Chapter Five
"Just call me Lucifer cause I'm in need of some restraint." Sympathy for the Devil –Rolling Stones.
Verity LeHarve excelled in single-minded concentration. It was the difference between a successful crafter and a dead one. She had frayed her tie to the spirit of Cecile Dupree, in order to devote her powers to her larger target. Now all she wanted was to shred the little idiot; but that was no longer an option.
Sweet Cecile had played her hand way too soon. Forcing her spirit into the mind of such a powerful Psychic – in effect, attempting a form of possession to bend his will; was a move that almost ended her afterlife existence. It also gave Verity the Mother of all headaches and a nosebleed that seemed to go on forever. LeHarve had every intention of reestablishing the "chain of command" for her wayward waif! It was her own fault – forgetting that the spirit world did not operate on reason, but on near pure emotion. Although the child did have promise, she had managed to push all the right buttons in Reaves; evoking his past nightmares, appearing in his waking world; unbinding him from within.
As she dabbed the last droplets of blood away, Verity readily admitted that she had severely underestimated Cecile's hunger for vengeance. And she was not a woman who made the same mistake twice.
Her family's magic was old and powerful, and the family name would certainly draw the aid of those bound to it over the centuries. Verity drew some peace of mind from these facts, but going up against an organization of do-gooders with what appeared like infinite resources, on the cusp of a power struggle, was not good strategy or business sense. No, coming to the attention of this Brotherhood, was certainly not desirable – even cavemen throwing rocks got lucky once in a while. The Hunters may not be overly familiar with her world now – but given their history, it would not take long – she had no intention of risking their judgment.
"What are you rambling about? I am not ashamed of who I am … Dr Phil! In fact I am fighting to keep the old ways under the new rules. You know I don't require your approval, just your obedience. Weather you tell yourselves that you follow me or my blood, is of no consequence to me… so long as you obey."
She tapped her foot impatiently while she listened to her ethereal companions. They were not subservient, they were old fashioned and temperamental and liked to pretend that they still had free will and what they were doing had been their idea all along. Her Mother had pampered them, Verity had less patience with them and right now all she wanted was their compliance not their opinions. The child was hurtling back to them, and she had to work to realign her leash on the young spirit once more.
"Very well – my Mother had more respect – your right… No I don't care to learn who you once were, because I require your attention in the here and now. Our young friend returns, and if we are all to avoid an undesirable end from these Brotherhood fanatics, we need to drag her into line, finish our target, and leave without causing further curiosity. Agreed?"
As the windows blew in the tall graceful witch strode to the centre of the room. The shrieks and cries that accompanied the frenzied maelstrom did not seem to faze LeHarve at all. Even as Cecile materialized in her ragged clothes, her face horribly scared and twisted in torment, Verity merely arched a brow at her.
"Oh save the amateur dramatics for a more gullible audience girl!" Verity snapped. "I demand that you address me in appropriate attire!"
Cecile might have glared at her like she could happily strangle the older woman, but she slowly shimmered into her pristine violet dress, her blonde curls arranged themselves with care around her smooth buttermilk complexion.
"Better?" the young voice demanded tartly "I wouldn't want the manner of my murder to upset your delicate constitution."
The young girl made a slight swiping gesture to her cheek, indicating the area Verity had a smear of blood on her own face.
Using soft linen drawn from her sleeve, the witch dabbed delicately, whilst throwing the impertinent girl an icy glare. "Self pity bothers me – you have had an eternity to get over it! I offer you a better alternative and outlet for you passions then those poor fools that choose to stay here on this plane and believe they can affect the living in the same manner as before their deaths. I've un-locked the secrets for you. I have sought out the blood that wronged you… and how do you repay me?! With disobedience! I made it very clear that playing the executioner is not your part!! I warned you – you are not strong enough to take on a living soul, certainly not this one. Don't forget his ancestry, cherub; he is no easy meat."
"Forget his ancestry?!" Cecile exploded. "Do you believe that I would be aiding such a foul, wretched being as you; if I could forget his ancestor?"
Verity's eyes blazed and Cecile screamed clutching at the air with clawed hands. Le Harve watched the tormented little girl's spirit attempt to fight off the beings she had no chance of defeating, as they tore into her. She watched closely but with a small frown of impatience, as if the lesson were running overtime and she had already dismissed the class.
"Enough" she ordered, after a further pause to take in the far more compliant screams and pleas from the small girl. "We understand each other now, do we cherub – hmm? Yes I thought so."
Verity smiled sweetly at the whimpering, wide eyed girl flickering in and out of being.
"You will get your fill of revenge – but you will do it my way. There can be no traces back to me. No excuses, there are more subtle ways to reach your goal through him. There is no need to be so obvious, child."
To her great pleasure, the girl nodded wild-eyed and with urgent compliance. If only her latest charge could be so easily convinced.
Le Harve reached her hand out to the nodding child. "Come cherub, we must ensure that this set back does not cost us the prize. The Reaves boy will fall – but it will be by his own hand- and once he does…" Verity couldn't help the small glance upward at her cohorts "He will make a most interesting addition to my little band of comrades."
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Mackland was running almost entirely on auto pilot. Probably not wise when he was speeding his way back to Jim's farm, giving about as much notice to the rights of other drivers as John Winchester…. Who could go and hang himself if he thought there was any chance that Caleb was not getting checked out in a proper medical facility! Murphy had made the call that had damn near had the Doctor running himself off the road. His own fault, James had asked him to come off at the safest juncture. The Pastor had also assured him that Caleb had regained consciousness almost immediately and though he was now sleeping, all his vitals appeared stable following the… seizure.
His boy had suffered a seizure. Mac had checked (as far as possible) with Ms. Birdell , Caleb's legal guardian and Grandmothers oldest friend, what the Reaves medical background had been – this had never come up. Mackland had told the Pastor to keep him appraised if their was the slightest change in Caleb's condition, and he'd meet them at the hospital instead.
As he rounded the last turn leading to the Farm's entrance he was thankful for the small blessings – the cars were still there, and so was Caleb. He should have rolled the reluctant teen to the hospital - at the first sign of trouble, he should at least have checked the boy over; how could he have been so lapse?
The debilitating side effects of the horrible visions his son endured on occasion, were bound to leave some physiological mark. He should have been more vigilant following the visions, checking both the mental and physical indicators. As a Neurosurgeon he knew that the brain was such a delicate and complex organ, that it was entirely possible that one could experience an isolated Grand Mal seizure, and the reason never is a hundred percent ascertained. It may never occur again or it may be an indicator that some form of trauma had triggered more permanent conditions.
The Father in him threw aside the cold medical logic wanting nothing less than the ironclad assurance that his boy was okay – the same assurances his Medical mind knew were impossible to supply, even with the right equipment. All those years at Brown and the finest education the Ames fortune could buy still could not guarantee Caleb's wellbeing. Mac tried not to choke on the irony of that.
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"Uh fellas there is a highly polished piece of sensible automobile, tearing up the dirt track on its way here – I'd say this would be a good opportunity to get out your catchers mitt Winchester, cause I'm not sure the Scholar is intending to take his foot off the gas!" Bobby commented in an ever more urgent tone.
In truth Mac did appear to come dangerously close to testing the foundations of Jim's house. He seemed to fly from the car bringing it to a screeching halt almost in the same blurred motion. John drew his eyebrows down and set his face for hurricane Ames.
Mackland entered in a flurry of motion, Jim put a gentle hand on John's forearm and took the lead.
"Mackland, I'm glad you arrived safely. I was a little worried following our conversation. Caleb is resting …with Dean as his sentry no doubt." Jim began in an even tone.
"What happened, Winchester?" Ames demanded sparing the Pastor a respectful nod.
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Caleb Reaves had, had his fair share of strange dreams, but he was pretty certain this would make his all time top three.
Following his brief stray into the conscious world after his lights went out, Caleb had the distinct feeling of being pulled in the wake of someone else's passage. He was stuck to this being and was dragged across a large expanse of colors to a small darkened …. Barn? There was a dank smell in the air that mingled badly with the smell of smoke. The building had not been in use long; the protective symbols on the floor – those he recognized as such- disturbed the carpet of dust, dirt and strewn hay. He'd glimpsed the building on his way in by … Fed-ex, or whatever the Hell had him bouncing around on the weirdest trip of his life… and was amazed it still stood upright.
The sudden appearance of two figures before him caught his attention – had they been there all along? One was a woman on the tail end of twenty, with shoulder length brown hair, medium in build and willowy in stature; she radiated something of a regal air. The way she looked at the second figure and the corresponding emotions that emanated from her left Caleb with no doubt who was the underling in her mind. This certainty was only slightly offset by the stubborn cast to the second individual's shoulders.
Reaves shook his head in a vain attempt to draw focus on the shadow in front of him. His blood ran cold as he realized that he couldn't pull the figure into focus, because it was none other than the misty apparition of Cecile Dupree. He had surely followed the white rabbit down a huge hole, because here was Alice herself standing tall in front of him! Maybe he was losing his mind? Maybe the taller chick was about to pull her head off and reveal that, she was in fact, a Jolly Fat Man who preferred to dress in red and sneak into the homes of children?!!
The argument started with little in the way of introduction on either ladies part; indicating to Reaves that they were familiar with each other. At one point he thought he heard one of them use his surname but he could not be sure, there was something else in the room. The thing or things were like distorted outlines hovering mostly near Cecile's not so well mannered new playmate. They caught Caleb's attention almost immediately, for although he could not see them – it was like someone had hole- punched the fabric of reality itself – he could smell them, and that was enough. They smelled like every waking nightmare he'd had following his parents death, like every hunt site where the monster was quicker than they were, like his Foster Parents apartment after he'd found them bled out … they smelled like death. And instinctively he knew he had to get the fuck out of Dodge, because those unnatural bastards were going to sense him in a second – and that was a scenario he would not walk away from, not in his current Swayzed state.
His mind raced to find a more valid way out than trying to click his heels together. But all he could draw was one big blank. It was then that he felt a sharp pain as fear and panic collided in his mind – his own vulnerability clashing with the emotions of Cecile Dupree. With a wrenching sensation he felt himself snapping back into his body at lightening speed. He let out a slight hiss as his eyes snapped open and almost immediately shut again as he came face to face with the business end of a penlight.
"Caleb?" a soft familiar voice grasped for his attention.
It took a further two blinks to dispel the bright spots of light dancing on the inside of his eyelids, but he hastily drew a calming breath and tried to rid his Father's voice of it's anxious edge.
"Dad" he replied, sounding gravelly to his own ears. "Call off the searchlight will you… you found me!"
Though he hadn't fully pulled his vision into focus he was rewarded with a small chuckle from John and a mildly irritated snort from Mac.
"Nice to see your funny bone wasn't further damaged smartass!" John's teasing held a slight tight quality to it.
Reaves recognized it at once – worry. It was time to get back into the game, there was no way Dr. Ames was going to let him off a visit to the local medical amenities, but a half convincing performance might head off any bright ideas of an overnight stay. After all – only his head felt like it had been squashed in a vice, the rest of him was actually quite well rested.
Mac snapped his fingers to the left drawing an immediate response and a roll of the eye from the teen.
"Do I get to fetch next Dad?" the boy huffed, obviously uncomfortable being the centre of attention.
"Just track the finger Caleb." Mac murmured his attention firmly on his patient's pupils.
"Feeling fine Mac, hint of a headache but otherwise okay … Oh I know I am not getting out of our Medical fieldtrip." Caleb smiled sweetly.
Mackland's face seemed to darken for a moment before he turned to Knight. " Jonathan, could you please be so kind as to give us a moment to get ready, tell James we will be making that trip to the hospital and would appreciate if he accompanied us to smooth out any discrepancies."
When John left the room with a nod, Caleb sensed the rising temperature washing off his Father. To hide his confusion and discomfort he began to get up from the bed.
"What do you think your doing – stay put young man!" the Doctor declared tartly. "For once Caleb, please try to remember, I did not fall to earth in the last rain shower. No matter what patented "I feel fine" tune you're singing … you just collapsed, you had a seizure and your damn right about that "Fieldtrip"! How dare you be so Cavalier about your health?! That's not bravery … it's…"
"Alright!" Caleb snapped. "I get it – why don't I play the part the way you want me to, should I weep a little while I bear my soul to you?! What do you want from me, Ames – or am I just not shaping into the hero mold all that well?!"
"Caleb…" Mackland's warning tone cut across his son's sarcasm, but his face was openly shocked.
Reaves shoulders slumped a little as Mac's hurt started to weave its way through the anger he was reading from the older man, taking the edge off his own mounting temper. The Psychic frowned a little wondering where the hell the spark came from in the first place.
"I don't want to fight, Mac … I'm … sorry. I'm a little off." Caleb ran his hand across his face. His headache was a dull roar now allowing him a little more room to think. Maybe getting the once over wasn't a bad idea.
The older man watched his boy with a cold feeling of helplessness in the pit of his stomach. This was not like the teen at all – even during his darker moments, Caleb had practiced various relaxing techniques over the years, many taught to him by Ames himself, he did not loose control so easily. The martial arts he practiced – his favored form of stress relief – all had discipline and self control at their core, and Caleb was a diligent and skilled student.
Drawing himself together the Doctor decided to first treat the body and then the mind. Mac began to wonder if he'd missed something in Caleb's behavior recently and felt awash of gratitude, not for the first time, that Reaves would have the balancing influence of the Winchester boys over the next few weeks at least.
With a start he realized that Caleb had put on his dark leather jacket and was waiting patiently by the door for him. As he reached the exit he placed a hand on the boys shoulder. Glancing into the young man's earnest but troubled golden eyes he smiled warmly at him squeezing his shoulder encouragingly. For Reaves gestures were easier to deal with than expressed open emotion.
Right now feeling the anxiety and disoriented emotions flowing from the boy, through his contact with the battered coat Caleb wore, Ames realized that there was more to this mystery than he had first realized, and that his confusion was something he shared with the young Psychic.