Road Closed Ahead - Chapter Five
Pardon the delay. I get very grumpy without a nice Sunday afternoon nap...
Chapter Five
Sam awoke slowly, his head beating in time with his heart, which really wasn't supposed to happen. He shifted slightly and his entire nervous system lit up like it was on fire, the center of the blaze somewhere on his left side near his hip.
"Dean?" Sam's voice sounded pathetic even to him. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Dean?"
There was no answer, which Sam knew wasn't right. Still, he was in the motel room and not dead on the ground in the cemetery, so he had that going for him. He could still feel the horseman grasping his collar and hauling him backwards until Sam had stumbled, falling under the horse's hooves. If he'd thought the horse was huge before, then lying on the ground looking up at it while it decided whether or not to trample him to death made the animal the size of a rhinoceros.
Sam raised a hand and very gently set it against the side of his face. He could already tell it was swollen, and this headache made the previous one feel like it was nothing.
"Dean?" he tried again, louder. Maybe he was in the bathroom or something, Sam thought, but again there was no response.
Sam turned onto his relatively uninjured side and groaned at the fresh wave of pain that rolled through him from head to foot, then right back up to his head which was going to explode if he didn't quit moving around.
Sam ordered his eyes to focus and succeeded marginally. Instead of four tables next to the bed there were only two, and on top of them were two pieces of paper. Of course, his idiot brother would leave him a note, but put it somewhere Sam would have to get out of bed to look at.
Sam shifted very, very slowly, keeping his blurry eyes on the note, willing it to come closer to him, finally using the more solid of the two tables to help him sit up. His side told him that was possibly the worst idea he'd had all day, but he forced himself to focus on the piece of paper. Dean wouldn't have left him in the state he was in without a decent reason.
"Gone to library," he read aloud, "Info on w. trials. Must be real witch in town. Back soon, D."
Sam tried to wrap his brain around that and decided they should have considered that earlier. If other hunters hadn't been able to take the horseman out, then there must be more to it than the obvious. Starting around the time of the witch trials should have been a barn-sized clue. He was going to blame his muddled thinking on his post-asylum headache.
So Dean had gone after books at the library. It was still night and Dean would have to break in. That wasn't bad in and of itself, but Sam was suddenly very uncomfortable.
If there really was a witch doing this, then she was the one who'd put the other hunter's head in their room. That also meant that she'd realized they were in town almost as soon as they'd arrived. And other than the woman at the front desk who was seriously pissed about anyone messing up her sheets, the only other people they'd even talked to were the librarians.
Which meant that if Sam knew anything about his brother, he was in serious trouble right about now.
Sam grasped the table and pulled himself to his feet. He nearly blacked out, but he held his ground and waited patiently for his vision to clear, or at least until the black receded and there were only two doors to their room instead of twenty.
Sam staggered toward the door. First things first. He was going to have to steal a car.
Dean sat against the wall, studying the book beneath the dim security light. It was nearly word for word what he'd already read in the old hunter's journal. There was even a section on Maples and his attempts to rescue accused witches and warlocks before they were arrested.
Dean's eyes snapped up. He was almost certain he'd heard a footfall. He held very still and listened, but there was nothing else. He wanted to ignore the sound. It was a very old building with lots of books and shelves to shift during the night, but that didn't change the fact that his hair was standing on end.
Dean focused back on the book, although he kept his ears pricked. The only new tidbit he could find was on the witches' accuser. Unlike in Salem where multiple girls had pointed fingers, every one of the witches in this town had been accused by a single person, a young woman that very little was known about other than she'd gotten a handful of people killed.
Dean closed the book and decided to head back to the motel. He really needed to check on Sam, who was no doubt still passed out. Even so, Dean hated leaving him alone. He'd take the book and check the internet for info. If that didn't work, he'd come back during business hours to see if he could find more on the witches' accuser since she was the only one in this mess they hadn't really looked into.
Dean rose from the floor and headed for the rear exit. Breaking into the library had been child's play. If he was feeling generous, he might even reset the alarm for them when he left.
"I don't believe you have a library card, young man." Dean froze. "I'm going to have to ask you to put that book back."
He turned toward the sound of the voice and saw an older woman standing not far from the security light he'd been sitting under. It took him a second, but he realized he'd seen her before. She was the nasty librarian who'd scared the lady who'd been helping him the day before.
"So," Dean said, his voice sounding very loud in the silent building, "not a bitter old maid. I'm guessing... bitter old witch. Like... really old."
"Finally figured it out, did you?" she asked calmly.
"It kinda helps when you show up wearing an I'm-the-bad-guy t-shirt."
"I'm protecting what's mine," she snapped. "You came in here, tripping every ward I have in place, intending to find a way to kill me. Not very nice."
"Nice?" Dean repeated. "Is that what you call whatever you did to the horseman? Pretty sure he'd like his head back at some point. And that's not to mention all the people he's offed or scared to death." An image of Jack's head sitting on the bed flashed in front of his eyes, and Dean once again found himself becoming furious.
"I was about to be accused of witchcraft, so I turned the tables and made sure no one would suspect me. Mr. Maples was interfering."
"So you stole his head and turned him into the local boogeyman," Dean said snidely.
"It was necessary," she replied coldly.
"For what?"
"For the spell."
"What spell?"
"This is becoming very tiresome," she said with a sigh.
Dean cocked his head to the side. "You know, you're not looking too shabby for a chick that's been around since dirt was young."
The witch's eyes narrowed. "How very kind of you to notice."
"Let me guess. A spell."
"Very astute. What a smart hunter you are." Her voice dripped with sarcasm.
"Smart enough to get this far."
"Child, I leave that idiot hunter's journal here in the library for a reason. Every hunter who comes to this town finds it." She looked at Dean straightly. "And I find them."
"You killed Jack."
"The present I left for you? Yes." She smiled a truly wicked smile. "He was after Mr. Maples and I do hate to have anyone interfering with him. I was hoping you would take the hint to leave well enough alone."
"Why?"
"As you so kindly pointed out, I am no spring chicken. But the spell has slowed the process almost to a crawl. Passion and love and a determined desire to protect those around you... that is what keeps a person young. Mr. Maples had all of those in abundance. He still has them. They keep him young and he keeps me young." The woman took a step forward, her eyes suddenly luminous, studying Dean with freakish intensity. "Interesting," she said, almost to herself.
"Whoa," Dean said, a little too loudly. "Don't go getting any ideas, lady. I think one head in the piggy bank is plenty for you."
The woman's expression was impassive as she began muttering under her breath in a language Dean definitely didn't know.
"You know what I love about witches?" Dean asked, reaching behind him for the gun tucked in his waistband. She merely raised an eyebrow. Dean pulled the gun out and aimed it at her heart. "They die just like everybody else."
The woman stopped chanting and smiled. "Do you know what I love about hunters?" she countered. An uncomfortable tingling stole over Dean's body and her smile widened. "They never use their heads."
Ahh... Dean in peril... Almost as good as Sunday afternoon naps... More soon!
Chapter Six