked like he was shouting, but he sounded far away. "You okay?"

Rick gave a quick nod. Before he could do or think anything, his arms were suddenly full with Cristina Sanchez, who clawed at him like he was the enemy. Everything turned into a blur, down was up, up was down. He caught glimpses of AJ and blood and long black hair in his face and their would-be captor with his mouth gaping wide in a shout Rick couldn't hear at all. He shoved the girl out the door, maybe shouted at her to get the hell away, bumped into AJ right behind him with a bruised and battered Rosalie, Josh immediately staggering along. Blood everywhere. Windows rattled. An inhuman yowl filled the house. More shit flew at them with precision aim, landing a few painful hits. He pulled AJ close a second before a statue – Hummel? – nearly took his head off.

"I got east," he said into AJ's ear. He still didn't even know what that meant. "Watch yourself."

"I'm not sure…"

He saw their would-be kidnapper fly across the hallway, heard the sickening, recognizable thump of head against hard surface despite the ruckus. Jesus. The guy lay still, clearly stunned. Shit oh shit. Rick didn't know if the guy had gotten anything done. He kept moving. The house … the poltergeist got angrier. He was in the air himself, then he wasn't. God damn, his back was going to be one enormous bruise when he woke up. If he woke up. He faded to gray for a heartbeat, AJ crying out in pain revived him.

"AJ," he said.

As he rolled onto his stomach, Rick wondered if it was him or the room that was looping. He saw multiple versions of his brother disappearing through an open door, to the south. Musta hit his head too. He thought AJ'd looked like he was going on his own steam. Much as he wanted to follow AJ, he slithered east (he thought) toward the kitchen. He didn't have the hammer anymore, dropped it. Now all he could hear was his own heaving gasps for air, his lungs burned. He scrambled to all fours, crawled like his life depended on it. It might.

The second Rick crossed the threshold of the kitchen, he knew he was in deep shit. Heavy appliances danced across the floor, knives flew at him. He did the only thing he could. He put faith in the little, smelly bag of whatever that he clutched in his left hand. He ignored searing pain in his right shoulder and dashed for the east wall, kicked his foot through the drywall. Probably broke his goddamned toe in the process. He tossed the sachet into the gaping hole.

Nothing happened. Rick blinked in bewilderment. He'd expected something big. The crazy guy made it seem like something big was supposed to happen now. He blinked again, then threw himself on the floor to avoid a butcher knife to the heart. He smacked his chin, nearly rattled the teeth right out of his head. A second after hitting the ground, a blinding light engulfed the kitchen and a shriek nearly deafened him. The absolute silence that followed threatened to do the same.

After a minute, Rick started hearing small things. The drip of the kitchen faucet. The refrigerator kicking in, humming along cheerful and normal from its relocated position in the middle of the room. The house creaking as it settled. A moan from some distant corner.

That last sound got him right side up anyway. Rick scuffled until he was sitting, and took a quick tally. Multiple bruises and muscle aches. A minor flesh wound on his right bicep – he was more upset at losing the shirt than the gash. It was a favorite, as far as nighttime stakeout shirts went. Once he was sure he wasn't going to keel over if he stood, he stood and picked his way out of the kitchen. He hadn't noticed how everything was on the floor, or the obstacle course he'd somehow crawled over, under and through.

"AJ," Rick shouted, taken aback to hear his voice sounded hoarse. "AJ, you all right?"

The groan he got in reply wasn't the answer Rick wanted to hear. He jumped over the last chair in his way and trotted to the family room. He threw a glance at the formerly crazy man, who was kneeling but still looked out of it, before moving on. He halted at the threshold.

"Oh, man."

If anything, this room looked worse than the kitchen. His attention went right to the south wall, where AJ should have been. All Rick could see were overturned easy chairs and a large, now horizontal, bookshelf. Broken lamps and books strewn all over the place. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted the ghost hunter had joined him.

"My brother better not be dead, mister," he said. "Or so help me, I'll…"

"I'm not dead, Rick," AJ's muffled voice said. "I wouldn't mind a hand up, though."

A hand popped up from under one of the easy chairs. Rick had never been so glad to see a hand in his whole life. He and the hunter got to the chair at the same time, each of them grabbing a corner and heaving. AJ lay on his back, and he gawked at them. Not a trace of blood on the guy. It figured that he would get attacked by knives and AJ, well, AJ got pummeled with pillow cushions and paperbacks. Rick wouldn't have it any other way.

"What … was that?" AJ asked both Rick and the other guy, but then he peered at the other guy. He sat up, tossed a tasseled throw pillow aside. "Please, don't say poltergeist."

"Okay, I won't. But that's what it was," the guy said, as he leaned in with a hand extended.

AJ looked at it for a moment, but didn't reach to take it.

"Well, okay. So we apparently just fought a poltergeist together. Some might say that's a bonding kind of experience," AJ said, sounding neat and prim as ever. A tuft of his blond hair stuck straight up, and his shirt was bloody and ripped. "I believe you know who we are. I think it would only be polite if you told us your name now."