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Chapter Eight
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Keeping my wits, I blew as hard as I could on the bird whistle, while also grabbing a book from the table beside me and throwing it at him. He was startled, but unfortunately recovered quickly and grabbed me as I tried to run past him. I screamed, fighting tooth and nail, but a sharp blow to my head made everything fade into weird patterns of gray, and when everything came back into focus I was on the floor, my hands were zip-tied behind my back, and Charlie had a painful grip on my hair with a gun pressed to my side.
"I'd keep quiet, if you know what's good for you." he spat in my ear. He then pulled me to my feet and navigated me into the hall and toward the stairs. I whimpered, the pain in my head spiking, but his hand never wavered from its tight grip in my hair, so I went where he pushed me. I somehow knew, even though I couldn't hear anything, that the boys would come to my rescue, so I didn't put up much of a fight as he shoved me in front of him down the stairs. Just shy of the bottom few steps we halted as Dean appeared silently and deadly in my line of vision. His gun was pointed slightly away, as I was making way too good of a human shield and he clearly wasn't willing to shoot me to get the monster behind me. Glancing surreptitiously around, I finally spied Sam, hidden off to the side in the lower hallway, but he shook his head briefly to indicate he also did not have a clear shot.
"Let her go." Dean said firmly, menace dripping from every word.
"I don't think so." came the reply. He shook me roughly, pushing the gun into my ribs and I involuntarily cried out. Dean looked at me, concerned, but more than hurt I was actually extremely angry. After everything, instead of helping the situation I was going to be used as leverage? I don't think so! I waited, and finally was rewarded for my patience when Charlie shifted his grip slightly. Bracing myself for the pain, I went boneless and allowed myself to fall down the remaining stairs to land at Dean's feet. I think I must have hit my head again, since I couldn't use my hands to brace myself, but as everything faded to black I was certain I heard multiple gun shots.
As I regained consciousness, my first thought was remembering Charlie capturing me, the second was the realization that there were hands on me. I panicked, thinking the worst, so it took a minute for the litany of soothing words to penetrate my skull. Finally though, I realized the voice I was hearing belonged to Sam, and I stilled. Forcing my eyes open I glanced around, realizing I was on my couch, with Sam kneeling next to me and Dean leaning over the back of the couch, both regarding me with concern.
"Charlie?" I whispered fearfully. "The ghost?"
"Dead. Gone." Sam replied succinctly. I looked at him bemusedly, then in horror as it sunk in that there was a dead guy in my house. I started to sit up, but my vision whited out as my head tried to explode. Sam caught me and gently laid me back against the pillow. "You likely have a concussion, let's try to stay still for a bit hmm?" I merely groaned back at him.
"I about had a heart attack." Dean added, smiling, "when you decided to fall at my feet. Do you feel like anything is broken? You tumbled pretty good…"
"Everything." I groaned. I closed my eyes and took inventory, and sure enough, everywhere ached. I was pretty sure I'd be a fabulous display of black and blue soon. "Nothing is broken, except maybe my head, I think." I waved a hand to play off the seriousness of my comment, but Sam caught my arm, staring at my wrists which were cut and abraded from the zip ties, then met my eyes solemnly. "I'm so sorry you were hurt." he said, his eyes conveying guilt that he had no business carrying. I frowned at him in response. "Sam, it wasn't your fault. Yours either, Dean!" Dean jerked back a little at the verbal reproof suddenly being redirected at him. "Both of you had no way of knowing he knew I was here, or that I was helping you."
"Still," Dean growled back, "It shouldn't have happened. I'm sorry Rosie." I started to roll my eyes at his stubbornness, but caught myself in time. Not a good thing to do with a head injury. I jumped slightly, finding my eyes had apparently closed on their own volition, as Sam gently grasped my wrists again and began applying ointment and gauze. A cool washcloth appeared on my head, and I smiled gratefully at both of them before letting go and sinking into sleep.
Dean nudged me awake several hours later, asking me the typical litany of concussion questions. I grumbled through them, then slept once more. The next time it was Sam, and I must have been answering right because they let me sleep again. Finally I woke to sun streaming in the window and my head feeling less like it was in the middle of the bass drum at a rock concert. A heavenly smell was wafted under my nose, and I cracked an eye open to see blessed coffee. "You are a prince among men." I exclaimed, then groaned as my first attempt to sit up awoke all my various aches and bruises. Dean laughed, then set the coffee cup down to help me upright.
It took until my second cup for me to process through everything that had happened. The brothers filled me in on the ghost hunt, which had gone completely as expected and without any drama. They had been pleasantly surprised, but then had heard the bird whistle and my scream, and knew something had gone horribly wrong. They had rushed back to my house, dismayed to find me as Charlie's hostage. They both expressed the fear they felt when I fell, and neither showed any remorse that they had killed a man. I guess I should have been concerned by that, but honestly I was comforted by their concern and protectiveness, and relieved that I would not have to worry about Charlie coming back for me. "His body?" I asked anxiously, but Dean simply replied, "It's taken care of." and I left it at that.
By late afternoon I was up, moving stiffly, and attempting to put together ingredients for dinner. I confess I was feeling rather melancholy, as I knew with the hunt being finished that Sam and Dean would shortly be on their way. Buck up Rosalie! I lectured myself, It's not like you really know these guys. They've been in your life all of two days! As much as I berated my mind, trying to convince myself I was being irrational, my heart just wouldn't listen. Maybe it was the shared moments of intense fear and danger that had made me care so much, or just the sweetness of not being alone, but I would miss Sam and Dean horribly. So immersed in my self-pity and inner dialogue, I jumped badly when I turned to find Sam behind me in the kitchen.
He laughed lightly. "I tried to make some noise to alert you, but you seemed to be in your own world…"
"Don't mind me, Sam. I was just…" I trailed off, not coming up with a great reason for my mood. He just smiled at me, like he somehow understood. "I came to see if I could help with dinner?" At that same moment, Dean came in the back door. He had been next door making sure all signs of their presence were erased.
"Aren't you supposed to be resting Sam?" I couldn't help but give a muffled chortle at the look on Sam's face. He was looking almost like he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Dean then looked at me and said, "You too Rosie." I think my face must have taken on the same look as Sam's, because while he smirked at me being called out, Dean's eyes twinkled with laughter as well. "I can finish dinner, you both head back to the living room." We both protested, but predictably, we both ended up back in the living room. Sam sprawled back on the couch grumpily, while I curled up once again in my armchair. We chatted for a bit, random silly things that were not of great importance, until Dean brought us bowls of thick soup. He picked Sam's legs up, sat down, and plopped them back down on top of his lap, promptly using them as a table. Sam didn't even blink at that, but just dug into his own meal.
I smiled fondly at them both, then tentatively took a bite, not feeling all that hungry. I was dreading the leave-taking that would most likely happen after dinner. Dean must have sensed my mood, because he exchanged a weighted glance with Sam, then said, "Rosie, if you don't mind us continuing to impose upon you, I'd feel better if we spent another night here, so Sam can recover a bit more and we can make sure you're doing ok." I glanced at Sam, expecting a protest out of him, but he kept his eyes on his meal. Looking back at Dean to gauge his sincerity, I nodded, feeling silly for the relief flooding me that we weren't saying goodbye just yet.
After dinner I convinced Sam that the spare bed upstairs would be more comfortable, but Dean repeatedly refused the offer to sleep anywhere besides the couch. Feeling overcome by weariness, I finally said goodnight and fell into my own bed, expecting to be kept awake by my thoughts and emotions, but instead quickly succumbed to the pull of sleep.
Not sure what woke me, but I padded down the hallway to the spare room and peeked in, only to scream at the amount of blood covering the bedspread and dripping down to to the floor. Another scream tore from my throat as I looked closer and saw the glassy, dead eyes of Sam staring back at me…