The longer they stand outside the Creekview Medical Center the happier Elizabeth is that she grabbed her hoodie at the last minute, the soft materiel helping to keep the cold raindrops at bay. It had started pouring not long after they left the asylum yesterday and it's just now winding down to a light sprinkle.
"Man, what's taking Sam so long," Dean groans irritably, leaning against the brick building. "I mean, it's not like he can actually talk about anything in there. One mention of psychotic ghosts possessing cars and chasing us off bridges will get him thrown in the loony bin."
"You're never gonna let that go, are you?" He doesn't say anything, pouting. "Maybe the shrink is trying to worm his deepest darkest secret out of him."
"Then he'll definitely get a complimentary straight jacket. Hell, they'll have him on a psyche hold faster than you shanked that cop in Oklahoma." Elizabeth shivers at the mention of Clarke, one of her hands going to rub her throat. Sometimes she can still feel the hard leather of his belt digging into the vulnerable skin there, cutting off her air.
Dean must notice the gesture because he wraps an arm around her shoulders and pulls her closer to him, rubbing her back in soothing circles. She grasps the front of his jacket loosely, enjoying the smell of old leather and whiskey that always clings to him, cologne resting just under the surface. He's tense beneath her cheek, breaths coming out in careful exhales of white vapor.
"Are you still having nightmares," he asks.
"Not as much anymore. They're nothing I can't handle." His protective hold on her tightens just a touch. "Don't worry so much, mother hen. I've got my issues under control."
"I just…. You know you can talk to me if you need to, right?" She nods, looking up at him with her chin barely grazing his thin tee. "We'll go somewhere quiet and you can spill it all, but you don't have to handle this by yourself." Elizabeth doesn't say anything, rising up on her toes to press a soft kiss against his lips, a silent thank you. He responds immediately, kissing her back with an ardor that only Dean Winchester is capable of.
They only break apart when Sam clears his throat obnoxiously on his way past them to the car, doing his best to keep his gaze trained on the Impala. "Get over here," he calls without looking back. "I'm not bailing you two out of jail for public indecency again." It's almost funny watching Dean scramble to catch up with his brother, Elizabeth not even bothering to do more than a fast walk.
"What took you so long in there?"
"My job?" Sam shoots his brother a look that's clearly translated to mean duh. "I got him to talk about the hospital."
"And?"
"The South Wing is where all the real whackadoos were kept. I'm talkin' about the psychopaths and criminally insane and the run of the mill serial killer wannabes. They rioted against the staff in '64, giving a whole new meaning to the word madhouse."
"Sounds like a real party," Elizabeth comments. "How many deaths were there and does Dean owe me twenty bucks?"
"There were a lot and, yes, he does." Dean scowls, smacking the twenty into Elizabeth's outstretched hand. Her theory about what happened is the closest this time, so she gets the cash. It's probably not the most tactful thing to bet on, but it keeps the boredom away. "The bodies were from both sides of the fight and it was all so bad that cops couldn't find all the bodies despite searching in all the nooks and crannies."
"And Ellicott was one of them?"
"He was, yeah. After it was all said and done, the surviving patients were transferred, the staff was paid off to keep quiet, and the hospital was shut down for good."
"I say we check the place out again tonight," Dean says. "Maybe the ghosts come out and play when the sun's gone down." Elizabeth lets out a shaky breath, knowing damn well that some ghosts are just fine with tormenting people in broad daylight. She pushes the memory of the day before away and gets in the car, one hand resting on the cold metal of her pistol on the seat beside her.
She can't let bad memories get to her, not when they might have a lot of bodies to be burning soon.
Elizabeth trails behind the boys as they walk through the doors of the South Wing, on high alert for any unusual noises that could signal an on-coming attack. The temperature has dropped with the sunset and she can almost see her breath as she brings up Tanya's present once more and snaps a few pictures. Most of what she's going to find on film is dust motes, but sometimes she'll catch apparitions.
"Can this place get anymore cliché," she asks. "I mean, this is right out of a Stephen King book."
"I hear ya," Sam says, holding up his little camcorder and sweeping it from left to right. The steady whine of the EMF fills the silence as they continue to walk, the little lights all red and illuminating Dean's knuckles. There's either a lot of activity in this place or the wiring is throwing off some massive interference. "Getting readings?"
"Yeah," Dean replies," big time."
"This place is orbing like crazy. What have you got, Liza?"
"Same as you, big guy," she says, checking the review screen of the camera. "Orbs everywhere, but no Casper just yet. Y'all think the haunting is coming from the bodies that are hidden away in here?"
"What else could it be," Dean asks, and Elizabeth rolls her eyes at the sarcastic tone.
"The ghost of your humor." She pushes her way past the guys and continues down the hall, ignoring the musty smell of old linens.
Asylums give off creepy vibes whether they're abandoned or not, but haunted ones are so much worse. The near gothic architecture mixed with an old-timey sort of modernism clash harshly with each other. At this point she's just hoping that Richard Trager doesn't show up to announce that she's won a free lobotomy.
Old mattresses have been left lying haphazardly in the floor and leaning against the walls, springs and stuffing spilling out of them like viscera. Doors line the hallway, some opened and some closed, the little windows covered in grime and dust that make it hard to see the padded walls beyond, yellowed with age.
Elizabeth raises her camera when she stops in front of one of those rooms, snapping a picture and then glancing down to see whether it should be kept or deleted. Almost everything in the picture is what she'd been expecting, the padded room and the orbs and dust. What she hadn't expected to find is a little girl standing in the middle of the room, her hair falling limply down her back and partially obscuring her face, bright red color staining the front of a nightgown that's far too large for her.
Elizabeth glances up from the picture and back through the window, able to see the little girl now that she's really focusing. The girl tilts her head to the side when she spots Elizabeth, the only hand she has clutching the leg of a moldy teddy bear. Sadness makes Elizabeth's heart clench almost painfully. The girl is Lilly's age or close enough to it that all of Elizabeth's instincts are screaming at her to open the door and get this child out.
The spirit opens her mouth, trying desperately to say something, but the words are stuck in her throat. Elizabeth's eyes flick down to the pink slash of her mouth, able to make out the word she's trying so hard to form. "Mama, mama."
Why would someone so little be stuck in a place like this? How could anyone look at this little girl and decide she's such a danger that she should be locked away with the worst of the worst? It makes Elizabeth want to go back in time just to beat the ever-living shit out of the adults that have hurt this kid.
With a flickering, uncoordinated sprint, the little girl collides with the door, her blackened teeth bared in a snarl and dark eyes lit with an otherworldly glow. It's pure malice in that gaze, a murderous rage that has Elizabeth jumping backwards and moving on at a fast walk.
She doesn't stop again until she registers a panicked shouting coming from somewhere behind her. Sammy. Elizabeth's sprinting before she fully understands who the voice belongs to, not stopping to consider that it might be some sort of trick. She finds the boys in one of the more spacious visiting rooms, the pair looking bewildered but no worse for wear.
"Are you guys okay," she asks, breathless.
"We're okay," Sam confirms with a nod.
"Then why are you so pale?"
"Because I just had a ghost grab me and demand that I listen to her." They begin to walk again, Elizabeth switching her gaze from the hall in front of her to Sam on her right. Once again, she's managed to get sandwiched between the brothers. "Mine didn't attack me, though."
"Mine didn't attack me either. It just kept whispering the doctor's name."
They're passing another doorway when the sound of metal skittering over concrete gets their attention. Being around haunted houses for so many years makes it easy to pick out sounds that don't belong; everything from bad pipes to actual mice stomping around in attics. This sound doesn't belong with the others they've been hearing, this is something else.
Sam turns on his flashlight and points it into the room at a bed that's been flipped onto its side, Dean raising his shotgun while Elizabeth raises her camera. The three of them walk into the room and over to the only good hiding place left, careful to walk softly. Dean motions with the gun for Sam to move the bed and Elizabeth to stand behind him, a no-nonsense expression making her roll her eyes.
Sam waits for everyone to get into position before he grabs one end of the bed frame, yanking it back suddenly enough that the figure behind it lets out a squeak of fear and twists around to face them.
"A teenager sneaking around in a haunting asylum," Elizabeth says, snapping a quick picture. "What a surprise." Dean lowers the gun and smacks Elizabeth's arm with a scowl. "What? This kid is basically the first five minutes of every slasher movie known to man."
"Ignore her," Dean tells the girl. "She's a terrible person, but we're working on it." The girl's eyes dart between the hunters, lingering for a long moment on the shotgun. "We're not gonna hurt you. Cross my heart." She rises slowly out of the awkward crouch, keeping her back pressed against the wall. "What's your name?"
"Katherine," she says, shaky. "Kat."
"I'm Dean and that's Sam and this walking disaster is Elizabeth." Oh, he's not getting laid for a week for that little comment. She'll woo all his one-night stands with all her own little talents.
"What are you doing in here," Sam asks, using a disappointed Dad tone that's far too much like Bobby's for comfort.
"My boyfriend has no idea of what a good date consists of," Kat answers. She sends a betrayed look at the empty doorway behind them, like her emotions are fully capable to smacking her boyfriend even if he's a mile away. "Gavin thought it'd be fun to see some ghosts, but I thought it was all just pretend. I heard him scream, like, an hour ago and I've seen things…." Elizabeth steps up and rests a comforting hand on Kat's shoulder, giving it a tight squeeze.
"First off, your boyfriend is a dumbass for dragging you in here," Elizabeth says matter-of-factly. "And second, we're gonna get you out of here then we'll find said dumbass." Elizabeth tries to get her to move, but Kat stays stubbornly in place.
"I'm not leaving without Gavin." Elizabeth looks over at Dean and raises her brows, waiting for the incoming speech about how Kat could get thrown through a freaking wall and it still wouldn't be the worst thing to ever happen in this place.
"This isn't a joke, alright," Dean says seriously. "This is dangerous, you could get killed."
"I know, that's why I have to find Gavin."
"Then I guess we're splitting up." Why is that always a suggestion? Wouldn't it be smarter to search as one big group so they don't get violently murdered? "Sam and Liza will keep going down the hall we just came from and me and Kat will go the other way."
"This is why white people don't survive in the horror genre," Elizabeth informs Sam as they head out. "We always choose the stupid options."