OC_BigBang Fanfic- Blackwood Creek 7/12
Title- Blackwood Creek 7/12
Fandom- Supernatural, focusing on OCs
Ship- Logan(OMC)/Jake(OMC)
Rating- PG-13
Genre- slash, action, drama, romance, plotty
Warnings- violence, m/m kissing
Wordcount- 4,400
Summary- Jake and Logan's sidetrip to get dead man's blood turns out to be more dangerous than either of them expected.
A/N- written for 2011 oc_bigbang
Disclaimer- I did not come up with this world, but the idea of a hunters’ summer camp is mine. I did not create the Winchesters or Elkins, but all the rest of the characters mentioned in here are mine.
Beta- skylar_matthews
*** Previous Chapter *** Master Post *** Next Chapter ***
“Are you at least going to tell me why we’re here?” Jake asked as Logan stopped the car about half a block from the funeral home, hopefully well out of the way of any security cameras. It was long after dark and no lights shone from inside the building.
“You didn’t have to come,” Logan replied tensely. He leaned out the car window, looking around for security guards or dogs, Jake supposed.
“Like I was gonna let you leave me behind!” Jake fumed. The tension between them had returned and even increased since they’d met up with Holly. The two experienced hunters had looked over a map of the town and the local paper’s obituaries together, discussing their plans in hushed tones and leaving Jake out of their discussion. By insisting on accompanying Logan, he was trying to reassert his position as one of the primary members of this hunt. Logan, on the other hand, seemed to be viewing him as more of a liability than ever.
“Fine!” Logan snapped. “If I tell you, will you shut up and stay in the car?” Jake considered it for a moment.
“Maybe,” he said curtly, although he had no intention of doing it. Logan gave a heavy sigh that came out almost as a growl.
“Alright. Listen, a vampire can only be killed by cutting off its head, but it can still be poisoned.”
“Wouldn’t poison kill it?” Jake wondered.
“No, it’s not a deadly poison,” Logan explained. “It’ll just make it sick for a little while. Weak, unable to move or talk much.”
“So what poisons them?” Jake asked.
“I was getting to that!” Logan snarled before Jake even finished the sentence. He sighed, forcing himself to calm down. “What poisons vampires,” he continued more calmly, “is dead man’s blood. That’s why we’re here. We need to find a fresh corpse, one that hasn’t been embalmed yet and still had blood left in its veins.”
“Does it have to be a man’s blood?” Jake wondered. “Wouldn’t a dead woman’s blood work too?” Logan looked like he was going to snap some quick denial, but he paused, his expression turning thoughtful.
“I guess it would,” he said. “I think ‘dead man’s blood’ is probably just the most commonly used name. Any type of dead person’s blood should still work.”
“So how are we going to do this?” Jake asked. “I mean, how do you get the blood? Use the tools already there in the funeral home?”
“I’ve got this.” Logan pulled a syringe from his pocket. “I think it should be enough.” They stared down at the instrument in silence, both of them wondering just how much blood was needed to poison a vampire, and how many vampires there might be.
“Alright,” Logan sighed. “I’m going in.” He tossed the keys into Jake’s lap and got out of the car. Jake stuck the keys in his pocket and got out as well. “You’re not coming!” Logan objected.
“Yes, I am!”
“You said you wouldn’t if I told you!”
“I said maybe!” Jake replied, crossing his arms. “Maybe I wouldn’t. But I will.” Jake knew he sounded childish, but he didn’t care. He was going, and there was nothing else he would accept. The two of them glared at one another for a moment, then Logan threw up his arms.
“Fine! Come, but don’t get in my way!” Logan turned and stalked towards the funeral home, and Jake hurried after, grinning.
They stopped just outside the grounds, hiding behind a large oak tree. Logan peeked around the edge to scope out the funeral home. “No cameras,” he whispered. “No guards.” They both hurried across the parking lot to a side door, and Logan handed Jake a flashlight. “Hold this so I can see the lock,” he whispered. Jake took it and held it close to the knob so that the beam of light was small and hopefully not noticeable. He looked out at the street as Logan quickly picked the lock.
“Car,” Jake whispered as one approached, and Logan redoubled his efforts. The lock clicked open and the two of them slipped inside just before the car passed on the street outside. Jake followed Logan as the other boy went down the hallway, looking through the windows in each door. He stopped at one door and beckoned Jake over.
“I think this is where they keep the bodies,” Logan whispered. Jake made a face.
“I can’t believe we’re really doing this,” Jake muttered. “I mean, this isn’t like digging up a body that’s been in the ground for years and is nothing but bones. This is a person that just a few days ago, maybe, was breathing and walking around!”
“Don’t think like that,” Logan hissed back as he went to work on the lock. “You’re gonna psych yourself out.”
Jake held the flashlight and looked around nervously as Logan worked. He jumped and gasped when the lock clicked open, and he knew Logan must have been glaring at him for it even though he couldn’t see the other boy’s face in the darkness. Logan carefully pushed the door open and they peered inside.
The room reminded Jake of the science lab at his high school, with counters and cabinets around the edges and tables in the middle. Logan went over to a wall that had a dozen metal doors on it, like safety deposit boxes in a bank. Jake joined him reluctantly. Logan put one hand on the lever of a door and the two of them exchanged a glance. Then Logan turned the handle and pulled the door open.
Jake gagged and put a hand to his mouth as the scent of decay floated from the opening. Logan rolled his eyes, but Jake could see him choke when he pulled the body out and the scent grew stronger. On the slab was a man maybe in his late fifties, still fully clothed and clearly not embalmed yet. Jake took a step back while Logan wordlessly pulled the syringe from his pocket and plunged the tip into the inside of the man’s elbow. He drew the plunger back and a dark red, almost brown liquid slowly filled the syringe. As soon as it was full, Logan quickly pulled the needle out, pushed the body back into its space, and slammed the door. The two of them hurried to the door of the room and breathed deeply of the relatively fresh air.
“Alright,” Logan murmured somewhat shakily. “We’ve got it; now let’s go.” Jake nodded eagerly. He was more than ready to leave this place.
The two of them made their way quickly but silently back to the side door they had entered from. They knew there was still a chance of being caught; they couldn’t relax until they were back at Ross’ Roadhouse. Jake put his hand on the door handle to open it, but it wouldn’t turn when he pressed down. He and Logan glanced at one another. “Did it lock automatically?” Jake asked in a whisper.
“I don’t think so,” Logan murmured uneasily, his eyes darting around. A chill ran down Jake’s spine and his heartbeat and breathing quickened.
“Did it get cold?” he asked nervously. Logan didn’t answer, but turned to look back at the hallway they had come from.
“Shit,” he hissed.
“What, what is it?” Jake asked fearfully, although he already knew the answer. Looking back down the hall he could see a figure approaching, its movements slow and menacing. As it neared Jake saw it was a woman, with hair and clothes disheveled and pale, bloodless skin. At the low collar of her shirt Jake could see the beginnings of a ragged Y-incision. She flickered in and out of sight, like the light of a faulty lamp.
“And I didn’t even bring a shotgun,” Logan muttered.
“Logan?” Jake said, his voice high and nervous. He knew how to fight ghosts, he did, but all the knowledge in the world didn’t do him any good unless he had a weapon. Jake glanced at Logan, then back at the ghost. It knew it had them trapped and was approaching slowly, but it was still getting closer. “What do we do?”
“You go back to the car and get a shotgun, and the salt and gasoline from the trunk.” Logan’s voice was strangely calm and he gazed steadily back at the ghost even while speaking to Jake.
“The door’s locked!”
“Break it down,” Logan said. “I’ll distract her.” He pulled a knife from his belt and gave Jake a grim smile. Jake guessed -hoped- that the knife was made of iron, or else what Logan was suggesting was tantamount to suicide.
With no further discussion, Logan took a step away from Jake and towards the woman’s ghost. Jake watched in awe as Logan approached it calmly. He held the knife in front of his body defensively and bent his knees in a fighter’s crouch, ready to strike at the ghost no matter the angle it came from.
The ghost paused and its head tilted at an impossible angle, as though it were contemplating him. Then suddenly it disappeared and in the blink of an eye rematerialized before Logan and struck out at him with a pale hand. Logan slashed at it with the knife and it disappeared, only to reappear behind him a fraction of a second later. Logan whirled, hacking at it again. “Go!” he yelled to Jake.
Jake tore his eyes from the fight and turned to the door. He tried to kick it, like he’d seen in movies and cop shows, but was thrown off balance and nearly fell. The door was unharmed. He wobbled but righted himself, glaring at the door. Jake put his shoulder down and rammed it like a football player, and heard the wood splinter and his shoulder pop. It hurt, but he didn’t think it was dislocated. He switched to the other shoulder and tried again. This time Jake managed to put a large crack down the middle of the door. Both shoulders hurt. He kicked at the door and made a hole in the middle, then kicked it again to widen it. The moment he thought he could squeeze through it he did, broken boards scratching at his scalp and arms.
Jake ran down the street to where the car was parked, subtlety forgotten now, and fumbled with the keys to open the trunk. He kept glancing back at the funeral home, expecting at any moment to hear Logan scream in pain. He pulled the bags and tire out and dumped them on the ground, then wrenched open the tire compartment. Jake grabbed a shotgun in trembling fingers, tested it and found it was already loaded. He stuffed the keys in his pocket and held the gun in the crook of one arm, the salt in one hand and the gasoline in the other. He couldn’t find a lighter, and could only hope that Logan had one with him.
Jake raced back to the funeral home, nearly dropping the gun as he went. His heart was beating so quickly he thought it might explode, and a million fears raced through his mind. He was scared for Logan, scared for himself, scared he’d drop the shotgun and it would go off, scared Logan wouldn’t have a lighter and the gasoline would be useless, and scared that the police would come by soon and find the car with its trunk full of weapons still open.
Jake scrambled back through the hole in the door, very narrowly avoiding dropping the gun. The hallway was empty, and the only noise was that of his panting breath and pounding heart. Jake shifted the items in his arms, getting the salt in his left elbow and gasoline in his left hand, so that his right was free to hold the shotgun. “Logan?” he called anxiously.
There was no answer.
Jake gulped and started down the hall, glancing into each room. He was expecting the ghost to rush him any second and his hand on the shotgun trigger was trembling. He made his way to the room where he and Logan had found the body and was just about to look in when a noise made him jump. If his fingers hadn’t been shaking so badly at that moment, he might have squeezed the trigger and shot himself in the foot.
Jake held his breath and listened. He could hear the noise again, soft gasps and grunts of pain. Human. Logan. A cold feeling ran through him and without thinking Jake threw open the door. The ghost had Logan pinned on a table, one of its hands holding a scalpel to his chest and the other wrapped around his throat. Logan was clawing at the ghostly hand around his neck, struggling to breathe, and failing. Jake threw up the shotgun and fired.
The ghost disappeared in a cloud of smoke and salt and Logan gasped loudly, dragging air back into his lungs. He coughed and struggled to sit upright, his breathing coming in ragged pants. Jake rushed to his side. “Are you okay?”
Logan nodded wordlessly, one hand on his throat, and pointed to his knife lying a few feet away on the ground. Jake dumped the things he was carrying on the table next to Logan and ran to get the knife. He snatched it up, taking a second to appreciate the fact that it truly was made of iron, and brought it back to Logan. Gripping the blade gingerly in his hand, he held it out handle-first for Logan to grab. Logan reached out to take it from him.
The second Logan’s hand closed over the knife handle there was a squeaking noise on Jake’s left, and he barely had time to look up and see a second wheeled table coming towards him before pain exploded in his side as it rammed into his body. The table kept going, slamming him against a large cabinet. The side of his head hit squarely on a door handle and Jake’s vision when black.
His entire body felt cold and numb, and there was a ringing in his ears. He heard, as though from far away, the sound of a gun go off and then Logan was at his side, pushing the table back, asking if he was alright. Without the table pinning him to the cabinet, Jake’s knees buckled and he slumped to the ground with a groan. “Shit,” he heard Logan swear.
“Jake, Jake,” Logan hissed, shaking his shoulder as Jake struggled to blink the shadows from his vision. The ringing in his ears was fading and the pain was back full force, pounding in his head, his ribs, and oddly enough, his hand. Ignoring Logan’s frantic questions, he lifted his hand to inspect it and saw that he’d been cut when Logan’s knife was wrenched from his hand as the table hit him.
“Can you walk?” Logan asked, and Jake shook his head. That proved to be a very bad idea, and his head sagged again as nausea rolled in his stomach.
“Can you shoot?” Logan asked.
Jake managed to string the words together in his mind and concentrated on getting his jaw and tongue to cooperate. “I think so.”
“Good.” Logan shoved the shotgun into his hands. “Shoot it if it comes near you. I’m gonna salt this bitch.”
Jake watched as Logan stood and turned away from him. He wanted to object, to tell Logan that it was too dangerous after what had happened the last time he’d gone after the ghost with just his knife, but before he could make his mouth do what his brain was ordering, Logan was gone.
Jake groaned and blinked as black spots filled his vision again, then faded away. His entire body ached, it seemed, and he could feel the pain pulsing along with his heartbeat. The sick feeling in his stomach was still there, fading in and out like the black spots in his eyes, and Jake wondered if he was going to throw up.
Something flickered at the edge of his vision and Jake struggled to focus on it. Was it the ghost, or simply another mirage from the blow to his head? As Jake blinked at it, the thing wavered in and out of focus. It seemed to grow nearer and materialize into a vaguely human shape. The ghost.
With fumbling fingers, Jake lifted the shotgun. He could see the tip of the gun shaking violently as his hands and arms trembled. He pulled the trigger just as the ghost darted forward close enough to touch, and it disappeared. Salt rained down over Jake’s feet.
The next thing Jake knew, Logan was hauling him to his feet and pain was lancing through his side, sharp and hot. The nausea returned, reaching unbearable extremes. He turned away from Logan and threw up on the floor. Jake coughed and sputtered, trying to clear his mouth and throat. Logan pounded his back, which only made his ribs hurt more. “C’mon, c’mon, we gotta get out of here!” Logan hissed.
Jake struggled to lift his head and take some of his weight on his own feet. That lessened the pain in his side, though he didn’t think he could stand without Logan to lean against. Logan half-dragged Jake down the hall towards the side door, cursing softly with every step. His hand that wasn’t around Jake’s shoulders still held the jug of gasoline, and he poured the last of it over the floor as they went.
When they reached the door and stepped out, Logan turned back to the funeral home. They could see the ghost reappear in the hallway and start towards them. Logan shifted Jake’s arm from around his shoulders and Jake stepped away from him to lean heavily against the doorframe. He started to lift the shotgun as Logan knelt down. He saw from the corner of his eye Logan flick a lighter and touch the flame to the end of the gasoline trail he’d made, and then a river of fire flared up down the length of the hallway. The ghost was still there, however; the fire must not have reached its body yet. Jake pulled the trigger and watched with a sense of grim satisfaction as the ghost disappeared once more.
Logan grabbed Jake’s arm and pulled it around his shoulders again, and the two of them hurried to the car. Logan dropped Jake into the passenger seat and quickly stowed all of their gear in the trunk. Jake held out the keys with shaking fingers as the other teen climbed into the car. “Do you need a hospital?” Logan asked tensely.
Jake looked out the window at the funeral home, its windows now filled with flames. He knew that hospitals were dangerous places for hunters; too many questions, too great a risk of running into law enforcement. “No,” he said, even though he wanted to say yes. He had no idea how bad his injuries were, if he had internal bleeding or not. Logan looked at him for a moment as if trying to see if Jake was lying. He was biting his lip, and his eyebrows were drawn together in concern.
“You gonna sit here until the fire truck arrives?” Jake asked. Logan smiled weakly and started the car.
The next few hours were mostly a blur for Jake. Logan brought him back to Ross’ Roadhouse and between the three of them Ross, Holly, and Logan carried him to the spare bedroom on the second story. His clothes were stripped off and his injuries were assessed. Broken ribs, Ross determined, with a nasty gash where the edge of the table had struck him, but no organ damage. It was his head they were worried about, though; they thought he might have a concussion, and that would mean he couldn’t fall asleep for the next couple hours.
Jake was given a couple of aspirin, the most Ross was willing to give him until they could guess more about his head trauma, and his hand and ribs were bandaged. The leftover bandages, gauze, tape, and rubbing alcohol lay on the bedside table, along with the precious syringe of dead man’s blood that Logan and Jake had nearly gotten killed for. Logan, who had not tended to any of his own injuries, insisted on sitting up with Jake to make sure he didn’t fall asleep with his concussion. He told Ross and Holly to go to bed, assuring them that he would call them if anything about Jake’s condition changed.
Ross was the first to go, still having things to take care of with the close-up of the bar. Holly stayed for a few minutes after, just sitting next to Logan and holding his hand. Jake watched the two of them from lidded eyes. Logan’s expression was serious and pensive, and his eyes were trained on the bed by Jake’s feet. Holly was focused solely on Logan and her expression was sympathetic. Jake could see the beginnings of a huge bruise around Logan’s neck, and his shirt was torn and his chest slightly bloodied where the ghost had managed to nick him with the scalpel.
After a long moment of silence, Holly gave Logan’s hand a squeeze and kissed his temple, then stood and left, whispering, “Goodnight,” on her way out. Logan didn’t respond. He remained in the same position, staring at the quilt folded on the end of the bed, for what felt like several minutes. Then he shook himself as though waking from a dream, and turned to Jake.
“How you feeling?” Logan whispered, as if he thought it might hurt Jake’s head if he spoke too loudly.
“Wish I could have something more than aspirin,” Jake mumbled. His speech was still slurred a bit and he struggled to speak the next part more clearly. “Wish I could sleep, too.”
“I know,” Logan said, his lips quirked in a sardonic smile. “Concussions suck. I’ve had my fair share.”
Jake eyed Logan for a moment, wondering what the other teen had been thinking while he stared at the bed. “Do you think we got it?” Jake asked. Logan looked up at him thoughtfully and shrugged.
“I don’t know. I threw salt in all of the cabinets with bodies in them, and in every open casket I found. But there were a bunch of closed coffins I couldn’t get into and I wasn’t sure if they had bodies in them or not. I threw salt on top of them, but I don’t know if it would have done any good.” He fell silent for a minute, thinking it over.
“Normally it takes years for a spirit to become a ghost like that,” Logan said. “One that can move things and hurt people. Most of the bodies in a funeral home should be fresh; it’s probably not more than a week between the time a person dies and the time they’re buried. I don’t know where that ghost came from. Maybe somebody lost a part of an old body while they were embalming it, or something.”
“The way she was trying to cut you, it seemed like she might have been an embalmer herself,” Jake said. Logan nodded thoughtfully.
“That would make sense for her being there, but I don’t think she could be haunting it if her body was buried someplace far away. Maybe it was a family funeral home, and they kept a lock of hair from a relative who owned it before or something.”
“Do you think we got her, though?”
“I don’t know. If the rest of her was someplace else, then no, unless she was cremated.” Logan sighed. “There’s really no way of knowing. Maybe tomorrow I can research the funeral home, find out how any previous owners died and what happened to them.”
Jake nodded in agreement with the plan. He wanted to tell Logan not to go after the rest of the body, if there was more, without someone else as backup while Jake was unable to go, but he didn’t think Logan would listen to him. Jake was worried for him. If the ghost was still around and he went after it by himself, he might not be able to make it out. ‘Even with me there, it nearly killed him the first time,’ Jake thought as he looked at the bruise on Logan’s neck and the cut on his chest.
But Jake didn’t think Logan would listen to any words of caution, so he kept them to himself. Instead he simply said, “Your chest is bleeding.”
Logan looked down almost amazedly, pulling at his shirt to get a look. “Oh yeah,” he murmured. “I guess she did cut me.” Logan slipped off the shirt and picked up the medical supplies that had been left out from their use on Jake. He swabbed the cut with alcohol and taped gauze over it, but didn’t bother to put the shirt back on. Jake’s eyes roved over the expanse of skin, taking in the toned muscles and rough scars. He wondered if the cut would leave another scar to add to Logan’s collection of battle wounds. He doubted it, though; it had been too clean and shallow.
“I guess you know how I got these ones,” Jake said, waving a hand at his side. Logan looked confused for a moment, then remembered their conversation the previous night and how he had said that Jake needed to tell him the story of a scar in return. He nodded.
“I guess so,” Logan murmured, and fell silent once more. Jake assumed the conversation had come to an end. Then, to his surprise, Logan spoke again.
“You saved my life back there,” Logan whispered, not looking at Jake. Jake cocked his head to the side, thinking. He looked at the red-tinged skin around Logan’s neck that tomorrow he knew would be a black and purple bruise, and remembered how the ghost had held Logan pinned to the table, disarmed and powerless. He shuddered at the thought. Logan was the better hunter, superior in every way. The thought of him being powerless was terrifying to Jake.
“I guess I did,” he murmured softly. The events of the night were still too fresh for him to feel proud of it, though. Or to feel anything but relief that they had both survived and apprehension for what would come next, if a thing that had nearly killed both of them was considered routine by many hunters.
*** Previous Chapter *** Master Post *** Next Chapter ***
Fandom- Supernatural, focusing on OCs
Ship- Logan(OMC)/Jake(OMC)
Rating- PG-13
Genre- slash, action, drama, romance, plotty
Warnings- violence, m/m kissing
Wordcount- 4,400
Summary- Jake and Logan's sidetrip to get dead man's blood turns out to be more dangerous than either of them expected.
A/N- written for 2011 oc_bigbang
Disclaimer- I did not come up with this world, but the idea of a hunters’ summer camp is mine. I did not create the Winchesters or Elkins, but all the rest of the characters mentioned in here are mine.
Beta- skylar_matthews
*** Previous Chapter *** Master Post *** Next Chapter ***
“Are you at least going to tell me why we’re here?” Jake asked as Logan stopped the car about half a block from the funeral home, hopefully well out of the way of any security cameras. It was long after dark and no lights shone from inside the building.
“You didn’t have to come,” Logan replied tensely. He leaned out the car window, looking around for security guards or dogs, Jake supposed.
“Like I was gonna let you leave me behind!” Jake fumed. The tension between them had returned and even increased since they’d met up with Holly. The two experienced hunters had looked over a map of the town and the local paper’s obituaries together, discussing their plans in hushed tones and leaving Jake out of their discussion. By insisting on accompanying Logan, he was trying to reassert his position as one of the primary members of this hunt. Logan, on the other hand, seemed to be viewing him as more of a liability than ever.
“Fine!” Logan snapped. “If I tell you, will you shut up and stay in the car?” Jake considered it for a moment.
“Maybe,” he said curtly, although he had no intention of doing it. Logan gave a heavy sigh that came out almost as a growl.
“Alright. Listen, a vampire can only be killed by cutting off its head, but it can still be poisoned.”
“Wouldn’t poison kill it?” Jake wondered.
“No, it’s not a deadly poison,” Logan explained. “It’ll just make it sick for a little while. Weak, unable to move or talk much.”
“So what poisons them?” Jake asked.
“I was getting to that!” Logan snarled before Jake even finished the sentence. He sighed, forcing himself to calm down. “What poisons vampires,” he continued more calmly, “is dead man’s blood. That’s why we’re here. We need to find a fresh corpse, one that hasn’t been embalmed yet and still had blood left in its veins.”
“Does it have to be a man’s blood?” Jake wondered. “Wouldn’t a dead woman’s blood work too?” Logan looked like he was going to snap some quick denial, but he paused, his expression turning thoughtful.
“I guess it would,” he said. “I think ‘dead man’s blood’ is probably just the most commonly used name. Any type of dead person’s blood should still work.”
“So how are we going to do this?” Jake asked. “I mean, how do you get the blood? Use the tools already there in the funeral home?”
“I’ve got this.” Logan pulled a syringe from his pocket. “I think it should be enough.” They stared down at the instrument in silence, both of them wondering just how much blood was needed to poison a vampire, and how many vampires there might be.
“Alright,” Logan sighed. “I’m going in.” He tossed the keys into Jake’s lap and got out of the car. Jake stuck the keys in his pocket and got out as well. “You’re not coming!” Logan objected.
“Yes, I am!”
“You said you wouldn’t if I told you!”
“I said maybe!” Jake replied, crossing his arms. “Maybe I wouldn’t. But I will.” Jake knew he sounded childish, but he didn’t care. He was going, and there was nothing else he would accept. The two of them glared at one another for a moment, then Logan threw up his arms.
“Fine! Come, but don’t get in my way!” Logan turned and stalked towards the funeral home, and Jake hurried after, grinning.
They stopped just outside the grounds, hiding behind a large oak tree. Logan peeked around the edge to scope out the funeral home. “No cameras,” he whispered. “No guards.” They both hurried across the parking lot to a side door, and Logan handed Jake a flashlight. “Hold this so I can see the lock,” he whispered. Jake took it and held it close to the knob so that the beam of light was small and hopefully not noticeable. He looked out at the street as Logan quickly picked the lock.
“Car,” Jake whispered as one approached, and Logan redoubled his efforts. The lock clicked open and the two of them slipped inside just before the car passed on the street outside. Jake followed Logan as the other boy went down the hallway, looking through the windows in each door. He stopped at one door and beckoned Jake over.
“I think this is where they keep the bodies,” Logan whispered. Jake made a face.
“I can’t believe we’re really doing this,” Jake muttered. “I mean, this isn’t like digging up a body that’s been in the ground for years and is nothing but bones. This is a person that just a few days ago, maybe, was breathing and walking around!”
“Don’t think like that,” Logan hissed back as he went to work on the lock. “You’re gonna psych yourself out.”
Jake held the flashlight and looked around nervously as Logan worked. He jumped and gasped when the lock clicked open, and he knew Logan must have been glaring at him for it even though he couldn’t see the other boy’s face in the darkness. Logan carefully pushed the door open and they peered inside.
The room reminded Jake of the science lab at his high school, with counters and cabinets around the edges and tables in the middle. Logan went over to a wall that had a dozen metal doors on it, like safety deposit boxes in a bank. Jake joined him reluctantly. Logan put one hand on the lever of a door and the two of them exchanged a glance. Then Logan turned the handle and pulled the door open.
Jake gagged and put a hand to his mouth as the scent of decay floated from the opening. Logan rolled his eyes, but Jake could see him choke when he pulled the body out and the scent grew stronger. On the slab was a man maybe in his late fifties, still fully clothed and clearly not embalmed yet. Jake took a step back while Logan wordlessly pulled the syringe from his pocket and plunged the tip into the inside of the man’s elbow. He drew the plunger back and a dark red, almost brown liquid slowly filled the syringe. As soon as it was full, Logan quickly pulled the needle out, pushed the body back into its space, and slammed the door. The two of them hurried to the door of the room and breathed deeply of the relatively fresh air.
“Alright,” Logan murmured somewhat shakily. “We’ve got it; now let’s go.” Jake nodded eagerly. He was more than ready to leave this place.
The two of them made their way quickly but silently back to the side door they had entered from. They knew there was still a chance of being caught; they couldn’t relax until they were back at Ross’ Roadhouse. Jake put his hand on the door handle to open it, but it wouldn’t turn when he pressed down. He and Logan glanced at one another. “Did it lock automatically?” Jake asked in a whisper.
“I don’t think so,” Logan murmured uneasily, his eyes darting around. A chill ran down Jake’s spine and his heartbeat and breathing quickened.
“Did it get cold?” he asked nervously. Logan didn’t answer, but turned to look back at the hallway they had come from.
“Shit,” he hissed.
“What, what is it?” Jake asked fearfully, although he already knew the answer. Looking back down the hall he could see a figure approaching, its movements slow and menacing. As it neared Jake saw it was a woman, with hair and clothes disheveled and pale, bloodless skin. At the low collar of her shirt Jake could see the beginnings of a ragged Y-incision. She flickered in and out of sight, like the light of a faulty lamp.
“And I didn’t even bring a shotgun,” Logan muttered.
“Logan?” Jake said, his voice high and nervous. He knew how to fight ghosts, he did, but all the knowledge in the world didn’t do him any good unless he had a weapon. Jake glanced at Logan, then back at the ghost. It knew it had them trapped and was approaching slowly, but it was still getting closer. “What do we do?”
“You go back to the car and get a shotgun, and the salt and gasoline from the trunk.” Logan’s voice was strangely calm and he gazed steadily back at the ghost even while speaking to Jake.
“The door’s locked!”
“Break it down,” Logan said. “I’ll distract her.” He pulled a knife from his belt and gave Jake a grim smile. Jake guessed -hoped- that the knife was made of iron, or else what Logan was suggesting was tantamount to suicide.
With no further discussion, Logan took a step away from Jake and towards the woman’s ghost. Jake watched in awe as Logan approached it calmly. He held the knife in front of his body defensively and bent his knees in a fighter’s crouch, ready to strike at the ghost no matter the angle it came from.
The ghost paused and its head tilted at an impossible angle, as though it were contemplating him. Then suddenly it disappeared and in the blink of an eye rematerialized before Logan and struck out at him with a pale hand. Logan slashed at it with the knife and it disappeared, only to reappear behind him a fraction of a second later. Logan whirled, hacking at it again. “Go!” he yelled to Jake.
Jake tore his eyes from the fight and turned to the door. He tried to kick it, like he’d seen in movies and cop shows, but was thrown off balance and nearly fell. The door was unharmed. He wobbled but righted himself, glaring at the door. Jake put his shoulder down and rammed it like a football player, and heard the wood splinter and his shoulder pop. It hurt, but he didn’t think it was dislocated. He switched to the other shoulder and tried again. This time Jake managed to put a large crack down the middle of the door. Both shoulders hurt. He kicked at the door and made a hole in the middle, then kicked it again to widen it. The moment he thought he could squeeze through it he did, broken boards scratching at his scalp and arms.
Jake ran down the street to where the car was parked, subtlety forgotten now, and fumbled with the keys to open the trunk. He kept glancing back at the funeral home, expecting at any moment to hear Logan scream in pain. He pulled the bags and tire out and dumped them on the ground, then wrenched open the tire compartment. Jake grabbed a shotgun in trembling fingers, tested it and found it was already loaded. He stuffed the keys in his pocket and held the gun in the crook of one arm, the salt in one hand and the gasoline in the other. He couldn’t find a lighter, and could only hope that Logan had one with him.
Jake raced back to the funeral home, nearly dropping the gun as he went. His heart was beating so quickly he thought it might explode, and a million fears raced through his mind. He was scared for Logan, scared for himself, scared he’d drop the shotgun and it would go off, scared Logan wouldn’t have a lighter and the gasoline would be useless, and scared that the police would come by soon and find the car with its trunk full of weapons still open.
Jake scrambled back through the hole in the door, very narrowly avoiding dropping the gun. The hallway was empty, and the only noise was that of his panting breath and pounding heart. Jake shifted the items in his arms, getting the salt in his left elbow and gasoline in his left hand, so that his right was free to hold the shotgun. “Logan?” he called anxiously.
There was no answer.
Jake gulped and started down the hall, glancing into each room. He was expecting the ghost to rush him any second and his hand on the shotgun trigger was trembling. He made his way to the room where he and Logan had found the body and was just about to look in when a noise made him jump. If his fingers hadn’t been shaking so badly at that moment, he might have squeezed the trigger and shot himself in the foot.
Jake held his breath and listened. He could hear the noise again, soft gasps and grunts of pain. Human. Logan. A cold feeling ran through him and without thinking Jake threw open the door. The ghost had Logan pinned on a table, one of its hands holding a scalpel to his chest and the other wrapped around his throat. Logan was clawing at the ghostly hand around his neck, struggling to breathe, and failing. Jake threw up the shotgun and fired.
The ghost disappeared in a cloud of smoke and salt and Logan gasped loudly, dragging air back into his lungs. He coughed and struggled to sit upright, his breathing coming in ragged pants. Jake rushed to his side. “Are you okay?”
Logan nodded wordlessly, one hand on his throat, and pointed to his knife lying a few feet away on the ground. Jake dumped the things he was carrying on the table next to Logan and ran to get the knife. He snatched it up, taking a second to appreciate the fact that it truly was made of iron, and brought it back to Logan. Gripping the blade gingerly in his hand, he held it out handle-first for Logan to grab. Logan reached out to take it from him.
The second Logan’s hand closed over the knife handle there was a squeaking noise on Jake’s left, and he barely had time to look up and see a second wheeled table coming towards him before pain exploded in his side as it rammed into his body. The table kept going, slamming him against a large cabinet. The side of his head hit squarely on a door handle and Jake’s vision when black.
His entire body felt cold and numb, and there was a ringing in his ears. He heard, as though from far away, the sound of a gun go off and then Logan was at his side, pushing the table back, asking if he was alright. Without the table pinning him to the cabinet, Jake’s knees buckled and he slumped to the ground with a groan. “Shit,” he heard Logan swear.
“Jake, Jake,” Logan hissed, shaking his shoulder as Jake struggled to blink the shadows from his vision. The ringing in his ears was fading and the pain was back full force, pounding in his head, his ribs, and oddly enough, his hand. Ignoring Logan’s frantic questions, he lifted his hand to inspect it and saw that he’d been cut when Logan’s knife was wrenched from his hand as the table hit him.
“Can you walk?” Logan asked, and Jake shook his head. That proved to be a very bad idea, and his head sagged again as nausea rolled in his stomach.
“Can you shoot?” Logan asked.
Jake managed to string the words together in his mind and concentrated on getting his jaw and tongue to cooperate. “I think so.”
“Good.” Logan shoved the shotgun into his hands. “Shoot it if it comes near you. I’m gonna salt this bitch.”
Jake watched as Logan stood and turned away from him. He wanted to object, to tell Logan that it was too dangerous after what had happened the last time he’d gone after the ghost with just his knife, but before he could make his mouth do what his brain was ordering, Logan was gone.
Jake groaned and blinked as black spots filled his vision again, then faded away. His entire body ached, it seemed, and he could feel the pain pulsing along with his heartbeat. The sick feeling in his stomach was still there, fading in and out like the black spots in his eyes, and Jake wondered if he was going to throw up.
Something flickered at the edge of his vision and Jake struggled to focus on it. Was it the ghost, or simply another mirage from the blow to his head? As Jake blinked at it, the thing wavered in and out of focus. It seemed to grow nearer and materialize into a vaguely human shape. The ghost.
With fumbling fingers, Jake lifted the shotgun. He could see the tip of the gun shaking violently as his hands and arms trembled. He pulled the trigger just as the ghost darted forward close enough to touch, and it disappeared. Salt rained down over Jake’s feet.
The next thing Jake knew, Logan was hauling him to his feet and pain was lancing through his side, sharp and hot. The nausea returned, reaching unbearable extremes. He turned away from Logan and threw up on the floor. Jake coughed and sputtered, trying to clear his mouth and throat. Logan pounded his back, which only made his ribs hurt more. “C’mon, c’mon, we gotta get out of here!” Logan hissed.
Jake struggled to lift his head and take some of his weight on his own feet. That lessened the pain in his side, though he didn’t think he could stand without Logan to lean against. Logan half-dragged Jake down the hall towards the side door, cursing softly with every step. His hand that wasn’t around Jake’s shoulders still held the jug of gasoline, and he poured the last of it over the floor as they went.
When they reached the door and stepped out, Logan turned back to the funeral home. They could see the ghost reappear in the hallway and start towards them. Logan shifted Jake’s arm from around his shoulders and Jake stepped away from him to lean heavily against the doorframe. He started to lift the shotgun as Logan knelt down. He saw from the corner of his eye Logan flick a lighter and touch the flame to the end of the gasoline trail he’d made, and then a river of fire flared up down the length of the hallway. The ghost was still there, however; the fire must not have reached its body yet. Jake pulled the trigger and watched with a sense of grim satisfaction as the ghost disappeared once more.
Logan grabbed Jake’s arm and pulled it around his shoulders again, and the two of them hurried to the car. Logan dropped Jake into the passenger seat and quickly stowed all of their gear in the trunk. Jake held out the keys with shaking fingers as the other teen climbed into the car. “Do you need a hospital?” Logan asked tensely.
Jake looked out the window at the funeral home, its windows now filled with flames. He knew that hospitals were dangerous places for hunters; too many questions, too great a risk of running into law enforcement. “No,” he said, even though he wanted to say yes. He had no idea how bad his injuries were, if he had internal bleeding or not. Logan looked at him for a moment as if trying to see if Jake was lying. He was biting his lip, and his eyebrows were drawn together in concern.
“You gonna sit here until the fire truck arrives?” Jake asked. Logan smiled weakly and started the car.
The next few hours were mostly a blur for Jake. Logan brought him back to Ross’ Roadhouse and between the three of them Ross, Holly, and Logan carried him to the spare bedroom on the second story. His clothes were stripped off and his injuries were assessed. Broken ribs, Ross determined, with a nasty gash where the edge of the table had struck him, but no organ damage. It was his head they were worried about, though; they thought he might have a concussion, and that would mean he couldn’t fall asleep for the next couple hours.
Jake was given a couple of aspirin, the most Ross was willing to give him until they could guess more about his head trauma, and his hand and ribs were bandaged. The leftover bandages, gauze, tape, and rubbing alcohol lay on the bedside table, along with the precious syringe of dead man’s blood that Logan and Jake had nearly gotten killed for. Logan, who had not tended to any of his own injuries, insisted on sitting up with Jake to make sure he didn’t fall asleep with his concussion. He told Ross and Holly to go to bed, assuring them that he would call them if anything about Jake’s condition changed.
Ross was the first to go, still having things to take care of with the close-up of the bar. Holly stayed for a few minutes after, just sitting next to Logan and holding his hand. Jake watched the two of them from lidded eyes. Logan’s expression was serious and pensive, and his eyes were trained on the bed by Jake’s feet. Holly was focused solely on Logan and her expression was sympathetic. Jake could see the beginnings of a huge bruise around Logan’s neck, and his shirt was torn and his chest slightly bloodied where the ghost had managed to nick him with the scalpel.
After a long moment of silence, Holly gave Logan’s hand a squeeze and kissed his temple, then stood and left, whispering, “Goodnight,” on her way out. Logan didn’t respond. He remained in the same position, staring at the quilt folded on the end of the bed, for what felt like several minutes. Then he shook himself as though waking from a dream, and turned to Jake.
“How you feeling?” Logan whispered, as if he thought it might hurt Jake’s head if he spoke too loudly.
“Wish I could have something more than aspirin,” Jake mumbled. His speech was still slurred a bit and he struggled to speak the next part more clearly. “Wish I could sleep, too.”
“I know,” Logan said, his lips quirked in a sardonic smile. “Concussions suck. I’ve had my fair share.”
Jake eyed Logan for a moment, wondering what the other teen had been thinking while he stared at the bed. “Do you think we got it?” Jake asked. Logan looked up at him thoughtfully and shrugged.
“I don’t know. I threw salt in all of the cabinets with bodies in them, and in every open casket I found. But there were a bunch of closed coffins I couldn’t get into and I wasn’t sure if they had bodies in them or not. I threw salt on top of them, but I don’t know if it would have done any good.” He fell silent for a minute, thinking it over.
“Normally it takes years for a spirit to become a ghost like that,” Logan said. “One that can move things and hurt people. Most of the bodies in a funeral home should be fresh; it’s probably not more than a week between the time a person dies and the time they’re buried. I don’t know where that ghost came from. Maybe somebody lost a part of an old body while they were embalming it, or something.”
“The way she was trying to cut you, it seemed like she might have been an embalmer herself,” Jake said. Logan nodded thoughtfully.
“That would make sense for her being there, but I don’t think she could be haunting it if her body was buried someplace far away. Maybe it was a family funeral home, and they kept a lock of hair from a relative who owned it before or something.”
“Do you think we got her, though?”
“I don’t know. If the rest of her was someplace else, then no, unless she was cremated.” Logan sighed. “There’s really no way of knowing. Maybe tomorrow I can research the funeral home, find out how any previous owners died and what happened to them.”
Jake nodded in agreement with the plan. He wanted to tell Logan not to go after the rest of the body, if there was more, without someone else as backup while Jake was unable to go, but he didn’t think Logan would listen to him. Jake was worried for him. If the ghost was still around and he went after it by himself, he might not be able to make it out. ‘Even with me there, it nearly killed him the first time,’ Jake thought as he looked at the bruise on Logan’s neck and the cut on his chest.
But Jake didn’t think Logan would listen to any words of caution, so he kept them to himself. Instead he simply said, “Your chest is bleeding.”
Logan looked down almost amazedly, pulling at his shirt to get a look. “Oh yeah,” he murmured. “I guess she did cut me.” Logan slipped off the shirt and picked up the medical supplies that had been left out from their use on Jake. He swabbed the cut with alcohol and taped gauze over it, but didn’t bother to put the shirt back on. Jake’s eyes roved over the expanse of skin, taking in the toned muscles and rough scars. He wondered if the cut would leave another scar to add to Logan’s collection of battle wounds. He doubted it, though; it had been too clean and shallow.
“I guess you know how I got these ones,” Jake said, waving a hand at his side. Logan looked confused for a moment, then remembered their conversation the previous night and how he had said that Jake needed to tell him the story of a scar in return. He nodded.
“I guess so,” Logan murmured, and fell silent once more. Jake assumed the conversation had come to an end. Then, to his surprise, Logan spoke again.
“You saved my life back there,” Logan whispered, not looking at Jake. Jake cocked his head to the side, thinking. He looked at the red-tinged skin around Logan’s neck that tomorrow he knew would be a black and purple bruise, and remembered how the ghost had held Logan pinned to the table, disarmed and powerless. He shuddered at the thought. Logan was the better hunter, superior in every way. The thought of him being powerless was terrifying to Jake.
“I guess I did,” he murmured softly. The events of the night were still too fresh for him to feel proud of it, though. Or to feel anything but relief that they had both survived and apprehension for what would come next, if a thing that had nearly killed both of them was considered routine by many hunters.
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