The Devil May Love - Part 1
Master Post
Part 1
Jared Padalecki walked through pitch black darkness. Heavy clouds blocked out the moon and the stars. The night engulfed Jared, swallowed him whole and surrounded him with deep silence.
Endless grain-fields spread out under Jared's feet. Jared held his hands out. The grain swayed lightly back and forth, a shy touch against his fingertips. A faint breeze lingered in the air. It soothed his left eye that continued to throb hot and tight.
Jared's father didn't know much but he knew how to throw a punch. He'd been a boxer in high school. Jared wondered where his honor had gone. Washed down by whisky, Jared assumed. Leaving just that bitter taste of regret. Illusions of could-have-beens. Realizations of never-wanted-tos that had become all there was.
Jared knew that feeling. They could have been a happy family. Maybe. If he were more like Josh, all brass and wild and all that stuff they say makes a man. Stupid enough to run away and join the military without a clue and money as the leading motivation. Or if he were a girl, like Megan.
But he was neither. He was quiet. Awkward. The odd one out. The shame of the family.
So Jared had taken the punch and the one that followed. And the one after that. He had said sorry, without knowing what he was apologizing for, and avoided looking at his father. Just like his mother always avoided looking at him when he was taking another beating.
---
There was no light to guide Jared's way. He still found his way to the barn. It was an eerie construction, made from black wood that had witnessed decades and weathered storms. These days, the barn was barely more than a ribcage that creaked in the wind. And yet, it held firm. Stubbornly, the old barn refused to die. Jared knew. Despite the holes, the barn still had corners that kept you dry from the rain and warm from the cold. Corners that kept you safe.
The barn had once belonged to a farmer named William Shepherd but even back when Jared had been a kid the barn had been an old thing. Now Bill was old himself and in a nursing home and no one else wanted his land much less the barn. It hadn't seen livestock in ages and any farm equipment of worth had long since been sold. Or stolen.
No one ever came out here anymore. Not even Troy and his buddies, who called themselves a rock band with no place to practice, or Pete and Claire, who thought they had everyone fooled about why they wore long-sleeved shirts in the summer heat.
Once, in middle school, when Jared still had had friends, he had brought them out here. He'd shown them the barn with his heart open and light, but they hadn't seen the barn like he did. Sad, they had called it. Scary, too.
To Jared it was a brave thing. Brave but lonely. Carrying on forever.
Jared reached the barn when faint drops of rain began to hit Jared's bare arms. The atmosphere had changed. A storm was coming.
The barn's big door hung in its hinges. Sagging. Digging deep into the dirt. Jared grabbed it with both hands and pulled. The edge slid through the ground, scraping loudly in the dried out rut. Jared never moved the door far. Just enough to squeeze through. Once inside he pulled it shut and took a deep breath. His left eye throbbed wildly in time with his pulse. Gingerly, Jared cupped it. Waited for it to calm down. Meanwhile, the rain grew heavy and began to drum onto the roof.
With his hands held out in front of him, Jared neared the shelf with the gas lamp and picked it up. Its faint glow painted distorted shadows onto the walls.
He got the box he kept hidden behind an old rack. It was filled with gauze and ibuprofen, with liquor and scissors, a bottle of water and everything else he could find. A make shift first aid kit he'd set up out here for all the times his father wouldn't stop before he'd drawn blood.
A glance in the shard of an old mirror revealed the damage done to Jared's left eye. It was nothing but a small slit by now. Jared washed an ibuprofen down with some water and wiped his mouth.
Loud thunder had him flinch. He glanced through one of the holes in the wall. Lightning struck the field. If this kept up, he'd have to spend the night at the barn. Wouldn't be the first time.
Jared pushed away from the shelf and turned to the four stables. And froze. He wasn't alone.
---
Over a decade ago, missing men had started to turn up dead. The police men who found the first victims would later only have one thought: it was the deed of the devil.
Three of the police men had their stomachs under control but with feet heavy as lead they stood rooted to their ankles in blood. Two police men were outside, throwing up food and bile. One police man sat against the building wall, void of color and desperately clinging to consciousness.
They were too many. Four of them shouldn't even have been there but the first two had called back-up. Not because they needed, there was no one around. No one alive, anyway. They had called back up to make sure someone else saw what they saw. To make sure they hadn't just fallen straight into the pits of hell.
One police man, the oldest of the six, caught his bearings first. Bruno had seen many things in many years - but not this, never this. Filled with disbelief the old police man took another step into the crimson pit. His boots gave a wet smack.
The only light came from a bare bulb. Outside a generator hummed. The light bulb struggled. It cast a dirty orange glow that didn't even reach the walls. Just the bodies.
In that moment, the old police man didn't care about preserving evidence. His mind was far from it. He reached out and touched the first body. It was cold and firm and much more real than it looked. Strung up by its feet, it swayed lightly. There were five more. All of them hung from the ceiling, their throats cut, their faces beaten and swollen beyond recognition. All of them in different stages of decay.
The old police man counted six naked men. Six naked man who were all his age.
---
Jared felt the cold touch of something inhuman against his spine. He stumbled back and hit the wall. Thunder banged loudly outside and Jared flinched forward. His heart hammered in his throat.
There, out of the shadows of the stables stepped one man. He had the eyes of a dragon, old as legends and burning with ferocity. His shoulders were those of a bull, adamant like a fortress.
In the chaos of quivering light and overwhelming darkness he looked more like a beast than a man. His steps were slow but determined and Jared stood helpless. A prisoner in his own body. The man walked towards him, reached out and Jared saw the blood. Saw the knife. Jared closed his eyes.
There was a brush of air against his cheek. He could feel the man's hand close to his cheek. So close but not touching. Then it was gone. Jared heard the sound of clinking metal and opened his eyes again.
The man had picked up the first aid box. He stood close and this time Jared saw the blood on his hands. The blood on his side that had soaked the bottom of his henley. Underneath was a crimson patch of gauze. The man ripped it off with a jerk and Jared flinched in pain. The man didn't.
Blood oozed from a whole the size of a dime. The wound wasn't round, but jagged. A star with frazzled edges. Tiny chunks of flesh clung to the side making it look like someone dug the cherries out of a pie.
Bile rose to the back of Jared's throat but he didn't move. His eyes were caught in a serpent's grasp as he watched calloused fingers stuff the injury with gauze and tape it over with duct tape. The man's chest rose and fell heavily when he straightened up. He had to be in pain but his face didn't show it. Didn't show anything.
The man placed the first aid box onto a pile of old logs by his side and Jared finally got his legs to move. Not taking his eyes off the man, he walked backwards. Felt with one hand behind himself when he touched the door.
"Don't," the man said. His voice rung through the night like a gun shot. A loud boom followed that sounded like the earth had cracked in half. A split second later white light flashed through the barn. Shapes danced in front of Jared's eyes when it was gone.
"It's getting closer."
Jared shivered and peeked through the wholes in the wall. The man was right. The storm was getting closer. If he ran through the fields now, lightning would surely strike him.
Curling his hands into fists, he turned around again. Tried to push down the fear that made his knees shake. He looked up just in time to see the man turn away from him and walk back into the shadows that hid the stables.
Jared grabbed the gas lamp from the shelf and held it tight to his body. Then inched closer to the stables.
From the pit echoed the man's rumbling voice. "What happened to your eye?"
It took Jared a moment to comprehend the question. Then he touched his cheek and remembered. With a lump in his throat he told the darkness, "I fell down."
He heard a low hum and lifted the lamp and finally the light hit the man. With his back to the wall he sat in a corner. An old horse blanket served as a seat cushion. It was Jared's favorite spot. The look on the man's face was distant. Eyes fixed on something only he could see. He cradled his knife over his belly as chapped lips moved around the words, "I used to fall down a lot, too."
Jared hesitated before loud thunder and another bright flash made the decision for him and he sat down in the opposite corner. He sat the lamp down and wrapped his arms around his knees. "What... what do you need the knife for?"
The man rolled his head to the side. Their eyes met and goosebumps rose on Jared's skin. "Protection," the man said with the smile of a shark.
Jared bit his lip and nodded. "Okay," he mumbled. Then, just to be sure, he added, "I won't try to hurt you."
The man just nodded, so Jared didn't say anything else. Quietly, he watched as the man's eyelids drooped and exhaustion claimed his body.
Jared rocked back and forth with his head between his knees until the thunder ebbed off. By the time the rain had ceased the man's grasp on his knife had loosened. Jared pushed to his feet. The man didn't stir. Slowly Jared stepped closer. He saw the shadow under the man's eyes. The unkempt stubbles on his chin. The slight crook in his nose like it had once been broken.
Holding his breath, Jared reached down and pulled the knife from the man's hand. It was lighter than Jared had expected. The blade was crusted with blood but the handle was smooth and clean.
The man shifted and Jared bolted for the door. He ran for thirty yards before his foot caught in the mud and he crashed to his knees. Terrified he glanced over his shoulder. But there was no one after him. A light breeze was the only thing that moved the grain. The barn stood calm in the blue moonlight.
Jared got back to his feet. Jogged home without looking back again.
---
The house was dead silent. All lights were off but the small lamp out back that came to live when Jared got near. It cast a dim light onto the shed that Jared climbed to reach his window. There was a high wailing sound the moment he pushed it open and Jared cursed himself. He'd meant to oil it.
He squeezed himself to the small opening and prayed no one had heard the noise. But his prayer wasn't met. By the time he stood in his room, light had been turned on in the hallway. It shone through the gap under his door. A moment later the shadow of feet appeared and a faint knock sounded from his door.
"Jared?" It was his mother.
Jared sucked in a deep breath of relief. Then he realized he still held the man's bloody knife in his hands. He swirled around on his heels as his eyes shifted through the darkness,. looking for a spot to hide the knife.
Another knock. "Jared, are you home?"
His eyes landed on his backpack. He shoved the knife deep into it and called, "yeah."
The door opened a few inches and his mother peeked inside. “You're late,” she whispered. "I was worried."
"Yeah... I'm sorry. The storm...”
"Jared?"
"Uh-huh?"
"Are you... are you okay?"
Jared huffed a laugh under his breath. Far from it. But that was not what she meant. Not that it mattered. "Yeah, mom, I'm okay."
"Okay, good." A pause. Then, "Baby, why... why do you always do it?"
"What do you mean?"
"Make your father angry."
---
Jared sat in his room on the window sill and glanced into the night. He couldn't see far. Clouds still covered the moon. Every time they moved and the blue light came through, he expected to see the man. His eyes would burn bright in the darkness. He'd walk slowly but with conviction. No need to hurry. He was the kind of man that always got what he wanted. Jared had felt it, deep in his gut. Felt it along side the bitter taste of envy. Jared would bet his left arm no one dared bullying that man.
One day, Jared always thought, one day he'd have a better life. A life without violence. One day he'd have a nice, little apartment in a big city, like maybe San Antonio or Dallas or Houston. He'd live there with someone he loved. A real partner. He'd have his office at home because he'd be an author. A children's book author.
Jared sighed and glanced back into the night. The sky was pitch black. Littered with stars. All of that - the big city, authorship, a lover - was nothing but a childish dream. Jared knew that. All he dared hope for was a decent job in a small city. It'd have to be enough. And as long as it'd get him away from here, from this dried out place in the middle of nowhere, it would be enough. Jared clung to the thought that it was just one more year. One more year then he would be done with high school. It would be his ticket out of here.
Finally, the throbbing around Jared's left eye had dulled enough he'd be able to sleep, so he slid into bed. In his dreams, the dragon eyes came to him. They hovered in the air, bodiless, while Jared stood in a field of wild bulls. It was a strange sight but Jared didn't feel any danger. In his hand rested the knife. Clean this time. Shining bright.
The dark voice echoed in his mind. "Protection," it said and Jared sat on the ground, cradling the knife in his lap. The wild bulls nudged him with noses that were unexpectedly warm and squishy. Jared smiled. For the first time in a long time he actually felt safe.
---
Jared woke with a yawn and sat up. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and flinched when his knuckles hit the bruises. Goosebumps rose on Jared's skin as yesterday's events came back to him and suddenly he was wide awake.
---
Armed with some food, a bottle of water, a towel and some anti-inflammatory pills, Jared reached the barn. The sun was rising on the horizon. Faint rays shone through the holes in the ceiling but only a few of them had the strength to reach the ground. Every time Jared came here in the mornings, he felt like he'd stepped into a different world.
Carefully, Jared walked through the dim light towards the stables. There, in the shadows, Jared made out the shape of the man. He lay on the ground. Unmoving.
Jared stepped closer. Saw the man's chest slowly rising and falling. Still alive. Jared hunched down by the man's side. Touched his arm. No reaction. He felt his forehead. It was warm but not scorching. No infection had taken hold. He placed the meds next to the food anyway.
The edge of a wallet stuck out from the man's jeans pocket. Carefully, Jared picked it up. Kept an eye on the man's face just in case. But the man didn't stir so Jared turned to the wallet. It was a worn out thing and made of leather. Dark stains, too old to recognize their cause, marred the surface.
Jared flipped it open and had a look at the ID. The date of birth was listed as March 1st, 1978, which made him 31. That was fourteen years older than him, Jared noticed absentmindedly.
Fourteen... the number together with the name rung a bell. Then Jared remembered.
Last Sunday, he had been clearing the dinner table while his father had taken his seat in the armchair and turned on the TV. The news with Neil Vermont had been on and Jared had looked up. He loved that guy's voice. Didn't mind how he looked either. But what Vermont had had to say was serious.
"...sheriff's office revealed the identity of the Lone Star Devil suspect as a caucasian male by the name of Jensen Ackles. Upon an attempt to arrest the suspect at his last known address in Richardson, Texas, a gun fight between the local authorities and the suspect took place during which Ackles managed to escape. He has since been on the run and is thought to be injured as well as armed. Ackles is 31 years old, 6 feet tall and of an athletic build. It is highly advised that you do not approach him but instead call 911 or your local sheriff's office if you have any information about Ackles' whereabouts. To this day, the authorities link 47 murders that took place over the past fourteen years to the Lone Star Devil. This makes the Lone Star Devil one of the most prolific serial killers in the United States, coming in close to the Green River Killer, who was arrested in 2001 and convicted of 49 murders. All known victims of the Lone Star Devil have been middle aged men from Texas. However, further connections between the victims are not known as of yet."
The entire news report had been supported by footage of body bags, yellow crime scene tape and disturbed police men. They had also shown a picture of Jensen Ackles. It had been a group shot with the people around him blurred out. The picture had shown a handsome man with a bold smile. Even some freckles. The thing that had shocked Jared the most was the realization that if this man had started killing fourteen years ago, he had only been the age Jared was now.
Jared glanced back at the ID. It read Jensen Ackles and his height was listed as 6 feet. The picture matched the man's face. Matched the Lone Star Devil. With trembling fingers, Jared put the ID and wallet back into the devil's pocket. Then he high tailed it out of the barn.
---
The school bus rumbled down the country road. Jared hid in his seat. Head bouncing off of the window on every bump. He knew he should call the police. But that meant showing them his barn.
Jared sighed. I used to fall a lot, too, the devil had said. Like he'd known what Jared had really meant. Like he'd understood.
A low thud to his left startled Jared from his thoughts. Sandy had dropped into the seat next to him. She hadn't done that since they were kids. He looked up in mild curiosity.
“Hey,” she said and smiled at him.
“Hey yourself,” he said.
Sandy tucked a strand of her long black hair behind her ear. Then tilted her head and leaned forward. Looked at him flirtatiously. She wanted something and Jared braced himself for whatever was about to come.
“It's been a while, hasn't it, Jared? Been so long. Too long, hasn't it? How come we never hang out anymore?"
Jared shrugged. Offered a hesitant smile. "Beats me," he lied.
She laughed at that. But it was strained. He remembered when they were little, her laugh had been clear as a bell. Mostly. Sometimes, when she'd really gotten into it, a snort would have mingled in, making her laugh even more.
"Well, we definitely should hang out again, sometime." Sandy shrugged. "Like you could join me and my friends for study group."
Jared was taken by surprise. "You sure? I mean..."
"Yeah, well..." Another shrug. "We're all kind of stumped by algebra right now. Maybe you could help us out?"
"Are you serious? I mean, yes, sure." He tried to play it cool but a timid smile pulled at his lips nonetheless. "It's really not that hard once it clicks, I promise. Uh, when do you guys meet?"
"Usually on Friday's at Ricky's."
Jared's heart stopped. He had to clear his throat. "Is Ricky still friends with Clark?"
"Yeah, why?"
"Will Clark be there, too?"
At that Sandy scoffed a laugh. "No. God knows he should be but he's too lazy to study. Sometimes we hang out with him later, but..." She gave a lopsided shrug. "You're not a party person anyway, are you? Anyway," she said and straightened up. "Can I maybe borrow your algebra homework until we get to school? Me and the girls wanna check if we got it right."
Jared's eyes went wide. "Shit," he gasped. He'd totally forgotten about homework. "I- uh, I...” he stammered, “I don't have it.”
“Very funny, Jared.” She knocked him in the shoulder. “Come on, please?”
“I'm not joking, I swear. I don't have it. I'm sorry.”
Her whole demeanor changed. Her eyebrows pulled together and her lips pursed in a look of contempt. “Asshole,” she spat at him and jumped out of the seat.
Jared tried to ignore what had just happened. Tried not to think of the time when they had been kids and chased butterflies through the fields together. He unzipped his backpack and reached in for his textbook. His fingertips glided over the cool edge of the devil's knife. For a moment he closed his hand around the grip. Felt the weight. The smooth surface.
He'd been a fool to believe anyone had forgotten. Or at least stopped caring. Had been a fool to believe he'd still get to have friends for the rest of high school.
Carry on, he thought to himself. Just carry on.
---
When the bus arrived at school, there were fifteen minutes left before the first bell. Fifteen minutes before AP math. Jared used them to work on his algebra homework. Or tried to. When Jared was halfway through the second problem, a shadow blocked the sun and a glimmering smoke fell to the ground just short of his shoe.
He glanced up from where he sat against the building's wall. Clark Richards stood over him. He stomped the smoke out with his faded boots. Other students went past him, bumped against his backpack but it didn't faze Clark. And no one paid them any attention.
Clark's hands were burried in his football jacket. He said, "Hey." His tone was anything but friendly, though. The snide smirk didn't help either.
Jared sighed. Sat his book down. “Leave me alone, Clark. Please.”
“That's not a very nice greeting,” Clark said and stepped closer.
Jared locked his knees and pushed up. But he didn't get far. Clark rammed a boot into his crotch. Forced him right back down. Stars danced in front of Jared's eyes and he gasped out in pain. Clutched Clark's foot and tried to shove him back, but Clark had the better leverage.
People were still walking past them. Still getting caught on Clark's backpack. But they still didn't notice. Or didn't care. Either way, no one stopped.
Not even when Clark twisted his boot further into his crotch, laughed and said, "wanna try that again?" while tears of pain blurred Jared's vision. He curled around the ache in his groin when his elbow bumped against his backpack and he remembered the knife. The devil's weapon. It had already seen blood. He craned his neck back and caught Clark's eyes. “I'll kill you,” he croaked. The devil's weapon would know how.
Clark's foot froze in place. Doubt, even fear flickered on Clark's face before it went blank and he burst out another laugh. “Yeah, right.” He twisted his boot one last time before he pulled back. “You don't got the guts to hurt a fly, Padalecki.”
Jared folded in on himself, cradling his privates. He squeezed his eyes shut against the tears. Yeah, he didn't have the guts to hurt anyone. Unfortunately everyone knew that. And a knife in his backpack didn't change any of that.
Something hit his foot just before someone cursed. "Damnit," a voice he didn't recognize said. "Get out of the fucking way, Padalecki."
Everyone knew him, though.
---
After classes, Jared scrambled his stuff together and hurried outside. His peers cleared a path. Like they always did. No one wanted to touch him.
Today, for the first time in a long time, he didn't mind. He just wanted to get home. Wanted to get to the barn.
He bypassed the stop for the school bus. It wouldn't leave for another fifteen minutes and Clark might be there. Jared never knew when the guy decided to take the bus.
Down the street was the stop for the regular bus. It'd leave in six minutes and it'd cost him some money but he didn't care. The news stand next to it made Jared halt. The San Antonio Herald shouted at him: Lone Star Devil Headed for San Antonio?
Jared picked it up with trembling hands.
"You want it?" The clerk asked.
With a shaky nod, Jared dropped the money in the clerks hand and headed for the bus station. Once in his seat, Jared flipped the newspaper open. The article was a rehash of the news report he'd seen last week followed by a summary of the latest crime scene. There was one new piece of information, though.
A surveillance photo had been added. It showed Ackles entering a train. The article didn't specifiy which exact route it had been. Only described it as heading south. Furthermore it stated that the police was focusing its search on the Austin and San Antonio area.
---
Jared sat in the bus and stared outside at the cornfields. The low hanging sun gave the grain a red-gold hue. Everything looked rusty. Old.
The article wouldn't leave his mind. The police were closing in. Jared wondered how close they'd already gotten. Wondered if the man knew.
Either way, the man had to leave soon. If he hadn't already moved on.
Jared swallowed hard. His home lay south of the barn. If the man had indeed continued his way, he'd happen upon it. Jared's thoughts strayed. He pictured his mother crumpled on the couch like that one time Dad had nearly lost his mind, with her shirt torn and her skirt on the floor. Only this time, her eyes wouldn't be crying. This time they'd be blank, staring into another world. And there'd be blood. Lots of blood.
Megan would lie on the floor. She'd be in the hallway, though, because she would have been trying to run away. But she wouldn't have made it. The devil would have caught her with the strength of a bull. He'd snatch her by the hair and ram his knife into her back. And all the time she would be crying, too.
Then there'd be his Dad. He'd be in the garage getting his shotgun while his family was slaughtered. He wouldn't know that the damn thing was useless. The devil would take his time with him. He would find him and he'd do to him what he had done to those other men. And when Jared came home he'd cry for his mother, he'd shed a tear for his sister but he'd stand over his dad's body and he'd laugh.
The bus screeched to a stop and Jared startled from his fantasy. It was his stop. He jumped up and rushed out of the bus.
He stood by the side of the bloody cornfield and watched after the bus. A breeze went through the field. It was warm, had to be, it was a hot day, but goosebumps still showed on Jared's skin. He was drenched in cold sweat. Terrified by his own imagination.
---
Back home, he peeked carefully in the hallway. The walls were still white. His sister didn't lie on the floor.
Instead he heard voices from the kitchen. Slowly he went over. His mother stood at the stove preparing lunch. Megan sat at the kitchen table, doing homework, mumbling as she read the tasks. When he saw everything was fine, he hugged his mother from behind and gave her a peck on the cheek. She smiled up to him in surprise. “You're home early.”
“Yeah, I took the regular bus.”
“Oh, ok.”
"I'll go study outside, alright?"
She nodded and called after him. “Lunch will be ready in twenty minutes.”
---
Breathless, Jared reached the barn. He squeezed through the door and carefully walked towards the stables.
The man was still there. He was awake, now. He sat against the wall, his mouth crusted with blood. In his hand, he held the half eaten body of a mouse. His voice was a hoarse rumble. "The hell am I supposed to do with fruit?"
Jared turned sideways just in time. He doubled over and vomited. Hand clutching the wall, he gasped, "You gotta leave."
He heard the shift and when he looked the man had pushed to his feet. It was a strain on his body. His face was pale and a thin layer of sweat formed on his skin. There were dark circles under his eyes. But he stood. He stood and Jared knew he was still capable of killing him. Would always be. The way he held himself up like this made Jared certain that nothing short off a headshot was enough to take him out.
Jared leant against the wall, his knees getting weak. "The police-"
"Irrelevant." The man kept coming closer. There was no fear in his eyes. Not of him. Not of the police. Not of death.
He stopped right in front of Jared. Tilted his head to get a better look. "My knife."
"I hid it," Jared blurted it out.
"You use it?"
Jared shook his head. Dropped his gaze to the floor.
"You wanted to." A faint touch on his cheek made Jared glance back up. The man had reached out. His fingertips cold, calloused. Careful though. Respectful even. Jared's breath caught in his throat. The man's eyes pierced right through him. And for the first time Jared felt like someone saw him. Really saw him.
He bit the inside of his cheek to keep the tears at bay. "I couldn't. Can't."
The man dropped his hand. Nodded.
Jared wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "I gotta go," he mumbled. Rushed past the man. Wasn't stopped. Wasn't followed.
---
He entered through the yard door and found his mom still in the kitchen. She was juggling three pots. Megan was still at the table, doing her homework. So Jared grabbed three plates from the cupboards then hesitated.
“Is Gerald gonna be home for lunch?”
His mother shook her head. “No, not today.” She paused. “Will you call him, Dad, please? You know he wants you to.”
“I won't if he ain't here,” he said defiantly.
His sister looked up. “Well, then I'll just tell him you don't call him Dad.”
Jared sighed. "Mom?"
But his mother just shook her head. Went back to the food.
Megan grinned at him with a smug smile. Daddy's little princess.
Mom put the food on the table and they all sat down. Then Mom held out her hands and they took it. “Jared?” She asked. He nodded and said a prayer of thanks.
---
Carrying a plate with leftovers and a fresh bottle of water in the other, Jared went back to the barn. He squeezed through the door and was immersed by the dim light. He sneaked towards the stable and glanced in. The man was sleeping. Carefully, Jared hunched down by his side and touched his shoulder. Ackles eyes snapped open and he snatched Jared's wrist in the blink of an eye. The grip hurt worse than Gerald's ever had. It fell away as soon as the man saw it was him.
Jared dropped back on his ass, but kept his face even. Or at least did his damn best to. “I brought you food. Real food.”
The man's eyes shifted to the plate. Then he let go of him and reached for the food instead. He had no manners to speak off. He just shoved into his mouth what fit into his hand. Barely chewed before he swallowed it.
Jared smiled in compassion. He knew what it was like to be that hungry. When the man coughed, Jared handed him the water. Then the pill. Ackles washed it down and burped before he looked back at Jared. “Thanks.”
Jared gave him a shy nod. "'s okay." He sighed and sat back. "I know who you are. Read about you in the newspaper today. They know you took the train headed south." He paused. Bit his lip. "I didn't call the police, you know?"
The man didn't answer. Didn't look surprised. Didn't look fazed at all.
"You're not scared of anything, are you?"
"Not anymore," the man said.
"Why not?"
"Because I decided not to be."
---
Jared returned to find his family in the living room. Gerald sat on his armchair and glanced at him.
"Hello, Dad," Jared said, forcing the words past his lips. Gerald nodded. Tipped a bottle of beer to his lips and turned back to the TV. Then gave a quiet. "Hey."
Apparently he was in a good mood tonight. So Jared took a seat on the couch and glanced at the TV. The news were on. Something about politics. He yawned. But the next segment caught his attention.
Neil Vermont was uttering a warning. "...Jensen Ackles, a suspect in the Lone Star Devil case was last seen in the small town Beverdon, just south of San Antonio. He is likely armed and dangerous. If you should see him, do not approach him. Instead call 911 or your local sheriff. The sheriff's office appreciates any further information that will lead to his arrest."
Jared swallowed hard. He glanced into the round. His mom and Megan were petrified. "That's... this man, he's just one county over," his mother whispered behind her hands.
"Bullshit," Gerald said. "That guy's probably long over the state border. Or in Mexico. Police can't do shit right these days."
"But..."
"No buts," Gerald snarled. "I tell you what, that fucker shows his face on my property, I'll blow it right off with a load of shotgun rounds. That'll teach him what we think of murderers here in Texas." He took a swig of his beer. "Fucking prick."
Jared didn't know if he should laugh at the irony of Gerald wanting to teach a murderer by murdering him or be scared for the man in the shed. And despite everything, the man might even be innocent. Might have been wrongly accused.
Jared chewed on his thumb nail. The man in the barn was odd. Scary even. But if that man in the barn was a serial killer, he'd have already killed him. Certainly. Probably.
---
The former police man brushed his thumb over the gold surface of his old badge. For three years Bruno had been retired. For three years he'd tried to leave that case behind. Told himself he'd be okay. Someone else would take over. It was his time to find happiness.
But that apparently wasn't meant to be. Like his marriages hadn't been.
He was a fool in these things. Or maybe he was just trying to be blind.
Bruno put the badge into his pocket and turned off the news. The images of those men, strung up like pigs at a butchery played on a loop in his head. He wished he could just turn them off, too.
Three years ago, bitter about that unsolved case that had kept him busy for over a decade, he had moved to San Antonio. And now, the devil had come here, too.
---
P.E. was Jared's last class the next day. Everyone in the locker room was talking, shouting. Laughing. Jared sat in a corner by himself. No one shared the bench with him. No one even offered him so much as a glance. Or so he thought.
It was only when everyone headed into the gym that he realized Clark had stayed behind. Jared had just pulled his shirt over his head when he came up behind him.
"Why don't you finally quit school like Jeremy did, huh?" Clark asked, sitting down on the bench to his left. Jared tried to ignore him, but Clark went on anyway. "No one wants you here, don't you get it?" Then he got back to his feet and pointed at Jared's bruises. "These from your lover? He fuck you good?"
Jared thought of the knife in his backpack. He straightened up and turned to face Clark. "No. They're not. You put them there." He swallowed around a lump. "You and my father put them there."
Clark's face went ashen. He pushed to his feet, eyes twitching. "Yeah, well... fuck you, Padalecki," he said and headed for the gym. He threw a last glance over his shoulder, mumbled, "I don't need this shit from a guy like you." Then he went through the door.
Jared deflated. He sank down onto the bench and buried his face in his hands. Like he could just change schools. Gerald would tear him a new one if he so much as asked.
---
The sun stood low on the horizon when Jared reached the barn. Slowly, he walked into its belly. Glanced into the stables. The man sat against the wall, chin against his chest.
"Uhm... hello?" Jared said.
The man looked up.
"How are you?"
"Ripe."
Jared couldn't help but chuckle. "Yeah, uh...I'll see if I can get you a change of clothes tomorrow." He bit his teeth and picked up the lamp. "Listen, would you mind if I stayed here for a bit? Do my homework?"
The man just shrugged. Dropped his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. So Jared sat down and took out his history book. After a while he heard the man shift. When he looked up the man was staring at him. "Why?"
"Why what?"
"No police."
Jared cleared his throat. Averted his eyes. "I can still call them." He paused. "I don't even know if you're guilty. I figured you could be innocent."
A low chuckled rumbled from the man's throat. "I ain't innocent."
The blood drained from Jared's face. He closed his history book and pressed it against his chest. "You gonna kill me?"
"No." The man said. "You're just a kid." He sighed. "'sides. You still got my knife. You could kill me."
"Yeah," he mumbled. "I could."
Silence settled over them. It stayed with them for a long time before the man spoke again. "I know," he said.
"Know what?" Jared asked.
"You don't call the police because you don't want them in your barn."
"It's not my barn," he said, quickly. Too quickly.
"Yet, you come here everyday." He glanced at him. "With new bruises."
Jared's fingers dug hard into the pages of his history book. The pen he was holding gave a creaking sound under the pressure.
The man kept talking. "There was a small river where I grew up. One day, I found a small cave at its side. I didn't own it, but it was mine anyway. I never wanted anyone there, either. Especially not my father."
Jared's breath came quick. "You... you said you fell down a lot, too."
"Yeah."
"W-why... why do they do it?"
The man shrugged. But his fingers dug deep into his biceps. Blood began to rise to the surface in half moon shapes. "Beats me," he said through gritted teeth.
---
The next morning Gerald had a bad day. Thick shadows sat under his eyes. He stood hunched over the coffee maker and Jared froze in the kitchen door. His first class had been cancelled. No one but him should still be here. There was no sign of Jared's mother or Megan. Gerald, though, looked up. Looked right at him. "School called. You started a fight with that Richards boy?"
"What? No... I- he started it."
Gerald straightened. Walked up to him. "You do realize when his Dad fires me, we'll be on the streets. Do you, you little shit?"
"He started it! And it wasn't even a fight. He's been bullying me for-" The exploding pain in his cheek cut Jared off. Gerald had taken a swing, leaving him no chance to finish. Jared should have known his father didn't care. Didn't care about anyone but himself.
The strong grip around his arm stopped Jared from falling. He was jerked upright and the next hit landed in his side before he could even bring his free arm up to defend himself.
Two more punches followed before Gerald dropped him to the floor. Jared curled up on himself, nausea rising in his gut. A slimy blotch of spit hit his cheek.
"You better pray that Richards boy ain't a whiny bitch like you, you little shit." Jared heard the words. Then the slip-slide of a belt being pulled from it's loops. He tensed up and the next moment he felt the sharp slap against his back. He clenched his jaw against the pain but after the third hit, he couldn't keep himself from crying out.
Gerald hit him three more times before he took a step back and said. "You ain't going to school today, you hear me? You'll chop up the firewood. All of it."
He nodded. Sucked in a deep breath and between choked sobs forced his lips to form the words, "Yes, Sir."
His father fastened his belt and grabbed his jacket. Jared watched from the cold floor as Gerald left for work. Left him bleeding.
Trembling, Jared stumbled to his feet and went to the only place he knew. Went to the man in the barn.
---
The man was sitting on his make-shift bed. Staring at the floor. Seeing god knows what.
Jared bit his teeth when he went into the stables. The man didn't lift his head. Just glanced up from under his eyebrows.
"Can you..." Jared's voice cracked. "Can you maybe help me patch this up?"
At the confused frown, he turned around and lifted his shirt. He hadn't needed to check in the mirror. He could feel small trails of blood run down the ridge of his spine.
Cold, calloused fingers suddenly touched his shoulders and Jared flinched. Then relaxed as the man inspected his injuries.
"You fell down again?"
A nod of the head was all Jared managed.
"Your father still home?" The man said. It was the low growl of a lion ready to maul its prey.
Jared shook his head. "No one's home but me. I ain't allowed to go to school today, too. He wants me to chop all the fire wood. I don't... I can't..."
"All right," the man said, but his voice sounded off. Jared couldn't tell how he meant it. Then the man shouldered the barn door open. The light blinded Jared. When his eyes adjusted, he saw the man hold out a hand.
"Let's go," the man said.
Jared's cheeks ached from the strain of holding back his tears. He nodded and took the man's hand. "I... I'm Jared."
"Jensen," the man said.
Part 2
Part 1
Jared Padalecki walked through pitch black darkness. Heavy clouds blocked out the moon and the stars. The night engulfed Jared, swallowed him whole and surrounded him with deep silence.
Endless grain-fields spread out under Jared's feet. Jared held his hands out. The grain swayed lightly back and forth, a shy touch against his fingertips. A faint breeze lingered in the air. It soothed his left eye that continued to throb hot and tight.
Jared's father didn't know much but he knew how to throw a punch. He'd been a boxer in high school. Jared wondered where his honor had gone. Washed down by whisky, Jared assumed. Leaving just that bitter taste of regret. Illusions of could-have-beens. Realizations of never-wanted-tos that had become all there was.
Jared knew that feeling. They could have been a happy family. Maybe. If he were more like Josh, all brass and wild and all that stuff they say makes a man. Stupid enough to run away and join the military without a clue and money as the leading motivation. Or if he were a girl, like Megan.
But he was neither. He was quiet. Awkward. The odd one out. The shame of the family.
So Jared had taken the punch and the one that followed. And the one after that. He had said sorry, without knowing what he was apologizing for, and avoided looking at his father. Just like his mother always avoided looking at him when he was taking another beating.
---
There was no light to guide Jared's way. He still found his way to the barn. It was an eerie construction, made from black wood that had witnessed decades and weathered storms. These days, the barn was barely more than a ribcage that creaked in the wind. And yet, it held firm. Stubbornly, the old barn refused to die. Jared knew. Despite the holes, the barn still had corners that kept you dry from the rain and warm from the cold. Corners that kept you safe.
The barn had once belonged to a farmer named William Shepherd but even back when Jared had been a kid the barn had been an old thing. Now Bill was old himself and in a nursing home and no one else wanted his land much less the barn. It hadn't seen livestock in ages and any farm equipment of worth had long since been sold. Or stolen.
No one ever came out here anymore. Not even Troy and his buddies, who called themselves a rock band with no place to practice, or Pete and Claire, who thought they had everyone fooled about why they wore long-sleeved shirts in the summer heat.
Once, in middle school, when Jared still had had friends, he had brought them out here. He'd shown them the barn with his heart open and light, but they hadn't seen the barn like he did. Sad, they had called it. Scary, too.
To Jared it was a brave thing. Brave but lonely. Carrying on forever.
Jared reached the barn when faint drops of rain began to hit Jared's bare arms. The atmosphere had changed. A storm was coming.
The barn's big door hung in its hinges. Sagging. Digging deep into the dirt. Jared grabbed it with both hands and pulled. The edge slid through the ground, scraping loudly in the dried out rut. Jared never moved the door far. Just enough to squeeze through. Once inside he pulled it shut and took a deep breath. His left eye throbbed wildly in time with his pulse. Gingerly, Jared cupped it. Waited for it to calm down. Meanwhile, the rain grew heavy and began to drum onto the roof.
With his hands held out in front of him, Jared neared the shelf with the gas lamp and picked it up. Its faint glow painted distorted shadows onto the walls.
He got the box he kept hidden behind an old rack. It was filled with gauze and ibuprofen, with liquor and scissors, a bottle of water and everything else he could find. A make shift first aid kit he'd set up out here for all the times his father wouldn't stop before he'd drawn blood.
A glance in the shard of an old mirror revealed the damage done to Jared's left eye. It was nothing but a small slit by now. Jared washed an ibuprofen down with some water and wiped his mouth.
Loud thunder had him flinch. He glanced through one of the holes in the wall. Lightning struck the field. If this kept up, he'd have to spend the night at the barn. Wouldn't be the first time.
Jared pushed away from the shelf and turned to the four stables. And froze. He wasn't alone.
---
Over a decade ago, missing men had started to turn up dead. The police men who found the first victims would later only have one thought: it was the deed of the devil.
Three of the police men had their stomachs under control but with feet heavy as lead they stood rooted to their ankles in blood. Two police men were outside, throwing up food and bile. One police man sat against the building wall, void of color and desperately clinging to consciousness.
They were too many. Four of them shouldn't even have been there but the first two had called back-up. Not because they needed, there was no one around. No one alive, anyway. They had called back up to make sure someone else saw what they saw. To make sure they hadn't just fallen straight into the pits of hell.
One police man, the oldest of the six, caught his bearings first. Bruno had seen many things in many years - but not this, never this. Filled with disbelief the old police man took another step into the crimson pit. His boots gave a wet smack.
The only light came from a bare bulb. Outside a generator hummed. The light bulb struggled. It cast a dirty orange glow that didn't even reach the walls. Just the bodies.
In that moment, the old police man didn't care about preserving evidence. His mind was far from it. He reached out and touched the first body. It was cold and firm and much more real than it looked. Strung up by its feet, it swayed lightly. There were five more. All of them hung from the ceiling, their throats cut, their faces beaten and swollen beyond recognition. All of them in different stages of decay.
The old police man counted six naked men. Six naked man who were all his age.
---
Jared felt the cold touch of something inhuman against his spine. He stumbled back and hit the wall. Thunder banged loudly outside and Jared flinched forward. His heart hammered in his throat.
There, out of the shadows of the stables stepped one man. He had the eyes of a dragon, old as legends and burning with ferocity. His shoulders were those of a bull, adamant like a fortress.
In the chaos of quivering light and overwhelming darkness he looked more like a beast than a man. His steps were slow but determined and Jared stood helpless. A prisoner in his own body. The man walked towards him, reached out and Jared saw the blood. Saw the knife. Jared closed his eyes.
There was a brush of air against his cheek. He could feel the man's hand close to his cheek. So close but not touching. Then it was gone. Jared heard the sound of clinking metal and opened his eyes again.
The man had picked up the first aid box. He stood close and this time Jared saw the blood on his hands. The blood on his side that had soaked the bottom of his henley. Underneath was a crimson patch of gauze. The man ripped it off with a jerk and Jared flinched in pain. The man didn't.
Blood oozed from a whole the size of a dime. The wound wasn't round, but jagged. A star with frazzled edges. Tiny chunks of flesh clung to the side making it look like someone dug the cherries out of a pie.
Bile rose to the back of Jared's throat but he didn't move. His eyes were caught in a serpent's grasp as he watched calloused fingers stuff the injury with gauze and tape it over with duct tape. The man's chest rose and fell heavily when he straightened up. He had to be in pain but his face didn't show it. Didn't show anything.
The man placed the first aid box onto a pile of old logs by his side and Jared finally got his legs to move. Not taking his eyes off the man, he walked backwards. Felt with one hand behind himself when he touched the door.
"Don't," the man said. His voice rung through the night like a gun shot. A loud boom followed that sounded like the earth had cracked in half. A split second later white light flashed through the barn. Shapes danced in front of Jared's eyes when it was gone.
"It's getting closer."
Jared shivered and peeked through the wholes in the wall. The man was right. The storm was getting closer. If he ran through the fields now, lightning would surely strike him.
Curling his hands into fists, he turned around again. Tried to push down the fear that made his knees shake. He looked up just in time to see the man turn away from him and walk back into the shadows that hid the stables.
Jared grabbed the gas lamp from the shelf and held it tight to his body. Then inched closer to the stables.
From the pit echoed the man's rumbling voice. "What happened to your eye?"
It took Jared a moment to comprehend the question. Then he touched his cheek and remembered. With a lump in his throat he told the darkness, "I fell down."
He heard a low hum and lifted the lamp and finally the light hit the man. With his back to the wall he sat in a corner. An old horse blanket served as a seat cushion. It was Jared's favorite spot. The look on the man's face was distant. Eyes fixed on something only he could see. He cradled his knife over his belly as chapped lips moved around the words, "I used to fall down a lot, too."
Jared hesitated before loud thunder and another bright flash made the decision for him and he sat down in the opposite corner. He sat the lamp down and wrapped his arms around his knees. "What... what do you need the knife for?"
The man rolled his head to the side. Their eyes met and goosebumps rose on Jared's skin. "Protection," the man said with the smile of a shark.
Jared bit his lip and nodded. "Okay," he mumbled. Then, just to be sure, he added, "I won't try to hurt you."
The man just nodded, so Jared didn't say anything else. Quietly, he watched as the man's eyelids drooped and exhaustion claimed his body.
Jared rocked back and forth with his head between his knees until the thunder ebbed off. By the time the rain had ceased the man's grasp on his knife had loosened. Jared pushed to his feet. The man didn't stir. Slowly Jared stepped closer. He saw the shadow under the man's eyes. The unkempt stubbles on his chin. The slight crook in his nose like it had once been broken.
Holding his breath, Jared reached down and pulled the knife from the man's hand. It was lighter than Jared had expected. The blade was crusted with blood but the handle was smooth and clean.
The man shifted and Jared bolted for the door. He ran for thirty yards before his foot caught in the mud and he crashed to his knees. Terrified he glanced over his shoulder. But there was no one after him. A light breeze was the only thing that moved the grain. The barn stood calm in the blue moonlight.
Jared got back to his feet. Jogged home without looking back again.
---
The house was dead silent. All lights were off but the small lamp out back that came to live when Jared got near. It cast a dim light onto the shed that Jared climbed to reach his window. There was a high wailing sound the moment he pushed it open and Jared cursed himself. He'd meant to oil it.
He squeezed himself to the small opening and prayed no one had heard the noise. But his prayer wasn't met. By the time he stood in his room, light had been turned on in the hallway. It shone through the gap under his door. A moment later the shadow of feet appeared and a faint knock sounded from his door.
"Jared?" It was his mother.
Jared sucked in a deep breath of relief. Then he realized he still held the man's bloody knife in his hands. He swirled around on his heels as his eyes shifted through the darkness,. looking for a spot to hide the knife.
Another knock. "Jared, are you home?"
His eyes landed on his backpack. He shoved the knife deep into it and called, "yeah."
The door opened a few inches and his mother peeked inside. “You're late,” she whispered. "I was worried."
"Yeah... I'm sorry. The storm...”
"Jared?"
"Uh-huh?"
"Are you... are you okay?"
Jared huffed a laugh under his breath. Far from it. But that was not what she meant. Not that it mattered. "Yeah, mom, I'm okay."
"Okay, good." A pause. Then, "Baby, why... why do you always do it?"
"What do you mean?"
"Make your father angry."
---
Jared sat in his room on the window sill and glanced into the night. He couldn't see far. Clouds still covered the moon. Every time they moved and the blue light came through, he expected to see the man. His eyes would burn bright in the darkness. He'd walk slowly but with conviction. No need to hurry. He was the kind of man that always got what he wanted. Jared had felt it, deep in his gut. Felt it along side the bitter taste of envy. Jared would bet his left arm no one dared bullying that man.
One day, Jared always thought, one day he'd have a better life. A life without violence. One day he'd have a nice, little apartment in a big city, like maybe San Antonio or Dallas or Houston. He'd live there with someone he loved. A real partner. He'd have his office at home because he'd be an author. A children's book author.
Jared sighed and glanced back into the night. The sky was pitch black. Littered with stars. All of that - the big city, authorship, a lover - was nothing but a childish dream. Jared knew that. All he dared hope for was a decent job in a small city. It'd have to be enough. And as long as it'd get him away from here, from this dried out place in the middle of nowhere, it would be enough. Jared clung to the thought that it was just one more year. One more year then he would be done with high school. It would be his ticket out of here.
Finally, the throbbing around Jared's left eye had dulled enough he'd be able to sleep, so he slid into bed. In his dreams, the dragon eyes came to him. They hovered in the air, bodiless, while Jared stood in a field of wild bulls. It was a strange sight but Jared didn't feel any danger. In his hand rested the knife. Clean this time. Shining bright.
The dark voice echoed in his mind. "Protection," it said and Jared sat on the ground, cradling the knife in his lap. The wild bulls nudged him with noses that were unexpectedly warm and squishy. Jared smiled. For the first time in a long time he actually felt safe.
---
Jared woke with a yawn and sat up. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and flinched when his knuckles hit the bruises. Goosebumps rose on Jared's skin as yesterday's events came back to him and suddenly he was wide awake.
---
Armed with some food, a bottle of water, a towel and some anti-inflammatory pills, Jared reached the barn. The sun was rising on the horizon. Faint rays shone through the holes in the ceiling but only a few of them had the strength to reach the ground. Every time Jared came here in the mornings, he felt like he'd stepped into a different world.
Carefully, Jared walked through the dim light towards the stables. There, in the shadows, Jared made out the shape of the man. He lay on the ground. Unmoving.
Jared stepped closer. Saw the man's chest slowly rising and falling. Still alive. Jared hunched down by the man's side. Touched his arm. No reaction. He felt his forehead. It was warm but not scorching. No infection had taken hold. He placed the meds next to the food anyway.
The edge of a wallet stuck out from the man's jeans pocket. Carefully, Jared picked it up. Kept an eye on the man's face just in case. But the man didn't stir so Jared turned to the wallet. It was a worn out thing and made of leather. Dark stains, too old to recognize their cause, marred the surface.
Jared flipped it open and had a look at the ID. The date of birth was listed as March 1st, 1978, which made him 31. That was fourteen years older than him, Jared noticed absentmindedly.
Fourteen... the number together with the name rung a bell. Then Jared remembered.
Last Sunday, he had been clearing the dinner table while his father had taken his seat in the armchair and turned on the TV. The news with Neil Vermont had been on and Jared had looked up. He loved that guy's voice. Didn't mind how he looked either. But what Vermont had had to say was serious.
"...sheriff's office revealed the identity of the Lone Star Devil suspect as a caucasian male by the name of Jensen Ackles. Upon an attempt to arrest the suspect at his last known address in Richardson, Texas, a gun fight between the local authorities and the suspect took place during which Ackles managed to escape. He has since been on the run and is thought to be injured as well as armed. Ackles is 31 years old, 6 feet tall and of an athletic build. It is highly advised that you do not approach him but instead call 911 or your local sheriff's office if you have any information about Ackles' whereabouts. To this day, the authorities link 47 murders that took place over the past fourteen years to the Lone Star Devil. This makes the Lone Star Devil one of the most prolific serial killers in the United States, coming in close to the Green River Killer, who was arrested in 2001 and convicted of 49 murders. All known victims of the Lone Star Devil have been middle aged men from Texas. However, further connections between the victims are not known as of yet."
The entire news report had been supported by footage of body bags, yellow crime scene tape and disturbed police men. They had also shown a picture of Jensen Ackles. It had been a group shot with the people around him blurred out. The picture had shown a handsome man with a bold smile. Even some freckles. The thing that had shocked Jared the most was the realization that if this man had started killing fourteen years ago, he had only been the age Jared was now.
Jared glanced back at the ID. It read Jensen Ackles and his height was listed as 6 feet. The picture matched the man's face. Matched the Lone Star Devil. With trembling fingers, Jared put the ID and wallet back into the devil's pocket. Then he high tailed it out of the barn.
---
The school bus rumbled down the country road. Jared hid in his seat. Head bouncing off of the window on every bump. He knew he should call the police. But that meant showing them his barn.
Jared sighed. I used to fall a lot, too, the devil had said. Like he'd known what Jared had really meant. Like he'd understood.
A low thud to his left startled Jared from his thoughts. Sandy had dropped into the seat next to him. She hadn't done that since they were kids. He looked up in mild curiosity.
“Hey,” she said and smiled at him.
“Hey yourself,” he said.
Sandy tucked a strand of her long black hair behind her ear. Then tilted her head and leaned forward. Looked at him flirtatiously. She wanted something and Jared braced himself for whatever was about to come.
“It's been a while, hasn't it, Jared? Been so long. Too long, hasn't it? How come we never hang out anymore?"
Jared shrugged. Offered a hesitant smile. "Beats me," he lied.
She laughed at that. But it was strained. He remembered when they were little, her laugh had been clear as a bell. Mostly. Sometimes, when she'd really gotten into it, a snort would have mingled in, making her laugh even more.
"Well, we definitely should hang out again, sometime." Sandy shrugged. "Like you could join me and my friends for study group."
Jared was taken by surprise. "You sure? I mean..."
"Yeah, well..." Another shrug. "We're all kind of stumped by algebra right now. Maybe you could help us out?"
"Are you serious? I mean, yes, sure." He tried to play it cool but a timid smile pulled at his lips nonetheless. "It's really not that hard once it clicks, I promise. Uh, when do you guys meet?"
"Usually on Friday's at Ricky's."
Jared's heart stopped. He had to clear his throat. "Is Ricky still friends with Clark?"
"Yeah, why?"
"Will Clark be there, too?"
At that Sandy scoffed a laugh. "No. God knows he should be but he's too lazy to study. Sometimes we hang out with him later, but..." She gave a lopsided shrug. "You're not a party person anyway, are you? Anyway," she said and straightened up. "Can I maybe borrow your algebra homework until we get to school? Me and the girls wanna check if we got it right."
Jared's eyes went wide. "Shit," he gasped. He'd totally forgotten about homework. "I- uh, I...” he stammered, “I don't have it.”
“Very funny, Jared.” She knocked him in the shoulder. “Come on, please?”
“I'm not joking, I swear. I don't have it. I'm sorry.”
Her whole demeanor changed. Her eyebrows pulled together and her lips pursed in a look of contempt. “Asshole,” she spat at him and jumped out of the seat.
Jared tried to ignore what had just happened. Tried not to think of the time when they had been kids and chased butterflies through the fields together. He unzipped his backpack and reached in for his textbook. His fingertips glided over the cool edge of the devil's knife. For a moment he closed his hand around the grip. Felt the weight. The smooth surface.
He'd been a fool to believe anyone had forgotten. Or at least stopped caring. Had been a fool to believe he'd still get to have friends for the rest of high school.
Carry on, he thought to himself. Just carry on.
---
When the bus arrived at school, there were fifteen minutes left before the first bell. Fifteen minutes before AP math. Jared used them to work on his algebra homework. Or tried to. When Jared was halfway through the second problem, a shadow blocked the sun and a glimmering smoke fell to the ground just short of his shoe.
He glanced up from where he sat against the building's wall. Clark Richards stood over him. He stomped the smoke out with his faded boots. Other students went past him, bumped against his backpack but it didn't faze Clark. And no one paid them any attention.
Clark's hands were burried in his football jacket. He said, "Hey." His tone was anything but friendly, though. The snide smirk didn't help either.
Jared sighed. Sat his book down. “Leave me alone, Clark. Please.”
“That's not a very nice greeting,” Clark said and stepped closer.
Jared locked his knees and pushed up. But he didn't get far. Clark rammed a boot into his crotch. Forced him right back down. Stars danced in front of Jared's eyes and he gasped out in pain. Clutched Clark's foot and tried to shove him back, but Clark had the better leverage.
People were still walking past them. Still getting caught on Clark's backpack. But they still didn't notice. Or didn't care. Either way, no one stopped.
Not even when Clark twisted his boot further into his crotch, laughed and said, "wanna try that again?" while tears of pain blurred Jared's vision. He curled around the ache in his groin when his elbow bumped against his backpack and he remembered the knife. The devil's weapon. It had already seen blood. He craned his neck back and caught Clark's eyes. “I'll kill you,” he croaked. The devil's weapon would know how.
Clark's foot froze in place. Doubt, even fear flickered on Clark's face before it went blank and he burst out another laugh. “Yeah, right.” He twisted his boot one last time before he pulled back. “You don't got the guts to hurt a fly, Padalecki.”
Jared folded in on himself, cradling his privates. He squeezed his eyes shut against the tears. Yeah, he didn't have the guts to hurt anyone. Unfortunately everyone knew that. And a knife in his backpack didn't change any of that.
Something hit his foot just before someone cursed. "Damnit," a voice he didn't recognize said. "Get out of the fucking way, Padalecki."
Everyone knew him, though.
---
After classes, Jared scrambled his stuff together and hurried outside. His peers cleared a path. Like they always did. No one wanted to touch him.
Today, for the first time in a long time, he didn't mind. He just wanted to get home. Wanted to get to the barn.
He bypassed the stop for the school bus. It wouldn't leave for another fifteen minutes and Clark might be there. Jared never knew when the guy decided to take the bus.
Down the street was the stop for the regular bus. It'd leave in six minutes and it'd cost him some money but he didn't care. The news stand next to it made Jared halt. The San Antonio Herald shouted at him: Lone Star Devil Headed for San Antonio?
Jared picked it up with trembling hands.
"You want it?" The clerk asked.
With a shaky nod, Jared dropped the money in the clerks hand and headed for the bus station. Once in his seat, Jared flipped the newspaper open. The article was a rehash of the news report he'd seen last week followed by a summary of the latest crime scene. There was one new piece of information, though.
A surveillance photo had been added. It showed Ackles entering a train. The article didn't specifiy which exact route it had been. Only described it as heading south. Furthermore it stated that the police was focusing its search on the Austin and San Antonio area.
---
Jared sat in the bus and stared outside at the cornfields. The low hanging sun gave the grain a red-gold hue. Everything looked rusty. Old.
The article wouldn't leave his mind. The police were closing in. Jared wondered how close they'd already gotten. Wondered if the man knew.
Either way, the man had to leave soon. If he hadn't already moved on.
Jared swallowed hard. His home lay south of the barn. If the man had indeed continued his way, he'd happen upon it. Jared's thoughts strayed. He pictured his mother crumpled on the couch like that one time Dad had nearly lost his mind, with her shirt torn and her skirt on the floor. Only this time, her eyes wouldn't be crying. This time they'd be blank, staring into another world. And there'd be blood. Lots of blood.
Megan would lie on the floor. She'd be in the hallway, though, because she would have been trying to run away. But she wouldn't have made it. The devil would have caught her with the strength of a bull. He'd snatch her by the hair and ram his knife into her back. And all the time she would be crying, too.
Then there'd be his Dad. He'd be in the garage getting his shotgun while his family was slaughtered. He wouldn't know that the damn thing was useless. The devil would take his time with him. He would find him and he'd do to him what he had done to those other men. And when Jared came home he'd cry for his mother, he'd shed a tear for his sister but he'd stand over his dad's body and he'd laugh.
The bus screeched to a stop and Jared startled from his fantasy. It was his stop. He jumped up and rushed out of the bus.
He stood by the side of the bloody cornfield and watched after the bus. A breeze went through the field. It was warm, had to be, it was a hot day, but goosebumps still showed on Jared's skin. He was drenched in cold sweat. Terrified by his own imagination.
---
Back home, he peeked carefully in the hallway. The walls were still white. His sister didn't lie on the floor.
Instead he heard voices from the kitchen. Slowly he went over. His mother stood at the stove preparing lunch. Megan sat at the kitchen table, doing homework, mumbling as she read the tasks. When he saw everything was fine, he hugged his mother from behind and gave her a peck on the cheek. She smiled up to him in surprise. “You're home early.”
“Yeah, I took the regular bus.”
“Oh, ok.”
"I'll go study outside, alright?"
She nodded and called after him. “Lunch will be ready in twenty minutes.”
---
Breathless, Jared reached the barn. He squeezed through the door and carefully walked towards the stables.
The man was still there. He was awake, now. He sat against the wall, his mouth crusted with blood. In his hand, he held the half eaten body of a mouse. His voice was a hoarse rumble. "The hell am I supposed to do with fruit?"
Jared turned sideways just in time. He doubled over and vomited. Hand clutching the wall, he gasped, "You gotta leave."
He heard the shift and when he looked the man had pushed to his feet. It was a strain on his body. His face was pale and a thin layer of sweat formed on his skin. There were dark circles under his eyes. But he stood. He stood and Jared knew he was still capable of killing him. Would always be. The way he held himself up like this made Jared certain that nothing short off a headshot was enough to take him out.
Jared leant against the wall, his knees getting weak. "The police-"
"Irrelevant." The man kept coming closer. There was no fear in his eyes. Not of him. Not of the police. Not of death.
He stopped right in front of Jared. Tilted his head to get a better look. "My knife."
"I hid it," Jared blurted it out.
"You use it?"
Jared shook his head. Dropped his gaze to the floor.
"You wanted to." A faint touch on his cheek made Jared glance back up. The man had reached out. His fingertips cold, calloused. Careful though. Respectful even. Jared's breath caught in his throat. The man's eyes pierced right through him. And for the first time Jared felt like someone saw him. Really saw him.
He bit the inside of his cheek to keep the tears at bay. "I couldn't. Can't."
The man dropped his hand. Nodded.
Jared wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "I gotta go," he mumbled. Rushed past the man. Wasn't stopped. Wasn't followed.
---
He entered through the yard door and found his mom still in the kitchen. She was juggling three pots. Megan was still at the table, doing her homework. So Jared grabbed three plates from the cupboards then hesitated.
“Is Gerald gonna be home for lunch?”
His mother shook her head. “No, not today.” She paused. “Will you call him, Dad, please? You know he wants you to.”
“I won't if he ain't here,” he said defiantly.
His sister looked up. “Well, then I'll just tell him you don't call him Dad.”
Jared sighed. "Mom?"
But his mother just shook her head. Went back to the food.
Megan grinned at him with a smug smile. Daddy's little princess.
Mom put the food on the table and they all sat down. Then Mom held out her hands and they took it. “Jared?” She asked. He nodded and said a prayer of thanks.
---
Carrying a plate with leftovers and a fresh bottle of water in the other, Jared went back to the barn. He squeezed through the door and was immersed by the dim light. He sneaked towards the stable and glanced in. The man was sleeping. Carefully, Jared hunched down by his side and touched his shoulder. Ackles eyes snapped open and he snatched Jared's wrist in the blink of an eye. The grip hurt worse than Gerald's ever had. It fell away as soon as the man saw it was him.
Jared dropped back on his ass, but kept his face even. Or at least did his damn best to. “I brought you food. Real food.”
The man's eyes shifted to the plate. Then he let go of him and reached for the food instead. He had no manners to speak off. He just shoved into his mouth what fit into his hand. Barely chewed before he swallowed it.
Jared smiled in compassion. He knew what it was like to be that hungry. When the man coughed, Jared handed him the water. Then the pill. Ackles washed it down and burped before he looked back at Jared. “Thanks.”
Jared gave him a shy nod. "'s okay." He sighed and sat back. "I know who you are. Read about you in the newspaper today. They know you took the train headed south." He paused. Bit his lip. "I didn't call the police, you know?"
The man didn't answer. Didn't look surprised. Didn't look fazed at all.
"You're not scared of anything, are you?"
"Not anymore," the man said.
"Why not?"
"Because I decided not to be."
---
Jared returned to find his family in the living room. Gerald sat on his armchair and glanced at him.
"Hello, Dad," Jared said, forcing the words past his lips. Gerald nodded. Tipped a bottle of beer to his lips and turned back to the TV. Then gave a quiet. "Hey."
Apparently he was in a good mood tonight. So Jared took a seat on the couch and glanced at the TV. The news were on. Something about politics. He yawned. But the next segment caught his attention.
Neil Vermont was uttering a warning. "...Jensen Ackles, a suspect in the Lone Star Devil case was last seen in the small town Beverdon, just south of San Antonio. He is likely armed and dangerous. If you should see him, do not approach him. Instead call 911 or your local sheriff. The sheriff's office appreciates any further information that will lead to his arrest."
Jared swallowed hard. He glanced into the round. His mom and Megan were petrified. "That's... this man, he's just one county over," his mother whispered behind her hands.
"Bullshit," Gerald said. "That guy's probably long over the state border. Or in Mexico. Police can't do shit right these days."
"But..."
"No buts," Gerald snarled. "I tell you what, that fucker shows his face on my property, I'll blow it right off with a load of shotgun rounds. That'll teach him what we think of murderers here in Texas." He took a swig of his beer. "Fucking prick."
Jared didn't know if he should laugh at the irony of Gerald wanting to teach a murderer by murdering him or be scared for the man in the shed. And despite everything, the man might even be innocent. Might have been wrongly accused.
Jared chewed on his thumb nail. The man in the barn was odd. Scary even. But if that man in the barn was a serial killer, he'd have already killed him. Certainly. Probably.
---
The former police man brushed his thumb over the gold surface of his old badge. For three years Bruno had been retired. For three years he'd tried to leave that case behind. Told himself he'd be okay. Someone else would take over. It was his time to find happiness.
But that apparently wasn't meant to be. Like his marriages hadn't been.
He was a fool in these things. Or maybe he was just trying to be blind.
Bruno put the badge into his pocket and turned off the news. The images of those men, strung up like pigs at a butchery played on a loop in his head. He wished he could just turn them off, too.
Three years ago, bitter about that unsolved case that had kept him busy for over a decade, he had moved to San Antonio. And now, the devil had come here, too.
---
P.E. was Jared's last class the next day. Everyone in the locker room was talking, shouting. Laughing. Jared sat in a corner by himself. No one shared the bench with him. No one even offered him so much as a glance. Or so he thought.
It was only when everyone headed into the gym that he realized Clark had stayed behind. Jared had just pulled his shirt over his head when he came up behind him.
"Why don't you finally quit school like Jeremy did, huh?" Clark asked, sitting down on the bench to his left. Jared tried to ignore him, but Clark went on anyway. "No one wants you here, don't you get it?" Then he got back to his feet and pointed at Jared's bruises. "These from your lover? He fuck you good?"
Jared thought of the knife in his backpack. He straightened up and turned to face Clark. "No. They're not. You put them there." He swallowed around a lump. "You and my father put them there."
Clark's face went ashen. He pushed to his feet, eyes twitching. "Yeah, well... fuck you, Padalecki," he said and headed for the gym. He threw a last glance over his shoulder, mumbled, "I don't need this shit from a guy like you." Then he went through the door.
Jared deflated. He sank down onto the bench and buried his face in his hands. Like he could just change schools. Gerald would tear him a new one if he so much as asked.
---
The sun stood low on the horizon when Jared reached the barn. Slowly, he walked into its belly. Glanced into the stables. The man sat against the wall, chin against his chest.
"Uhm... hello?" Jared said.
The man looked up.
"How are you?"
"Ripe."
Jared couldn't help but chuckle. "Yeah, uh...I'll see if I can get you a change of clothes tomorrow." He bit his teeth and picked up the lamp. "Listen, would you mind if I stayed here for a bit? Do my homework?"
The man just shrugged. Dropped his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. So Jared sat down and took out his history book. After a while he heard the man shift. When he looked up the man was staring at him. "Why?"
"Why what?"
"No police."
Jared cleared his throat. Averted his eyes. "I can still call them." He paused. "I don't even know if you're guilty. I figured you could be innocent."
A low chuckled rumbled from the man's throat. "I ain't innocent."
The blood drained from Jared's face. He closed his history book and pressed it against his chest. "You gonna kill me?"
"No." The man said. "You're just a kid." He sighed. "'sides. You still got my knife. You could kill me."
"Yeah," he mumbled. "I could."
Silence settled over them. It stayed with them for a long time before the man spoke again. "I know," he said.
"Know what?" Jared asked.
"You don't call the police because you don't want them in your barn."
"It's not my barn," he said, quickly. Too quickly.
"Yet, you come here everyday." He glanced at him. "With new bruises."
Jared's fingers dug hard into the pages of his history book. The pen he was holding gave a creaking sound under the pressure.
The man kept talking. "There was a small river where I grew up. One day, I found a small cave at its side. I didn't own it, but it was mine anyway. I never wanted anyone there, either. Especially not my father."
Jared's breath came quick. "You... you said you fell down a lot, too."
"Yeah."
"W-why... why do they do it?"
The man shrugged. But his fingers dug deep into his biceps. Blood began to rise to the surface in half moon shapes. "Beats me," he said through gritted teeth.
---
The next morning Gerald had a bad day. Thick shadows sat under his eyes. He stood hunched over the coffee maker and Jared froze in the kitchen door. His first class had been cancelled. No one but him should still be here. There was no sign of Jared's mother or Megan. Gerald, though, looked up. Looked right at him. "School called. You started a fight with that Richards boy?"
"What? No... I- he started it."
Gerald straightened. Walked up to him. "You do realize when his Dad fires me, we'll be on the streets. Do you, you little shit?"
"He started it! And it wasn't even a fight. He's been bullying me for-" The exploding pain in his cheek cut Jared off. Gerald had taken a swing, leaving him no chance to finish. Jared should have known his father didn't care. Didn't care about anyone but himself.
The strong grip around his arm stopped Jared from falling. He was jerked upright and the next hit landed in his side before he could even bring his free arm up to defend himself.
Two more punches followed before Gerald dropped him to the floor. Jared curled up on himself, nausea rising in his gut. A slimy blotch of spit hit his cheek.
"You better pray that Richards boy ain't a whiny bitch like you, you little shit." Jared heard the words. Then the slip-slide of a belt being pulled from it's loops. He tensed up and the next moment he felt the sharp slap against his back. He clenched his jaw against the pain but after the third hit, he couldn't keep himself from crying out.
Gerald hit him three more times before he took a step back and said. "You ain't going to school today, you hear me? You'll chop up the firewood. All of it."
He nodded. Sucked in a deep breath and between choked sobs forced his lips to form the words, "Yes, Sir."
His father fastened his belt and grabbed his jacket. Jared watched from the cold floor as Gerald left for work. Left him bleeding.
Trembling, Jared stumbled to his feet and went to the only place he knew. Went to the man in the barn.
---
The man was sitting on his make-shift bed. Staring at the floor. Seeing god knows what.
Jared bit his teeth when he went into the stables. The man didn't lift his head. Just glanced up from under his eyebrows.
"Can you..." Jared's voice cracked. "Can you maybe help me patch this up?"
At the confused frown, he turned around and lifted his shirt. He hadn't needed to check in the mirror. He could feel small trails of blood run down the ridge of his spine.
Cold, calloused fingers suddenly touched his shoulders and Jared flinched. Then relaxed as the man inspected his injuries.
"You fell down again?"
A nod of the head was all Jared managed.
"Your father still home?" The man said. It was the low growl of a lion ready to maul its prey.
Jared shook his head. "No one's home but me. I ain't allowed to go to school today, too. He wants me to chop all the fire wood. I don't... I can't..."
"All right," the man said, but his voice sounded off. Jared couldn't tell how he meant it. Then the man shouldered the barn door open. The light blinded Jared. When his eyes adjusted, he saw the man hold out a hand.
"Let's go," the man said.
Jared's cheeks ached from the strain of holding back his tears. He nodded and took the man's hand. "I... I'm Jared."
"Jensen," the man said.
Part 2