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Chapter Twelve
Dean glanced at the symbol on the wall just outside his cell, and now clearly recalled where he'd seen it before. He couldn't believe that he'd forgotten it or the promise that he had made to Shannon the night she had died.
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"When will you be back, Dean?" Shannon asked as she sat up in bed, and rested her head against the backboard. She lightly traced her fingers over the strange tattoo on her right upper arm, and then looked fearfully to Dean. He'd asked her before about the mark, but she refused to answer, saying some things about her past she could just never share with him, and as he had secrets of his own he understood and let the matter drop.
She blushed sweetly when Dean smiled at her, and he was struck by how beautifully innocent she appeared. Long raven black hair cascaded riotously over her bare shoulders and came to rest just above her soft, firm breasts. In her wide, crystalline blue eyes, Dean could clearly see that she trusted him to protect her from whatever she was afraid of, and briefly wondered why she would be so terrified of her own father.
"Should only be gone a couple of hours at the most." Dean zipped up his blue jeans, then sat beside her on the queen-sized bed. Drawing her into his protective embrace, he felt her tremble in response. "I promise I won't be gone long. You'll be safe here," he tried to reassure her, but could tell by the look in her beautiful blue eyes that she was terrified. "I swear your father's not gonna find you here," he said as he glanced around the small one room hunting cabin that belonged to Pastor Jim.
"You don't know him, Dean. He'll find me and then you'll never see me again."
"This cabin is well out of sight of the road, and I made sure no one followed us here." He pulled his knife out from underneath his pillow and handed it to her. "I'm sure you won't need this, but just incase, you do remember how I taught you to use it?"
"Yeah, I think so," she said, trying to smile bravely. The smile slipped from her face as she bit pensively at her lower lip and glanced in the direction of the door. "You're sure no one followed us here?"
"Yeah, was real careful to watch for any cars that might've been tailing the Impala, and turned off in a different direction if I spotted any that seemed to be following us for any real length of time."
"You probably think I'm being stupid, and am worrying for nothing," Shannon said as she rested her head against his shoulder.
"All I know is that you're afraid, an' that's all I need to know." Dean lifted her chin so she was looking him in the eyes, and then lightly brushed his lips against hers. "I swear I'll protect you, Shannon."
Dean kissed her once more, and then stood and headed for the door. Shannon wrapped the sheet around herself, and stood to follow. With his hand on the doorknob, he turned back to look at her. "Lock the door behind me, and make sure not to let anyone in, understand?" He waited until he saw her give a quick nod, then continued, "An' if you hear or see anything at all, just give me a call, an' I promise I'll head right back here, okay?"
"Thanks, Dean." She wrapped her arms around his neck, leaned into him and kissed him again. "You can't even begin to imagine how much your help means to me."
With one last kiss, Dean headed out the door, calling back over his shoulder, "Make sure you lock the door."
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Dean had been gone longer on the hunt than he'd expected. His father's information on the spirit they were hunting down hadn't been entirely accurate, and it had been a lot harder to get rid of her than they'd both first thought it would be. But Shannon hadn't tried to call him even once while he was gone, and was relieved to know her fears were unfounded.
A shiver of fear raced down the length of his spine as he pulled into the driveway, and noticed that all the lights inside the cabin were out. No matter if Dean was there with her or not, she'd always kept at least one light on.
Parking the Impala, he flung open the door, and was out of the car in a shot, sprinting toward the cabin. The front door hung slightly open on its hinges, and creaked loudly as he pushed it the rest of the way open. Dean yanked the gun out his waistband and leveled it on the room as he listened for any sounds coming from inside.
"Shannon," Dean called out to her, but deafening silence was the only response he heard in return. "Shannon, answer me," he tried again, his heart hammering away inside his chest, but still she did not respond.
Dean flipped on the light switch, and he got his first good look around the disheveled room. Tables and chairs had been knocked over, and rested haphazardly on their sides. All the dishes that had been in the cupboards now lay in shattered pieces on the ground. The mattress hung off the bed, and spotting an arm sticking out from beneath it, Dean rushed over to where it was, and yanked it off of Shannon.
His heart caught in his throat as he dropped to his knees beside her, and cradled her lifeless body in his arms. Blood pooled around her naked body from all the vicious knife wounds to her throat, chest, and stomach. Dean's own blade was so deeply embedded in her chest that only the hilt of the knife could be seen.
"Oh God, Shannon, I'm so sorry . . . so goddamned sorry." Tears slipped unchecked down his cheeks as he slowly rocked her back and forth. "Was supposed to protect you . . . promised I would protect you, an' I just left you here alone. God, this is all my fault."
For the longest time he just sat there holding onto her as he stared blankly around the room. And then fear gripped a hold of his heart as it fully dawned on him that whomever killed Shannon had used his knife to do it. As he glanced around the room again and then down at Shannon, he realized that he couldn't go to the police. His knife had been used to kill her, and they had been sleeping together, and Dean was certain that when the police put two and two together, they would determine that he'd killed her in the heat of the moment over some sort of lover's spat.
Dean also knew he couldn't just leave her there for someone else to find. His fingerprints were all over her and the cabin, and the sexual evidence the police would undoubtably gather would again lead them straight back to him. Even if he got rid of his knife, they would still have enough damning evidence to lock him away for life in prison.
Slowly Dean got to his feet and grabbed a blanket off the bed to wrap Shannon's body in. Hatred welled inside his heart for the person who had done this to her, and for himself for not being able to prevent it. She'd trusted him, and that trust had killed her. In Dean's eyes, it really didn't matter if he wasn't the one who had actually killed her, her death was still his fault. He'd sworn to protect her from her father and he'd failed miserably.
More tears spilled from his eyes as he yanked his knife from her body and wiped the blood off on the creamy white blanket, staining it crimson. Carefully he wrapped her body, softly caressing her cheek before he covered her face with the blanket. Dean lovingly gathered her into his arms and gently placed her on the mattress.
When Dean was finished, he gathered all her clothes, along with anything that might incriminate him in her death and placed them by the door to burn. Going to the cabinet beside the stove, he grabbed a bucket, mop, several rags and bleach to clean up all the blood. He had to refill the bucket with water five times before the blood was finally all mopped up. After Dean was done with that, he grabbed the bleach and dumped half the container on the floor, then dropped to his knees and scrubbed the blood stains on the hard wood floor, until his fingers were raw and burning with the effort. With that accomplished, Dean grabbed a clean rag, doused it with bleach and scrubbed down the entire room to erase any fingerprints Shannon or he might have left behind, and then set about with the heartbreaking task of getting rid of her body.
Dean trudged outside and headed over to the Impala to grab the can of gasoline and salt from his trunk of his car. At the far back corner of Pastor Jim's property, Dean built a fire and stoked into a roaring blaze. He went back into the cabin and gathered all the stuff he'd placed by the door and brought them back to the fire to burn. On his next trip inside the cabin, he carefully picked up Shannon's body and brought her outside and set her on the ground near the door. He then went back into the cabin, hauled the mattress outside, dragged it over to the fire and threw it on top of the burning pile.
For a moment, he just stood there watching the thick black smoke rising up around the edges of the mattress, hating himself for covering up Shannon's murder, but knew he had no other choice. With all the evidence they would've been able to gather against him, no one would ever believe he didn't kill her. And in the end, he did what he had to do to make sure he could continue to protect and watch out for Sam.
Building a funeral pyre, Dean brought Shannon's body over to it, and gently placed her down on top of it. He then salted and doused her body with the rest of the gasoline in the can. Dean hesitated for a second, thinking of their last moments together and how he'd promised her that she would be safe and then left her alone to die.
With trembling fingers, Dean struck a match and threw it on the gas, igniting her body. He stood back as the flames grew higher and the searing heat became too intense to tolerate. The vile stench of burning flesh filled the air, and Dean gagged several times before he finally gave in to his need to throw up. Dropping to his knees, he wretched over and over again until the was nothing left inside his stomach, and still he gagged.
When the ache in his stomach finally subsided, he sat back on his haunches, and stared into the fire, tears flooding his eyes. He knew he could never tell anyone what he'd done, not even Sam. Everyone would believe that he had killed Shannon, and then tried to cover up the murder by disposing of her body. His heart broke and shattered into tiny pieces knowing that because of him, her murderers would get away with what they'd done to her, but he just couldn't risk the chance that the police would blame him for her death.
"I'm so freakin' sorry, Shannon . . . God, you have no idea how sorry I truly am." He scrubbed his hand across his haggard face, and then rubbed away the tears in his eyes. "But I swear to you that I will find whoever did this to you, an' I'll make them pay for it. That's my promise to you . . . ." Dean's voice trailed off as he slowly got to his feet and trudged away.
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With stomach churning violently, Dean lowered his head and looked away from the symbol. He now knew why Shannon had been so afraid of her father as it was the same reason he feared the man. The Father took away everything from him as he did with his own daughter, and had left him weak and defenseless. And as he thought back to Shannon and the promise he'd made to her, he sadly realized that he'd failed her once again.