After we left the mill, we headed to the Sherriff office.
The Deputy behind the folder we requested to Sam. "This is the Garland file."
He looked past Sam to see me swaying behind him.
"Is he . . .drunk?" The Deputy asked.
Sam looked at him, blank and thinking what to say.
"No. Deputy, according to this, Luther Garland's cause of death was physical trauma. What does that mean?"
"The guy died 20 years ago, before my time. Sorry," the Deputy shrugged.
He was right, he was only young; late 20's, early 30's at the most.
"Then can we talk to the Sherriff?" Sam asked.
"Um, he's out sick today," the Deputy answered, nervous.
"Well, if you see him, will you have him call us? We're staying at the Bluebird. Mind if I take this?" Sam didn't wait for an answer, he just turned and left, folder in hand.
Still swaying, warm inside from the whiskey, I looked at the Deputy, stood there watching me, not knowing what to expect.
I pointed at him and smiled. "You know what? You're awesome."
"Thanks. Um, y-you too, I guess," he replied awkwardly and smiled.
Sam came back, grabbed the back of my collar and dragged me back outside with him.
That night, after tracking down the only family Luther Garland had left, we headed to Peaceful Pines Assisted Living.
"This isn't gonna work. Come on, these badges are fake. What if we get busted? We could go to jail."
I looked at badges we had used over a hundred times and panicked. If we got caught we would go to prison. I didn't want to die in prison but chances are I'd die before that anyway if this didn't get solved.
"Dean, shh! Calm down. Deep breath, okay?" Sam tried to help me relax. I look a deep breath, which helped a little. "There. You feel better?"
I shook my head, letting him know that, no I didn't feel better.
"Just come on. Don't scratch."
After looking at all the elderly people, our sights landed on a man sat at a table at the side of the room.
"Mr. Garland. Hi uh, I'm Agent Tyler. This is Agent Perry, FBI. We'd like to ask you a few questions about your brother, Luther," Sam introduced and asked.
"Let me see some ID," Mr. Garland responded.
"Certainly," Sam nodded and held out his badge.
I did the same, adding "those are real, obviously. I mean, who would pretend to be an FBI agent, huh? That's just nutty."
Sam looked at me and scowled, trying to tell me to pull it together.
"What do you want to know?" Mr. Garland asked.
"Uh, well . . .according to this, your brother, Luther, died of physical trauma," Sam said and the only reaction he got was a scoff, so he carried on. "You don't agree."
"No I don't," the reply came, bluntly.
"Well then, what would you call it?" Sam asked.
"Don't matter what an old man thinks."
"Mr. Garland. We're trying to get the truth on your brother. Please."
"Everybody was scared of Luther. They called his a monster. He was too big, too mean-looking. Just too different. Didn't matter he was the kindest man I ever knew. Didn't matter he's never hurt no one. A lot of people failed Luther. I was one of them. I was a widower with three young 'uns. And I told myself there was nothing I could do," the old man explained.
"Mr. Garland, do you recognise this woman?" Sam handed him a picture of Jessie O'Brien.
"It's Jessie O'Brien. Her man, Frank, killed Luther," Mr. Garland confirmed.
"How do you know that?"
"Everybody knows. They just don't talk about it. Jessie was a receptionist at the mill. She was always real nice to Luther, and he had a crush on her, but Frank didn't like it. And when Jessie went missing, Frank was sure that Luther had done something to her. Turns out the old gal killed herself, but Frank didn't know that. They found Luther with a chain wrapped around his neck. He was dragged up and down the stretch outside that plant till he was past dead," Mr Garland stared into space, recalling the past.
"And O'Brien was never arrested?" I finally joined in.
"I screamed to every cop in town. They didn't want to look into Frank. He was a pillar of the community. My brother was just the town freak."
"You must have hated Frank O'Brien," Sam said.
"I did for a long time, but life's too short for hate, son. And Frank wasn't thinking straight. His wife had vanished, he was terrified. A damn shame he had to put Luther through the same, but . . .that's fear. It spreads and spreads."
When we got outside, back into the night, me and Sam stood either side of my car.
"Now we know what these are, road rash," I held out my left arm. "And I'm guessing Luther swallowed some wood chips when he was being dragged down that road."
"Makes sense. You're experiencing his death in slow motion," Sam stated.
"Yeah well, not slow enough, huh? Say we burn the bones and get me healthy," suggested.
"Dean, it won't be that easy."
"No, no, it'll be that easy. Why wouldn't it be that easy?" I asked, anxiety taking over.
"Luther was road-hauled. His body was ripped to pieces, he was probably scattered all over that road. There's no way we're gonna find all the remains," Sam explained.
"You're kidding me?"
"Look, we'll just have to figure something else out."
"You know what? Screw this," I blurted out.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Dean," Sam said.
"Come on. No, I mean, come on, Sam. What are we doing?!" I cried.
"We're hunting a ghost," he told me.
"A ghost, exactly! Who does that?" I said, thinking we were mad.
"Us," Sam said, looking ar me, worried.
"Us? Right. And that Sam, that is exactly why our lives suck. I mean, come on, we hunt down monsters! What the hell?! I mean, normal people, they see a monster, and they run. But not us, no, no, no, we - we search out things that want to kill us. Yeah? Huh? Or eat us! You know who does that? Crazy people! We . . .are insane!" I ranted and raved. "You know, there's the bad diner food and then the skeevy motel rooms and then the truckstop waitress with the bizarre rash. I mean, who wants this life, Sam? Huh? Seriously? Do you actually like being stuck in a car with me for eight hours a day, every single day? I don't think so! I mean, I drive too fast. And I listen to the same five albums over and over and over again, a-and I sing along. I'm annoying, I know that that. And you-you're gassy! You eat half a burrito, and you get toxic! I mean, you know what?" I cried and tossed Sam the car keys. "Forget it."
"Whoa, Dean, where are you going?" Sam said, also starting to get anxious, worried for me.
"Stay away from me Sam, okay? Cause I am done with it, I'm done with monsters and-and-and the hellhounds and the ghost sickness and the damn apocalypse. I'm out. I'm done. Quit."
The only thing going through my mind was that this was the smartest thing that I'd ever done, that I should have done this years ago.
I walked away, leaving Sam watching me, looking helpless. I got a couple of streets away and that was when I heard the growling behind me.
Extremely nervous, I slowly turned around and saw the dog behind me. Dogs were evil, they chased and bit and attacked.
-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x -x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x -x-x-x-x
I got back to the hotel before Sam did and sat on the sofa, out of breath and sweating.
"I looked everywhere for you, Dean. How the hell did you get here?" Sam asked.
"Ran. What do we do now? I got less than four hours on the clock. I'm gonna die, Sammy," I said, trying to hold back the tears.
"Yeah, you are. You're going back."
I looked at Sam, puzzled. "Back?"
"Downstairs Dean, hell. It's about damn time too. Truth is," Sam looked at me, his eyes now yellow. "You've been a real pain in my ass."
He waved his hand and threw me back against; all he had to do was use a hand gesture.
"No! You get out of my brother, you evil son of a bitch!" I shouted to the demon inside Sam.
"No one's possessing me, Dean. This is what I'm going to become. This is what I want to become. There's nothing you can do about it." Sam flexed his hand and started choking me.
"Hey, hey, hey, Dean. Hey, Dean, Dean, Dean," Sam's voice brought me out of the hallucination.
An few hours passed and I was sat in the hotel room when my phone rang.
"Hey," I answered.
"Hey! So, uh, just ride out the trip, okay? You're-you're gonna be fine. We got a plan," Sam said, trying to sound confident. I knew he had left an hour ago to meet up with Bobby.
"What is it?" I asked.
"Uh, just a good plan, all right? Hang in there," he said, avoiding telling me what the plan was and hung up the phone.
It wasn't long after the phone call that another hallucination hit.
I was sat on the bed, scratching my arm and I heard what Sam had said during the last hallucination, all over again.
"You're going back. It's about damn time too. Hahaha."
Outside, I heard the sound of barking. Oh no.
I looked down at my watch and saw something on the floor; picking it up, I saw a bible and picked it up.
"Hi Dean," a little girl's voice said beside me.
I looked to my left and saw the little girl, long blonde hair, pink and white dress. Lilith.
"Huh, no! No!"
"Yeah, it's me, Lilith," she said and wrapped her arms around me, making me cringe. "Oh, I missed you so much. It's time to go back now."
I moved away from the little girl. "You-you're not real!"
I shook my head, saying it over and over again in my head, trying to convince myself
"What's the matter, Dean? Don't you remember all the fun you had down there? You do remember, 4 months is like 40 years in hell. Like doggy years. And you remember every second," Lilith said in her little girl voice.
Oh god, the pain in my chest was so bad; oh my heart. "You are not real."
I clutched the bible, holding it against my forehead.
"It doesn't matter. You're still gonna die. You're still gonna burn."
"Why me? Why's I get infected?" I asked her, upset, scared.
"Silly goose. You know why Dean. Listen to your heart."
My heart was racing, beating too hard and too fast. "Whu . . .?"
"Baboom, baboom, baboom, baboom," Lilith said, getting louder each time.
Two or three hours later, I was still alive, thanks to Sam and Bobby.
"So you guys road-hauled a ghost with a chain?" I quizzed.
"Iron chain etched with spell work," Sam confirmed, and took a swig of the beer he was holding.
"Hmm, that's a new one," I said and took a swig of mine.
"It was what he was most afraid of. It was pretty brutal though."
"On the upside, I'm still alive, so uh, go team!2
"Yeah. How you feeling by the way?" Sam checked me over, although I knew he meant how was I mentally.
"Fine," I shrugged, telling them the truth.
"You sure, Dean? Cause this line of work can get awful scary," Bobby taunted me, testing me.
"I'm fine. You want to ho hunting? I'll hunt. I'll kill anything." I back to my normal self; tough, brave, not afraid to take on anything and I wasn't gonna let them think otherwise.
"Awww, he's adorable. I gotta get out of here. You boys drive safe," Bobby said and left in his car.
"So uh . . .so, what did you see? Near the end I mean," Sam questioned me about my hallucinations.
"Oh, besides a cop beating my ass?" I raised an eyebrow.
"Seriously," he said with a straight, serious face.
I looked at him and saw his eyes flash yellow.
"Howler monkeys, whole room full of them," I lied. "Them things creep the hell out of me."
"Right," Sam said, obviously not believing me.
"No, just the usual stuff, Sammy. Nothing I couldn't handle," I reassured him and we both stood, leaning against Baby, finishing our beers.