Shadows of the Night - 5/15 - AU - SPN fic
Title: Shadows of the Night
Author: starpixie16
Chapters: 5/15
Rating: NC-17 [mild language, explicit sexual content (chapter 9)]
Characters/Pairing: Sam, Dean/OFC
Warning/Spoilers: AU, sexual situations; vague allusions to events from season one.
Summary: In September 1932, Sam and Dean Winchester receive a telegram leading them to California. On their last night there, Sam suddenly has a nightmare of a man's death at the hands of a mysterious woman. The brothers investigate, and in the process, Sam learns a few secrets about Dean's past.
Author's Notes: Many huge thanks to elanurel for being my beta. This story also serves as my response to challenge #8 at spn_het_love: Then She Appeared.
<< Previous Chapter
Shadows of the Night
______________________________
Chapter Five
Sam huddled inside the pay telephone booth of Bartle's Drug with a pocket full of nickels, sliding the door closed behind him to drown out the laughter and conversation of the people gathered around the soda fountain at the counter. Thumbing through the telephone directory he had borrowed from the man minding the drugstore, he picked up the receiver and made contact with the operator. A woman's voice spoke on the other line.
"Number, please?"
Sam pressed the receiver firmly to his ear while leaning in toward the mouthpiece to respond. "Evergreen-7895."
"Drop a nickel, please," the operator intoned.
Sam slid a nickel into the coin slot and waited while the operator connected him. Once he'd completed the call, the operator returned to the line. Requesting another number and dropping in another nickel, he began to wonder how much change this search was going to cost him.
* * *
Dean leaned against the wall outside of Bartle's Drug waiting for his brother to return. He considered going inside for a Coke, but realized that missing breakfast had finally caught up with him. Rather than succumb to starvation, he bought two apples from a vendor on the corner -- coming back to where he'd been standing impatiently waiting for Sam to finish making his telephone calls.
Sam walked out nearly twenty minutes after he had entered the drugstore, a slip of paper in his hand.
"I thought you got lost in there," Dean cracked, tossing the second apple he’d been holding to Sam. Sam caught it with his free hand.
"There are more hospitals around here than you'd think," Sam remarked in response. "I had to call three of them before I found the right one."
Dean took a loud bite from his apple. "So you found out which one is holding Adamson's body?"
Sam nodded. "Saint Martin's. They have him in the morgue." He polished his own apple against his jacket before sinking his teeth into it with a crunch.
"So, what story should we use this time?" Dean inquired with a smirk. "Medical students or newspaper reporters?"
* * *
The hospital was a large building in a crowded section of town. A new wing had been recently completed, according to a proud sign at the entrance. Everything inside was austere and white, the smell of fresh paint from the new addition clinging to the air. The harsh scent of ammonia wafted up from the polished floors.
There were no directories in the lobby indicating on which floor the morgue was located, so the brothers paused at a desk inside the entrance to inquire about it. A young nurse with ginger hair came to their aid.
"May I help you?" she asked politely.
Sam displayed his most pleasant smile. "Could you direct us to the morgue, please?"
She nodded. "Of course. Take the elevator to the basement. It takes up the entire floor."
"Thank you," Sam responded, tipping his hat. He started for the elevator.
As Dean departed, he gave the nurse a flirtatious grin; her cheeks flushed pink before he quickly followed his younger brother.
* * *
The morgue was too brightly lit, as if extra illumination could make the rooms full of corpses seem more inviting. Dean strode in front of Sam when they entered, hands stuffed into his pockets. A man wearing a white smock sat behind a desk in an alcove near the entrance. Dean confidently stepped up to him, flashing his friendliest smile.
"Hello, we're reporters with the Daily Chronicle." He reached into his jacket, producing a press badge which he waved briefly under the man's nose. "We're following a lead on the Adamson stiff and we wondered if we could get a look at the body."
The man rose from his seat, extending his hand. "Welcome, gentlemen. I'm not usually in the habit of letting reporters into the morgue, but if Bill sent you, I suppose it's all right."
"Yeah, that Bill's one hell of a swell guy," Dean supplied with a wide smile as he shook the man's hand.
"He is. We go way back," the man stated with pride. "I'm Dr. Granger, by the way."
"Pleasure to meet you, Doc," Dean responded. "I'm Dean, this is Sam."
Sam subtly shot Dean a wary look, the fear of this man catching on to their ruse contained within his sharp gaze. Dean returned the glance with a calm one of his own, a silent reassurance that he thought they'd be safe playing along this time.
"You two are the first reporters to stop by so far," the man went on as he stepped out from behind his desk. "A murder like this usually draws more attention, from my experience." He led them back a narrow hall.
"Do the cops have any suspects in mind?" Sam inquired.
"Word is that Adamson had quite a variety of lovers," Dr. Granger revealed. "The cops are going to have their hands full questioning all those women."
A mischievous grin spread over Dean's face at the doctor's unintentional double entendre. "Yeah, I bet they will."
With the doctor's back turned to them, Sam allowed himself the privilege of rolling his eyes.
Dr. Granger opened a door and they stepped into a cold storage room. Sheet-covered gurneys were lined up along the walls -- some empty, some holding bodies. Dr. Granger walked over to a specific one near the middle, stopping on one side of it. "This is the room where we keep the bodies pending autopsies as well as the ones we've recently performed." He lifted the sheet to reveal a pale corpse underneath. "This is Mr. Adamson. I carried out his autopsy myself not long after he was brought in a few hours ago."
Sam stared at the cadaver's chest, mouth opening in shock before closing again. A large, dark bruise stretched over Adamson's breastbone, standing out like black coal in contrast to the corpse's chalk white skin.
Sam moved closer to the gurney to get a better look. "These marks. What would cause them?"
Dr. Granger shook his head. "They're clearly abrasions, but there seems to be no corresponding internal damage."
"You ever see anything like that before?" Dean took a few steps forward to study the body himself.
Dr. Granger nodded. "Recently I've seen it at least four times. That is, not counting Mr. Adamson here."
"Huh," Dean murmured thoughtfully.
"The detectives say it's asphyxiation, correct?" Sam spoke up, raising his eyes from the corpse to meet the doctor's gaze.
Dr. Granger nodded again. "They're right. All of the men with those marks died as a result of some kind of suffocation. The victims without bruises over their chest cavity had other indicators, such as the marks of a person's fingers encircling their neck in crushing strangulation."
Dean seized that revelation. "You're saying that there have been men who were strangled instead?"
"It would appear so. Overall, there have been at least eight people to die in this manner over the past two months. Most are men, but there have been at least two women. Also, you understand that this isn't the only hospital with a morgue in this area. Some of the victims may have been transported to another hospital." Dr. Granger removed his wire-framed glasses, cleaning away a smudge on the lens with the hem of his pristine white smock.
Sam's brow wrinkled in thought. "With marks like these, one would surely expect there to be serious internal damage. Hemorrhaging, crushed organs, broken bones. Those sorts of things."
Dr. Granger replaced his glasses, shaking his head. "You'd be surprised to learn that not one of those things has been discovered in any of the victims. It's as if they simply stopped breathing."
"But a bruise this heavy would suggest a lot of force, right, Doctor?" Sam asked, arching one eyebrow.
"Incredible force," Dr. Granger agreed. "But there's simply nothing to back it up. There's certainly no damage to prove that there was such an exhibition of force. I won't deny that it's a strange situation."
"What would you say those marks came from then?" Dean prompted, green eyes intense with interest.
Dr. Granger pursed his lips. "Well, the contention between myself and the doctor who occasionally assists in these autopsies is that the victims seem to all have had skin sensitive to bruising. In some people, the slightest touch can leave an abrasion. Now imagine the application of mild force. It would likely leave marks similar to the ones we've been seeing."
Dean nodded, outwardly seeming to accept the idea without question. "So then the person who murdered them put pressure on their chest or attempted to strangle them, but lacked the ability to carry it out completely."
"Yes. Leaving those bruises, but causing no internal damage since they were unable to crush the sternum or windpipe. That was when they moved to another method of suffocation. Perhaps a pillow or something held over the person's face to obstruct their breathing." Dr. Granger seemed sure of his conclusion. "It's my belief that the police are dealing with one very disturbed individual. Perhaps more than one."
"Thank you for your time, Doctor," Sam said politely, reaching out to shake the man's hand. "I believe you've given us plenty of information that we can use."
"Yeah, we'd better get back and put it all together so it can make the evening edition," Dean added. He tugged the brim of his hat slightly, lowering it levelly with his eyebrows.
Dr. Granger escorted them to the elevator. "I was glad to be of some help. Tell Bill I said 'hello'."
"Will do, Doc." Dean turned in the elevator to face Dr. Granger with a casual smile.
* * *
The brothers left the hospital in the shade of the late afternoon sun as it began dipping down along the Western horizon.
Dean laughed to himself as he drove past the hospital's street. "Whoever heard of so many people bruising that easily?"
"It's ridiculous and he knows it," Sam declared. "But people will go to any length to attempt to explain the unexplainable. I guess you can't blame them. Who but us would believe it's a demon?"
"Yeah, well, we need the goods on this Helena character," Dean said firmly. "We need a last name at least. She needs to be found so we can do away with her before she kills anyone else."
"We don't even know what she is, Dean. Most demons can only be exorcised, which has no guarantee of permanence."
"Well, any option's looking good to me right now." Dean tightened his grip on the steering wheel, relaxing slowly as he changed the subject. "Hey, I don't know about you, but I'm hungry enough to have dinner for yesterday, today, and tomorrow. You want to stop somewhere to get something to eat?"
Sam felt the ache of hunger deep down in his stomach and gave a nod in agreement. "Sure, I'm starving."
___________________________
FOOTNOTES:
Into the 1930s, any telephone without a dial was answered by an operator. The telephone exchanges were typically given a name whose first two or three letters translated to the digits of the exchange's prefix on a common telephone dial. (Example: 869-1234 is known as TOwnsend 9-1234 or TOwnsend-1234) The prefix I've used in this chapter (EVergreen-7895) is entirely fictional.
Next Chapter >>
Author: starpixie16
Chapters: 5/15
Rating: NC-17 [mild language, explicit sexual content (chapter 9)]
Characters/Pairing: Sam, Dean/OFC
Warning/Spoilers: AU, sexual situations; vague allusions to events from season one.
Summary: In September 1932, Sam and Dean Winchester receive a telegram leading them to California. On their last night there, Sam suddenly has a nightmare of a man's death at the hands of a mysterious woman. The brothers investigate, and in the process, Sam learns a few secrets about Dean's past.
Author's Notes: Many huge thanks to elanurel for being my beta. This story also serves as my response to challenge #8 at spn_het_love: Then She Appeared.
<< Previous Chapter
Shadows of the Night
______________________________
Chapter Five
Sam huddled inside the pay telephone booth of Bartle's Drug with a pocket full of nickels, sliding the door closed behind him to drown out the laughter and conversation of the people gathered around the soda fountain at the counter. Thumbing through the telephone directory he had borrowed from the man minding the drugstore, he picked up the receiver and made contact with the operator. A woman's voice spoke on the other line.
"Number, please?"
Sam pressed the receiver firmly to his ear while leaning in toward the mouthpiece to respond. "Evergreen-7895."
"Drop a nickel, please," the operator intoned.
Sam slid a nickel into the coin slot and waited while the operator connected him. Once he'd completed the call, the operator returned to the line. Requesting another number and dropping in another nickel, he began to wonder how much change this search was going to cost him.
* * *
Dean leaned against the wall outside of Bartle's Drug waiting for his brother to return. He considered going inside for a Coke, but realized that missing breakfast had finally caught up with him. Rather than succumb to starvation, he bought two apples from a vendor on the corner -- coming back to where he'd been standing impatiently waiting for Sam to finish making his telephone calls.
Sam walked out nearly twenty minutes after he had entered the drugstore, a slip of paper in his hand.
"I thought you got lost in there," Dean cracked, tossing the second apple he’d been holding to Sam. Sam caught it with his free hand.
"There are more hospitals around here than you'd think," Sam remarked in response. "I had to call three of them before I found the right one."
Dean took a loud bite from his apple. "So you found out which one is holding Adamson's body?"
Sam nodded. "Saint Martin's. They have him in the morgue." He polished his own apple against his jacket before sinking his teeth into it with a crunch.
"So, what story should we use this time?" Dean inquired with a smirk. "Medical students or newspaper reporters?"
* * *
The hospital was a large building in a crowded section of town. A new wing had been recently completed, according to a proud sign at the entrance. Everything inside was austere and white, the smell of fresh paint from the new addition clinging to the air. The harsh scent of ammonia wafted up from the polished floors.
There were no directories in the lobby indicating on which floor the morgue was located, so the brothers paused at a desk inside the entrance to inquire about it. A young nurse with ginger hair came to their aid.
"May I help you?" she asked politely.
Sam displayed his most pleasant smile. "Could you direct us to the morgue, please?"
She nodded. "Of course. Take the elevator to the basement. It takes up the entire floor."
"Thank you," Sam responded, tipping his hat. He started for the elevator.
As Dean departed, he gave the nurse a flirtatious grin; her cheeks flushed pink before he quickly followed his younger brother.
* * *
The morgue was too brightly lit, as if extra illumination could make the rooms full of corpses seem more inviting. Dean strode in front of Sam when they entered, hands stuffed into his pockets. A man wearing a white smock sat behind a desk in an alcove near the entrance. Dean confidently stepped up to him, flashing his friendliest smile.
"Hello, we're reporters with the Daily Chronicle." He reached into his jacket, producing a press badge which he waved briefly under the man's nose. "We're following a lead on the Adamson stiff and we wondered if we could get a look at the body."
The man rose from his seat, extending his hand. "Welcome, gentlemen. I'm not usually in the habit of letting reporters into the morgue, but if Bill sent you, I suppose it's all right."
"Yeah, that Bill's one hell of a swell guy," Dean supplied with a wide smile as he shook the man's hand.
"He is. We go way back," the man stated with pride. "I'm Dr. Granger, by the way."
"Pleasure to meet you, Doc," Dean responded. "I'm Dean, this is Sam."
Sam subtly shot Dean a wary look, the fear of this man catching on to their ruse contained within his sharp gaze. Dean returned the glance with a calm one of his own, a silent reassurance that he thought they'd be safe playing along this time.
"You two are the first reporters to stop by so far," the man went on as he stepped out from behind his desk. "A murder like this usually draws more attention, from my experience." He led them back a narrow hall.
"Do the cops have any suspects in mind?" Sam inquired.
"Word is that Adamson had quite a variety of lovers," Dr. Granger revealed. "The cops are going to have their hands full questioning all those women."
A mischievous grin spread over Dean's face at the doctor's unintentional double entendre. "Yeah, I bet they will."
With the doctor's back turned to them, Sam allowed himself the privilege of rolling his eyes.
Dr. Granger opened a door and they stepped into a cold storage room. Sheet-covered gurneys were lined up along the walls -- some empty, some holding bodies. Dr. Granger walked over to a specific one near the middle, stopping on one side of it. "This is the room where we keep the bodies pending autopsies as well as the ones we've recently performed." He lifted the sheet to reveal a pale corpse underneath. "This is Mr. Adamson. I carried out his autopsy myself not long after he was brought in a few hours ago."
Sam stared at the cadaver's chest, mouth opening in shock before closing again. A large, dark bruise stretched over Adamson's breastbone, standing out like black coal in contrast to the corpse's chalk white skin.
Sam moved closer to the gurney to get a better look. "These marks. What would cause them?"
Dr. Granger shook his head. "They're clearly abrasions, but there seems to be no corresponding internal damage."
"You ever see anything like that before?" Dean took a few steps forward to study the body himself.
Dr. Granger nodded. "Recently I've seen it at least four times. That is, not counting Mr. Adamson here."
"Huh," Dean murmured thoughtfully.
"The detectives say it's asphyxiation, correct?" Sam spoke up, raising his eyes from the corpse to meet the doctor's gaze.
Dr. Granger nodded again. "They're right. All of the men with those marks died as a result of some kind of suffocation. The victims without bruises over their chest cavity had other indicators, such as the marks of a person's fingers encircling their neck in crushing strangulation."
Dean seized that revelation. "You're saying that there have been men who were strangled instead?"
"It would appear so. Overall, there have been at least eight people to die in this manner over the past two months. Most are men, but there have been at least two women. Also, you understand that this isn't the only hospital with a morgue in this area. Some of the victims may have been transported to another hospital." Dr. Granger removed his wire-framed glasses, cleaning away a smudge on the lens with the hem of his pristine white smock.
Sam's brow wrinkled in thought. "With marks like these, one would surely expect there to be serious internal damage. Hemorrhaging, crushed organs, broken bones. Those sorts of things."
Dr. Granger replaced his glasses, shaking his head. "You'd be surprised to learn that not one of those things has been discovered in any of the victims. It's as if they simply stopped breathing."
"But a bruise this heavy would suggest a lot of force, right, Doctor?" Sam asked, arching one eyebrow.
"Incredible force," Dr. Granger agreed. "But there's simply nothing to back it up. There's certainly no damage to prove that there was such an exhibition of force. I won't deny that it's a strange situation."
"What would you say those marks came from then?" Dean prompted, green eyes intense with interest.
Dr. Granger pursed his lips. "Well, the contention between myself and the doctor who occasionally assists in these autopsies is that the victims seem to all have had skin sensitive to bruising. In some people, the slightest touch can leave an abrasion. Now imagine the application of mild force. It would likely leave marks similar to the ones we've been seeing."
Dean nodded, outwardly seeming to accept the idea without question. "So then the person who murdered them put pressure on their chest or attempted to strangle them, but lacked the ability to carry it out completely."
"Yes. Leaving those bruises, but causing no internal damage since they were unable to crush the sternum or windpipe. That was when they moved to another method of suffocation. Perhaps a pillow or something held over the person's face to obstruct their breathing." Dr. Granger seemed sure of his conclusion. "It's my belief that the police are dealing with one very disturbed individual. Perhaps more than one."
"Thank you for your time, Doctor," Sam said politely, reaching out to shake the man's hand. "I believe you've given us plenty of information that we can use."
"Yeah, we'd better get back and put it all together so it can make the evening edition," Dean added. He tugged the brim of his hat slightly, lowering it levelly with his eyebrows.
Dr. Granger escorted them to the elevator. "I was glad to be of some help. Tell Bill I said 'hello'."
"Will do, Doc." Dean turned in the elevator to face Dr. Granger with a casual smile.
* * *
The brothers left the hospital in the shade of the late afternoon sun as it began dipping down along the Western horizon.
Dean laughed to himself as he drove past the hospital's street. "Whoever heard of so many people bruising that easily?"
"It's ridiculous and he knows it," Sam declared. "But people will go to any length to attempt to explain the unexplainable. I guess you can't blame them. Who but us would believe it's a demon?"
"Yeah, well, we need the goods on this Helena character," Dean said firmly. "We need a last name at least. She needs to be found so we can do away with her before she kills anyone else."
"We don't even know what she is, Dean. Most demons can only be exorcised, which has no guarantee of permanence."
"Well, any option's looking good to me right now." Dean tightened his grip on the steering wheel, relaxing slowly as he changed the subject. "Hey, I don't know about you, but I'm hungry enough to have dinner for yesterday, today, and tomorrow. You want to stop somewhere to get something to eat?"
Sam felt the ache of hunger deep down in his stomach and gave a nod in agreement. "Sure, I'm starving."
___________________________
FOOTNOTES:
Into the 1930s, any telephone without a dial was answered by an operator. The telephone exchanges were typically given a name whose first two or three letters translated to the digits of the exchange's prefix on a common telephone dial. (Example: 869-1234 is known as TOwnsend 9-1234 or TOwnsend-1234) The prefix I've used in this chapter (EVergreen-7895) is entirely fictional.
Next Chapter >>