Well, here's the next chapter!
This chapter is a little confusing, I'll admit that. I'm starting the Born Under a Bad Sign episode/story line, but there will be more of that in the next chapter.
Enjoy the chapter! And leave a review while your at it!
~Christianne
Nikki POV
I decided not to stay for Chris's funeral. I tried and tried to make myself stay, but I couldn't. I just couldn't. Burying an empty coffin…It just seemed wrong. And then there was the feeling that it was all my fault, I don't even know if it's true or not, but it sure feels like that. I planned on leaving right after I got his personal effects at the building Allen told me about.
"Hi." I said simply, handing the man in fatigues behind the counter the papers Allen gave me.
As I waited, I brought my hand to my neck and played with Chris's necklace. I could still feel a few sticky spots where he taped them together so they wouldn't jangle.
"Here you go ma'am." The man said, dropping a bag on the counter. His face was pinched and tight, like he was trying so hard not to smile. I also saw a few other men behind him with similar expressions.
"Is this everything?" I asked, taking the bag.
"Uh, not quite." He said, gesturing for me to follow him. One of the other men in fatigues offered to take Chris's bag, but I held onto the heavy bag tight. We walked out of the building towards the storage units.
"Can't believe this!" The youngest said, clearly excited. "Finally get to hear that engine!" I frowned, but kept walking.
They stopped in front of one of the storage units, and the man who'd given me Chris's bag, the one in charge apparently, took out a set of keys and opened the door. He pushed it up and turned on the light.
My jaw dropped and I let the bag hit the ground.
"No…" I breathed. "No way! He told me he sold this!" I said, walking towards the car in the unit.
"Been here since he left for Afghanistan. Paid me extra to keep it in good shape." One of the men said.
I ran my finger over the glossy black paint. It looked just like it did last time I saw it; when he drove off in it to leave for basic training when he was 18.
"Nope, been here the whole time." The same man said, grinning. "Keys are under the seat."
I opened the door, hearing the familiar creek of the vintage doors. I inhaled the, slightly musty, familiar sent of leather as I sat in the seats. I felt under the seat for the keys, and held my breath in anticipation as I put them in the ignition and turned them.
The engine growled to life. My face broke out into a grin and I almost laughed as the engine idled.
The three men were laughing, all with grins on their faces.
When Chris was 15, he blew his entire bank account on a rust bucket of a car. He spent every penny he earned and all his time fixing the car up.
"Mind tossing the duffle in the back?" I asked. One of the men nodded, tossing the bag in the back seat.
"Bye! Thanks!" I said, waving out the open window.
"Hey." I said into my phone.
"Hey…Thought I'd see how you were doing." Sam said.
"Not bad." I said, smiling a little. "Got a car."
"Really? What kind?" I heard Dean said. I guess I was on speaker phone.
"A Mustang." I said, looking fondly at the glossy black paint and the two wide orange racing stripes that went from the hood to the back bumper on the car outside. "1967."
"Nik, I know we of all people can't really lecture you about this, but stealing cars—that's ok. Stealing a car like that—If it was mine, I'd shoot you." Dean said seriously.
"Shut up. I got it legally!" I said, chuckling, before sighing and raking my hands through my hair. "I'm in Kentucky. You guys?"
"Texas." Sam said.
"How 'bout you meet us halfway, Missouri." Dean suggested.
"Sure." I muttered. "See you guys soon." I got a course of 'Bye's from Sam and Dean before I hung up. I tossed my phone into my backpack and braced my elbows on the table, chin in my hands. I had to admit, I was in a bit of a better mood.
I took a sip of my water, my gaze still on my backpack. I could see the papers Susan had given me sticking out of the manila file I'd stuck them in. I hated to see such perfectly preserved documents from the early 1860s just stuck in a folder and tossed in a backpack, but I had more important things to worry about.
I pulled the file out, shoving the plate from the French dip sandwich I'd just finished out of the way. I opened the folder and took a deep breath; the smell of the old paper made memories of staying late in the Yale library, archive section. I'd spend hours researching and cataloging documents. It made me feel like a giant nerd, but it was one of the best feeling ever.
Most of the documents were financial, logs about what the estate manager ordered, when and what was delivered, how much it cost, stuff like that. I carefully put those aside, and went on to the unmarked envelopes.
My dearest C,
You have only been gone for mere hours, and yet my aching heart has increased tenfold.
My eyes widened as I read through the rest of the poetic letter. It was signed with a heart, and under it a loopy, cursive J. I had love letters from Cassidy and Jane. I eagerly opened the next one, another to Cassidy from Jane.
I let out a groan, sadly admitting that I was jealous of Jane. She was just as in love with Cassidy as I was with Sam, but she had the lovely perk of actually having her feelings reciprocated. But it was just how she put the feeling into words.
You, my dearest boy, are my best friend, my confidant. Being away from you, though it causes my heart pain, makes our reunions more cherished. C, my darling love, if the world truly conspires against us, I would beg to my enemies, steal from my allies, and borrow from my family if it means I could have a mere half hour more to look into your green eyes; whose color the very grass of Eden envy's. You are strong in both mind and body, and would take up arms to protect me from any evil we encounter. So I beg of you, met me use my own strength and body to protect you, by way of the mind and soul. My love, you claim to know my strength, my power, and my passion for both you and the Wiccan magic that runs through my very veins. If this is true, C, then let me protect you.
"Wow…" I breathed, carefully folding up the letter and putting it back in the envelope. "Powerful stuff," I sighed, closing the folder. I wanted to keep going, read more and look deeper into Jane's life, but after reading that last part, I couldn't.
I put the folder back in my backpack, threw a twenty on the table and went back out to my car.
Five Days Later
"Heard anything?" I asked Bobby as I jogged down the stairs, tying my damp hair up in to a soggy bun.
"Nothing." Bobby sighed.
I gnawed on my bottom lip and leaned on the wall.
I was supposed to meet up with Sam and Dean in Missouri. Three hours later, I get a call from Dean that Sam is just gone.
I asked Dean to find a spot and wait for me, so we could start looking together, but he refused to stay still.
Unsure what to do, I went to Bobby's. Dean told him what was happening, and he seemed ok with me staying in an extra room, and using methods of a Wiccan nature to try and find Sam. But after a few days, I'd run out of things to pull out of my bag of tricks.
I tried different methods which included map burning, a few locks of Sam's hair (Bobby had found an old box of the boys' things from when they were kids, and by the grace of God, I found one of Sam's old hair hairbrushes that still had a few strands of hair in it), I even, on purpose, inhaled some stilangia and other mildly hallucinogenic or psychic-inducing herbs. I had a few wacky dreams, but nothing that would help find Sam.
Dean, when we talked on the phone, seemed to be extra gentle about the whole subject. I got fed up with him a few days ago and demanded to know why he was acting that way. His reply was mumbled and a bit slurred, but he basically told me it was 'cause he knew I cared a lot for Sam, and knew this had to be eating me up inside 'cause I was the special one here.
That was true, I was the special one. It was also true that it was eating me up inside.
"Is there anything I can do?" I asked, leaning awkwardly against the wall.
This whole thing with Sam had gotten to Bobby too. When I woke up, he'd be at his desk, on the phone, a glass of whisky close by. When I went to bed, he'd be at his desk, on the phone, a glass of whisky close by.
Sam, Dean and Bobby weren't exactly the talk about your feelings types, but I had good instincts. Sam and Dean spent a lot of time at Bobby's when they were kids, I mean, Bobby still had a box of their stuff stashed in his basement.
I crossed my arms lousy over my chest before walking outside.
It was pretty warm out. The sun was just about to go down, and, even though Bobby owned a junky salvage yard, it was a pretty nice scene. Wandered around the property, not sure what to do. This place was safe; after the whole Meg thing he warded the whole fence against demons.
"Hey there, princess!"
I spun around, taking out my knife.
A guy, was sitting on top of the cab of a rusted pickup truck with a smirk on his face. That's when I felt it.
"I'm dreaming, aren't I?" I said, putting my knife back in my belt.
"Wow, you must be some kind'a genius." The guy said, rolling his eyes.
I narrowed my eyes as I looked at him. "You're Fake Chris." I realized.
"Ding ding ding ding!" he said, mimicking the classic game show bell. "Vanna, tell the lucky lady what's she's won!" he added, swinging his arms dramatically to where a blonde woman in a shimmery dress appeared in front of a curtain.
I just lifted my eyebrows at the sudden sight. "Really?" Was all I asked. The guy frowned and Vanna dissipated into thin air.
"I'm a showman." He defended himself weakly, shrugging. "I like props. Sue me." Again, I just gave him a 'Really?' look.
"I was gonna show up wearing your brother, but, I mean, you found out the guy just died. I may enjoy the occasional killing, as you know, but I'm not that sadistic." He said teasingly, changing the subject.
Killings. I knew what he was talking about. I looked into Ogdensburg unsolved murders and Peshtigo's missing persons like Fake Chris had told me to, and I was shocked.
Every foster parent who knocked me around were missing. Most dropped off the radar a month or so after I left them. And a few weeks after they went missing in Peshtigo, a body or two showed up in Ogdensburg.
"You know murder is a sin, right?" I said sarcastically, putting my knife back on my belt and getting up onto the bed of the truck, sitting on the side.
Used-to-be-Fake-Chris laughed. I mean really, really laughed. Like, Sam laughing at the idea of us being a couple laughing. I rolled my eyes and rested my chin on my fist, elbow on my knee.
"So." I sighed. "What do I call you know?" I asked, glancing at him. This thing's new form wasn't as tall as Chris's. His hair was a little longer, and he had a sharper nose.
"Hm…Picking names is always so hard, I mean, you're gonna call me this for a long time, so I wanna pick something I'm not gonna hate in an hour, you know?" He mused. God this guy was like a kid on the sugar rush.
"How about Tim?" I asked randomly. He ignored me.
"You know, because technically I'm not supposed to be here, just keep calling me Fake Chris." He said with a grin.
I raised my eye brows at him. "Yeah. Sure."
We sat in silence for a while.
"How'd you even get in my head?" I asked. "Last time I had to order you to show up."
"Yeah," Used-to-be-Fake-Chris said, looking through his pockets. "But, you said I could enter your La-La Land. Said I could once, now I can come and go as I please."
"Great." I said sarcastically. We lapsed into silence again.
"I'm not human." I stated, looking at Used-to-be-Fake-Chris. "Right?"
"Duh." He said sassily, looking away from the sky to smirk at me.
"And you're not either." I stated in the same tone.
"I thought you'd be smarter than this." He sighed sadly.
"Will you shut up?" I snapped, smacking my hands on the rusted sides of the truck.
"What I'm getting at, is that if we're the same-same thing, and you're older, is-is there anything you could, like, teach me so that I'm not sitting at Bobby's like a useless lump when Sam is missing!" I snapped at him.
Used-to-be-Fake-Chris looked up at me with furrowed eyebrows and a small pout on his face. "Noooo." He whined. "You're still a kid! I'm not supposed to teach you anything! I'm supposed to make sure you don't poke your eye out with scissors!"
"Look, I'm desperate here, ok?" I said, giving him my best puppy dog eyes. "And I'm not a kid! I'm 22 years old!
Used-to-be-Fake-Chris sighed and shook his head as he stood up. He was only an inch or two taller than me.
"Fine. You want me to help you find your little boy toy? Fine. But we do it my way, not a peep out of you, capiche?" Used-to-be-Fake-Chris said, looking at me the same way my teachers did; like they just expected me to nod and say yes.
"Fine." I said in the same tone.
Used-to-be-Fake-Chris grinned, his brown eyes got that reckless, dangerous look on them. "Remember, you asked for this."
There was a whooshing sound.
Thankfully, I was still on my feet. But I wasn't in Bobby's salvage yard anymore.
I turned in a slow circle, getting more and more confused by the second. When I saw Used-to-be-Fake-Chris again, I shook my head. "What the hell?" I asked, raising my arms a little.
"Aw c'mon! This is cool, right?" he yelled down at me. I shook my head at him.
Instead of Bobby's salvage yard, I was standing in the middle of, what I can only assume, was the Roman coliseum. Only it wasn't all falling down and old like it is in Rome now. It was all there, and painted and stuff; all nice and fancy.
"Why am I down here?" I asked cautiously.
"Well, the emperor sits up here." Used-to-be-Fake-Chris said, falling into a gold chair that over looked the large arena. As he sat down, he wasn't in the dark shirt and jeans anymore.
"Really? A toga?" I asked, raising an eyebrow at him.
"Hey, when in Rome." He said, straightening the crown of gold leaves on his head.
"Now." Used-to-be-Fake-Chris said, leaning forward. "You wanna learn something? Well buckle up buttercup."
To be continued…