A Case of Do or Die 4/8
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Chapter 4
Everybody Comes to Rick’s
John. JOHN. Wake up.
John mumbled something even he couldn’t understand as Mary’s insistent voice penetrated the fog of alcohol and sleep that he had no intention of fighting his way out of so soon. But the hand that was shaking his shoulder suddenly tightened-and turned to what felt like solid ice. The shock jolted him awake, and he sat up with a loud gasp.
Finally. She let him go.
He rubbed his shoulder briskly. “What’re you tryin’ to do, gimme frostbite?!”
It’s started.
He froze. “What do you mean?”
Rufus Turner’s on the phone. Bobby’s taking down the details, but he wanted me to wake you. Sounds like Rufus has a line on the first trial.
John cursed quietly. He had been expecting it to take months of further research to narrow down what omen information lined up with probable deals. Still rubbing his shoulder, he got up and staggered into Bobby’s kitchen to get himself a cup of coffee. Bobby was at the table jotting notes, but John wasn’t anywhere close to clear-headed enough to read over his shoulder.
“Well, Sleepin’ Ugly’s finally up,” Bobby told Rufus as he looked up and nodded to John.
John didn’t know a lot of sign language, but some signs were relatively universal.
Bobby snorted. “Nah, he ain’t awake yet, just vertical. I’ll fill him in. Thanks, Rufus.” And he hung up.
“I hate you,” John declared.
“Man up, Princess. I saved you some pancakes.”
John found said pancakes on the back burner of the stove on a plate covered by a serving bowl. He brought the plate and the coffee to the table and made a second trip for silverware. As he sat down and dug in, Bobby turned his attention to the atlas he had open on his side of the table.
Once the syrup and caffeine had jumpstarted his brain, John asked, “So what’s Rufus got that’s so urgent?”
“Guy called him in a panic yesterday, wantin’ to know how to hold off demons,” Bobby replied, still studying the atlas. “Seems the guy made a deal that comes due in a week, and he’s having second thoughts about payin’ up.”
“One week. Not much time.”
“Nope. Rufus’ll be callin’ Rabbi Bass, see if he can’t get hold of at least holy oil, if not one o’ those knives the notes talked about. I am tryin’ to work out whether you can get to Manning and back in time.”
“Manning-Elkins?”
Bobby nodded. “Mary confirmed it. He’s got the Colt.”
John sighed. “Where’s the hunt?”
“Carbondale, IL. Rufus said he’ll meet you there.”
John did the math in his head. “It’s fifteen hours or so to Manning, figure two days from Manning to Carbondale....”
“Yeah, but you gotta argue with Elkins in there, too.”
A sudden clatter-bang from the hall closet got both men’s attention. They dashed into the hall to find Mary visibly struggling to pick up a duffle that looked suspiciously like one of John’s. But John hadn’t brought in a bag the night before.
“Honey?” John prompted.
Mary looked up with tears in her eyes. This was theirs.
“Theirs? They being-”
You don’t remember. She let the strap fall and faded a bit in defeat. The night Old Man Woodsen died, we-we had some unexpected visitors.
John felt himself pale. That night had been a horrifying blank ever since it happened. But now that she mentioned it, he had a very vague memory of a voice-a voice strangely like his adult son’s-Sorry, it’s just... for a minute there, you reminded me of-
Bobby pulled the closet door open, and sure enough, there was the sigil again.
John turned back to Mary. “Did you see who it was?”
She shook her head. Not this time. They just slid the bag through. But last time... well, an angel brought them then, but... I remember, now that I’m dead. They’d put supplies in here, holy oil, couple of angel swords, maybe some other things. They brought it with us when we all went out to the safe house my parents had, out near Clinton Lake.
Swallowing hard, John knelt and opened the bag. In it were in fact an earthen jar, two short silver swords, a knife that matched the description in the notes, a pair of glasses, and a note that read:
We’re sorry, Dad. We love you.
Sam
Mary wept, and John shed more than a few tears himself. Bobby just squeezed his shoulder for a long moment before going to call Rufus.
“But how did he send it?” John asked a sniffling Missouri two days later. “If I’m changing the future-”
Missouri shook her head. “Ain’t changed it enough yet. Boys had two sets o’ memories all of a sudden, knew things were startin’ to shift. And Sam... poor boy, still fightin’ that fever....”
Mary’s hand tightened around John’s arm.
Missouri chuckled. “Didn’t check with Dean first. If he had, he wouldn’ta sent holy oil and the glasses they treated. May not need the angel swords, either, but... then again, you might. Or someone else.”
That gave John an idea, but since it wasn’t relevant to the conversation at hand, he didn’t say anything about it.
Missouri only acknowledged him with a raised eyebrow before turning back to the subject of Sammy-Sam-and his care package. “Anyway, all he could think was that they shoulda sent supplies. So he did, and he prayed they’d get to you in time.”
But what was wrong with him? Mary asked.
Missouri shook her head again. “Like Dean said. You don’t want to know.”
John started to cover Mary’s hand with his own but paused when he remembered that she was incorporeal. “Guess the only remedy now is to keep moving forward.”
Missouri nodded slowly. “John, you know I ain’t no fortune teller. But Sam, his faith in you was... almost absolute. He was afraid they’d failed, he and Dean. He knew Dean could do it, but he couldn’t bear to let him try. ‘But if anyone else can pull this off,’ he thought, ‘it’s Dad.’”
Mary put her head on John’s shoulder.
John took a deep breath and let it out again. “All right, then. I will.”
When John met up with Rufus in Carbondale the next day, Rufus insisted on treating a second pair of glasses so he could serve as John’s lookout-John’s corporeal lookout, he amended when Mary appeared to object. The guy who’d made the deal was quite shifty about why he’d made the deal and why he was in such a sweat to save his life, so it didn’t surprise John when Rufus set defenses with everything that would stop a demon except salt. On the night the deal came due, they rode together in Rufus’ truck and staked out the house, and Mary alerted John when she heard the hounds. With her guidance, John and Rufus stalked and cornered one hound, and Rufus kept it busy with salt and iron while John dove underneath it and sliced its belly open with the demon-killing knife, letting the foul black blood wash over him. Rufus caught the corpse before it could collapse on top of John, and that, they thought, was that.
We’re too late for our victim, though, Mary informed them. Sounds like the demon sent a full pack... and the idiot tried to run.
Both men sighed.
“All right,” Rufus said to John. “You do your thing, and I’ll go call this in.”
John nodded. “All right.”
As Rufus left, Mary smiled regretfully at John. You looked pretty good, honey.
He smiled wryly back at her and wiped his knife on one of the few clean spots on his shirt. “Don’t smell too good right now.”
She chuckled.
He sheathed the knife and sighed. “Okay. Here goes. Kah-nuh-ahm-dahr.”
Even the description Sam had sent in his notes hadn’t prepared John for the gust of wind that slammed into his chest, sending him to his knees, or the burst of power that shot up his right arm when he braced himself against the ground, crackling and glowing through his veins before sinking deeper and racing to his heart, then dispersing and letting him breathe again.
When he looked up, he could see Mary hovering over him, eyes wide in fear. “John?!” he clearly heard her gasp.
He wheezed a couple of times as he pushed himself to his feet. “I... I’m okay. Mar... save... save your strength....”
She blinked. “What are you talking about?”
He made the sign for See.
She grabbed his arm. “You can see me?”
He nodded. “’N voice’s... stronger.”
“John, I’m not expending any more energy than I was.”
They were still staring at each other in shock when Rufus returned. “C’mon, Winchester. Let’s get out of here.”
John blinked. “Rufus... c-can you see her?”
“See who?”
John pointed. “Mary.”
Rufus looked, put his glasses on and took them off several times, squinted, closed one eye and then the other, held the glasses at arm’s length to peer through, and finally shook his head. “Nope.”
John let out a ragged breath, swayed, and staggered as he caught himself.
Mary put a hand on his back. “We need to go.”
Rufus came over and slung John’s arm across his neck. “Come on, Jarhead. Let’s move.”
John let Rufus take most of his weight as they hurried out to the truck. And he was grateful that Rufus was the one driving, because it took most of the drive back to the motel for him to recover enough to be able to walk into the room under his own power. Mary steered him into the shower and helped him as she could while Rufus took his ruined clothes to burn, and then he collapsed into bed and slept hard for a good twelve hours. He woke more or less refreshed-but he could still see Mary clear as day.
“You all right?” Rufus asked as they left after checking out.
John nodded. “Yeah. I’ve had worse.”
“Where you headed?”
“Colorado. Wasn’t time to talk to Elkins on the way out here, but I’ve got a feeling I’m gonna need that Colt.”
Rufus nodded. “All right. Listen, you need anything else, you holler, all right?”
John nodded and shook hands with him. “Appreciate it, Rufus. And thanks for your help on this one.”
“Yasher Koach, [1] man.” Rufus paused but didn’t let go of John’s hand. “Baruch atah Adonai Eloheinu Melekh Ha’Olam, Dayan HaEmet.” [2]
John didn’t know what to say besides “Amen.”
Mary pressed a gentle kiss on Rufus’ cheek, much as she must have done a few days earlier to Bobby, and like Bobby, Rufus was briefly flustered by it. John snickered, and Mary winked at him. And with a final round of farewells, Rufus left.
John didn’t push straight through to Manning. Nobody’s life was at stake except his own, and he wasn’t feeling entirely up to snuff. Rather, he enjoyed the road and the scenery (such as it was) and his improved ability to talk with Mary, and he stopped for the night in Salina, KS, and called the Roadhouse to check on the boys. Sammy had developed a bit of a cough, but otherwise the boys seemed to be doing okay, settling in and getting used to the new routine and to Jo.
Elkins, quite predictably, refused at first even to admit that he had the Colt. But John not only told him how Mary knew he had it but also presented the ace-or rather the sword-up his sleeve.
“I don’t much care whether we call this a trade or a security,” he said, holding the sword out laid flat across his palms. “But I’m willing to leave you one weapon that kills anything in exchange for another.”
Elkins frowned. “What is that?”
“An angel’s sword.”
“Angels don’t exist.”
“Oh, but they do. I’ve met a few,” John added, though Mary hadn’t told him all the details.
“If it kills anything, why do you need the Colt?”
“Range. Bad thing about swords is how close you have to get to use ’em.”
Elkins picked up the sword by the hilt and examined it carefully. John couldn’t tell whether Elkins was aware of the thrumming of celestial harmony John had felt when he touched the sword, but it didn’t really matter in the long run. Elkins finally nodded and handed it back. “Security. As you say, the Colt has the advantage of range. I will want it back.”
“Fair enough. I’ll make arrangements in case I can’t return it in person.”
Elkins nodded again and disappeared into his house, returning moments later with a gun case. “There are only five bullets left. After that, it will be useless to you.”
John nodded. “Understood.”
The two hunters exchanged weapons and shook hands, and John put the Colt in the very bottom of the trunk arsenal and left, intending to return to Sioux Falls by way of the Roadhouse.
That night he stopped in Sterling, CO, to rest. His joints were beginning to ache as if he were coming down with the flu, and Mary insisted that he take care of himself. Sleep did help some, and after breakfast, he felt well enough to continue. But he hadn’t yet checked out of his motel room, so he returned to load the car and check out.
He was still double-checking that he hadn’t forgotten anything when the closet door rattled.
“Oh, boy,” Mary sighed at the same time John groaned, “Here we go again.”
But it wasn’t an adult version of either of his sons who tumbled through the portal this time. The thin, dark-haired figure was wearing a light blue suit, and John knew who it was even before the man raised a pale, worried face that John hadn’t seen in nearly thirty years. That didn’t stop him from drawing his gun.
“John?” P-Henry asked warily.
“What. The hell. Are you doing here?” John growled.
Henry raised his hands in surrender. “John, don’t you know me?”
Mary looked from father to son in confusion. “Who is this?”
John ignored her. “Oh, I know you. I haven’t seen you since you walked out in ’58.”
Henry’s eyes widened. “No-no, son, you don’t understand-”
Mary popped into the closet and back out again. “It’s the same sigil.”
“Enlighten me,” John snarled.
Henry swallowed hard. “The night I left, I went to a meeting, at a club on Gaines Street. My final initiation into the Men of Letters. We’re a secret society, charged with observing and recording all that man does not understand. All the Winchester men have been members, dating back a thousand years.”
“Well, the Campbells never heard of them,” Mary noted quietly.
“Go on,” John said, not lowering his gun.
Henry sighed. “We were attacked by a demon. Abaddon. One of the elders gave me something to keep safe, but there was no way out. So I used a spell-”
“Blood leads to blood?”
“Th-that’s right. But-I mean, if I didn’t come back from this time, then how-”
“Long story short? I’m a hunter.”
Henry blinked. “A... a hunter? My son a hunter?!”
The temperature dropped as Mary snarled, “Damn straight, and one of the best I’ve ever seen.”
Henry flinched backward. “Wait, is that-”
“My wife’s ghost,” John explained. “Mary, this is my father, Henry Winchester.”
“Mary Campbell,” she stated flatly. “Of the Lawrence Campbells.”
Henry looked at her more closely. “Are... were you Samuel’s daughter?”
“I am indeed. But he never said a word about you.”
“I’m not surprised. Not to speak ill of your father, but-”
“Don’t. You. Dare.”
“You don’t have a corner on the market for demon attacks,” John noted.
Henry ran a hand over his mouth as he seemed to put two and two together. “Look, I... I can fix all this. Just help me get back to Normal, to the Men of Letters. I can go right back to ’58, and none of this will have happened.”
“Not on your life. I’m in the middle of a major quest, and I cannot let you change anything now.”
“John....”
“What part of ‘hell, no’ don’t you understand?”
Before the argument could continue, Mary grabbed John’s arm. “John. Something’s coming.”
The closet door rattled again.
“Oh, no,” Henry breathed. “Run!”
But there wasn’t time to run. The closet door burst open again, and a statuesque redhead whom John vaguely remembered meeting once strolled through the portal, her baby blue ball gown spattered with blood. “Henry,” she said and laughed. “Silly man, you forgot to lock the door.”
John cursed inwardly. He wasn’t carrying the Colt, the knife, or the remaining angel sword, and the only way to get to them lay past Abaddon. But then the temperature in the room plunged further, and Mary burst into flames and launched herself at the intruder. John began hustling his father toward the door, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the ensuing struggle between ghost and demon. Mary gained the upper hand and began wrestling Abaddon out of her host, but it wasn’t easy.
“Mary?!” John gasped as the fight reached a brief standstill.
“GO!” Mary cried.
The last thing John saw as Henry pulled him out of the room was Abaddon suddenly billowing out of her host and forcing Mary through the floor.
“John! JOHN!” Henry called, shaking him. “We have to go!”
His heart breaking all over again, John opened the Impala’s door, shoved Henry in and slid in after him, and peeled out of the parking lot. They made it perhaps a mile out of Sterling before John pulled over so that Henry could noisily lose what remained of his dinner while John broke down under the weight of his flashback to the night of the fire.
Finally, Henry got back in the car and gently shut the door. “John, I-”
“Save it,” John replied gruffly, swiping at his face with his handkerchief. “I knew this was coming. I just... wasn’t expecting it so soon.” He sighed. “I have to save her.”
“Son, she’s gone.”
“You don’t understand. That’s the second trial, saving an innocent soul from Hell and delivering it to Heaven.” John restarted the engine. “Gotta summon a Reaper, find the back door into Purgatory.”
“No, wait, with Abaddon still out there, I need to get back to Normal.”
“What part of what I just said did you not understand?”
“Do you have what it takes to summon a Reaper?” When John didn’t respond, Henry continued, “I don’t know that spell, but I do know the Men of Letters should have everything you need.”
“How do you know that?”
“Well, those things can’t be much rarer than dragon tears, angel feathers, and the sands of time, which are the ingredients for the spell that brought me here.”
“So you want to go back to Normal. To a club that burned to the ground twenty-nine years ago.” Henry blanched, but John kept going. “And if by some miracle we find what you’re looking for, you’re gonna snag your rare ingredients and go back to ’58 and wreck everything I’m working for.” Henry looked away, and John put the car in gear. “No. We’re going to Sioux Falls.” And he pulled back onto the road.
A detour to the Roadhouse was out of the question now. If Sammy’s escape-artist tendencies were genetic at all, John had a good guess that they’d come from the man sitting in the passenger seat. And he was in neither mood nor fit state to go chasing after his well-meaning but totally ignorant father if Henry figured out that there was a hoodoo shop anywhere near any place where they might stop. There wasn’t one closer to Sioux Falls than the one on the Winnebago reservation, and something told John the Ho-Chunk probably wouldn’t be stocking dragon tears. So John decided to drive straight through to Bobby’s, stopping only for food and gas.
Henry finally broke his silence after the first hour. “So. It’s 1987. And you’re a widower.”
John didn’t reply.
“Children?” When John said nothing, Henry sighed. “John, I can’t understand why you’re so bent on this quest if you won’t tell me anything.”
John hesitated a moment. “Two boys.”
“Are they in Sioux Falls?”
“No.”
“Well, then why-”
John snapped on the radio just in time to hear Roger Daltrey’s iconic scream on “Won’t Get Fooled Again.” As intended, it startled Henry into silence. After several minutes of Led Zeppelin, Asia, Kansas, and Pink Floyd, however, John finally relented and turned the volume down during the commercial break. “My sons are safe. I intend to keep ’em that way. Bobby’s place is also safe; it’s probably the safest place for us to find out what happened to your book club.”
“It is not a book club, and it was not a fire.”
“Well, the paper called it a fire, so maybe Abaddon started it to cover her tracks. The demon that killed Mary did.”
“... What?”
“Why the hell do you think I’m a hunter? You think I got into this for kicks?”
Henry sighed. “Guess I thought too much about the shoot-first-don’t-bother-to-ask-questions-later attitude and never asked why anyone would start hunting. Some of the Campbells were among our contacts and had been for generations, but we only worked with the very elite.”
“Yeah, well, Mary said her family never heard of you. What does that tell you?”
“Abaddon. But she couldn’t have killed everyone-there has to be an elder still living somewhere who can help us.”
“Help us with what?”
“At the very least?” Henry pulled a box the size of a pack of cigarettes or cards out of his pocket. “Tell me what to do with this.”
“What is that?”
“I have no idea. But it’s what Abaddon was after.”
Disgusted, John turned the radio back up.
Henry had no idea what to make of his grown son. None. He supposed he could understand why John seemed so angry, given that he had disappeared without a trace and shown up so suddenly in the midst of John’s bereavement-with a demon on his tail, no less. But he couldn’t understand how his sweet, loving, brilliant son could have become a hunter. Hunters were apes, ignorant and violent. John was a legacy. Why hadn’t someone stepped in to teach him the ways of the Letters in Henry’s absence?
He refused to entertain the thought that no one had come for John because all of the Letters were dead. If that were the case, his leap in the dark would have been for nothing, since he didn’t even know what he’d saved. No, surely someone had made it out of the club that night. He could only hope that this Bobby person would in fact be able to help them find out what had happened. And maybe whoever survived would be able to explain why his own secrecy mattered more than John’s welfare.
It wasn’t just John’s being a hunter that bothered Henry. John’s choice of clothing was rough-leather jacket, flannel shirt, blue jeans, work boots. Henry eventually got him to admit that he hadn’t gone to college and that he’d been a mechanic before his wife was attacked. His hands were rough and callused, and his build was muscular, more befitting a warrior than a scholar. And he liked rough music, louder and harsher than even the most raucous rock-’n’-roll bands that had been on the radio in ’58, and snapped “Driver picks the music” when Henry had dared to try to change the station. Even his car was rough, with its sleek black body and powerful, snarling engine. Maybe it was just the effect of the time travel, but Henry simply couldn’t get his head around the extent of John’s apparent rejection of the upper middle class life Henry had inherited and tried to pass on.
Quest or no quest, Henry had to go back and make things right. This wasn’t the way life was supposed to go.
But of course, going back meant finding the truth in the present, and that meant going through Bobby. And truth be told, Henry was a little relieved when the mileage signs started mentioning Sioux Falls. He had managed to doze on the way to make up somewhat for having jumped from 10 p.m. in one year to 8 a.m. in another, but John, for all his dogged determination to make the trip in one stretch, was starting to look tired and a little peaked. Even if Henry couldn’t get away that night, they needed a safe place for John to rest.
He hoped he didn’t cringe visibly when said safe place turned out to be a salvage yard.
But there was more to Bobby Singer and his rundown house than met the eye. He greeted Henry with a shot glass full of holy water, presented politely as a drink rather than flung in Henry’s face. The living room was full of bookshelves groaning with reference works, some of which Henry recognized and some of which he’d never encountered before. And in a corner of the kitchen, Bobby had a small device that he claimed was a computer (!) connected to some network called CompuServe (!!) that allowed him to type in a query regarding the attack on the Letters and expect an answer by the time they finished eating supper.
Once Bobby had typed in that query, however, he turned to John. “Now, you look like hell.”
“Singer...” John growled.
“I will look after your dad.” Bobby picked up John’s bag and shoved it into John’s hands. “Hit the shower, Jarhead.”
John grumbled something Henry didn’t quite catch over the sound of his heart pounding wildly.
“Cain’t hurt me with the truth, idjit. At least go change.”
John halfway smiled and started to comply.
“Wait,” Henry finally managed. “J-y-you-”
John turned back. “Yeah. Corporal. Echo Company, Second Battalion, First Marines.”
“Did you-”
“Saw action. Vietnam. Bronze Star, Purple Heart.”
“Oh, no. No, no, I should have been there to get you out of the draft somehow.”
John looked angrier than he had all day, which was saying something. “I enlisted,” he snarled. “It was my choice, and for all the hell I went through, I don’t regret making that choice. You know why? Because my country needed me. And not even you could have changed that.” And he stormed upstairs.
Henry started to follow to apologize, but Bobby caught his arm. “Let him go. He’ll cool down, and then you can tell him you’re sorry. Y’already got one foot in your mouth. Best not make it two.”
Somewhere upstairs, a door slammed.
Henry sighed. “You sound like you know him well.”
Bobby shrugged. “Better’n most, I reckon. Jim Murphy knows ’im better, but that’s ’cause they served together in ’Nam.”
“How long have you known John?”
“Oh, three, three an’ a half years. Fire was four years ago come November, so... ’bout that, yeah.”
Henry blinked. “Four years? I was under the impression Mary had just died.”
“Listen, Henry, there is a hell of a lot that you don’t know. So less’n you want a gold medal in jumpin’ to conclusions, you wait an’ judge after you’ve heard the whole story.”
“But he won’t talk to me.”
“John don’t talk much to anyone, even on a good day. He’s just lost her all over again. We can wait’ll he’s asleep, and I can tell you what happened.”
Henry looked at Bobby for a moment to gauge his sincerity and didn’t sense any ill will. So he nodded. “I’d appreciate that. Thanks.”
John came back down at that point, dressed for bed and looking even more exhausted than he had when he’d left the room. He waved off Henry’s apology about the draft comment and didn’t contribute much to Bobby’s attempt over supper to get Henry caught up on major world events. And after the meal, he waited quietly for Bobby to call up what his computer had found, read the names of the deceased, and enter another query even before Henry could explain that Albert Magnus was an alias. Then John excused himself to the living room with a tall glass of cheap bourbon. Henry watched him go with a sigh and offered to help Bobby with the dishes, but by the time they finished, John was sacked out on the couch and snoring.
Bobby sighed, shut the sliding door into the living room, and came back and picked up the bottle of bourbon. “All I got’s cheap rotgut, but you’re welcome to it. Might help.”
Henry swallowed hard as he considered, then shook his head. “No. Thank you. I’ll... I’ll be all right.”
“Suit yourself. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
They sat down at the table, and Bobby spun a tale of woe that even Henry, as a Man of Letters, could scarcely believe was true and left him slumped forward and clutching his head as he tried to make sense of it all-what Mary’s ghost had lately confessed quietly to Bobby of the events that led to Samuel’s death, the deal she had made, and the fire that had claimed her life. John’s fear for his boys and rage over Mary’s loss, the twin impulses that had driven him to hunt. The severe efficiency of his hunting, which bespoke his Marine training and both impressed and scared other hunters. And, more important in Bobby’s eyes, the number of lives John had single-handedly saved in the relatively short time he’d been hunting. “If those boys o’ his take after their daddy as much as I think they do,” Bobby concluded, “there’s a good chance the three of ’em will be the best hunters in the whole damn world.”
Henry didn’t know whether he was more heartbroken or proud.
Bobby stood and patted Henry’s shoulder. “I’ll go see if I can’t find somethin’ for you to sleep in.”
“Thank you,” Henry whispered.
Bobby left, and Henry struggled to pull himself together. As tired and shaken as he was, he had to go to Normal, find what remained of the Letters, and return to ’58. He simply couldn’t let John suffer so much, no matter what the outcome in the wider world might be.
Finally, he pushed himself to his feet and started toward the front door. There were so many cars in the salvage yard that he was sure he could find one to hotwire. True, he didn’t have the information from Bobby’s latest computer query, but it wouldn’t be hard to find the same information in Normal. Better that he disappear now, while Bobby was occupied and John was asleep, than risk their being able to stop him later.
His hand was on the doorknob when an arm shot across the doorway, blocking his escape. He startled back a couple of steps, which gave him the space to realize that it was John, stonefaced and not as drunk as he had seemed, who was cutting him off.
Henry sighed. “John....”
“I’m closing the gates of Hell,” John rumbled. “Don’t you dare take that away from me.”
Henry’s mouth fell open as the last puzzle pieces fell into place. He understood far better now. But he couldn’t help objecting weakly, “I should have been there for you back then.”
John sighed, and his color began to wane. “You can be here for me now, Pops.”
Henry never had been the demonstrative type, but he didn’t know what else to do but hug his bear of a son and let himself be hugged in return.
“Please,” John whispered.
“I’ll stay,” Henry promised and meant it with all his heart. “As long as you need me, I’ll stay.”
John’s breath hitched. “Thank you.”
Henry held John a moment longer, then backed away to arm’s length. “Son, you’re burning up.”
John nodded wearily. “Side effect of the trials.”
“Well, then, come on, lie back down. I’m not going anywhere, I swear.”
John staggered back to the couch with Henry’s help and lay down with a groan. Henry rummaged around the hall closet until he found blankets, covered John with one, and set up a pallet on the floor beside the couch for himself. John was making some kind of noise under his breath as he drifted, but just about the time Bobby started back down the stairs, Henry finally recognized the sound.
John was humming “As Time Goes By.”
Next
[1] May your strength be firm. (also used idiomatically to mean “Well done”)
[2] Blessed art Thou, O Lord our God, King of the Universe, Judge of Truth. (said in times of bereavement or when confronted with bad news)
Chapter 4
Everybody Comes to Rick’s
John. JOHN. Wake up.
John mumbled something even he couldn’t understand as Mary’s insistent voice penetrated the fog of alcohol and sleep that he had no intention of fighting his way out of so soon. But the hand that was shaking his shoulder suddenly tightened-and turned to what felt like solid ice. The shock jolted him awake, and he sat up with a loud gasp.
Finally. She let him go.
He rubbed his shoulder briskly. “What’re you tryin’ to do, gimme frostbite?!”
It’s started.
He froze. “What do you mean?”
Rufus Turner’s on the phone. Bobby’s taking down the details, but he wanted me to wake you. Sounds like Rufus has a line on the first trial.
John cursed quietly. He had been expecting it to take months of further research to narrow down what omen information lined up with probable deals. Still rubbing his shoulder, he got up and staggered into Bobby’s kitchen to get himself a cup of coffee. Bobby was at the table jotting notes, but John wasn’t anywhere close to clear-headed enough to read over his shoulder.
“Well, Sleepin’ Ugly’s finally up,” Bobby told Rufus as he looked up and nodded to John.
John didn’t know a lot of sign language, but some signs were relatively universal.
Bobby snorted. “Nah, he ain’t awake yet, just vertical. I’ll fill him in. Thanks, Rufus.” And he hung up.
“I hate you,” John declared.
“Man up, Princess. I saved you some pancakes.”
John found said pancakes on the back burner of the stove on a plate covered by a serving bowl. He brought the plate and the coffee to the table and made a second trip for silverware. As he sat down and dug in, Bobby turned his attention to the atlas he had open on his side of the table.
Once the syrup and caffeine had jumpstarted his brain, John asked, “So what’s Rufus got that’s so urgent?”
“Guy called him in a panic yesterday, wantin’ to know how to hold off demons,” Bobby replied, still studying the atlas. “Seems the guy made a deal that comes due in a week, and he’s having second thoughts about payin’ up.”
“One week. Not much time.”
“Nope. Rufus’ll be callin’ Rabbi Bass, see if he can’t get hold of at least holy oil, if not one o’ those knives the notes talked about. I am tryin’ to work out whether you can get to Manning and back in time.”
“Manning-Elkins?”
Bobby nodded. “Mary confirmed it. He’s got the Colt.”
John sighed. “Where’s the hunt?”
“Carbondale, IL. Rufus said he’ll meet you there.”
John did the math in his head. “It’s fifteen hours or so to Manning, figure two days from Manning to Carbondale....”
“Yeah, but you gotta argue with Elkins in there, too.”
A sudden clatter-bang from the hall closet got both men’s attention. They dashed into the hall to find Mary visibly struggling to pick up a duffle that looked suspiciously like one of John’s. But John hadn’t brought in a bag the night before.
“Honey?” John prompted.
Mary looked up with tears in her eyes. This was theirs.
“Theirs? They being-”
You don’t remember. She let the strap fall and faded a bit in defeat. The night Old Man Woodsen died, we-we had some unexpected visitors.
John felt himself pale. That night had been a horrifying blank ever since it happened. But now that she mentioned it, he had a very vague memory of a voice-a voice strangely like his adult son’s-Sorry, it’s just... for a minute there, you reminded me of-
Bobby pulled the closet door open, and sure enough, there was the sigil again.
John turned back to Mary. “Did you see who it was?”
She shook her head. Not this time. They just slid the bag through. But last time... well, an angel brought them then, but... I remember, now that I’m dead. They’d put supplies in here, holy oil, couple of angel swords, maybe some other things. They brought it with us when we all went out to the safe house my parents had, out near Clinton Lake.
Swallowing hard, John knelt and opened the bag. In it were in fact an earthen jar, two short silver swords, a knife that matched the description in the notes, a pair of glasses, and a note that read:
We’re sorry, Dad. We love you.
Sam
Mary wept, and John shed more than a few tears himself. Bobby just squeezed his shoulder for a long moment before going to call Rufus.
“But how did he send it?” John asked a sniffling Missouri two days later. “If I’m changing the future-”
Missouri shook her head. “Ain’t changed it enough yet. Boys had two sets o’ memories all of a sudden, knew things were startin’ to shift. And Sam... poor boy, still fightin’ that fever....”
Mary’s hand tightened around John’s arm.
Missouri chuckled. “Didn’t check with Dean first. If he had, he wouldn’ta sent holy oil and the glasses they treated. May not need the angel swords, either, but... then again, you might. Or someone else.”
That gave John an idea, but since it wasn’t relevant to the conversation at hand, he didn’t say anything about it.
Missouri only acknowledged him with a raised eyebrow before turning back to the subject of Sammy-Sam-and his care package. “Anyway, all he could think was that they shoulda sent supplies. So he did, and he prayed they’d get to you in time.”
But what was wrong with him? Mary asked.
Missouri shook her head again. “Like Dean said. You don’t want to know.”
John started to cover Mary’s hand with his own but paused when he remembered that she was incorporeal. “Guess the only remedy now is to keep moving forward.”
Missouri nodded slowly. “John, you know I ain’t no fortune teller. But Sam, his faith in you was... almost absolute. He was afraid they’d failed, he and Dean. He knew Dean could do it, but he couldn’t bear to let him try. ‘But if anyone else can pull this off,’ he thought, ‘it’s Dad.’”
Mary put her head on John’s shoulder.
John took a deep breath and let it out again. “All right, then. I will.”
When John met up with Rufus in Carbondale the next day, Rufus insisted on treating a second pair of glasses so he could serve as John’s lookout-John’s corporeal lookout, he amended when Mary appeared to object. The guy who’d made the deal was quite shifty about why he’d made the deal and why he was in such a sweat to save his life, so it didn’t surprise John when Rufus set defenses with everything that would stop a demon except salt. On the night the deal came due, they rode together in Rufus’ truck and staked out the house, and Mary alerted John when she heard the hounds. With her guidance, John and Rufus stalked and cornered one hound, and Rufus kept it busy with salt and iron while John dove underneath it and sliced its belly open with the demon-killing knife, letting the foul black blood wash over him. Rufus caught the corpse before it could collapse on top of John, and that, they thought, was that.
We’re too late for our victim, though, Mary informed them. Sounds like the demon sent a full pack... and the idiot tried to run.
Both men sighed.
“All right,” Rufus said to John. “You do your thing, and I’ll go call this in.”
John nodded. “All right.”
As Rufus left, Mary smiled regretfully at John. You looked pretty good, honey.
He smiled wryly back at her and wiped his knife on one of the few clean spots on his shirt. “Don’t smell too good right now.”
She chuckled.
He sheathed the knife and sighed. “Okay. Here goes. Kah-nuh-ahm-dahr.”
Even the description Sam had sent in his notes hadn’t prepared John for the gust of wind that slammed into his chest, sending him to his knees, or the burst of power that shot up his right arm when he braced himself against the ground, crackling and glowing through his veins before sinking deeper and racing to his heart, then dispersing and letting him breathe again.
When he looked up, he could see Mary hovering over him, eyes wide in fear. “John?!” he clearly heard her gasp.
He wheezed a couple of times as he pushed himself to his feet. “I... I’m okay. Mar... save... save your strength....”
She blinked. “What are you talking about?”
He made the sign for See.
She grabbed his arm. “You can see me?”
He nodded. “’N voice’s... stronger.”
“John, I’m not expending any more energy than I was.”
They were still staring at each other in shock when Rufus returned. “C’mon, Winchester. Let’s get out of here.”
John blinked. “Rufus... c-can you see her?”
“See who?”
John pointed. “Mary.”
Rufus looked, put his glasses on and took them off several times, squinted, closed one eye and then the other, held the glasses at arm’s length to peer through, and finally shook his head. “Nope.”
John let out a ragged breath, swayed, and staggered as he caught himself.
Mary put a hand on his back. “We need to go.”
Rufus came over and slung John’s arm across his neck. “Come on, Jarhead. Let’s move.”
John let Rufus take most of his weight as they hurried out to the truck. And he was grateful that Rufus was the one driving, because it took most of the drive back to the motel for him to recover enough to be able to walk into the room under his own power. Mary steered him into the shower and helped him as she could while Rufus took his ruined clothes to burn, and then he collapsed into bed and slept hard for a good twelve hours. He woke more or less refreshed-but he could still see Mary clear as day.
“You all right?” Rufus asked as they left after checking out.
John nodded. “Yeah. I’ve had worse.”
“Where you headed?”
“Colorado. Wasn’t time to talk to Elkins on the way out here, but I’ve got a feeling I’m gonna need that Colt.”
Rufus nodded. “All right. Listen, you need anything else, you holler, all right?”
John nodded and shook hands with him. “Appreciate it, Rufus. And thanks for your help on this one.”
“Yasher Koach, [1] man.” Rufus paused but didn’t let go of John’s hand. “Baruch atah Adonai Eloheinu Melekh Ha’Olam, Dayan HaEmet.” [2]
John didn’t know what to say besides “Amen.”
Mary pressed a gentle kiss on Rufus’ cheek, much as she must have done a few days earlier to Bobby, and like Bobby, Rufus was briefly flustered by it. John snickered, and Mary winked at him. And with a final round of farewells, Rufus left.
John didn’t push straight through to Manning. Nobody’s life was at stake except his own, and he wasn’t feeling entirely up to snuff. Rather, he enjoyed the road and the scenery (such as it was) and his improved ability to talk with Mary, and he stopped for the night in Salina, KS, and called the Roadhouse to check on the boys. Sammy had developed a bit of a cough, but otherwise the boys seemed to be doing okay, settling in and getting used to the new routine and to Jo.
Elkins, quite predictably, refused at first even to admit that he had the Colt. But John not only told him how Mary knew he had it but also presented the ace-or rather the sword-up his sleeve.
“I don’t much care whether we call this a trade or a security,” he said, holding the sword out laid flat across his palms. “But I’m willing to leave you one weapon that kills anything in exchange for another.”
Elkins frowned. “What is that?”
“An angel’s sword.”
“Angels don’t exist.”
“Oh, but they do. I’ve met a few,” John added, though Mary hadn’t told him all the details.
“If it kills anything, why do you need the Colt?”
“Range. Bad thing about swords is how close you have to get to use ’em.”
Elkins picked up the sword by the hilt and examined it carefully. John couldn’t tell whether Elkins was aware of the thrumming of celestial harmony John had felt when he touched the sword, but it didn’t really matter in the long run. Elkins finally nodded and handed it back. “Security. As you say, the Colt has the advantage of range. I will want it back.”
“Fair enough. I’ll make arrangements in case I can’t return it in person.”
Elkins nodded again and disappeared into his house, returning moments later with a gun case. “There are only five bullets left. After that, it will be useless to you.”
John nodded. “Understood.”
The two hunters exchanged weapons and shook hands, and John put the Colt in the very bottom of the trunk arsenal and left, intending to return to Sioux Falls by way of the Roadhouse.
That night he stopped in Sterling, CO, to rest. His joints were beginning to ache as if he were coming down with the flu, and Mary insisted that he take care of himself. Sleep did help some, and after breakfast, he felt well enough to continue. But he hadn’t yet checked out of his motel room, so he returned to load the car and check out.
He was still double-checking that he hadn’t forgotten anything when the closet door rattled.
“Oh, boy,” Mary sighed at the same time John groaned, “Here we go again.”
But it wasn’t an adult version of either of his sons who tumbled through the portal this time. The thin, dark-haired figure was wearing a light blue suit, and John knew who it was even before the man raised a pale, worried face that John hadn’t seen in nearly thirty years. That didn’t stop him from drawing his gun.
“John?” P-Henry asked warily.
“What. The hell. Are you doing here?” John growled.
Henry raised his hands in surrender. “John, don’t you know me?”
Mary looked from father to son in confusion. “Who is this?”
John ignored her. “Oh, I know you. I haven’t seen you since you walked out in ’58.”
Henry’s eyes widened. “No-no, son, you don’t understand-”
Mary popped into the closet and back out again. “It’s the same sigil.”
“Enlighten me,” John snarled.
Henry swallowed hard. “The night I left, I went to a meeting, at a club on Gaines Street. My final initiation into the Men of Letters. We’re a secret society, charged with observing and recording all that man does not understand. All the Winchester men have been members, dating back a thousand years.”
“Well, the Campbells never heard of them,” Mary noted quietly.
“Go on,” John said, not lowering his gun.
Henry sighed. “We were attacked by a demon. Abaddon. One of the elders gave me something to keep safe, but there was no way out. So I used a spell-”
“Blood leads to blood?”
“Th-that’s right. But-I mean, if I didn’t come back from this time, then how-”
“Long story short? I’m a hunter.”
Henry blinked. “A... a hunter? My son a hunter?!”
The temperature dropped as Mary snarled, “Damn straight, and one of the best I’ve ever seen.”
Henry flinched backward. “Wait, is that-”
“My wife’s ghost,” John explained. “Mary, this is my father, Henry Winchester.”
“Mary Campbell,” she stated flatly. “Of the Lawrence Campbells.”
Henry looked at her more closely. “Are... were you Samuel’s daughter?”
“I am indeed. But he never said a word about you.”
“I’m not surprised. Not to speak ill of your father, but-”
“Don’t. You. Dare.”
“You don’t have a corner on the market for demon attacks,” John noted.
Henry ran a hand over his mouth as he seemed to put two and two together. “Look, I... I can fix all this. Just help me get back to Normal, to the Men of Letters. I can go right back to ’58, and none of this will have happened.”
“Not on your life. I’m in the middle of a major quest, and I cannot let you change anything now.”
“John....”
“What part of ‘hell, no’ don’t you understand?”
Before the argument could continue, Mary grabbed John’s arm. “John. Something’s coming.”
The closet door rattled again.
“Oh, no,” Henry breathed. “Run!”
But there wasn’t time to run. The closet door burst open again, and a statuesque redhead whom John vaguely remembered meeting once strolled through the portal, her baby blue ball gown spattered with blood. “Henry,” she said and laughed. “Silly man, you forgot to lock the door.”
John cursed inwardly. He wasn’t carrying the Colt, the knife, or the remaining angel sword, and the only way to get to them lay past Abaddon. But then the temperature in the room plunged further, and Mary burst into flames and launched herself at the intruder. John began hustling his father toward the door, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the ensuing struggle between ghost and demon. Mary gained the upper hand and began wrestling Abaddon out of her host, but it wasn’t easy.
“Mary?!” John gasped as the fight reached a brief standstill.
“GO!” Mary cried.
The last thing John saw as Henry pulled him out of the room was Abaddon suddenly billowing out of her host and forcing Mary through the floor.
“John! JOHN!” Henry called, shaking him. “We have to go!”
His heart breaking all over again, John opened the Impala’s door, shoved Henry in and slid in after him, and peeled out of the parking lot. They made it perhaps a mile out of Sterling before John pulled over so that Henry could noisily lose what remained of his dinner while John broke down under the weight of his flashback to the night of the fire.
Finally, Henry got back in the car and gently shut the door. “John, I-”
“Save it,” John replied gruffly, swiping at his face with his handkerchief. “I knew this was coming. I just... wasn’t expecting it so soon.” He sighed. “I have to save her.”
“Son, she’s gone.”
“You don’t understand. That’s the second trial, saving an innocent soul from Hell and delivering it to Heaven.” John restarted the engine. “Gotta summon a Reaper, find the back door into Purgatory.”
“No, wait, with Abaddon still out there, I need to get back to Normal.”
“What part of what I just said did you not understand?”
“Do you have what it takes to summon a Reaper?” When John didn’t respond, Henry continued, “I don’t know that spell, but I do know the Men of Letters should have everything you need.”
“How do you know that?”
“Well, those things can’t be much rarer than dragon tears, angel feathers, and the sands of time, which are the ingredients for the spell that brought me here.”
“So you want to go back to Normal. To a club that burned to the ground twenty-nine years ago.” Henry blanched, but John kept going. “And if by some miracle we find what you’re looking for, you’re gonna snag your rare ingredients and go back to ’58 and wreck everything I’m working for.” Henry looked away, and John put the car in gear. “No. We’re going to Sioux Falls.” And he pulled back onto the road.
A detour to the Roadhouse was out of the question now. If Sammy’s escape-artist tendencies were genetic at all, John had a good guess that they’d come from the man sitting in the passenger seat. And he was in neither mood nor fit state to go chasing after his well-meaning but totally ignorant father if Henry figured out that there was a hoodoo shop anywhere near any place where they might stop. There wasn’t one closer to Sioux Falls than the one on the Winnebago reservation, and something told John the Ho-Chunk probably wouldn’t be stocking dragon tears. So John decided to drive straight through to Bobby’s, stopping only for food and gas.
Henry finally broke his silence after the first hour. “So. It’s 1987. And you’re a widower.”
John didn’t reply.
“Children?” When John said nothing, Henry sighed. “John, I can’t understand why you’re so bent on this quest if you won’t tell me anything.”
John hesitated a moment. “Two boys.”
“Are they in Sioux Falls?”
“No.”
“Well, then why-”
John snapped on the radio just in time to hear Roger Daltrey’s iconic scream on “Won’t Get Fooled Again.” As intended, it startled Henry into silence. After several minutes of Led Zeppelin, Asia, Kansas, and Pink Floyd, however, John finally relented and turned the volume down during the commercial break. “My sons are safe. I intend to keep ’em that way. Bobby’s place is also safe; it’s probably the safest place for us to find out what happened to your book club.”
“It is not a book club, and it was not a fire.”
“Well, the paper called it a fire, so maybe Abaddon started it to cover her tracks. The demon that killed Mary did.”
“... What?”
“Why the hell do you think I’m a hunter? You think I got into this for kicks?”
Henry sighed. “Guess I thought too much about the shoot-first-don’t-bother-to-ask-questions-later attitude and never asked why anyone would start hunting. Some of the Campbells were among our contacts and had been for generations, but we only worked with the very elite.”
“Yeah, well, Mary said her family never heard of you. What does that tell you?”
“Abaddon. But she couldn’t have killed everyone-there has to be an elder still living somewhere who can help us.”
“Help us with what?”
“At the very least?” Henry pulled a box the size of a pack of cigarettes or cards out of his pocket. “Tell me what to do with this.”
“What is that?”
“I have no idea. But it’s what Abaddon was after.”
Disgusted, John turned the radio back up.
Henry had no idea what to make of his grown son. None. He supposed he could understand why John seemed so angry, given that he had disappeared without a trace and shown up so suddenly in the midst of John’s bereavement-with a demon on his tail, no less. But he couldn’t understand how his sweet, loving, brilliant son could have become a hunter. Hunters were apes, ignorant and violent. John was a legacy. Why hadn’t someone stepped in to teach him the ways of the Letters in Henry’s absence?
He refused to entertain the thought that no one had come for John because all of the Letters were dead. If that were the case, his leap in the dark would have been for nothing, since he didn’t even know what he’d saved. No, surely someone had made it out of the club that night. He could only hope that this Bobby person would in fact be able to help them find out what had happened. And maybe whoever survived would be able to explain why his own secrecy mattered more than John’s welfare.
It wasn’t just John’s being a hunter that bothered Henry. John’s choice of clothing was rough-leather jacket, flannel shirt, blue jeans, work boots. Henry eventually got him to admit that he hadn’t gone to college and that he’d been a mechanic before his wife was attacked. His hands were rough and callused, and his build was muscular, more befitting a warrior than a scholar. And he liked rough music, louder and harsher than even the most raucous rock-’n’-roll bands that had been on the radio in ’58, and snapped “Driver picks the music” when Henry had dared to try to change the station. Even his car was rough, with its sleek black body and powerful, snarling engine. Maybe it was just the effect of the time travel, but Henry simply couldn’t get his head around the extent of John’s apparent rejection of the upper middle class life Henry had inherited and tried to pass on.
Quest or no quest, Henry had to go back and make things right. This wasn’t the way life was supposed to go.
But of course, going back meant finding the truth in the present, and that meant going through Bobby. And truth be told, Henry was a little relieved when the mileage signs started mentioning Sioux Falls. He had managed to doze on the way to make up somewhat for having jumped from 10 p.m. in one year to 8 a.m. in another, but John, for all his dogged determination to make the trip in one stretch, was starting to look tired and a little peaked. Even if Henry couldn’t get away that night, they needed a safe place for John to rest.
He hoped he didn’t cringe visibly when said safe place turned out to be a salvage yard.
But there was more to Bobby Singer and his rundown house than met the eye. He greeted Henry with a shot glass full of holy water, presented politely as a drink rather than flung in Henry’s face. The living room was full of bookshelves groaning with reference works, some of which Henry recognized and some of which he’d never encountered before. And in a corner of the kitchen, Bobby had a small device that he claimed was a computer (!) connected to some network called CompuServe (!!) that allowed him to type in a query regarding the attack on the Letters and expect an answer by the time they finished eating supper.
Once Bobby had typed in that query, however, he turned to John. “Now, you look like hell.”
“Singer...” John growled.
“I will look after your dad.” Bobby picked up John’s bag and shoved it into John’s hands. “Hit the shower, Jarhead.”
John grumbled something Henry didn’t quite catch over the sound of his heart pounding wildly.
“Cain’t hurt me with the truth, idjit. At least go change.”
John halfway smiled and started to comply.
“Wait,” Henry finally managed. “J-y-you-”
John turned back. “Yeah. Corporal. Echo Company, Second Battalion, First Marines.”
“Did you-”
“Saw action. Vietnam. Bronze Star, Purple Heart.”
“Oh, no. No, no, I should have been there to get you out of the draft somehow.”
John looked angrier than he had all day, which was saying something. “I enlisted,” he snarled. “It was my choice, and for all the hell I went through, I don’t regret making that choice. You know why? Because my country needed me. And not even you could have changed that.” And he stormed upstairs.
Henry started to follow to apologize, but Bobby caught his arm. “Let him go. He’ll cool down, and then you can tell him you’re sorry. Y’already got one foot in your mouth. Best not make it two.”
Somewhere upstairs, a door slammed.
Henry sighed. “You sound like you know him well.”
Bobby shrugged. “Better’n most, I reckon. Jim Murphy knows ’im better, but that’s ’cause they served together in ’Nam.”
“How long have you known John?”
“Oh, three, three an’ a half years. Fire was four years ago come November, so... ’bout that, yeah.”
Henry blinked. “Four years? I was under the impression Mary had just died.”
“Listen, Henry, there is a hell of a lot that you don’t know. So less’n you want a gold medal in jumpin’ to conclusions, you wait an’ judge after you’ve heard the whole story.”
“But he won’t talk to me.”
“John don’t talk much to anyone, even on a good day. He’s just lost her all over again. We can wait’ll he’s asleep, and I can tell you what happened.”
Henry looked at Bobby for a moment to gauge his sincerity and didn’t sense any ill will. So he nodded. “I’d appreciate that. Thanks.”
John came back down at that point, dressed for bed and looking even more exhausted than he had when he’d left the room. He waved off Henry’s apology about the draft comment and didn’t contribute much to Bobby’s attempt over supper to get Henry caught up on major world events. And after the meal, he waited quietly for Bobby to call up what his computer had found, read the names of the deceased, and enter another query even before Henry could explain that Albert Magnus was an alias. Then John excused himself to the living room with a tall glass of cheap bourbon. Henry watched him go with a sigh and offered to help Bobby with the dishes, but by the time they finished, John was sacked out on the couch and snoring.
Bobby sighed, shut the sliding door into the living room, and came back and picked up the bottle of bourbon. “All I got’s cheap rotgut, but you’re welcome to it. Might help.”
Henry swallowed hard as he considered, then shook his head. “No. Thank you. I’ll... I’ll be all right.”
“Suit yourself. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
They sat down at the table, and Bobby spun a tale of woe that even Henry, as a Man of Letters, could scarcely believe was true and left him slumped forward and clutching his head as he tried to make sense of it all-what Mary’s ghost had lately confessed quietly to Bobby of the events that led to Samuel’s death, the deal she had made, and the fire that had claimed her life. John’s fear for his boys and rage over Mary’s loss, the twin impulses that had driven him to hunt. The severe efficiency of his hunting, which bespoke his Marine training and both impressed and scared other hunters. And, more important in Bobby’s eyes, the number of lives John had single-handedly saved in the relatively short time he’d been hunting. “If those boys o’ his take after their daddy as much as I think they do,” Bobby concluded, “there’s a good chance the three of ’em will be the best hunters in the whole damn world.”
Henry didn’t know whether he was more heartbroken or proud.
Bobby stood and patted Henry’s shoulder. “I’ll go see if I can’t find somethin’ for you to sleep in.”
“Thank you,” Henry whispered.
Bobby left, and Henry struggled to pull himself together. As tired and shaken as he was, he had to go to Normal, find what remained of the Letters, and return to ’58. He simply couldn’t let John suffer so much, no matter what the outcome in the wider world might be.
Finally, he pushed himself to his feet and started toward the front door. There were so many cars in the salvage yard that he was sure he could find one to hotwire. True, he didn’t have the information from Bobby’s latest computer query, but it wouldn’t be hard to find the same information in Normal. Better that he disappear now, while Bobby was occupied and John was asleep, than risk their being able to stop him later.
His hand was on the doorknob when an arm shot across the doorway, blocking his escape. He startled back a couple of steps, which gave him the space to realize that it was John, stonefaced and not as drunk as he had seemed, who was cutting him off.
Henry sighed. “John....”
“I’m closing the gates of Hell,” John rumbled. “Don’t you dare take that away from me.”
Henry’s mouth fell open as the last puzzle pieces fell into place. He understood far better now. But he couldn’t help objecting weakly, “I should have been there for you back then.”
John sighed, and his color began to wane. “You can be here for me now, Pops.”
Henry never had been the demonstrative type, but he didn’t know what else to do but hug his bear of a son and let himself be hugged in return.
“Please,” John whispered.
“I’ll stay,” Henry promised and meant it with all his heart. “As long as you need me, I’ll stay.”
John’s breath hitched. “Thank you.”
Henry held John a moment longer, then backed away to arm’s length. “Son, you’re burning up.”
John nodded wearily. “Side effect of the trials.”
“Well, then, come on, lie back down. I’m not going anywhere, I swear.”
John staggered back to the couch with Henry’s help and lay down with a groan. Henry rummaged around the hall closet until he found blankets, covered John with one, and set up a pallet on the floor beside the couch for himself. John was making some kind of noise under his breath as he drifted, but just about the time Bobby started back down the stairs, Henry finally recognized the sound.
John was humming “As Time Goes By.”
Next
[1] May your strength be firm. (also used idiomatically to mean “Well done”)
[2] Blessed art Thou, O Lord our God, King of the Universe, Judge of Truth. (said in times of bereavement or when confronted with bad news)