A/N: I would like to thank everyone who reviewed, everyone who put this story on their favorites list, and the author/story alerts, and everyone who's lurking. Thanks so much!
Warning: there is implied bestiality in this chapter. Nothing really explicit, but it is there.
Chapter 4 – ashes to ashes
Five minutes. Five lousy minutes. Had to be the shortest hunt on record.
Jerry could see the guy's face in the moonlight as the barn door opened, slow, at first. The man had on a wrinkled brown business suit, and he looked hopeful, like he really thought he had a chance, like he really thought he could get away. He had the baseball bat in his hand that Lee left by the barn door, like that was really going to make a difference in what was going to happen.
Pa, Lee and Jerry crouched in the brush and watched him. Jerry had his long-handled ax with him. Pa had his rifle, and Lee had his shotgun. Lee tended to use firearms more than the machetes and clubs he'd used before. He favored his bad leg more sometimes. It was a damn shame, but Pa could outrun him now, and it was all due to Missy's green eyed freak.
Good riddance.
Twenty feet away from the barn door Brown Business Suit turned at the sound of someone in the brush to his left. He didn't have a chance in hell of getting away, because Missy was suddenly there right in front of him, slashing and stabbing at him. Missy knelt on the guy's chest after he went down.
"Damn it, Missy!" Lee yelled out.
She grunted and groaned with each strike, and she kept right on stabbing the man until Pa said quietly, "Missy."
That one word was enough. Missy's eyes narrowed as she jerked back and stared at Pa. Her face was pale, bloodstained, framed by long tangled brown hair.
Pa nodded at her. "Go in the house." He said softly. "Go on now."
Missy wiped her knife off on the man's tattered sleeve, got to her feet and walked past them to the house. She kept her head down.
Pa just sighed. He cradled his rifle in his arms, nodded towards the body on the ground. "You boys know why your sister is upset."
Lee opened his mouth to say something and Jerry shook his head. Shut the hell up, you damn fool.
Pa stared at them both. "You take care of business out here, y'hear? I'll dress the meat when you're done."
"Yes sir."
Lee waited until Pa went back into the house. The old man's hearing was sharp as ever, and suddenly Lee had no desire to piss him off any further. As soon as the door closed Lee grunted. "She still won't let us touch her."
Jerry rolled his eyes as he put the ax down and lifted the body's feet. "That all you think about now?"
"Yeah. Those bitches in town want too much for it. And fuckin' sheep just ain't the same." Lee nodded towards the barn as he laid his rifle down on the ground. He stumbled a little as he leaned down to grab the man's wrists.
"Man's gotta do whatever he can to get through the day and night," Jerry smirked. "One hole's about as good as any other."
"Pa looks at us funny nowadays. I don't like it. Never seen Missy and the old man get that worked up before."
"How the hell did you think they were gonna react?" Jerry huffed as they lifted the body between them.
"That kid's not Pa's dead brother."
"How the hell you know that for certain? Ever hear some of the things he and Pa talked about? That boy's what, twenty six? He knew stuff that happened when Pa was young."
"Don't buy it for a minute." Lee shook his head stubbornly as they walked the path back to the barn, the body swinging gently between them. Lee grunted. "This sumbitch is heavier than he looks."
Jerry shrugged. "Anyway, why the hell you bellyaching? He's been gone six months now. Gabe ain't coming back."
Lee veered a little too far to the right, and Business Suit's head throcked into the side of the door jamb. "So what if he does?"
Jerry grinned a little. "We might have to lose him. Again."
Lee laughed.
"I think you're gonna like it here in the pit," Barker drawled. He always did enjoy giving the newbies the grand tour, and this one, even though she was female, looked like a good one. He could see why Beck hired her as an orderly in the first place. She was tall and sturdy, with short brown hair and muscular arms. "Just make sure you don't ever refer to Ward A as 'the pit' around Doc Weddington." Barker huffed in disdain. "He likes to give these freaks their dignity."
"Fair enough." First day on the job, and Lena McCandless was liking this job even more than she thought she would. This was going to be easy money, easier than that job she'd had as a correctional officer at the Workhouse. She passed by the cell on the left, and then stopped and looked at the door tag.
John Doe 317.
She slid the slot open and stared.
The patient inside sat in the far corner, directly across from the door, with his head tilted forward slightly, his knees bent in front of him. He was barefoot, and even though he wore the regulation blue drawstring pants those legs of his were well-muscled and bow-legged. His strong jawline was dusted with light stubble, his face framed by shoulder length sandy blond hair. He was broad shouldered too, with a broad strong back; she could tell, even with that white straight jacket on.
He glanced up when the slot opened, but the first thing she noticed was he didn't move his head at all, just his eyes. She stared at him, and those wide green eyes of his stared right back, unblinking.
She gave a low whistle. "Damn. He's hot."
"Oh. Him." Barker snorted. "Came in about six months ago. He's Beck's pet freak." Barker peered into the cell. John Doe 317 didn't drop his eyes like the other patients did. Only the bold and crazy ones stared staff in the eyes like that.
"Had a German Shepherd dog that used to stare at me like that." McCandless said flatly. "Shot him dead one day when he made a move on me."
Barker laughed.
"You get two for the price of one with this freak. There's John, and then there's Dean. Looks like Dean's out." Barker pulled out his walkie talkie as he slid the slot shut. "Gotta let Beck know."
Something thumped in his chest, slow and faint. His heartbeat belonged to someone else, in another room, another life maybe.
Dean looked up as the slot banged open.
…eyes in the walls, bright and mirror shiny and silver…
He stared right back, stared hard, because maybe, maybe he could see a glimpse of what he used to be.
What he should be.
Hey, Sasquatch…
That's…that's not right.
… afraid you're gonna get a little Nair in your shampoo again, huh?
Alright, just remember, you started it.
Different voice, not his, different…
Please…Dean thought to himself. He shouted it out inside his head. Please…tell me what the hell is going on with me. Please…
Oh, oh, bring it on baldy.
His voice again, not what he wanted. Dean closed his eyes. Everything crumbled apart just then. The white noise inside his head rose up, drowned everything else out. He couldn't hold onto this, whatever it was, couldn't put the pieces of the jigsaw puzzle together. It slipped through his dull, clumsy fingers, same as always.
He was fucked anyway. No matter what he did, he was fucked, in more ways than one.
You're not the one I want, Dean.
The door swung open. Dean cursed and kicked out right up to the time he felt the needle prick its way into his skin.
Time to burn.
Dean arched his back. He was dimly aware of the rubber in his mouth, the leather cuffs around his wrists and ankles, the touch of metal at his temples. He felt like gagging, but all that was swept away by the fire that poured into his head, rolled over him from head to toe. His hands hooked into claws, and every muscle in his body clenched hard and tight, as his nerve endings sizzled and finally ignited like dry thin paper put to a match.
He was on the ceiling, and it wasn't so bad. They stood around and watched him burn.
His skin flaked off, first the top layer, and then another, small flakes of black ash that curled up around the edges.
The man looking up at him was tall and dark.
Take your brother outside as fast as you can…
He seemed disappointed somehow. Dean didn't know why.
Next to him...long blonde hair, with a face like…like…
Angels are watching over you, sweetie. Always.
He was little then, and she was bigger. He'd taken her place, and that was all right; she didn't seem mad about it. She stood there next to the dark man, and her skin was smooth and bright and not pale and bloody.
Dean decided he liked her better this way.
The man next to her was really tall, with shaggy brown hair. He stuck his chin out as he stared upwards at Dean. The look was intense, judging.
That's the difference between you and me. I have a mind of my own; I'm not pathetic like you.
Dean wanted to close his eyes just then, but he couldn't.
'm sorry, Dean thought to whoever might be listening. Sorry I fucked everything up. Sorry I'm not good enough…
The apology was all he had. It was piss poor, just something he needed to say.
They didn't even blink as the ashes swirled in the air all around them.
Dean burned, fierce and bright.
Cal liked it in Ward D. The harmless ones were down here. He padded into the cell, and he decided he liked this just fine. It was nicer than the one he'd had before. He'd been a good boy now, and they decided to reward him for that.
1911Exorcizamus 666 te, omnis 1967 immundus spiritus
Cal stopped short. His short, stubby nose twitched. He waited. Waited for Anthony to tell him if this was a good thing or not.
omnis 124satanica1979 potestas, omnis 0502 incursio1983
Ah, Anthony purred inside Cal's head. We have an educated man among us.
Anthony sounded curious and relaxed, so Cal relaxed. It was better than the screeching, better than the times Anthony told him to cut himself.
Or cut other people up. Anthony liked to fingerpaint. Blood was good for that, too.
Withers the orderly huffed impatiently. "Now what, Cal?"
"Ummm…who wrote all this?"
"Another crazy like you," Withers said bluntly. "Why? Does it bother you? Maybe you think you need other accommodations, huh? This ain't the Hilton, pal."
"No." Cal smiled dreamily. He turned to stare at the floor and the walls. "I like it like this."
"I'm so thrilled you like this," Withers muttered sarcastically. He immediately decided that comment was a waste of his considerable wit. Lunch time was still three hours away, and he still had his other crazies to check on. Withers turned away, so he didn't see anything.
Cal's hazel eyes burned pitch black.
Next post: Monday. Sam's next.
A/N: I've noticed that this fic is getting a lot of Favorite Story Alerts. Could you guys drop me a line and tell me why you like it? I'd appreciate it.
