Disclaimer: Don't own them. Just playing with them for a while.
Summary: While investigating the mysterious disappearances of several hikers, Sam and Dean are caught up in a town's dark secret that will leave them both struggling to survive. Set mid-season 2.
Chapter 2
The little town of Denton was nestled deep in the heart of the Ozark Mountains. The only access to the town was a single lane highway that twisted and curved around and through the tall hills and sloping valleys that made up the surrounding area. The nearest neighboring town was nearly forty miles away, placing Denton, quite literally, in the middle of nowhere. The town itself was folded around the single main street that contained Denton's few businesses and government buildings, and the few streets that branched away from it were just as likely to be dirt as pavement. The houses of Denton were made up of a head-spinning variety of ramshackle wood cabins mixed in with more modern two-story brick homes with manicured lawns. The combination gave the town the look of a place struggling to embrace modernization while still being stuck somewhere in the 1920s.
Shivering slightly in the cool morning air, Dean dug in his jeans pocket for the key that would allow him into the hotel room. Pulling it free, he shuffled his coffee cup from his right hand to his left, swearing softly as some of the hot liquid spilled over onto his hand. Wrestling the old key into the lock, he finally pushed his way into the room, kicking the door shut behind him with one booted foot.
Setting his coffee down on the small table inside the door, he glanced toward the small bathroom, the soft hum of the shower indicating that Sam was finally up and preparing for the day. When Dean had left a half hour earlier to walk down to the hotel lobby in search of some coffee, his younger brother had still been sound asleep, sprawled across the bed on his stomach, snoring softly and drooling all over the pillow. Dean had let him sleep, knowing that rest was a valuable commodity that they too often went without.
It had been after three in the morning when they had finally pulled into town, the clerk in the hotel lobby looking surprised and vaguely annoyed at their late (or rather, early) arrival. Dean guessed that the hotel didn't see a whole lot of guests, except perhaps, during peak hiking season. He had been somewhat surprised that a little town like Denton was actually able to support its own hotel. Surprised, yet grateful, as it made things so much easier than if they were forced to commute back and forth from a neighboring town, or worse yet, sleep in the car. He had no idea how long this job was going to take them, and having a home base to work from that did not contain a steering wheel and leather seats was always a bonus.
Walking over to the sink located just outside the bathroom, Dean turned on the cold water and leaned over to splash the cool liquid onto his face. He had taken his shower over an hour earlier when he had first woken up, but whatever rejuvenating effects the hot water had offered then were already starting to wear off. Reaching for the nearby towel, he patted his face dry, and then regarded his reflection in the mirror, frowning at the dark smudges beneath his eyes. He tried to remember the last time he had caught more than a few hours' sleep in a night, but his weary mind simply refused to supply the information.
The last several months were nothing but a blur of one case after another after another, and after every case he would tell himself it was time for a break. The only problem with taking a break was that it left him with too much time to think, and thinking was the last thing he wanted to do. He didn't want to dwell on the fact that his father was gone and would never be coming back, his life sacrificed so Dean could carry on the fight. He didn't want to think about the implications of John's final words to him, or the god-awful reality that he might one day loose the one thing that mattered more than anything else to him; his brother. And so he kept going, kept pushing through the exhaustion, ignoring his body's tell-tale warning signs that he was nearing burn-out.
But now Dean was starting to get worried about Sam as well. His brother was looking more and more haggard as the months wore on, and Dean was reminded that this life was precisely what his brother had fought so hard to escape only a few short years prior. He didn't want this for Sam; wished desperately that his brother could somehow escape this life. At the same time, he knew without a doubt that he couldn't continue on without Sam by his side. Perhaps someday, but not now. Now he needed Sam beside him, if for no other reason than to insure that his brother remained safe; insure that Sam remained Sam.
If you can't save him, you'll have to kill him.
Dean groaned and brought his hands to his head, his palms pressing ruthlessly against his temples in an effort to force the hated words out of his mind.
The door to the bathroom suddenly opened, spilling forth a wave of hot steam and his brother, a white hotel towel wrapped snuggly around Sam's waist. Dean couldn't help his small start of surprise, and he quickly dropped his hands, belatedly realizing that his tired mind had failed to register the sudden lack of noise from the bathroom that signaled Sam's shower had ended.
Sam shot him a look, his sharp eyes missing nothing, but much to Dean's relief his brother chose not to comment. Instead, he moved past Dean to the bed and began ruffling through his duffel. "I think the suit might be too much," he commented, still sorting through the contents of his bag. "I'm not sure exactly what private investigators wear around these parts, but this PI is going to settle for slacks and a button up shirt."
Dean grunted and turned to face his brother, leaning back against the sink and resting his forearms on the edge of the counter. "I got a quick peek at the town this morning on my way to the lobby for some caffeine. Trust me, you could probably ditch the tie and no one would notice."
"Good," Sam muttered, yanking his clothes from the duffel. "I hate that damn thing."
Dean chuckled. "Come on, Sammy. If you had become a lawyer like you planned, you would be wearing a tie every day. Hell, after a few years you'd probably get so snobby you'd have one sown onto your pajamas."
Sam shot him a look, and Dean raised his hands in mock surrender. "Hey, just wanted you to realize what kind of life I saved you from is all."
"Gee, thanks," Sam grumbled. "What a wonderful big brother you are; saved me from a life of comfort and riches. How could I ever find a way to thank you?"
The grin Dean gave his brother showed nothing of the sadness that flashed through him at the truthfulness behind his brother's words. A second later, his expression turned serious as he switched his mind to work mode. "I'm still not entirely sure I like this plan of yours, Sammy." He stated. "It seems awful risky to me. What if you're recognized?"
Sam shook his head. "It's your face plastered all over the most wanted posters, not mine. Somehow they always seem to overlook me." He paused, casting Dean a warning look, apparently realizing he had just left himself wide open for any number of snide remarks. Dean merely smiled back at him, his face a picture of innocent attention. Sam let out a small cough before continuing. "The last hiker disappeared a little over a month ago. The police station is the most likely place to have information about his last known location. They might even be able to provide us with details about the other missing hikers. Right now, what we need is information, any sort of clue as to what we're dealing with. This is worth the risk."
Dean sighed. "Fine," he conceded. "Just make sure you get the hell out of there if anything starts feeling hinky."
"My hinky radar will be on full alert," Sam assured him wryly. "So what are you going to be doing all day while I play PI?
Dean shrugged. "I figured I would mingle with the locals a bit, try to fish out any information about the area, see if there are any legends or stories that might be worth our while to chase down."
Sam let out a small huff of air, glancing at Dean from the corner of his eyes as he pulled on his shirt and began buttoning it up. "In other words, you're going to be hanging out at the local bar, drinking beer and flirting with the girls."
Dean pursed his lips, his eyes raised thoughtful, before shrugging and saying, "Yeah, sounds bout right."
"I so got the raw end of this deal," Sam grumbled.
Dean raised his arms, his face a picture of pained innocence. "Hey man, it's not easy being wanted by the law. I just make the best out of it I can."
Sam rolled his eyes and reached for his slacks. "Yeah, right. You have my ID?"
Dean moved back to the table where he had left his coffee, rifling through the stack of papers he had dropped there earlier that morning. He quickly located the small ID card identifying Sam as Henry Falco, private investigator. "Here ya go, Henry," he called, flipping the card over his shoulder in the direction of Sam's bed. He grabbed his coffee, inhaling the rich scent before tipping the Styrofoam cup and draining the liquid in three deep gulps. Reaching for the keys to the Impala, Dean turned and watched as Sam moved to the sink and began brushing his teeth. "You take the car," he directed, jingling the keys lightly in his hand.
"What about you?" Sam asked around his toothbrush.
"The hotel clerk told me the police station is on the far side of town, about three miles or so down the road. Pretty much anything I need is within walking distance of here. Oh, and make sure you check your phone periodically; clerk said reception can be somewhat tricky out here."
"Yes, dad," Sam replied, spitting his toothpaste into the sink. Almost immediately his face paled, his eyes flying up in the mirror to meet Dean's gaze, his features anxious.
Dean met his brother's eyes in the mirror, his expression carefully neutral. He wondered idly if there would ever be a time when he and Sam could talk about their father without feeling the awkward need to tread carefully. "Bout ready to go, pretty boy?" he asked, raising the hand holding the keys to the Impala.
Sam wiped his mouth on a towel, then turned and reached for the key. "Ready," he replied. "Let's get this show on the road."
The 'Brown Bear Bar and Grill' was just like the hundreds of other restaurant/bar combinations Dean had been in throughout his life. As he stepped through the heavy wooden front doors, his nose was assaulted with the combined scent of greasy food, tobacco, and alcohol, the fragrances so much a part of the grill that they were ingrained in the very wood of the building. The smell was a familiar one to Dean, and his body relaxed slightly without him even being aware of it. Besides the Impala, this type of place was where Dean felt most comfortable. There was something about the atmosphere of a Bar and Grill that put him instantly at ease. Perhaps it was the lack of pretense he always found in these places. Here, he could just be Dean, because nobody knew or cared what that meant.
Dean's eyes scanned the Grill, mapping its layout. The bar was directly in front of him, an impressive array of bottles lining the tall shelf along the back wall. A waist high counter ran the length of the bar, with stools placed intermittently down its length. Surrounding the bar area were around a dozen square tables covered in red and white checkered tablecloths. An old wooden jukebox stood silently in one corner, and a worn pool table stood sentry on a raised platform at the very back of the building. A single set of swinging doors at the far right of the bar's counter led into what he presumed would be the grill's kitchen.
His entrance into the room had been announced by a small set of bells hanging over the doors, and within seconds he was approached by a young waitress holding a stack of menus. She smiled sweetly at him and gestured toward the tables. "Take your pick," she directed. "As you can see, we're not exactly busy."
Dean returned the waitress' smile. She was cute, with a full, curvy figure, red brown hair, green eyes, and a spattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. "Well, it's early yet," he replied. "Give it a few hours and I'm sure business will pick up."
The waitress rolled her eyes. "Tell me about it. Come back around five and you'll see how busy this place can get."
Dean flashed her his most charming smile. "Well, since you've given me a personal invitation, I just might have to do that." He was rewarded with her small blush.
"Are you looking for a late breakfast or an early lunch?" she asked, shuffling self-consciously through the stack of menus in her hand.
"Just a coffee for starts," Dean stated. "And maybe a little bit of information about the area if you can spare a minute or two?"
"I'll see what I can do," she said with a shy smile before turning and disappearing back through the swinging doors into the kitchen.
Dean moved to sit at the table next to the Grill's single window, his gaze perusing the street outside until the waitress returned with his coffee. She placed the cup in front of him, then turned and rested her hip against the edge of his table, her eyes appraising him. "So, what brings you to our tiny little town?" she asked, her expression curious.
Dean smiled up at her lazily, lifting his coffee mug and taking a small sip, his eyes never leaving her face. "Who says I'm not from around here?"
The waitress threw back her head and laughed. "Honey, I've lived in this town for ten years, and in case you haven't noticed, it's not all that big. I know who's from around here and who's not."
Dean conceded the point with a grin and a shrug.
"My name's Annie, by the way," she said, raising her chin in a quick gesture of greeting.
"Dean," he responded, returning the gesture. "And in answer to your question, I'm just passing through. Actually," he admitted "I'm kinda looking for a nice place to go hiking, and a friend of mine recommended this area. What do you think? You guys get many hikers around here."
"Oh sure," Annie shrugged. "This area of the Ozarks always attracts hiker enthusiasts. The terrain offers a real challenge, and it's some of the prettiest country around." She paused, eyeing him up and down, taking in his torn blue jeans and brown work boots. "I wouldn't recommend it to just anyone, though" she continued. "This area can be pretty dangerous."
Dean leaned forward, his hands wrapping around his coffee cup. "What do you mean, dangerous?" He asked. "Dangerous as in there's something lurking in the woods waiting to grab me if I stray too far from town?" His voice was light and teasing, as though his words were just a joke, but his eyes watched Annie's face intently, looking for any sign that his question had struck a nerve.
Annie frowned slightly, her hip shifting against the table as she crossed her arms across her chest. "Well, there is a lot of wildlife in the area you have to watch out for, but mostly it's just easy to get yourself lost. If you're not prepared and you don't know what you're doing, you can get turned around fairly easily, and the wilderness around here goes on for hundreds of miles. Not to mention the terrain is pretty rough. You fall and break your leg, and there's no guarantee anyone will ever find you."
Dean shrugged. "The terrain I can handle," he said dismissively. "I'm more worried about running into Big Foot. You ever hear of any sightings of strange things in the woods around this area?"
Annie let out a soft laugh, shaking her head at him. "Hate to break it to you, buddy, but Big Foot is a myth," she said. "Big bear, on the other hand, is very much real, and he will gobble you up before you can say 'Yogi'."
Dean let out a soft snort of laughter. "I'll be sure to keep that in mind."
"You do that. I would hate for something to happen to that pretty face of yours." As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Annie looked instantly mortified, her cheeks coloring a deep shade of pink.
Dean's smile turned a shade more predatory, and it was only with extreme effort that he reminded himself why he was here. Normally he would take Annie's comment as an invitation to take his flirting to the next level, but if all he had to offer his brother when Sam came back was the waitresses phone number, his brother would never let him hear the end of it. Reluctantly, he let her comment pass and focused on the task at hand. "I take it a place like this has plenty of legends and stories about things out there in the wild?" he asked casually. "You know, the kind of stories moms tell their children to scare them into obeying?"
Annie regarded him with a small smile. "You mean stories about the Boogie Man? Sorry, but he's just a myth as well." She cocked her head to one side before shrugging her shoulders slightly. "Honestly, there's enough real creatures out there…some of them pretty scary…that I guess people don't really feel the need to make up fake ones."
Dean opened his mouth to ask Annie what her opinion was on all the missing hikers recently, but before he could speak the bells over the front door let out a loud jangle. A tall man dressed in cowboy boots, tight jeans and a red flannel shirt sauntered into the grill, his gaze sweeping the room until it came to rest on Dean and Annie. Annie quickly straightened from her slouch against Dean's table. "Excuse me," she said, flashing him a quick smile before striding across the room to greet the new arrival.
Dean watched her go, then turned his attention back to his coffee, raising the cup to his lips. If there were any local legends or superstitions surrounding this area, Annie would have known about them. One of the perks to working in a bar was that you basically knew everything about anything going on. It was one of the main reasons Dean had decided to start his search here. Yet so far, Annie hadn't revealed anything helpful. Dean sighed and ran a hand down over his face. He hoped Sam was having better luck than he was.
A shadow fell across the table and Dean looked up, surprised to find the man in the red flannel shirt standing a few feet away. The newcomer's hands were hooked in the loops of his belt, and his dark eyes were studying Dean with a strange intensity. "Hello," he said simply by way of greeting. "Annie was just telling me you're newly arrived in town and looking for some information on the area. Perhaps I can help."
Dean arched his eyebrows in surprise, somewhat taken off guard by the man's blunt approach. "Uhh," he stammered, his mind suddenly gone blank and feeling oddly uncomfortable under the stranger's intense gaze.
"My family has lived in this area for more than three generations," the man continued at Dean's hesitation. "I know these parts better than most. If you're looking for information on some good hiking trails, I can certainly point you in the right direction."
Dean blinked, trying to think fast. He had come to the grill to collect information, and here stood a man freely offering it. Yet for some strange reason he couldn't quite explain, he continued to hesitate. In the end, however, his need for more information outweighed his vague misgivings. It was a sad fact, but the way things were now, they could use all the help they could get.
He plastered a grateful smile on his face. "Sure, thanks" he replied, motioning the man toward the chair opposite him. He glanced around for Annie, but the waitress had disappeared back into the kitchen area. Turning his attention back to the stranger he offered his hand. "Name's Dean."
The stranger reached forward and took Dean's offered hand in a firm grip. "Ty," he supplied simply. "Ty Gallups."
Dean released Ty's hand, sitting back and lowering his chin, studying the man across the table from beneath hooded eyes. "I appreciate your offer of help, Ty," he stated sincerely. "Are you always this friendly to the poor, lost idiots who wander through your town?"
A small half smile turned up one corner of Ty's lips. "On occasion," he replied simply.
Annie appeared suddenly beside their table, two beers held in her hand. She placed one in front of Ty and the other before Dean. At Dean's surprised look, Ty spoke up. "It's on me. Hope you don't mind?"
Dean arched one eyebrow, then gave a small shrug and reached for the beer. "Never been one to turn down a free drink," he replied, tipping the bottle in Ty's direction in a salute of thanks.
Ty nodded. "Good. Never did trust a man who wouldn't drink a good beer with me."
Dean let out a small huff of laughter. "Well, I can drink to that."
Ty lifted his bottle and took a deep swallow before fixing Dean with a penetrating stare. "So, hope you don't mind me being blunt, but you don't look much like the hiker type to me?"
Dean shrugged, meeting the other man's gaze with his own. "You can say it's kinda an on-again off-again hobby of mine." He didn't elaborate, years of hunting having taught him that the best cover stories were the ones kept simple.
Ty regarded him a moment before giving a barely perceptible nod. "So, is this a quick trip or are you planning on hanging around for a while?"
"Booked the hotel for a week," Dean replied, lifting his beer and taking a quick swallow. A ghost of a smile flashed across Ty's face, there and gone in the space of a heartbeat, leaving Dean wondering if he had imagined it. "So what about you?" he asked, trying to steer the conversation away from himself. "Lived here your whole life, have you? Must have been somewhat boring, growing up in such a small town."
Ty lifted his beer and slowly tilted the bottle left and right, sloshing the liquid in a gentle circle. "It's not too bad." He shrugged "This town can offer plenty of entertainment if you know where to look for it." Once again the ghost of a smile flashed across his face and was gone.
"So tell me about the trails around here," Dean requested, wanting to get down to business. "How many are there? Any that are considered more dangerous than others?"
"There's about a dozen or so trails just in and around Denton," Ty responded, "Even more if you go further out. Each trail varies in difficulty, but they all can be dangerous if you don't know what you're doing. Hikers have been known to stray from the trails and get lost, and some are never found again."
Tell me about it, Dean thought sourly.
Ty suddenly straightened, peering at Dean intently. "Hey, I have a map out in my truck that details the local hiking trails. You might find it useful. I can let you take a look at it if you would like?"
Dean paused with his beer lifted halfway to his lips, an interested expression on his face. He knew it was only a matter of time before he and Sam found themselves traipsing through the wilderness in search of whatever was causing the hikers to go missing. When that time came, a detailed map of the trails would be extremely handy. He had grabbed a pamphlet from the hotel lobby that had a map of the area surrounding Denton, but it hadn't included the trails and was far from detailed. "That would be great," he replied, grateful that he would have at least something to offer his brother when Sam returned.
"Come on, then," Ty stated, rising from the table with his beer still in his hand. He nodded toward Annie who was over at the bar sorting through liquor bottles. "Put these on my tab, Annie?" he called, already heading toward the door.
Dean quickly rose to follow, digging in his pockets for some change to pay for his coffee. Annie saw him and quickly shook her head. "Coffee's on the house this morning," she called. "Just come on back tonight like you said."
"Definitely," Dean responded, throwing her a quick wink and smiling as she blushed. Perhaps this trip wouldn't be all bad.
He followed Ty out of the Grill and down the street, surprised when the man turned into the small alley next to the restaurant. Dean could see a giant black truck parked halfway down the narrow lane.
"Nice wheels," he commented as they reached the truck, and Ty flashed him a quick smile as he pulled open the passenger side door. Reaching in, he ruffled around the glove box for a moment before pulling out a folded piece of paper. Moving to the hood of the truck, he began unfolding the paper and spreading it out.
Dean took a step closer, leaning over to inspect the map. A few moments later he let out a small whistle, impressed with the quality and detail in the map. Small red X's clearly marked the trailheads of a dozen hiking paths, and information regarding the length and difficulty of each individual trail was contained in a small box at the base of the map. "This is perfect," he muttered.
As he leaned closer to read the tiny print on the map, he suddenly felt a sharp sting on the side of his neck. Jerking in surprise, he swung around, his eyes widening as he saw Ty taking a small step back, an empty syringe held in one hand. "What the…" he began, but he never managed to finish the sentence. Whatever Ty had injected him with, it worked fast. His vision began to fold in on itself and a strange roaring filled his ears. He took a stumbling step forward, then felt the world tip.
He was unconscious before he hit the ground.
Sam shifted uncomfortably on the hard plastic chair in the police station's small waiting room, glancing at the clock on the wall for the fifth time in just as many minutes. He had already shuffled through the small stack of magazines on the small table next to his chair, but nothing had really caught his interest. When he had arrived at the station half an hour earlier, the receptionist had informed him that the sheriff was on an important phone conferencing call and wouldn't immediately be available. She had offered to make him an appointment, but Sam had opted instead to wait.
Of course, that was before he had discovered how uncomfortable the chairs were, and how outdated the magazines. He was starting to long for the laptop he had left behind at the hotel. Reviewing the missing person's reports on the lost hikers would have at least been more productive than sitting here twiddling his thumbs.
"Henry Falco?" Sam's head jerked up at the sound of his assumed name. He rose to his feet and walked quickly over to the receptionist's desk. "Sheriff Rawly has just finished with his call and will see you now," she informed him, gesturing with one overly-manicured hand to the door sitting directly behind her desk. The stenciled word SHERIFF was displayed across the glass paneling on the door.
"Thank you," Sam told her gratefully, moving around the desk to knock softly on the glass panel. Hearing a faint call to come in, he opened the door and stepped into the sheriff's office, slightly surprised to find the room was only marginally larger than the waiting room outside. Sheriff Rawly was seated behind a large oak desk on the far side of the room, his eyes on a stack of papers sitting in front of him. He was a man of moderate build with narrow, pale features and a healthy spattering of gray through his trim brown hair.
Sam had almost finished crossing the room before the Sheriff glanced up at him, his expression impassive. "Sorry to keep you waiting, son." His tone was brisk and clipped, with no hint of the apology he was stating. "What can I do for you?"
Sam cleared his throat and took another step closer to the desk, reaching out and offering the Sheriff the fake ID Dean had given him earlier in the hotel. "My name's Henry Falco," he stated as the Sheriff reluctantly took the card and glanced at it. "I'm a private investigator based out of Jonesboro."
"Mmm hmm," Rawly murmured, looking at Sam from underneath heavy brows. "And what brings you to Denton, Mr. Falco?"
"I'm here on behalf of the family of Michael Ryan," Sam stated succinctly, not missing the fact that Sheriff Rawly had yet to invite him to be seated in one of the two chairs placed in front of the desk.
Rawly's eyebrows arched in apparent surprise. "The missing hiker?"
Sam nodded. "I was just hoping to ask you a few questions regarding the investigation into Michael's disappearance, if that's alright with you?"
The Sheriff frowned, the fingers of one hand tapping an impatient rhythm at the corner of his desk. Finally he gave a stiff nod, indicating with one hand that Sam should take a seat. Leaning back in his chair he steepled his fingers in front of his chin. "What is it you would like to know?" he asked simply.
Sitting on the very edge of the chair, Sam gave the man a grateful nod. "It is my understanding that your office was working in conjunction with the state wildlife department during the search for Michael. Is that correct?"
Sheriff Rawly shrugged. "Yeah, that's right."
"How many days was Michael missing before your department was notified and began the search for him?" Sam asked.
"As best we can tell, he was missing for three days before the clerk at the hotel reported he hadn't been back to his room for a while." Sheriff Rawly leaned forward in his chair, staring hard at Sam. "I believe all this information was in the official report we filed with the state. As the family's personal investigator, I am sure you are familiar with the report, Mr. Falco?"
Sam nodded hastily before offering an apologetic smile. "Just trying to verify my facts," he said quickly. "The search for Mr. Ryan was officially called off two weeks ago, right?"
"Yes," Rawly verified. "By that point in time the wildlife department and this office felt as though there was no real hope of finding Mr. Ryan. We were using up valuable time and resources that were needed elsewhere."
"Of course," Sam smiled understandingly. "During your search for Mr. Ryan, did you ever come across anything strange?"
When Rawly frowned at him, Sam hurried to elaborate. "For instance, unidentified markings or tracks, or perhaps signs of struggle…" The sheriff was already shaking his head, his expression impatient, but Sam pushed on. "What about unfamiliar smells, or maybe areas that seemed unnaturally cold?"
"What the hell are you talking about?" the sheriff growled. "There was nothing unusual. Just exactly what is your purpose here, Mr. Falco?"
"The family just wanted me to double check that all possible explanations for Mr. Ryan's disappearance were investigated, that's all." Sam tried to give the Sheriff a reassuring smile, but the man was having none of it.
"All possible explanations?" Rawly growled, leaning back in his chair and eyeing Sam sourly. "What the hell is that supposed to mean? Michael Ryan got himself lost while hiking in the wilderness, and that's it. Tragic, but it happens."
"Michael's family described him as an experienced and skilled hiker," Sam pointed out. "They seemed to think it unlikely he would have gotten himself lost and…"
Rawly let out a small snort, cutting Sam off mid-sentence. "Just because you're experienced doesn't mean you don't make mistakes," the sheriff stated impatiently. "He could have injured himself or had a run-in with a wild animal. We'll probably never know."
Sam realized he was getting nowhere with his present line of questioning and decided to switch focus. "Mr. Ryan wasn't the first hiker to disappear in this area recently, was he?" he asked, watching the sheriff's face closely. "There have been several other missing hikers as well, and none of them were ever found either. Seems a little strange, doesn't it?"
"Not strange at all," Rawly argued. "I take it you're not familiar with this area, Mr. Falco. It's some of the roughest and most isolated territory in the Ozarks. Every now and then hikers get adventurous and decide to venture from the trails, underestimating how easy it is to get lost out there. Some of them manage to find their way out, or sometimes we're able to find them, but it's unavoidable that some don't make it. Just the way it goes."
"But why haven't any of their bodies been found?" Sam pressed, knowing he was probably pushing his luck, but still needing more information. The last thing he wanted to do was face his brother and tell him this whole meeting had been a bust. There had to be some tidbit of information they were missing that would set them in the right direction, he just had to dig deep enough and find it.
"You're not listening to what I'm telling you, kid." Sheriff Rawly's voice was adamant. "These are the wilds we're talking about. Who knows how far away they could have wandered trying to find their way out. Animals could have gotten hold of the corpses and dragged them god know where, or they could have been swept away by one of the many rivers in the area. The truth is, we just don't have the resources to scour every inch of this territory. Those bodies will probably never be found."
Sam accepted the information with a nod and a small frown. The Sheriff's explanations sounded convincing, but there were still far too many unexplained factors for him to accept the possibility that this might be a bum hunt. From the moment Bobby had told him about this case, his instincts had told him something was not right, and as an experienced hunter he had long ago learned to trust his instincts. He briefly considered questioning Rawly about the fact that all the victims were young men, or perhaps point out the annual nature of the disappearances, but he could sense the man's rising annoyance, and getting himself thrown out of the station would accomplish nothing.
"Do you know which trail Michael was on when he disappeared?" Sam asked. It was looking more and more likely that he and his brother would be taking a hike of their own into the wilderness, and he wanted to be able to narrow their search area down as much as possible.
Sheriff Rawly didn't answer right away, but merely looked at Sam, his lips pursing in and out. It looked as though he was debating something. Sam remained silent, hoping that the sheriff would continue to cooperate. The seconds stretched on, and Sam shifted his weight on the edge of the chair, beginning to feel slightly uncomfortable under the sheriff's unnerving scrutiny. Finally Rawly seemed to come to some sort of decision. "Cold creek trail." He said simply. "His car was found near the trailhead to cold creek trail."
Sam nodded his thanks. "Any way you could point me in that direction?"
"I'll do you one better, kid," Rawly said, pushing himself to his feet. "The trailhead is about ten miles north of town. If you don't mind taking a short drive, I can show you right to it."
Sam was surprised by the offer. A few moments before he had felt certain the sheriff was about to throw him out of the office. "Uh, thanks," he said slowly, "but you really don't have to do that. If you could just point it out on a map…"
"Nonsense," Rawly replied shortly. "The trail head isn't marked and can be difficult to spot, even if you know where to look. I can see you are determined to poke your nose into this one, and the last thing I need is some inexperienced city-boy bumbling around the wilderness getting himself lost. Besides, my deputy and I were going to head out that direction this morning anyway to check on some reports of damaged guard rails."
Sam swallowed the annoyance he felt at the sheriff's insulting tone. Knowing the exact location of the trailhead would undoubtedly come in handy, and he wanted to have something useful to bring back to his brother. He could only hope that Dean had had better luck in digging up information than he had. He forced a smile. "Okay, sure; appreciate the help."
Rawly reached for the phone on his desk and hit a button before pulling the receiver up to his ear. "Lindsey," he barked into the mouthpiece, "Have David bring the squad car to the front of the building"
Sam wanted to take the Impala and follow Sheriff Rawly up to cold creek trail, but the sheriff waved away his suggestion and insisted that Sam ride in the squad car with him and his deputy. Sam reluctantly consented, but after being seated in the back of the police car and facing two doors with no handles and a heavy metal grill separating him from the front seat, he was beginning to rethink the wisdom of his decision. He knew Dean would call him nine kinds of stupid for putting himself in this situation, and he could only hope that his brother wouldn't turn out to be right. It wasn't that he had any real reason to distrust Sheriff Rawly, but any situation that left him trapped and helpless was less than ideal.
As they pulled from the police station's parking lot and headed south out of town, Sam fished his phone from his pocket, intending to send his brother a text to let him know where he was heading. Just in case. The display across the front of his phone notified him that he was in a "no service" area, and he put it away with a small sigh.
Glancing forward through the metal grill he could make out the profile of Sheriff Rawly and his deputy, a sallow faced man Rawly had introduced as David Fuller. Neither man seemed interested in conversation, and Sam was just worried enough about his current position that he didn't feel particularly inclined to try and start one. He still intended to ask Sheriff Rawly about the locations the other hikers had disappeared from, but he figured his questions could wait until he was out of the claustrophobic confines of the car's mini prison.
The drive to the trailhead only lasted ten minutes, but by the time the Sheriff pulled off into a small dirt parking area to the side of the road, Sam felt as though he had been trapped in the car for an hour. He couldn't help but breathe a soft sigh of relief as Deputy Fuller pulled open his door, allowing him to spill from the stuffy confines of the car. Fuller gave him a nasty grin, his expression making it clear that he was all too aware of Sam's uneasiness.
Shaking his head at his own foolishness, Sam looked around him. They were parked in a small mountain outlook point. A steep, rocky incline towered at their back, while the view before them was one of sweeping hills and deep valleys, all heavily wooded. It was breathtakingly beautiful, and Sam instantly forgot about his discomfort as he took in several deep lungful's of fresh mountain air. The parking area where they stood was about twenty yards long and was surrounded by a short metal guardrail. On the other side of the guardrail, the ground sloped abruptly downward in a steep decline, the ground littered with rocks and boulders of varying sizes until, ten yards down, the tree line took over, obscuring the view of the base of the hill.
Sam walked over to the guardrail, casting a wary eye down the steep hill in front of him. He couldn't spot anything at all that looked like a trail in the heavy woods below him, but then, the sheriff had told him the path was difficult to find. He turned to ask Rawly to point the trail out to him, and his eyes caught the flash of sunlight off the gun pointed straight at his chest.
"You chose the wrong time to come poking your nose around here, son," the sheriff said simply, his hand tightening on the gun's grip.
Sam froze, slowly lifting his hands and holding them out to either side. "Easy," he said softly, his eyes fixed to the cold steel of the gun barrel, making sure he made no sudden moves. "I don't know what this is about, but I'm sure we can…"
"I don't like having to do this," the sheriff interrupted, "but we can't afford to have you reopening the investigation now. I'm afraid you'll have to disappear."
At the softly spoken words, Sam's mind seemed to shut down and his body reacted purely on instinct. He threw himself to one side, straight toward the steep edge of the hill, the low guardrail catching him across his legs and sending him tumbling. At the same time, the loud report of the sheriff's gun echoed loudly in his ears, and sudden fiery pain blossomed high on his right arm.
Sam couldn't stop the cry that tore from his lungs, and then the world was tumbling sideways and he was falling.
A/N—Okay, so I wrote and re-wrote this chapter so many times, I finally just had to post it as it is and move on. A little heavy on the dialogue, but don't worry, the action is on its way. And I can promise you, neither of the boys is in for a break anytime soon. *evil grin*
Let me know if you like. Constructive criticism is also welcome (thanks KHK )
Thanks for those of you who took the time to review. I really appreciate it!