Chapter 7.

Bobby and Sam sat and discussed strategy.

"We need to call the station and ask for her. Maybe you should, Sam; different voice. We can find out if she's gonna be there tomorrow."

Sam nodded and found the number. He spoke to someone who said that Officer Brennen was due in tomorrow at nine.

"Good. We'll get set up by the station early and stake it out until we see a woman matching her. Then when she goes out, we'll follow her, see where she goes. I don't know what to do after that but it's a start." Bobby thought.

Sam agreed. "If she does have him in some other place, she'd be checking on him, I'd imagine." He hoped. If she no longer needed to check... He shook that thought away.

When Officer Brennen returned, she found her Dad seated in the metal chair, whistling. He looked up and smiled at her, nodding his head toward their captive. She turned and looked. Dean's head hung limply against his chest, blood dripped slowly from his mouth. He was absolutely still, appearing lifeless.

"Don't worry, love, I left you some."

She approached Dean and surveyed him. He was unconscious, that was obvious, his breathing ragged. She saw that his bandaged side, only spotted with red before, was now a dark, solid crimson. Oddly shaped bruises were darkening over his chest. She wondered what exactly Daddy had done to him. As she stood, she felt a flood of mixed emotions. With the others, those three earlier arrests; she'd felt a powerful feeling of righteousness. But they were never at a disadvantage the way this one was now. They were at least able to try to flee, or fight, and she beat them justifiably. But this was different…he looked pathetic, slumped there, trembling and bloody.

This scenario was what she'd yearned for, for a very long time; but seeing it now...it was intensely disturbing. And even if he deserved everything he would suffer, she couldn't help but be affected by it. She wasn't a monster, after all.

Daddy joined her. She noticed again his increasing rankness. "Ready to have a go?" he smiled.

She wanted to say yes…it seemed to please him. But the truth was, she needed some distance, after seeing the state of her captive. She wasn't ready to inflict more; maybe this was enough for now. After all, they'd agreed on six days…

Daddy saw the moral struggle in her. He frowned. "Now, love; you knew this was going to be harsh. Buck-up, sweetheart. We talked about this; you know he deserves this and more after what he's done. Remember poor Karin. She can't fight back now, but you can…for her."

Laura nodded, hesitantly, then with more conviction. Daddy always knew what to say. "Well, I guess we should wake the bastard then." She had a bucket of cold water sitting on the floor, she dipped a cup into it and tossed it into Dean's face.

He flinched and drew a sharp breath. He raised his head slowly, focusing with difficulty on the woman in front of him. He licked the welcome moisture from his mouth.

"Please…" he croaked. "Some water-"

"Don't." Daddy said.

"Dad, I don't want him to die of thirst, there's no justice in that." She dipped the cup again and let him drink a little, then dropped it back into the pail.

The water revived his senses. He had to get through to her, show her somehow what she'd really brought back. "Laura-" he whispered..

"Don't call me that."

"He's not your real Dad. That thing over there; it's evil, demonic-"

She got over her qualms and slapped him. "Shut up. He's as real as you are! He's everything I remember, and he came back to help me."

Dean shook it off and risked her ire again. "No! Please, listen to me! I know you prayed, but this isn't divine justice! Something else answered-"

She grabbed him by the throat. "Stop your lies!" she hissed, her fingers tightening.

"Not lying-" he choked. "Can't you smell it? That body is dead! It's rotting, he knows it!"

Her grip loosened for a moment and he took the opportunity to run with it. "That's crazy...you're crazy!" she said

"No; hear me out, Laura! I'm not what you think! I never saw Karin, I never hurt her. It doesn't matter if you believe me or not, you can do what you like; but you have to send that thing back to hell where it came from!" he whispered in desperation. "It's not your father, it's evil! Look at it! Smell it, for god's sake! Look for all the details that are wrong!" He couldn't say more, as Daddy had come and leaned over her shoulder.

"What's he saying, love? Eleventh hour repentance?"

Laura backed away from both of them. "Y-yes, just as you'd expect. He's trying anything, wants mercy…"

But as she spoke, her mind whirled with what he'd said. There were details... 'Daddy' spoke to her differently; not at all the grumbling softie from her memories. His attentiveness, which she'd appreciated, was almost fawning. Dad's affection had always been shy and cloaked in gruffness. The dry wit was missing. So was his rich accent, even the timbre of his voice was slightly wrong. It was like she was watching a very skilled actor play a role in full costume; well rehearsed, and utterly convincing… And what of that damned odour?

But it was too hideous to contemplate. She shook her head, reminding herself of the source of these thoughts; a man who killed her father and sister with remorseless cruelty, and who would say anything now to save his own neck. She couldn't believe this was wrong now; it had felt so damned right. She looked at her father for reassurance.

Her Dad grinned and winked. Then he made a small gesture, and Dean's chair was flung over backwards with a violence that sent it screeching across the concrete. The old wooden chair shattered as it and its occupant struck the wall behind. Dean cried out on impact, but he felt blessed relief as the tight pull on his shoulders was released, and he lay still.

Laura stared at her father in shock. "How...did you do that?"

"One of my new gifts." he smiled benignly.

She tore her shocked gaze away from him and approached her captive. He was a tangle of broken chair parts and rope, and he coughed, winded, against the cold floor.

She nudged him with her foot, and he blinked a few times and caught her eye. He said something to her, she had to crouch down to hear, it was so quiet.

"Bring salt tomorrow… Please; you'll see why. A box of it. I'm not the evil here, I'll prove it..." He was blacking out. "Salt; pour a ring around me and you...demon can't cross it. Look it up, you'll see. He knows I'm not the one-" That was all he could manage before he slipped away.

Laura stood up, and stepped back in confusion, her discomfort deepening.

But Daddy was right there behind her, she had no chance, no distance from which to think clearly.

He sensed her turmoil. "Laura, do you want me to finish this now..?' he asked her softly, his hands on her shoulders, sympathy and concern dripping from his voice. "I can see this is too hard on you, love. Would you like me to end it?"

"No! No, Dad. It is hard, I won't deny it. But I do want what we said. Six days of suffering, just like he gave Karin. It's just going to be an adjustment for me. Please understand, I was schooled in upholding law, this is all so different…" She smiled at him and shrugged apologetically. "But I'm with you. I want this as much as you do."

"Good girl." He patted her arm.

"Dad, it's getting late; I need to sleep. Let's get back, we can have tea, you could grab a shower. This trash will keep until tomorrow." She gave Dean's still form a sharp kick, for emphasis.

"Ok, love. Whatever you want." He stroked her hair again, in a manner that now, under the circumstances, began to irk her. Dad would have chucked her under her chin, at best. He was now touching her so intimately; coaxing, almost like a lover. It was starting to disgust her a little. She shrugged him away.

Officer Laura Brennen turned off the meager fluorescent, and they rolled the door down. Tomorrow was another day.

Dean was oblivious. The cold and pain were, for now, far away.

Sam and Bobby turned in early. They could do nothing more; tomorrow they would pursue their only lead. Bobby fell asleep quickly, but Sam wasn't so fortunate. He was too wound up, too fearful. And the older man snored with an impressive resonance that pierced the pillow when Sam held it over his own head to block the sound. Finally he got up and went back online. He re-read the information he had on Laura Brennen, trying to feel that he had a better grip on the situation. It didn't help; it simply reinforced the worry that Dean was in deep trouble and that Sam was powerless to do anything about it. He prayed fervently that following Officer Brennen was the right choice and that it would lead them to him in time. If it was a red herring… He swore and snapped the laptop shut.

Laura too, slept poorly. She rarely dreamt at all, after the loss of her family. She figured it was all part of the death of the whimsy and imagination within her on that ugly day. But she sat bolt upright, sweaty and horrified, at the nightmare that plagued her now.

Daddy was the focus. He smiled sweetly as he held a struggling wild rabbit. She watched him stroke it soothingly, but still it kicked and screamed in his hands. She became aware of a tapping sound, and she turned away, in slow motion, toward a window. Two figures stood there. They were rapping the glass, trying to speak to her, trying to get her attention. She wandered closer and saw that, strangely, it was Dad again, and Karin stood beside him. They kept speaking to her, but it was if they were under water; she couldn't hear their words clearly, but their knocking at the glass turned into frantic pounding. It frightened her. She turned again to Daddy holding the rabbit. He smiled benignly at her and held the terrified creature up by the ears. His eyes transformed, to a solid black, and he continued his languid smile as he raised a knife to its throat, and slit it in one fluid motion. He held it out to her as blood washed down it's soft, brown body, held it until it stopped convulsing and was still. He winked at her and dropped it. She tore her gaze away from those terrible black eyes, turning instead to the dead thing lying on the pristine kitchen floor.

But it wasn't a rabbit anymore. It was Dean Winchester.

Laura turned on a light, got up and poured some water. It was just a dream, it meant nothing, she told herself. But she was deeply shaken. The damned dream was no less insane than her reality at the moment. She sat, in confused misery, going over everything of the past few days. None of it was rational. She was a respected cop, who had now kidnapped a man she thought was responsible for killing her family, with the aim of seeing him suffer for his crimes until he was dead. She had no real proof that he was the killer, but she'd been obsessed with the idea that he was the one she sought, and that everything would be right if she made him pay. And she had prayed. She'd cast her pleas indiscriminately; she never worried about who would answer them. And when her father had been miraculously restored to life, she never doubted the rightness of it all. And then he had confirmed, uncannily, conveniently, that she had the right one in her grasp. He told her exactly what she wanted to hear. She was seduced by her own need for revenge, and it had all worked perfectly in her mind.

But now she felt more clarity than she had in months. If all had been perfect, if there weren't these gaps, these strange inconsistencies, and if he, her damned prisoner, hadn't drawn her attention to the very things she wanted to ignore, she might have blithely continued on. She couldn't now. -salt— He said to bring salt; said that it was some sort of anathema to demons; a barrier. It was ridiculous, fairy-tale nonsense. Demons! Why was she even listening to him? it was just a desperate ploy. But she could hardly write this off as fantasy when her own long-dead father now lived and breathed again in the room next to hers.

God,-what was she thinking? This was wrong, all of it! It was bizarre, sick... A horrible, nauseating fear gripped her, and she fled to the bathroom and vomited.