"She Just Wanted to be Heard Days 16-18," PG-13, The Ring/Supernatural & The Ring/Miracles
She Just Wanted to Be Heard
Day 16: Self-Portrait
Part of Story Arc 1: Counterclockwise
A "The Ring/Ringu" Fanfic
by Laurel (Sailorhathor)
Chapters: 16 of 100
Rating: Overall Rating PG-13 (some elements might be too intense or scary for those under 13; includes bad language)
Dates: Begun September 2006. Some material is based on previously written stories from 2003-2005.
Word Count: 2,971
Summary: Sam begins researching to figure out the identity of the artist in his nightmare. He gets help from an unexpected source.
Warning: Contains spoilers for the entire Ringu and The Ring series.
Fanfic Challenges: Fits 50_darkfics prompt #16 Evil and coclaim100 prompt #16 Books.
Author's Notes: Not beta'ed. If anyone wants to look over the remaining chapters, even if it's just this one, I'd really appreciate it.
Cross-over with the tv show "Supernatural." Set pre-series. To my knowledge, they never mentioned what Jessica's major was, so I gave her one.
Sam Winchester didn't hunt anymore.
So why was he currently in the Stanford library looking through books on Greek mythology, trying to find the meaning of the name Heptamera?
Sam wanted to be spiteful. He wanted to say "Screw him," and just let his father fend for himself. After all, isn't that what he'd done to Sam? It wasn't like John Winchester wasn't a badass in his own right; he could handle this case just like any other.
But Dean... Sam was afraid for Dean.
The dream he'd had made him feel as if his brother could be a real target here for reasons he did not fully understand yet.
Leaving Dean out there with no advance knowledge of the case, defenseless... well, his heart wasn't in it. Sam could thumb his nose at his father, but he couldn't allow Dean to be hurt in the fight against the latest evil being. Dean needed a leg up.
So far, Sam had found only one small blurb in a book about ancient Greek monsters. Heptamera, the Daemon of Seven Days, Guardian of the Mediterranean Sea. A daemon... not even a demon. A creature that pre-dated demons. Daemons were considered intermediaries between gods and man. Sam wondered for a brief moment if his dad could even handle this one. Would he and Dean have to take the thing on, or just his "bride," as the woman had called herself? Seems the daemon demanded tribute from the villagers of various Greek isles every seven days or he'd wreak a terrible wrath upon them. It was rumored that Heptamera raped comely young women who ventured too far into his waters. Some hybrid children may have been born.
Well, Sam could pretty much call this more than a myth with some conviction...
Then it hit him. Was there a connection between the girls who had spoken to him through the television and the other dream that he'd had, of Heptamera's bride? If she was the bride... were these "sisters" Heptamera's children?
A hand being smacked down on the table startled Sam out of his thoughts. A friend of his from one of his English classes snickered at him. "Did I scare ya?"
"Hey, Henry. Yeah, a little." He may have been given an English name, but Henry was Chinese. Sam wondered if he'd be able to help. "You know an Asian language or two, don't you?"
"Yeah. Do you need to know something?" Henry looked at the books spread out before Sam on the table. "Studying a lot of books, huh? You're always doing that," he said with amusement.
"I just like to learn new things." Sam took a piece of paper from his pocket. On it, he'd written the foreign phrase one of the sisters had uttered, to the best of his recollection. "I heard a phrase in a movie the other night in some language I don't know. They didn't subtitle it, and it's been driving me crazy."
"What did it sound like?"
"Asian."
Henry let out a small laugh and sat down next to Sam. "There are a lot of Asian languages, Sam."
"I know, but I don't know any," he said with a grin. "I would guess it was Japanese. Sounded something like the Japanese I've heard in the past."
"What's the phrase?"
Jessica Moore hadn't seen Sam Winchester since the Christmas party. Now, there he was, sitting at a table with another student, chatting about languages. She wanted to go over and say hi, but needed it to sound casual, like she hadn't been thinking about him as much as she had. Especially on the days when she and Craig fought. Sam was one of the biggest guys Jessica had ever known, but remarkably, he sometimes looked so small in those hoodies and layers of shirts he always wore. Often, she wondered if he was trying to hide from something.
Sam was now saying, "Shi... kata... nai ga... something..." and Jessica stepped a little closer to better hear their conversation.
"Shikata ga nai ne?" Henry said questioningly.
"Yeah, I think that was it. What's it mean?"
"It's basically the Japanese equivalent of the phrase, 'So be it.' If that's the way you want it, it can't be helped. Like a verbal shrug," explained Henry.
"Ohhh..." Sitting back, Sam sighed. It made sense. Sam wouldn't do what the Heptamera girls told him to, so they wrote him off and left him with the consequences. 'If that's the way you want it. So be it.' At least, the one who spoke Japanese felt that way toward him.
"Does that make sense?" Henry asked.
Sam nodded. "Yeah, it does. Thanks."
"I wish I knew more Japanese. All I know is 'arigato.'"
Sam and Henry both looked up. The expression of pure delight that came to Sam's face made Jessica's heart leap. He was happy to see her! He was practically ecstatic to see her. A few seconds later, Sam tried to dial down the over-bright smile she had brought out of him, but he didn't hide it completely. "Well, hi, Jessica! I haven't seen you in a while."
Jessica grinned back, tossing her long hair over one shoulder.
Henry looked from one person to the other. They were practically beating him over the head with the fact that they were attracted to each other, with all the "oh my God it's YOU!" smiles and enthusiastic greetings. Henry smirked. "Hey Jessica."
Jessica slid into a seat at the end of the table, a few chairs away from Sam. Not a good idea to be too overeager. She dumped her books on the table in front of her and flashed Sam a flirtatious smile.
How could he resist such a beautiful face... "As long as you're here, Jess, maybe you'll be able to help me with something else..."
"Try me." She was just happy to have an excuse to stay.
"I heard that Japanese in a movie I watched the other night. It was, you know, sort of an artsy movie..."
"What was it called?"
"Um... I'll have to get back to you on that one." Sam laughed lightly. He couldn't tell her the whole truth.
Jessica just enjoyed listening to his cute laugh.
Sam continued. "Anyway, there were these two images they used throughout the movie that I know I've seen somewhere before, but I can't for the life of me pinpoint where. They reminded me of oil paintings."
"Oil paintings of what?" Jessica questioned.
"Paintings? Oh God, art." Henry leaned his head back on his chair, closed his eyes, and pretended to snore.
"Just ignore him," she joked, although she meant it. The only thing better than hanging out with your crush was having a deep conversation with him. "Paintings of what?"
"Two women. I thought you might recognize them because we had that Art History class together last semester. Isn't that your major?"
He remembered! Jessica nodded with a knowing grin.
"The first image was of a dark-haired woman brushing her hair in an oval mirror. And the second was a girl with blond hair riding a black horse across a beach on an overcast day," Sam said, describing the two images that had flashed across his television while he spoke with the sisters.
Instant recognition in her eyes, Jessica knew that she'd be able to help Sam solve his quandary. She said, "I think I've seen these paintings before," and excitedly flipped to the back of one of her Art History textbooks.
Henry watched silently, amused with how much they liked each other, but how reluctant they were to admit it. After all, Jessica was supposed to still be with Craig.
Jessica found the artist's name she'd been searching for in the index, then fanned through the pages to that chapter. "Here," she said, and pointed to a two-page section. "Alexandra Baptiste."
There was the dark-haired woman brushing her hair in a painting entitled The Mirror in the Hall. The oval mirror was off-center, far to the right side. "That's it," he confirmed. "Alexandra Baptiste?"
"Yes. She's not a well-known artist, but she did enjoy some popularity in the late 1700's. A Greek woman who lived during the time of the occupation of the Ottoman Empire." Flipping the page, Jessica showed him a few more of the paintings reproduced in the book. One was of a blond girl riding a black horse across a beach, but from further away than Sam had seen her on the TV. In the foreground, the artist had painted part of another girl's arm and side; her fist was balled up in what could be assumed was anger or tension. She seemed to be watching the girl ride by on the horse, and was much closer to the viewer. This one was titled One Regret.
"She was Greek, huh?" Sam tried not to show how much this disturbed him, that this artist was probably the woman in his dream. He looked over some of the other paintings. "What else do you know about her?" Sam asked Jessica.
With a small shrug, she replied, "Not a lot. I read the chapter a while ago, but only so much sticks in your head. She was one of the most notable Greek artists of that time period, especially since she was a woman. This is only a couple pages on Baptiste; to tell you more, I'd have to get a book on just her. I seem to remember that she was considered quite eccentric. Like Dali, except spooky-eccentric." Jessica wiggled her upright fingers and imitated a Theremin. "Ooooh-weeeee-oooooh."
"How so?" asked Sam with dread. He thought he knew why.
"There's a little bit here about it." Jessica, pointing it out in the book, continued, "Baptiste claimed that she got the subjects of her paintings by entering into a deep hypnotic rapport with a spiritual being from the sea. Isn't that wild?"
Henry scoffed and said, "Methinks Alexandra was partaking of the funny little papers a little too much."
"Yeah." Sam tried to laugh it off, so it wouldn't seem like he believed it.
Playing a little bit of matchmaker, Henry casually threw in, "Well, you really saved Sam today, huh Jessica? It's like you two are perfect for each other." He took a dramatic pause. "I mean, it's like you came along at the perfect time."
Jessica fell silent, blushing furiously. She glared at her mischievous "helper."
Sam would have reacted, but he was too focused on the book. On the second page, he saw a painting that didn't surprise him much - it was the woman from his dream. Her lace cloak covered her head. Long black hair cascaded out from under it on either side of her face, on which she wore a menacing smile. She seemed to be gazing out of the painting.
Sam had expected this.
Looking over his shoulder, Henry shuddered at the woman's gaze. "It's like her eyes follow you," he commented.
The painting was entitled, Self-Portrait.
*****
A tiny smile remained on Sam's lips for the rest of the afternoon despite the fact that he wouldn't let himself rely on Jessica's word that she would be back. She'd said she was going to go ask one of her professors for a recommendation of books about Alexandra Baptiste and then would meet him at his dorm room sometime around five. It was almost 5:00 now.
Sam wondered if she really meant it, if Jessica was sincerely interested in him or just the weird artist they were researching. He'd gotten the impression that she really liked him, and might be using this research thing as a way to spend some time with him. That was fine with Sam.
Being stalked by a long-dead ghost? Not fine.
He was tempted to line the door and window with salt. Ultimately, Sam decided against it. Not only would Gerald find it mighty strange, but Sam wanted to gain as much information about this ghost as he could. Keeping her and the "sisters" out would only limit his knowledge of them. They seemed to be in a gabby mood. If Sam could get them to talk about themselves, the things he learned might be useful.
Careful there, Sammy. Someone might think you're hunting.
No. No, he wasn't a hunter anymore. He was just trying to help Dean. That was all.
Speaking of...
Sam checked his e-mail while he waited for some word from Jessica. There was an e-mail from Dean. His older brother's e-mails were few and far between for two reasons. One, Dean had no computer. He sent and read e-mails from the libraries that he and his father passed through while researching local legends and history. Two, Dean would never be considered a computer expert. He knew how to read e-mail, play games, surf for porn, and get into dating chat rooms, but those formed the extent of his computer knowledge.
There wasn't much point to answering the e-mail; Dean probably wouldn't be able to read it for weeks. Whatever Sam found out about the ghosts making contact with him, he'd have to figure out some other way to get it to Dean.
He grinned a bit wider when he read the e-mail.
"My Most Honorable Brudder Samuel Stikupdabutt,
Greetings! Please to read message from most handsome and desireable brother-type, Sir Dean the Great. Okay, then just read this e-mail from the coolest sib ever? Great! (Don't tell me I'm neither.)
How are things going over there? Dad and I are fine, though you did miss the weekend from hell. And you know I might just mean that literally. Long story. It's always a long story. Finer points: Dad and I battled a really badass creature that I can't remember how to spell. I'm not even going to try 'cause I know how you'll correct my spelling and send it back to me since you're such a GEEK. Anyway, it ran out in front of Dad's truck while he was in hot pursuit and he almost hit it. Could have totalled the truck and everything. It was like some really twisted episode of "Starsky and Hutch."
How is Stanford? Still in California? Dude, what is wrong with all the other states? You used to visit them all the time with Dad and me instead of staying in one place. You really like that? I could never sit still that long. But you know that. Okay, don't make me say it, man. Just know that Dad promised he'll buy you that pony you've been begging for for years if you come back. He told me. <--- lies, all lies!
I've atached a picture I took with my new digital camera. It's of Dad, Bobby, and me. Incase you've been away so long you've forgotten who everybody is, Dad's in the blue shirt, Bobby's the one in the middle, and I'm on the right. Who is that handsome devil? I never would have been able to figure out how to get the picture to you if it hadn't been for the help of a verrry cute blonde at a Walgreens in Virginia Beach. Her picture's attached too. She's wearing the Walgreens shirt and not much else. It's true, I'm evil.
Mail me back sometime and let me know how it's hanging.
Your favorite and, coincidentally, only brother,
Dean"
Sam wanted to get mad over how many times Dean had tried to make him feel guilty for not being there, but he couldn't. The underlying message of I miss you touched his heart too much to get angry. He wanted to say I miss you too every time he found a typing mistake, an egotistical joke, or more conclusive evidence of his brother's obsession with electronic toys he didn't really need. It all added up to what made Dean Dean. The fact that he had to be a casualty of Sam's newfound independence brought tears to his eyes.
Virginia Beach. That could mean that they weren't in Boston, like the ghosts said they were.
The ghosts said they were headed to Boston this weekend, Sammy. Dad and Dean aren't there yet. You're looking for an excuse to get out of this before it starts.
Sometimes, Sam would give anything to shut up his conscience.
it won't stop
She Just Wanted to Be Heard
Day 17: Double-sided Painting
Part of Story Arc 1: Counterclockwise
A "The Ring/Ringu" Fanfic
by Laurel (Sailorhathor)
Chapters: 17 of 100
Rating: Overall Rating PG-13 (some elements might be too intense or scary for those under 13; includes bad language)
Dates: Begun September 2006. Some material is based on previously written stories from 2003-2005.
Word Count: 2,989
Summary: Good to her word, Jessica brings over some books about the artist from Sam's nightmare. There is something obviously supernatural about her paintings. They research her together while their romance buds.
Warning: Contains spoilers for the entire Ringu and The Ring series.
Fanfic Challenges: Fits 50_darkfics prompt #17 Fear and coclaim100 prompt #17 Different.
Author's Notes: Not beta'ed. If anyone wants to look over the remaining chapters, even if it's just this one, I'd really appreciate it.
Cross-over with the tv show "Supernatural." Set pre-series.
There was a knock at the door.
Sam quickly lowered the screen on his laptop and wiped at this eyes before hurrying to the door. Just before he opened it, he said a hopeful little prayer that it would be who he thought it was.
"Hi Sam," Jessica said.
Even just standing in the doorway holding a couple of books, she looked amazing. Sam found himself just standing there staring at the mole between her eyes. The way that she didn't even try to cover it, just let it show with such genuine confidence...
"Sam?"
He came to his senses when she said his name, and felt like a gigantic dork for just standing there. "Um, oh... sorry." Sam laughed lightly with embarrassment.
Jessica thought that had to be the cutest thing about him. The boyish charm. "It's okay." She held up the books. "I got them."
"Huh? Oh!" He opened the door wider. "Come in."
Jessica spread the books out on Sam's desk. "There have only been two books written about Alexandra Baptiste, both by the same author. A guy up north who owns just about all of her paintings."
"He must really like her work." After pulling Gerald's desk chair over and offering it to Jessica, Sam took a seat himself. He couldn't help but watch her cross her legs in that cute little jean skirt she had on before turning his attention to the items she'd brought. He read the cover of the first book. An Unusual Life: The Paintings of Alexandra Baptiste, by Rowan Bloodworth. Sounded like a generic overview of her work. The second book could prove to be a little more informative. The Art of Alexandra Baptiste and Occult Symbolism. Sam raised an eyebrow at that one.
"You can keep those for two weeks. I checked them out from the library." Opening the first book, Jessica pointed to some of the paintings as she flipped through it. "I mentioned this earlier, but Baptiste claimed she got all the ideas for her paintings from visions she received from a divine sea serpent. There was a cult that worshipped this being at the time. She painted these visions and the people in them exclusively, nothing else." She indicated a painting of a small child. "This was her daughter, Sasha. There were rumors about her, that maybe she was the product of an affair Baptiste had. Very scandalous stuff for the time."
Sam grinned. "You sure know a lot about her."
"Not really. I mean, I just skimmed some of the chapters." Jessica had to smile herself before admitting, "I was almost late because I got so engrossed. It's all really interesting."
Sam snickered. He couldn't be more happy to just be here with her, looking through books and chatting.
"A lot of shit about these paintings is weird, besides all the divine serpent stuff. Like, look at this one." Jessica indicated a painting on the page facing them; it featured a woman standing on a grassy cliff overlooking the water, her back to the viewer. They were not aware that this woman was Anna Morgan, in a scene from Samara's videotape. "Look at the clothes she's wearing. They're much too modern for 1774, when this painting was done. Baptiste claimed that she received visions of the future."
"Really?" Sam had to pretend that everything about this artist that made her odd was interesting for completely different reasons than the fact that it was probably all true. Jessica had no idea about the validity of the supernatural, and he had no intention of ever letting her find out.
You really think you can keep that from her forever, Sammy?
Shut up. I don't hunt anymore.
Really. You don't?
Jessica was talking. "...You have to admit, it is pretty strange that the woman claimed she could see into the future through the powers given to her by this serpent, and she painted things that she couldn't have possibly known about in her time period. Look at this one." She flipped through the pages until she found a painting of a stone well in a grassy clearing. The view of the well was from an angle, like one was standing nearby, looking down at it. On the opposite side of the well, on the edge, someone had left a sawed-off shotgun.
The painting was called Ding Dong Dell.
Sam tried not to make any noise as he swallowed hard. He knew that silly little song from childhood. Ding Dong Dell, Susie's in the well... Who pushed her in? Little Johnny Finn... Who pulled her out? Little Tommy Stout. The implications the painting suggested chilled his bones. That shotgun was exactly the same kind that his family used. It hadn't been placed there carefully, either. The gun sat at an angle, like it had been left there hastily.
Or dropped.
Ding Dong Dell, Dean is in the well...
Is this what was going to happen, what Sam feared for Dean? What was down in that well?
Sam suddenly felt a sharp pain between his eyes. He groaned and rubbed at the bridge of his nose.
"Sam, are you okay?"
The pain dissipated quickly. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just getting a headache or something."
"You want some aspirin?" asked Jessica.
"Uh, sure, that'd be great. Anyway, you were saying...?"
While she fished the aspirin out of her purse, Jessica said, "I bet if you checked, you'd find that a gun like that wasn't manufactured in the late 1700's. It looks far too modern."
"No." Sam rubbed between his eyes. "No, it most definitely wasn't manufactured then."
"You know something about guns?" Jessica pried the cap off the bottle and offered it to Sam.
His eyes briefly shifted back and forth. "A little."
Continuing, she turned the pages to another chapter. "Baptiste also did a whole series of double-sided paintings. Usually, people painted on both sides of the canvas only because they couldn't afford to buy a new one every time they wanted to paint something. But her family was loaded, so that had nothing to do with it. She painted all these women she called Brides, and their children, who she called Messengers. The paintings had a side of light, and a side of dark. This is one of them." Jessica put her finger beside a painting and said something that made Sam gasp. He couldn't help it. "It's called Samara."
Just staring for a while, Sam wondered if this was really the child he had spoken to in his dream. He looked at her white dress, her long black hair, and her far off, melancholy expression.
"What?" Jessica questioned.
"Nothing, just... there was a kid in the movie named Samara."
"Really? That's weird. I don't even think it's a Japanese name."
Sam finally looked up from the painting. "Uh, it wasn't necessarily a Japanese movie. Just had a Japanese character in it."
"Oh."
He wished he didn't have to lie so much to her about all this. In a way, he was telling the truth... he just wasn't telling Jessica the whole truth. Sam turned his attention back to the book. Next to the art of 'Light' Samara was her painting of darkness. In that one, the child's dress had grown filthy; her feet bare; her hair wet and straggly, completely obscuring her face. Sam noticed that Samara's fingernails were bloody. Some of them might even be missing. The bits of her skin that he could see looked grey and wrinkled, like she'd been in the water for a long time. The child looked dead. He wondered what had happened to her.
The dark side of the painting was called, She Never Sleeps.
"The Light and Dark portraits of Samara form the only double-sided painting that survived the war. The others might've been lost forever. No one knows where they are, if they even exist anymore."
Looking up from the book again, Sam blinked at her and asked, "The war? What do you mean?"
Jessica sighed, but with a grin. "Here's where it gets really bizarre. The Bloodworth family didn't begin their collection until the 1950's. Before then, the paintings were in the possession of various museums and private collectors. During World War II, Adolf Hitler seized many of the paintings, especially the two-sided ones, for his own collection. You know, he was into art."
This almost stunned Sam into the loss of speech. He stammered, "I, uh, yeah. I know. Adolf Hitler? The Adolf Hitler?"
"The one and only."
"What did he want them for?!"
Indicating the second book, Jessica replied, "Hitler was also into the occult. You probably knew that too. He thought the paintings had supernatural powers." She snickered, clearly astonished. "Can you believe this shit?"
It took him several seconds, but Sam finally stammered out, "What kind of powers?"
Jessica looked at him funny. "I don't know; it's all in the book. But why does it matter?" She tittered with amusement. "You're acting like you believe all this stuff."
Embarrassed, Sam tried to hide the fact that he did. "No, of course not. Paintings with supernatural powers, pfft."
Laughing at him harder, Jessica grabbed his forearm and squeezed it. "Sam, do you believe in the supernatural? Are we a little superstitious, hm?"
He laughed too. "Me? No way."
"You're trying too hard to convince me," she giggled. Jessica gave his belly a little tickle. "Who are you really trying to convince?"
"Oh, you're one to talk. You seem to believe that Alexandra Baptiste could see into the future." Sam reached over and tickled her back. She squealed laughter. "A gun like that wasn't manufactured way back then," he said teasingly, imitating Jessica's voice.
"I don't sound like that." She doubled her efforts to find all of his most ticklish spots.
"Yes you dooo-ooo," Sam teased in his Jessica voice some more. She found the most ticklish Sammy spot of all, under his arms. Sam snorted loudly as his knee involuntarily bucked upward and almost turned the desk over with a loud THUMP! They both scrambled to keep the contents of the desk from falling to the floor. A pencil can full of pens and pencils, a stapler, and a stuffed monkey with long arms were the only casualties. They looked at each other and broke into renewed giggles.
"Okay, Mr. Smarty Pants. Oh, you tease me about believing that this woman could see into the future? Wait until you get a load of this." Jessica picked up the more generic book and flipped through it, occasionally peeking at Sam over the top until she found the page she'd been looking for. "Ah. Here we are. This is a painting Alexandra did in 1779. The clothes these people are wearing are very modern, and the men in the painting are holding guns I bet weren't manufactured anywhere near that year. You might also find it interesting that the guy on the left looks like YOU!" She shoved the book out at him with her mouth open in shock; it was all meant as a joke.
Sam could not, however, take it in the spirit it was meant, for the painting he was now looking at in this book was the same painting Alexandra had been creating in the dream he'd had the night before. The one she'd had him "pose" for, where she went into the trance and burned his image into the canvas. Here was the finished painting.
Sam could be seen only in profile. One could make a good case that it was not Sam, because, after all, Alexandra's brushstroke style could be wide and indistinct. But it did look an awful lot like Sam. He had more of his back turned to the viewer than the other male in the painting, and held a sawed-off shotgun, the same make as the one from the painting of the well.
The other man in this work of art was Dean.
He was also depicted in profile and held the same type of gun. Sam recognized the shirt he was wearing. He knew his own brother well enough to realize that Dean was older in this painting, older than he was now. Whatever was going on in this painting, whatever was making them look so determined and serious, it hadn't happened yet.
Between them stood, no, floated a dark-haired girl in a long flowered skirt, wearing boots and a denim jacket. Her arms were outspread and her eyes had become mirrors. No whites, no irises, no pupils. Just mirrors.
The painting was entitled, For Quinn.
Sam jumped up from the desk, hitting his knees on the edge and making it wobble again. He backed away so fast that he knocked over his chair. The actions nearly scared Jessica right out of her skin; she let out a little squeal of surprise. Sam outright refused to accept what that painting meant. If this Baptiste woman really had been able to see into the future, then that meant that somehow, perhaps by his connection to this very case, Sam would be pulled back in to the world of demon hunting.
It was all right there in vivid color. Working side by side with Dean, using rock salt guns, a girl with plainly supernatural eyes - Sam, you're going back whether you like it or not!
"No!" he yelled angrily at the book, which, despite being jostled, was still open to the same page. "NO! I am not going back! Do you hear me?! I'm through! I'm done! I'm not like them! I don't hunt anymore!" Sam turned away from the desk and tried to get control of himself. "I don't hunt anymore..."
Startled and confused, Jessica got up and crossed the small room to put a hand on Sam's shoulder. His broad chest and back heaved with quickly-drawn breaths. "Sam, what's the matter? Are you okay?"
He desperately tried to calm down. "I'm, ah... I'm fine, Jess. I just... I... I'm sorry I freaked like that. It's just that..."
"No, Sam, I'm sorry. I upset you."
Turning around, he took her gently by the arms. "You don't have anything to be sorry about. Okay? It's just that the guy in the painting does look a lot like me, and he's holding a gun... When my brother and I were kids, our dad taught us to hunt game, and I did it for years. I just went along with it because, well, my family was all I had. But as I got older, it started to feel wrong. Like it just wasn't for me. You know what I mean?" Sam asked.
Jessica nodded in understanding.
"When I saw that painting, it was like I was right back there. In the thick of it. Everything, hunting. Nothing else matters." He let out a heavy sigh. "When I think of it, I can't breathe."
Her fingers gently touched his cheek in a brief caress. "Didn't you like anything about it?" She could hardly stand the thought of little Sam being forced to kill animals by a tyrannical father, that maybe his childhood was unhappy.
Because he hadn't expected that question, Sam blinked, and gave it some thought. Then he smiled warmly. "Yeah. At times, it was fun. Nothing is ever all bad." A hundred memories flashed across his mind. Most of them contained a lovably arrogant blond who never stopped calling him Sammy. "Some things, I miss." An instant later, his eyes hardened again. "But I never want to go back to that life."
"You don't have to do anything you don't want to," Jessica assured.
With a satisfied smile, Sam agreed with her. "That's right. I don't."
Jessica had to go after that; she had a night class at six-thirty. She left him the books. Sam sat at his desk for a while, just staring at them, knowing that he had to figure out two things. One, how to get Jessica for his very own. And two, how to give the information they had uncovered about Alexandra Baptiste and the sisters to Dean without Dean knowing it came from him.
Additional Author's Notes: The Hitler thing comes from a dream I had which was basically about exactly what's in the story. If the whole idea sounds a little cracktastic, please remember that 'obsessed' is pretty much an understatement when it comes to me and this movie series. It sounds totally plausible to me. ;)
it won't stop
She Just Wanted to Be Heard
Day 18: The Calling
Part of Story Arc 1: Counterclockwise
A "The Ring/Ringu" Fanfic
by Laurel (Sailorhathor)
Chapters: 18 of 100
Rating: Overall Rating PG-13 (some elements might be too intense or scary for those under 13; includes bad language)
Dates: Begun September 2006. Some material is based on previously written stories from 2003-2005.
Word Count: 3,076
Summary: Darcy goes to see the people at St. Jerome's Catholic Church to ask for their help with the evil spirit haunting her roommate, Svetlana. That evil spirit is Samara Morgan.
Warning: Contains spoilers for the entire Ringu and The Ring series. This chapter also contains spoilers for the Miracles episode "The Ferguson Syndrome."
Fanfic Challenges: Fits 50_darkfics prompt #18 Conquer and coclaim100 prompt #18 Phoenix.
Author's Notes: Darcy's last name comes from Binflaggle, one of the many crazy people who volunteered to let me use their name for a character.
Cross-over with the tv show Miracles. The only Miracles character who is in this chapter is Father Calero, but Paul Callan is mentioned at length. I don't know what the actual name of Father Calero's church was - it was never mentioned on the show, but it can be assumed it's something close to St. Jerome Emiliani's since that was the name of the orphanage attached to the church. Yes, I am aware that St. Jerome and St. Jerome Emiliani are two different saints. :D
It wasn't that Todd Varo had never come to work and found Father Calero waiting for him in his office before. That wasn't it. The surprising thing was that Father Calero had a college-age person waiting with him, a girl with dark hair and glasses.
"Todd, I want you to meet Darcy Villiers. She's one of our parishioners. Darcy, this is Todd Varo. He's an assistant counselor, among other things." Father Calero looked at Todd with a wry grin.
"Hi," Darcy said, and shook his hand.
"Can I speak to you in the hall for a moment, Todd? Darcy, we'll be right back."
Darcy nodded politely and watched them step out into the hall, knowing that Father Calero was going to tell the other man what she was there for. The fact that he was passing her off to someone below him in the church chain of command had already made her feel a little put off, but she wasn't going to give up. Not until they listened. She had faith in the people of St. Jerome's of Boston.
Darcy busied her mind by studying the mural of a dove flying in front of the sun that had been painted on the wall behind Todd's desk. The sun's rays had coincidentally been arranged to form a red, orange, and yellow tail for the dove; Darcy thought it looked like a glorious Phoenix rising from the ashes.
Todd spent most of his time doing his actual job for the church, which was investigating the authenticity of miracles. Not the usual thing one expected to see on a resume, but there it was. Todd had taken over about eight months after the last guy left. To this day, he still lived in Paul Callan's shadow.
In many ways, Todd was better suited for this job than Paul Callan had been. Paul had been very good at separating the real miracles from the hoaxes, the honest mistakes, the people who just wanted nothing more than to believe; his skills and knowledge had not been the problem. What Paul Callan hadn't been prepared for was how fast the cases with a mundane explanation would pile up against the nonexistent pile of actual miracles.
Paul had been looking for meaning in his career. He wanted it to prove the existence of God. A sign. That's all he asked for.
When the job had actually delivered a miracle, one very close to Paul's heart, the church asked for more proof. Paul needed no more proof than the fact that he was alive, and the boy who had healed his broken body had paid for that gift with his own life. When the Archdiocese would not accept his report that this miracle was authentic, Paul had quit.
Todd heard about Paul's record all the time. It didn't bother him anymore; he thought he was better suited for the job emotionally. He did not need to find actual miracles in his investigations because he had already gotten the sign from God that most future priests received -- they referred to it as The Calling.
Perplexed, Todd often wondered why Paul had not received this sign. He'd asked him about it once when they passed each other in the hall, but Paul had never seen any angels or the Blessed Mother telling him his destiny. So, why become a priest? Paul had shaken his head and sighed, replying that it just felt right.
Todd thought he knew. Paul was one of St. Jerome Emiliani's kids. The orphanage attached to St. Jerome's of Boston had turned out many people who had lost their parents at a young age, most of them lifetime Catholics who attended Father Calero's sermons religiously. Every Sunday, they were there. It was not just because of faith. Most of them showed such loyalty to this church because Father Calero had been their "Poppi."
That is what he told the orphans to call him: Poppi. The man was tireless in his devotion to the kids, spending as much time with each of them as his boundless energy would allow. If Paul Callan had any father figure in his life, it was Father Calero, a man he still referred to by the endeared nickname even in polite conversation. Of course, Paul often corrected himself, but Todd still understood exactly what motivated Paul Callan when he talked about his "Poppi, uh, I mean, Father Calero."
Becoming a priest had been for Paul his thank you to Father Calero for raising him in an environment of love and warmth, something often lacking for a boy whose birth father had never claimed him and mother had died of cancer when he was just shy of five.
But something had broken inside of Paul when the one miracle he had experienced was spit upon by men above Poppi's head. Maybe he was never meant to be a priest after all, never meant to carry on the "family business." Perhaps they'd never know.
Todd knew that the life was meant for him, and so he could press on until the day he took his vows. In many ways, he could handle the disappointment on people's faces better than Paul had been able to, mostly because he looked at it differently. Todd believed he was doing the church, and the world, a service by exposing these events as not being performed by God's hands. People needed to know the difference between real miracles and the mundane. It only hurt God, Todd believed, for people to think that the stain on the screen door was a sign from the Virgin Mary. Not that God wasn't strong enough to take a little knock here and there, but it definitely damaged the reputation of the church he worked for when people thought there were angels in the photograph when it was really just a camera defect. Such beliefs led to the elderly sending all their food money to charlatans, hoping to receive salvation in return, and Todd wanted things like that to end for good. People needed to know the difference. They would be disappointed to have their "miracle" taken from them for a while, but over time, they'd come to realize that only the truth brought them closer to God.
Father Calero started putting on his coat before he even closed the door to Todd's office. "Todd, I have to go out of town through the weekend, so I'd like you to handle this one for me. If I don't leave in the next ten minutes, I won't make my plane."
"What's going on with the little lady?"
"Darcy's one of our regulars. You know her parents, yes?"
"Yes," Todd replied.
Father Calero continued. "She's in college, so we don't see her every Sunday, but her parents still get her to come a couple times a month. Darcy's worried about her roommate." He paused for effect, raising his eyebrows. "Thinks the girl is possessed."
Todd resisted rolling his eyes. "Too many viewings of The Exorcist?"
"Maybe. I'd appreciate it if you counseled her and evaluated the situation for further action on our part. The least we can do is help the roommate for whatever's making her act out." Father Calero checked his watch.
"Of course. Is the roommate a parishioner here?"
"No. She's an exchange student from Holland."
Considering that, Todd nodded, already forming scenarios of what could be going on here in his head. Young girl, far from home, begins feeling homesick and isolated... the possibilities for mental problems could be easily surmised there. "Alright, I'll talk to her. Her name is Darcy?"
"Yes."
"You go now, don't miss your plane." Todd patted Father Calero on the arm. "She's in capable hands."
*****
Darcy had to admit that she liked Todd Varo on sight. He wasn't as attentive and sympathetic as Paul Callan had been, with his soft, non-threatening features and brown eyes, but Todd did have something in common with Darcy that Paul did not -- round-rimmed John Lennon glasses. Darcy wanted to like anyone who wore the same glasses as her hero. Todd didn't have Paul's innocently handsome face, but he was fairly good-looking in his own right.
Todd sat on the edge of his desk and apologized for Father Calero having to rush off to catch a plane. "What is your reason for seeking our help, Darcy?"
Darcy wondered if he really hadn't been filled in or if he just wanted to hear the story directly from her. "Before I just launch into this, can I ask you some questions?"
"Shoot."
She pointed to the mural of the dove. "Who painted that?"
Todd glanced back at it before speaking of the mural. "One of the kids from the orphanage, many years ago. He did the basic design and then the younger kids came in and painted in the lines."
"It's very nice," Darcy said. "I remember seeing it when I was in here before. It was a few years ago when my parents were considering divorce and I needed someone to talk to."
"Ah. What happened?"
"They decided to stay together." She smiled to herself. "Father Calero was responsible for that. He's a miracle worker."
"Father Calero is a very persuasive man. Always knows what to say. But he's not the one who did the real work. That was your parents, with His help," he reminded her, pointing at the ceiling.
Darcy had to agree. "Still, he did a pretty amazing job getting them to remember why they got married in the first place. Anyway, I saw Paul Callan then. He counseled me while Father Calero dealt with my parents. You took over Paul's position, didn't you?"
"That I did," Todd nodded.
"What happened to Paul?"
"Well..." He folded his hands together in his lap, considering how to word it all. "...he still volunteers often at the church and the orphanage. And he's still a parishioner here. But he ultimately decided not to continue in his position with the church."
"Is it true that Paul was investigating a boy in the Southwest somewhere who could really heal the sick, but only at the cost of his own health, and Paul got hurt really bad somehow and the boy healed him and it killed him? And the church said Paul was lying? 'Cause that's what I heard," Darcy said, picking at her nails and fidgeting in her chair, as if saying something so confrontational made her feel insecure.
"Yes and no," Todd answered. He shifted on the desk, shifting things around in his mind at the same time to try to figure out how to best word his reply. "Paul Callan did investigate a boy in the Southwest, but no one from the church sent him there. It's still not known who called Paul and told him to go. The boy's parents did claim that the boy could heal the sick and the boy did die. But he was a very sick little boy. Paul experienced something there that he thought was an authentic miracle. The church looked at his report and deemed that there wasn't enough proof of an actual miraculous event."
"And that's why he quit?"
Shrugging, Todd said, "I'm not sure if that was the cause of his departure; you would have to ask him." Truthfully, Todd knew it was the reason Paul quit, but he couldn't say that to her. May God forgive him for that little lie.
Darcy looked up from her nails and asked, "What do you think happened with that investigation?"
"Did Paul Callan experience an actual miracle? I cannot say." Todd ran a hand through his light brown hair. "I wasn't there."
Looking disappointed, she pressed, "But do you believe miracles are possible?"
He smiled at her. "I most certainly do."
"What about evil spirits? Do they exist?"
Ah, she was finally loosening up and getting to the reason why she was here. "It's possible."
"Have you ever heard of a spirit named Samara?"
Todd gave it some thought. "Not that I know of."
"Well, my roommate is being haunted by a spirit named Samara. She may even be possessed." Darcy refused to look up, playing with her nails again.
"What makes you think that?" He kept the tone of his voice as even as possible. To sound skeptical or dubious would only make the girl stop talking.
"First, we were trying to sleep in our dorm room, and we heard scratching in the walls." Darcy finally looked up at Todd with a defiant gaze. "That's a sign of demonic possession. I read about it."
"It can be..." It could also be a sign that the dorm had rats.
"Svetlana became nearly hysterical. That's my roommate, Svetlana. She addressed a corner of the room as 'Samara,' telling her to go away, leave her alone. I couldn't see anything, but I could hear the scratching.
"After that, we weren't staying in that room anymore, so we went over to Svetlana's boyfriend's apartment and spent the night. Quinn, that's her boyfriend. Quinn's got a roommate, Jodie, and I got the whole story out of her. She said Svet and Quinn had watched a videotape a few days ago that has a curse on it. Anyone who watches this tape gets cursed by this spirit, Samara. She terrorizes you for seven days and then... well, it's not clear what happens next." Darcy had stopped picking at her nails and now looked up at Todd with intensity. "Some say you die."
Todd's skepticism had kicked in full force when Darcy got to the part about the videotape with a curse on it. Sounded like some sort of ridiculous urban legend, like the one about the woman whose internal organs were cooked by too many visits to the tanning salon. "Really?"
"Yeah. I know it sounds crazy, but you should have seen how hysterical Svetlana got. I mean, she was really crying hard. The weird thing is, Jodie watched the same tape later, but she's not being stalked by Samara hardly at all. And then we all had the same dream this morning." The more she discussed this, the more desperate Darcy's voice became; she really needed someone outside the situation to believe it.
"The same dream?"
"Yes! We were all at Quinn's funeral. And there were evil spirits there! I could see them and feel their evil around me. It was like I was doing battle with this thing that's trying to claim Svetlana's soul." Tears came to Darcy's eyes, but she held them back. "I could really feel it."
Standing up, Todd leaned over and put a hand on Darcy's shoulder. He met her eyes. "What can I do to help?"
"Help me conquer this thing. Help me save my friends."
"It would help if I could talk to Svetlana and Quinn." There were all sorts of rational explanations for what was happening to these kids. Todd imagined he could get to the bottom of it by just seeing them, if not chatting with them. His first guess would be drugs.
"Quinn's family is throwing a party on Thursday night. His sister is coming home from England for Spring Break. Can you come?" asked Darcy hopefully.
Ultimately, Todd would prefer they come into the office, but observing them in their own environment would be a good idea too. "Yes, I can come. I'll speak to them there, and we can figure out a plan of action."
"To ward off the demon?"
Todd didn't want to commit to labeling this problem as a demon; his response was a bit evasive. "Yes, to ward off any demons plaguing your friends, even if they turn out to be inner demons. Tell me, has Svetlana been depressed since she came over here from Holland?"
"Not really, not the majority of the time. But there are times when she gets a bit homesick," Darcy replied. "Anybody would."
"Hm." Todd, sitting on the desk again, reached over and patted Darcy's knee. "Don't worry about them. I'll talk with them, and we'll figure this out. You did the right thing."
Darcy smiled gratefully. "That's good to hear. I just know that they can't do this alone. Svetlana is beside herself with fear."
"Well she's got a lot of people on her side now who are going to offer her the help she needs. Ultimately, it's up to her and her boyfriend to do what's necessary to escape this evil, but with God on their side, they can conquer all." Todd smiled right along with her. "Pray for them, Darcy. God will listen."
"Oh, can we all form a prayer circle for them at the party?" Darcy bounced excitedly in her chair. "The more people we have, the stronger we'll be."
"We can do that. But remember Darcy, God hears even the smallest voice." Getting a pad of paper and a pen, Todd asked, "Now, where and when is this party?"
After she'd given him all the information, Darcy grinned and added, "Oh, by the way..."
He looked at her expectantly.
"Cool glasses," she finished, pointing to her own. "Are you a Beatles fan?"
Todd grinned back. "I get by with a little help from my friends," he said, and looked up to the sky.
it won't stop
The Ringu series is (c) 1998 The Ring/The Spiral Production Group. It is based on the novels by Koji Suzuki.
The motion picture The Ring is (c) 2002 DreamWorks Pictures. The title "She Just Wanted to Be Heard" comes from a line of dialogue spoken by Rachel Keller in this movie. The motion picture The Ring Two is (c) 2005 DreamWorks Pictures.
I do not know if the prequel, The Ring 3, will have any bearing on this story or not until I see it.
Miracles is (c) 2003 Spyglass Entertainment & Touchstone Television.
Everything else is (c) Demented Stuff.
Day 16: Self-Portrait
Part of Story Arc 1: Counterclockwise
A "The Ring/Ringu" Fanfic
by Laurel (Sailorhathor)
Chapters: 16 of 100
Rating: Overall Rating PG-13 (some elements might be too intense or scary for those under 13; includes bad language)
Dates: Begun September 2006. Some material is based on previously written stories from 2003-2005.
Word Count: 2,971
Summary: Sam begins researching to figure out the identity of the artist in his nightmare. He gets help from an unexpected source.
Warning: Contains spoilers for the entire Ringu and The Ring series.
Fanfic Challenges: Fits 50_darkfics prompt #16 Evil and coclaim100 prompt #16 Books.
Author's Notes: Not beta'ed. If anyone wants to look over the remaining chapters, even if it's just this one, I'd really appreciate it.
Cross-over with the tv show "Supernatural." Set pre-series. To my knowledge, they never mentioned what Jessica's major was, so I gave her one.
Sam Winchester didn't hunt anymore.
So why was he currently in the Stanford library looking through books on Greek mythology, trying to find the meaning of the name Heptamera?
Sam wanted to be spiteful. He wanted to say "Screw him," and just let his father fend for himself. After all, isn't that what he'd done to Sam? It wasn't like John Winchester wasn't a badass in his own right; he could handle this case just like any other.
But Dean... Sam was afraid for Dean.
The dream he'd had made him feel as if his brother could be a real target here for reasons he did not fully understand yet.
Leaving Dean out there with no advance knowledge of the case, defenseless... well, his heart wasn't in it. Sam could thumb his nose at his father, but he couldn't allow Dean to be hurt in the fight against the latest evil being. Dean needed a leg up.
So far, Sam had found only one small blurb in a book about ancient Greek monsters. Heptamera, the Daemon of Seven Days, Guardian of the Mediterranean Sea. A daemon... not even a demon. A creature that pre-dated demons. Daemons were considered intermediaries between gods and man. Sam wondered for a brief moment if his dad could even handle this one. Would he and Dean have to take the thing on, or just his "bride," as the woman had called herself? Seems the daemon demanded tribute from the villagers of various Greek isles every seven days or he'd wreak a terrible wrath upon them. It was rumored that Heptamera raped comely young women who ventured too far into his waters. Some hybrid children may have been born.
Well, Sam could pretty much call this more than a myth with some conviction...
Then it hit him. Was there a connection between the girls who had spoken to him through the television and the other dream that he'd had, of Heptamera's bride? If she was the bride... were these "sisters" Heptamera's children?
A hand being smacked down on the table startled Sam out of his thoughts. A friend of his from one of his English classes snickered at him. "Did I scare ya?"
"Hey, Henry. Yeah, a little." He may have been given an English name, but Henry was Chinese. Sam wondered if he'd be able to help. "You know an Asian language or two, don't you?"
"Yeah. Do you need to know something?" Henry looked at the books spread out before Sam on the table. "Studying a lot of books, huh? You're always doing that," he said with amusement.
"I just like to learn new things." Sam took a piece of paper from his pocket. On it, he'd written the foreign phrase one of the sisters had uttered, to the best of his recollection. "I heard a phrase in a movie the other night in some language I don't know. They didn't subtitle it, and it's been driving me crazy."
"What did it sound like?"
"Asian."
Henry let out a small laugh and sat down next to Sam. "There are a lot of Asian languages, Sam."
"I know, but I don't know any," he said with a grin. "I would guess it was Japanese. Sounded something like the Japanese I've heard in the past."
"What's the phrase?"
Jessica Moore hadn't seen Sam Winchester since the Christmas party. Now, there he was, sitting at a table with another student, chatting about languages. She wanted to go over and say hi, but needed it to sound casual, like she hadn't been thinking about him as much as she had. Especially on the days when she and Craig fought. Sam was one of the biggest guys Jessica had ever known, but remarkably, he sometimes looked so small in those hoodies and layers of shirts he always wore. Often, she wondered if he was trying to hide from something.
Sam was now saying, "Shi... kata... nai ga... something..." and Jessica stepped a little closer to better hear their conversation.
"Shikata ga nai ne?" Henry said questioningly.
"Yeah, I think that was it. What's it mean?"
"It's basically the Japanese equivalent of the phrase, 'So be it.' If that's the way you want it, it can't be helped. Like a verbal shrug," explained Henry.
"Ohhh..." Sitting back, Sam sighed. It made sense. Sam wouldn't do what the Heptamera girls told him to, so they wrote him off and left him with the consequences. 'If that's the way you want it. So be it.' At least, the one who spoke Japanese felt that way toward him.
"Does that make sense?" Henry asked.
Sam nodded. "Yeah, it does. Thanks."
"I wish I knew more Japanese. All I know is 'arigato.'"
Sam and Henry both looked up. The expression of pure delight that came to Sam's face made Jessica's heart leap. He was happy to see her! He was practically ecstatic to see her. A few seconds later, Sam tried to dial down the over-bright smile she had brought out of him, but he didn't hide it completely. "Well, hi, Jessica! I haven't seen you in a while."
Jessica grinned back, tossing her long hair over one shoulder.
Henry looked from one person to the other. They were practically beating him over the head with the fact that they were attracted to each other, with all the "oh my God it's YOU!" smiles and enthusiastic greetings. Henry smirked. "Hey Jessica."
Jessica slid into a seat at the end of the table, a few chairs away from Sam. Not a good idea to be too overeager. She dumped her books on the table in front of her and flashed Sam a flirtatious smile.
How could he resist such a beautiful face... "As long as you're here, Jess, maybe you'll be able to help me with something else..."
"Try me." She was just happy to have an excuse to stay.
"I heard that Japanese in a movie I watched the other night. It was, you know, sort of an artsy movie..."
"What was it called?"
"Um... I'll have to get back to you on that one." Sam laughed lightly. He couldn't tell her the whole truth.
Jessica just enjoyed listening to his cute laugh.
Sam continued. "Anyway, there were these two images they used throughout the movie that I know I've seen somewhere before, but I can't for the life of me pinpoint where. They reminded me of oil paintings."
"Oil paintings of what?" Jessica questioned.
"Paintings? Oh God, art." Henry leaned his head back on his chair, closed his eyes, and pretended to snore.
"Just ignore him," she joked, although she meant it. The only thing better than hanging out with your crush was having a deep conversation with him. "Paintings of what?"
"Two women. I thought you might recognize them because we had that Art History class together last semester. Isn't that your major?"
He remembered! Jessica nodded with a knowing grin.
"The first image was of a dark-haired woman brushing her hair in an oval mirror. And the second was a girl with blond hair riding a black horse across a beach on an overcast day," Sam said, describing the two images that had flashed across his television while he spoke with the sisters.
Instant recognition in her eyes, Jessica knew that she'd be able to help Sam solve his quandary. She said, "I think I've seen these paintings before," and excitedly flipped to the back of one of her Art History textbooks.
Henry watched silently, amused with how much they liked each other, but how reluctant they were to admit it. After all, Jessica was supposed to still be with Craig.
Jessica found the artist's name she'd been searching for in the index, then fanned through the pages to that chapter. "Here," she said, and pointed to a two-page section. "Alexandra Baptiste."
There was the dark-haired woman brushing her hair in a painting entitled The Mirror in the Hall. The oval mirror was off-center, far to the right side. "That's it," he confirmed. "Alexandra Baptiste?"
"Yes. She's not a well-known artist, but she did enjoy some popularity in the late 1700's. A Greek woman who lived during the time of the occupation of the Ottoman Empire." Flipping the page, Jessica showed him a few more of the paintings reproduced in the book. One was of a blond girl riding a black horse across a beach, but from further away than Sam had seen her on the TV. In the foreground, the artist had painted part of another girl's arm and side; her fist was balled up in what could be assumed was anger or tension. She seemed to be watching the girl ride by on the horse, and was much closer to the viewer. This one was titled One Regret.
"She was Greek, huh?" Sam tried not to show how much this disturbed him, that this artist was probably the woman in his dream. He looked over some of the other paintings. "What else do you know about her?" Sam asked Jessica.
With a small shrug, she replied, "Not a lot. I read the chapter a while ago, but only so much sticks in your head. She was one of the most notable Greek artists of that time period, especially since she was a woman. This is only a couple pages on Baptiste; to tell you more, I'd have to get a book on just her. I seem to remember that she was considered quite eccentric. Like Dali, except spooky-eccentric." Jessica wiggled her upright fingers and imitated a Theremin. "Ooooh-weeeee-oooooh."
"How so?" asked Sam with dread. He thought he knew why.
"There's a little bit here about it." Jessica, pointing it out in the book, continued, "Baptiste claimed that she got the subjects of her paintings by entering into a deep hypnotic rapport with a spiritual being from the sea. Isn't that wild?"
Henry scoffed and said, "Methinks Alexandra was partaking of the funny little papers a little too much."
"Yeah." Sam tried to laugh it off, so it wouldn't seem like he believed it.
Playing a little bit of matchmaker, Henry casually threw in, "Well, you really saved Sam today, huh Jessica? It's like you two are perfect for each other." He took a dramatic pause. "I mean, it's like you came along at the perfect time."
Jessica fell silent, blushing furiously. She glared at her mischievous "helper."
Sam would have reacted, but he was too focused on the book. On the second page, he saw a painting that didn't surprise him much - it was the woman from his dream. Her lace cloak covered her head. Long black hair cascaded out from under it on either side of her face, on which she wore a menacing smile. She seemed to be gazing out of the painting.
Sam had expected this.
Looking over his shoulder, Henry shuddered at the woman's gaze. "It's like her eyes follow you," he commented.
The painting was entitled, Self-Portrait.
*****
A tiny smile remained on Sam's lips for the rest of the afternoon despite the fact that he wouldn't let himself rely on Jessica's word that she would be back. She'd said she was going to go ask one of her professors for a recommendation of books about Alexandra Baptiste and then would meet him at his dorm room sometime around five. It was almost 5:00 now.
Sam wondered if she really meant it, if Jessica was sincerely interested in him or just the weird artist they were researching. He'd gotten the impression that she really liked him, and might be using this research thing as a way to spend some time with him. That was fine with Sam.
Being stalked by a long-dead ghost? Not fine.
He was tempted to line the door and window with salt. Ultimately, Sam decided against it. Not only would Gerald find it mighty strange, but Sam wanted to gain as much information about this ghost as he could. Keeping her and the "sisters" out would only limit his knowledge of them. They seemed to be in a gabby mood. If Sam could get them to talk about themselves, the things he learned might be useful.
Careful there, Sammy. Someone might think you're hunting.
No. No, he wasn't a hunter anymore. He was just trying to help Dean. That was all.
Speaking of...
Sam checked his e-mail while he waited for some word from Jessica. There was an e-mail from Dean. His older brother's e-mails were few and far between for two reasons. One, Dean had no computer. He sent and read e-mails from the libraries that he and his father passed through while researching local legends and history. Two, Dean would never be considered a computer expert. He knew how to read e-mail, play games, surf for porn, and get into dating chat rooms, but those formed the extent of his computer knowledge.
There wasn't much point to answering the e-mail; Dean probably wouldn't be able to read it for weeks. Whatever Sam found out about the ghosts making contact with him, he'd have to figure out some other way to get it to Dean.
He grinned a bit wider when he read the e-mail.
"My Most Honorable Brudder Samuel Stikupdabutt,
Greetings! Please to read message from most handsome and desireable brother-type, Sir Dean the Great. Okay, then just read this e-mail from the coolest sib ever? Great! (Don't tell me I'm neither.)
How are things going over there? Dad and I are fine, though you did miss the weekend from hell. And you know I might just mean that literally. Long story. It's always a long story. Finer points: Dad and I battled a really badass creature that I can't remember how to spell. I'm not even going to try 'cause I know how you'll correct my spelling and send it back to me since you're such a GEEK. Anyway, it ran out in front of Dad's truck while he was in hot pursuit and he almost hit it. Could have totalled the truck and everything. It was like some really twisted episode of "Starsky and Hutch."
How is Stanford? Still in California? Dude, what is wrong with all the other states? You used to visit them all the time with Dad and me instead of staying in one place. You really like that? I could never sit still that long. But you know that. Okay, don't make me say it, man. Just know that Dad promised he'll buy you that pony you've been begging for for years if you come back. He told me. <--- lies, all lies!
I've atached a picture I took with my new digital camera. It's of Dad, Bobby, and me. Incase you've been away so long you've forgotten who everybody is, Dad's in the blue shirt, Bobby's the one in the middle, and I'm on the right. Who is that handsome devil? I never would have been able to figure out how to get the picture to you if it hadn't been for the help of a verrry cute blonde at a Walgreens in Virginia Beach. Her picture's attached too. She's wearing the Walgreens shirt and not much else. It's true, I'm evil.
Mail me back sometime and let me know how it's hanging.
Your favorite and, coincidentally, only brother,
Dean"
Sam wanted to get mad over how many times Dean had tried to make him feel guilty for not being there, but he couldn't. The underlying message of I miss you touched his heart too much to get angry. He wanted to say I miss you too every time he found a typing mistake, an egotistical joke, or more conclusive evidence of his brother's obsession with electronic toys he didn't really need. It all added up to what made Dean Dean. The fact that he had to be a casualty of Sam's newfound independence brought tears to his eyes.
Virginia Beach. That could mean that they weren't in Boston, like the ghosts said they were.
The ghosts said they were headed to Boston this weekend, Sammy. Dad and Dean aren't there yet. You're looking for an excuse to get out of this before it starts.
Sometimes, Sam would give anything to shut up his conscience.
it won't stop
She Just Wanted to Be Heard
Day 17: Double-sided Painting
Part of Story Arc 1: Counterclockwise
A "The Ring/Ringu" Fanfic
by Laurel (Sailorhathor)
Chapters: 17 of 100
Rating: Overall Rating PG-13 (some elements might be too intense or scary for those under 13; includes bad language)
Dates: Begun September 2006. Some material is based on previously written stories from 2003-2005.
Word Count: 2,989
Summary: Good to her word, Jessica brings over some books about the artist from Sam's nightmare. There is something obviously supernatural about her paintings. They research her together while their romance buds.
Warning: Contains spoilers for the entire Ringu and The Ring series.
Fanfic Challenges: Fits 50_darkfics prompt #17 Fear and coclaim100 prompt #17 Different.
Author's Notes: Not beta'ed. If anyone wants to look over the remaining chapters, even if it's just this one, I'd really appreciate it.
Cross-over with the tv show "Supernatural." Set pre-series.
There was a knock at the door.
Sam quickly lowered the screen on his laptop and wiped at this eyes before hurrying to the door. Just before he opened it, he said a hopeful little prayer that it would be who he thought it was.
"Hi Sam," Jessica said.
Even just standing in the doorway holding a couple of books, she looked amazing. Sam found himself just standing there staring at the mole between her eyes. The way that she didn't even try to cover it, just let it show with such genuine confidence...
"Sam?"
He came to his senses when she said his name, and felt like a gigantic dork for just standing there. "Um, oh... sorry." Sam laughed lightly with embarrassment.
Jessica thought that had to be the cutest thing about him. The boyish charm. "It's okay." She held up the books. "I got them."
"Huh? Oh!" He opened the door wider. "Come in."
Jessica spread the books out on Sam's desk. "There have only been two books written about Alexandra Baptiste, both by the same author. A guy up north who owns just about all of her paintings."
"He must really like her work." After pulling Gerald's desk chair over and offering it to Jessica, Sam took a seat himself. He couldn't help but watch her cross her legs in that cute little jean skirt she had on before turning his attention to the items she'd brought. He read the cover of the first book. An Unusual Life: The Paintings of Alexandra Baptiste, by Rowan Bloodworth. Sounded like a generic overview of her work. The second book could prove to be a little more informative. The Art of Alexandra Baptiste and Occult Symbolism. Sam raised an eyebrow at that one.
"You can keep those for two weeks. I checked them out from the library." Opening the first book, Jessica pointed to some of the paintings as she flipped through it. "I mentioned this earlier, but Baptiste claimed she got all the ideas for her paintings from visions she received from a divine sea serpent. There was a cult that worshipped this being at the time. She painted these visions and the people in them exclusively, nothing else." She indicated a painting of a small child. "This was her daughter, Sasha. There were rumors about her, that maybe she was the product of an affair Baptiste had. Very scandalous stuff for the time."
Sam grinned. "You sure know a lot about her."
"Not really. I mean, I just skimmed some of the chapters." Jessica had to smile herself before admitting, "I was almost late because I got so engrossed. It's all really interesting."
Sam snickered. He couldn't be more happy to just be here with her, looking through books and chatting.
"A lot of shit about these paintings is weird, besides all the divine serpent stuff. Like, look at this one." Jessica indicated a painting on the page facing them; it featured a woman standing on a grassy cliff overlooking the water, her back to the viewer. They were not aware that this woman was Anna Morgan, in a scene from Samara's videotape. "Look at the clothes she's wearing. They're much too modern for 1774, when this painting was done. Baptiste claimed that she received visions of the future."
"Really?" Sam had to pretend that everything about this artist that made her odd was interesting for completely different reasons than the fact that it was probably all true. Jessica had no idea about the validity of the supernatural, and he had no intention of ever letting her find out.
You really think you can keep that from her forever, Sammy?
Shut up. I don't hunt anymore.
Really. You don't?
Jessica was talking. "...You have to admit, it is pretty strange that the woman claimed she could see into the future through the powers given to her by this serpent, and she painted things that she couldn't have possibly known about in her time period. Look at this one." She flipped through the pages until she found a painting of a stone well in a grassy clearing. The view of the well was from an angle, like one was standing nearby, looking down at it. On the opposite side of the well, on the edge, someone had left a sawed-off shotgun.
The painting was called Ding Dong Dell.
Sam tried not to make any noise as he swallowed hard. He knew that silly little song from childhood. Ding Dong Dell, Susie's in the well... Who pushed her in? Little Johnny Finn... Who pulled her out? Little Tommy Stout. The implications the painting suggested chilled his bones. That shotgun was exactly the same kind that his family used. It hadn't been placed there carefully, either. The gun sat at an angle, like it had been left there hastily.
Or dropped.
Ding Dong Dell, Dean is in the well...
Is this what was going to happen, what Sam feared for Dean? What was down in that well?
Sam suddenly felt a sharp pain between his eyes. He groaned and rubbed at the bridge of his nose.
"Sam, are you okay?"
The pain dissipated quickly. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just getting a headache or something."
"You want some aspirin?" asked Jessica.
"Uh, sure, that'd be great. Anyway, you were saying...?"
While she fished the aspirin out of her purse, Jessica said, "I bet if you checked, you'd find that a gun like that wasn't manufactured in the late 1700's. It looks far too modern."
"No." Sam rubbed between his eyes. "No, it most definitely wasn't manufactured then."
"You know something about guns?" Jessica pried the cap off the bottle and offered it to Sam.
His eyes briefly shifted back and forth. "A little."
Continuing, she turned the pages to another chapter. "Baptiste also did a whole series of double-sided paintings. Usually, people painted on both sides of the canvas only because they couldn't afford to buy a new one every time they wanted to paint something. But her family was loaded, so that had nothing to do with it. She painted all these women she called Brides, and their children, who she called Messengers. The paintings had a side of light, and a side of dark. This is one of them." Jessica put her finger beside a painting and said something that made Sam gasp. He couldn't help it. "It's called Samara."
Just staring for a while, Sam wondered if this was really the child he had spoken to in his dream. He looked at her white dress, her long black hair, and her far off, melancholy expression.
"What?" Jessica questioned.
"Nothing, just... there was a kid in the movie named Samara."
"Really? That's weird. I don't even think it's a Japanese name."
Sam finally looked up from the painting. "Uh, it wasn't necessarily a Japanese movie. Just had a Japanese character in it."
"Oh."
He wished he didn't have to lie so much to her about all this. In a way, he was telling the truth... he just wasn't telling Jessica the whole truth. Sam turned his attention back to the book. Next to the art of 'Light' Samara was her painting of darkness. In that one, the child's dress had grown filthy; her feet bare; her hair wet and straggly, completely obscuring her face. Sam noticed that Samara's fingernails were bloody. Some of them might even be missing. The bits of her skin that he could see looked grey and wrinkled, like she'd been in the water for a long time. The child looked dead. He wondered what had happened to her.
The dark side of the painting was called, She Never Sleeps.
"The Light and Dark portraits of Samara form the only double-sided painting that survived the war. The others might've been lost forever. No one knows where they are, if they even exist anymore."
Looking up from the book again, Sam blinked at her and asked, "The war? What do you mean?"
Jessica sighed, but with a grin. "Here's where it gets really bizarre. The Bloodworth family didn't begin their collection until the 1950's. Before then, the paintings were in the possession of various museums and private collectors. During World War II, Adolf Hitler seized many of the paintings, especially the two-sided ones, for his own collection. You know, he was into art."
This almost stunned Sam into the loss of speech. He stammered, "I, uh, yeah. I know. Adolf Hitler? The Adolf Hitler?"
"The one and only."
"What did he want them for?!"
Indicating the second book, Jessica replied, "Hitler was also into the occult. You probably knew that too. He thought the paintings had supernatural powers." She snickered, clearly astonished. "Can you believe this shit?"
It took him several seconds, but Sam finally stammered out, "What kind of powers?"
Jessica looked at him funny. "I don't know; it's all in the book. But why does it matter?" She tittered with amusement. "You're acting like you believe all this stuff."
Embarrassed, Sam tried to hide the fact that he did. "No, of course not. Paintings with supernatural powers, pfft."
Laughing at him harder, Jessica grabbed his forearm and squeezed it. "Sam, do you believe in the supernatural? Are we a little superstitious, hm?"
He laughed too. "Me? No way."
"You're trying too hard to convince me," she giggled. Jessica gave his belly a little tickle. "Who are you really trying to convince?"
"Oh, you're one to talk. You seem to believe that Alexandra Baptiste could see into the future." Sam reached over and tickled her back. She squealed laughter. "A gun like that wasn't manufactured way back then," he said teasingly, imitating Jessica's voice.
"I don't sound like that." She doubled her efforts to find all of his most ticklish spots.
"Yes you dooo-ooo," Sam teased in his Jessica voice some more. She found the most ticklish Sammy spot of all, under his arms. Sam snorted loudly as his knee involuntarily bucked upward and almost turned the desk over with a loud THUMP! They both scrambled to keep the contents of the desk from falling to the floor. A pencil can full of pens and pencils, a stapler, and a stuffed monkey with long arms were the only casualties. They looked at each other and broke into renewed giggles.
"Okay, Mr. Smarty Pants. Oh, you tease me about believing that this woman could see into the future? Wait until you get a load of this." Jessica picked up the more generic book and flipped through it, occasionally peeking at Sam over the top until she found the page she'd been looking for. "Ah. Here we are. This is a painting Alexandra did in 1779. The clothes these people are wearing are very modern, and the men in the painting are holding guns I bet weren't manufactured anywhere near that year. You might also find it interesting that the guy on the left looks like YOU!" She shoved the book out at him with her mouth open in shock; it was all meant as a joke.
Sam could not, however, take it in the spirit it was meant, for the painting he was now looking at in this book was the same painting Alexandra had been creating in the dream he'd had the night before. The one she'd had him "pose" for, where she went into the trance and burned his image into the canvas. Here was the finished painting.
Sam could be seen only in profile. One could make a good case that it was not Sam, because, after all, Alexandra's brushstroke style could be wide and indistinct. But it did look an awful lot like Sam. He had more of his back turned to the viewer than the other male in the painting, and held a sawed-off shotgun, the same make as the one from the painting of the well.
The other man in this work of art was Dean.
He was also depicted in profile and held the same type of gun. Sam recognized the shirt he was wearing. He knew his own brother well enough to realize that Dean was older in this painting, older than he was now. Whatever was going on in this painting, whatever was making them look so determined and serious, it hadn't happened yet.
Between them stood, no, floated a dark-haired girl in a long flowered skirt, wearing boots and a denim jacket. Her arms were outspread and her eyes had become mirrors. No whites, no irises, no pupils. Just mirrors.
The painting was entitled, For Quinn.
Sam jumped up from the desk, hitting his knees on the edge and making it wobble again. He backed away so fast that he knocked over his chair. The actions nearly scared Jessica right out of her skin; she let out a little squeal of surprise. Sam outright refused to accept what that painting meant. If this Baptiste woman really had been able to see into the future, then that meant that somehow, perhaps by his connection to this very case, Sam would be pulled back in to the world of demon hunting.
It was all right there in vivid color. Working side by side with Dean, using rock salt guns, a girl with plainly supernatural eyes - Sam, you're going back whether you like it or not!
"No!" he yelled angrily at the book, which, despite being jostled, was still open to the same page. "NO! I am not going back! Do you hear me?! I'm through! I'm done! I'm not like them! I don't hunt anymore!" Sam turned away from the desk and tried to get control of himself. "I don't hunt anymore..."
Startled and confused, Jessica got up and crossed the small room to put a hand on Sam's shoulder. His broad chest and back heaved with quickly-drawn breaths. "Sam, what's the matter? Are you okay?"
He desperately tried to calm down. "I'm, ah... I'm fine, Jess. I just... I... I'm sorry I freaked like that. It's just that..."
"No, Sam, I'm sorry. I upset you."
Turning around, he took her gently by the arms. "You don't have anything to be sorry about. Okay? It's just that the guy in the painting does look a lot like me, and he's holding a gun... When my brother and I were kids, our dad taught us to hunt game, and I did it for years. I just went along with it because, well, my family was all I had. But as I got older, it started to feel wrong. Like it just wasn't for me. You know what I mean?" Sam asked.
Jessica nodded in understanding.
"When I saw that painting, it was like I was right back there. In the thick of it. Everything, hunting. Nothing else matters." He let out a heavy sigh. "When I think of it, I can't breathe."
Her fingers gently touched his cheek in a brief caress. "Didn't you like anything about it?" She could hardly stand the thought of little Sam being forced to kill animals by a tyrannical father, that maybe his childhood was unhappy.
Because he hadn't expected that question, Sam blinked, and gave it some thought. Then he smiled warmly. "Yeah. At times, it was fun. Nothing is ever all bad." A hundred memories flashed across his mind. Most of them contained a lovably arrogant blond who never stopped calling him Sammy. "Some things, I miss." An instant later, his eyes hardened again. "But I never want to go back to that life."
"You don't have to do anything you don't want to," Jessica assured.
With a satisfied smile, Sam agreed with her. "That's right. I don't."
Jessica had to go after that; she had a night class at six-thirty. She left him the books. Sam sat at his desk for a while, just staring at them, knowing that he had to figure out two things. One, how to get Jessica for his very own. And two, how to give the information they had uncovered about Alexandra Baptiste and the sisters to Dean without Dean knowing it came from him.
Additional Author's Notes: The Hitler thing comes from a dream I had which was basically about exactly what's in the story. If the whole idea sounds a little cracktastic, please remember that 'obsessed' is pretty much an understatement when it comes to me and this movie series. It sounds totally plausible to me. ;)
it won't stop
She Just Wanted to Be Heard
Day 18: The Calling
Part of Story Arc 1: Counterclockwise
A "The Ring/Ringu" Fanfic
by Laurel (Sailorhathor)
Chapters: 18 of 100
Rating: Overall Rating PG-13 (some elements might be too intense or scary for those under 13; includes bad language)
Dates: Begun September 2006. Some material is based on previously written stories from 2003-2005.
Word Count: 3,076
Summary: Darcy goes to see the people at St. Jerome's Catholic Church to ask for their help with the evil spirit haunting her roommate, Svetlana. That evil spirit is Samara Morgan.
Warning: Contains spoilers for the entire Ringu and The Ring series. This chapter also contains spoilers for the Miracles episode "The Ferguson Syndrome."
Fanfic Challenges: Fits 50_darkfics prompt #18 Conquer and coclaim100 prompt #18 Phoenix.
Author's Notes: Darcy's last name comes from Binflaggle, one of the many crazy people who volunteered to let me use their name for a character.
Cross-over with the tv show Miracles. The only Miracles character who is in this chapter is Father Calero, but Paul Callan is mentioned at length. I don't know what the actual name of Father Calero's church was - it was never mentioned on the show, but it can be assumed it's something close to St. Jerome Emiliani's since that was the name of the orphanage attached to the church. Yes, I am aware that St. Jerome and St. Jerome Emiliani are two different saints. :D
It wasn't that Todd Varo had never come to work and found Father Calero waiting for him in his office before. That wasn't it. The surprising thing was that Father Calero had a college-age person waiting with him, a girl with dark hair and glasses.
"Todd, I want you to meet Darcy Villiers. She's one of our parishioners. Darcy, this is Todd Varo. He's an assistant counselor, among other things." Father Calero looked at Todd with a wry grin.
"Hi," Darcy said, and shook his hand.
"Can I speak to you in the hall for a moment, Todd? Darcy, we'll be right back."
Darcy nodded politely and watched them step out into the hall, knowing that Father Calero was going to tell the other man what she was there for. The fact that he was passing her off to someone below him in the church chain of command had already made her feel a little put off, but she wasn't going to give up. Not until they listened. She had faith in the people of St. Jerome's of Boston.
Darcy busied her mind by studying the mural of a dove flying in front of the sun that had been painted on the wall behind Todd's desk. The sun's rays had coincidentally been arranged to form a red, orange, and yellow tail for the dove; Darcy thought it looked like a glorious Phoenix rising from the ashes.
Todd spent most of his time doing his actual job for the church, which was investigating the authenticity of miracles. Not the usual thing one expected to see on a resume, but there it was. Todd had taken over about eight months after the last guy left. To this day, he still lived in Paul Callan's shadow.
In many ways, Todd was better suited for this job than Paul Callan had been. Paul had been very good at separating the real miracles from the hoaxes, the honest mistakes, the people who just wanted nothing more than to believe; his skills and knowledge had not been the problem. What Paul Callan hadn't been prepared for was how fast the cases with a mundane explanation would pile up against the nonexistent pile of actual miracles.
Paul had been looking for meaning in his career. He wanted it to prove the existence of God. A sign. That's all he asked for.
When the job had actually delivered a miracle, one very close to Paul's heart, the church asked for more proof. Paul needed no more proof than the fact that he was alive, and the boy who had healed his broken body had paid for that gift with his own life. When the Archdiocese would not accept his report that this miracle was authentic, Paul had quit.
Todd heard about Paul's record all the time. It didn't bother him anymore; he thought he was better suited for the job emotionally. He did not need to find actual miracles in his investigations because he had already gotten the sign from God that most future priests received -- they referred to it as The Calling.
Perplexed, Todd often wondered why Paul had not received this sign. He'd asked him about it once when they passed each other in the hall, but Paul had never seen any angels or the Blessed Mother telling him his destiny. So, why become a priest? Paul had shaken his head and sighed, replying that it just felt right.
Todd thought he knew. Paul was one of St. Jerome Emiliani's kids. The orphanage attached to St. Jerome's of Boston had turned out many people who had lost their parents at a young age, most of them lifetime Catholics who attended Father Calero's sermons religiously. Every Sunday, they were there. It was not just because of faith. Most of them showed such loyalty to this church because Father Calero had been their "Poppi."
That is what he told the orphans to call him: Poppi. The man was tireless in his devotion to the kids, spending as much time with each of them as his boundless energy would allow. If Paul Callan had any father figure in his life, it was Father Calero, a man he still referred to by the endeared nickname even in polite conversation. Of course, Paul often corrected himself, but Todd still understood exactly what motivated Paul Callan when he talked about his "Poppi, uh, I mean, Father Calero."
Becoming a priest had been for Paul his thank you to Father Calero for raising him in an environment of love and warmth, something often lacking for a boy whose birth father had never claimed him and mother had died of cancer when he was just shy of five.
But something had broken inside of Paul when the one miracle he had experienced was spit upon by men above Poppi's head. Maybe he was never meant to be a priest after all, never meant to carry on the "family business." Perhaps they'd never know.
Todd knew that the life was meant for him, and so he could press on until the day he took his vows. In many ways, he could handle the disappointment on people's faces better than Paul had been able to, mostly because he looked at it differently. Todd believed he was doing the church, and the world, a service by exposing these events as not being performed by God's hands. People needed to know the difference between real miracles and the mundane. It only hurt God, Todd believed, for people to think that the stain on the screen door was a sign from the Virgin Mary. Not that God wasn't strong enough to take a little knock here and there, but it definitely damaged the reputation of the church he worked for when people thought there were angels in the photograph when it was really just a camera defect. Such beliefs led to the elderly sending all their food money to charlatans, hoping to receive salvation in return, and Todd wanted things like that to end for good. People needed to know the difference. They would be disappointed to have their "miracle" taken from them for a while, but over time, they'd come to realize that only the truth brought them closer to God.
Father Calero started putting on his coat before he even closed the door to Todd's office. "Todd, I have to go out of town through the weekend, so I'd like you to handle this one for me. If I don't leave in the next ten minutes, I won't make my plane."
"What's going on with the little lady?"
"Darcy's one of our regulars. You know her parents, yes?"
"Yes," Todd replied.
Father Calero continued. "She's in college, so we don't see her every Sunday, but her parents still get her to come a couple times a month. Darcy's worried about her roommate." He paused for effect, raising his eyebrows. "Thinks the girl is possessed."
Todd resisted rolling his eyes. "Too many viewings of The Exorcist?"
"Maybe. I'd appreciate it if you counseled her and evaluated the situation for further action on our part. The least we can do is help the roommate for whatever's making her act out." Father Calero checked his watch.
"Of course. Is the roommate a parishioner here?"
"No. She's an exchange student from Holland."
Considering that, Todd nodded, already forming scenarios of what could be going on here in his head. Young girl, far from home, begins feeling homesick and isolated... the possibilities for mental problems could be easily surmised there. "Alright, I'll talk to her. Her name is Darcy?"
"Yes."
"You go now, don't miss your plane." Todd patted Father Calero on the arm. "She's in capable hands."
*****
Darcy had to admit that she liked Todd Varo on sight. He wasn't as attentive and sympathetic as Paul Callan had been, with his soft, non-threatening features and brown eyes, but Todd did have something in common with Darcy that Paul did not -- round-rimmed John Lennon glasses. Darcy wanted to like anyone who wore the same glasses as her hero. Todd didn't have Paul's innocently handsome face, but he was fairly good-looking in his own right.
Todd sat on the edge of his desk and apologized for Father Calero having to rush off to catch a plane. "What is your reason for seeking our help, Darcy?"
Darcy wondered if he really hadn't been filled in or if he just wanted to hear the story directly from her. "Before I just launch into this, can I ask you some questions?"
"Shoot."
She pointed to the mural of the dove. "Who painted that?"
Todd glanced back at it before speaking of the mural. "One of the kids from the orphanage, many years ago. He did the basic design and then the younger kids came in and painted in the lines."
"It's very nice," Darcy said. "I remember seeing it when I was in here before. It was a few years ago when my parents were considering divorce and I needed someone to talk to."
"Ah. What happened?"
"They decided to stay together." She smiled to herself. "Father Calero was responsible for that. He's a miracle worker."
"Father Calero is a very persuasive man. Always knows what to say. But he's not the one who did the real work. That was your parents, with His help," he reminded her, pointing at the ceiling.
Darcy had to agree. "Still, he did a pretty amazing job getting them to remember why they got married in the first place. Anyway, I saw Paul Callan then. He counseled me while Father Calero dealt with my parents. You took over Paul's position, didn't you?"
"That I did," Todd nodded.
"What happened to Paul?"
"Well..." He folded his hands together in his lap, considering how to word it all. "...he still volunteers often at the church and the orphanage. And he's still a parishioner here. But he ultimately decided not to continue in his position with the church."
"Is it true that Paul was investigating a boy in the Southwest somewhere who could really heal the sick, but only at the cost of his own health, and Paul got hurt really bad somehow and the boy healed him and it killed him? And the church said Paul was lying? 'Cause that's what I heard," Darcy said, picking at her nails and fidgeting in her chair, as if saying something so confrontational made her feel insecure.
"Yes and no," Todd answered. He shifted on the desk, shifting things around in his mind at the same time to try to figure out how to best word his reply. "Paul Callan did investigate a boy in the Southwest, but no one from the church sent him there. It's still not known who called Paul and told him to go. The boy's parents did claim that the boy could heal the sick and the boy did die. But he was a very sick little boy. Paul experienced something there that he thought was an authentic miracle. The church looked at his report and deemed that there wasn't enough proof of an actual miraculous event."
"And that's why he quit?"
Shrugging, Todd said, "I'm not sure if that was the cause of his departure; you would have to ask him." Truthfully, Todd knew it was the reason Paul quit, but he couldn't say that to her. May God forgive him for that little lie.
Darcy looked up from her nails and asked, "What do you think happened with that investigation?"
"Did Paul Callan experience an actual miracle? I cannot say." Todd ran a hand through his light brown hair. "I wasn't there."
Looking disappointed, she pressed, "But do you believe miracles are possible?"
He smiled at her. "I most certainly do."
"What about evil spirits? Do they exist?"
Ah, she was finally loosening up and getting to the reason why she was here. "It's possible."
"Have you ever heard of a spirit named Samara?"
Todd gave it some thought. "Not that I know of."
"Well, my roommate is being haunted by a spirit named Samara. She may even be possessed." Darcy refused to look up, playing with her nails again.
"What makes you think that?" He kept the tone of his voice as even as possible. To sound skeptical or dubious would only make the girl stop talking.
"First, we were trying to sleep in our dorm room, and we heard scratching in the walls." Darcy finally looked up at Todd with a defiant gaze. "That's a sign of demonic possession. I read about it."
"It can be..." It could also be a sign that the dorm had rats.
"Svetlana became nearly hysterical. That's my roommate, Svetlana. She addressed a corner of the room as 'Samara,' telling her to go away, leave her alone. I couldn't see anything, but I could hear the scratching.
"After that, we weren't staying in that room anymore, so we went over to Svetlana's boyfriend's apartment and spent the night. Quinn, that's her boyfriend. Quinn's got a roommate, Jodie, and I got the whole story out of her. She said Svet and Quinn had watched a videotape a few days ago that has a curse on it. Anyone who watches this tape gets cursed by this spirit, Samara. She terrorizes you for seven days and then... well, it's not clear what happens next." Darcy had stopped picking at her nails and now looked up at Todd with intensity. "Some say you die."
Todd's skepticism had kicked in full force when Darcy got to the part about the videotape with a curse on it. Sounded like some sort of ridiculous urban legend, like the one about the woman whose internal organs were cooked by too many visits to the tanning salon. "Really?"
"Yeah. I know it sounds crazy, but you should have seen how hysterical Svetlana got. I mean, she was really crying hard. The weird thing is, Jodie watched the same tape later, but she's not being stalked by Samara hardly at all. And then we all had the same dream this morning." The more she discussed this, the more desperate Darcy's voice became; she really needed someone outside the situation to believe it.
"The same dream?"
"Yes! We were all at Quinn's funeral. And there were evil spirits there! I could see them and feel their evil around me. It was like I was doing battle with this thing that's trying to claim Svetlana's soul." Tears came to Darcy's eyes, but she held them back. "I could really feel it."
Standing up, Todd leaned over and put a hand on Darcy's shoulder. He met her eyes. "What can I do to help?"
"Help me conquer this thing. Help me save my friends."
"It would help if I could talk to Svetlana and Quinn." There were all sorts of rational explanations for what was happening to these kids. Todd imagined he could get to the bottom of it by just seeing them, if not chatting with them. His first guess would be drugs.
"Quinn's family is throwing a party on Thursday night. His sister is coming home from England for Spring Break. Can you come?" asked Darcy hopefully.
Ultimately, Todd would prefer they come into the office, but observing them in their own environment would be a good idea too. "Yes, I can come. I'll speak to them there, and we can figure out a plan of action."
"To ward off the demon?"
Todd didn't want to commit to labeling this problem as a demon; his response was a bit evasive. "Yes, to ward off any demons plaguing your friends, even if they turn out to be inner demons. Tell me, has Svetlana been depressed since she came over here from Holland?"
"Not really, not the majority of the time. But there are times when she gets a bit homesick," Darcy replied. "Anybody would."
"Hm." Todd, sitting on the desk again, reached over and patted Darcy's knee. "Don't worry about them. I'll talk with them, and we'll figure this out. You did the right thing."
Darcy smiled gratefully. "That's good to hear. I just know that they can't do this alone. Svetlana is beside herself with fear."
"Well she's got a lot of people on her side now who are going to offer her the help she needs. Ultimately, it's up to her and her boyfriend to do what's necessary to escape this evil, but with God on their side, they can conquer all." Todd smiled right along with her. "Pray for them, Darcy. God will listen."
"Oh, can we all form a prayer circle for them at the party?" Darcy bounced excitedly in her chair. "The more people we have, the stronger we'll be."
"We can do that. But remember Darcy, God hears even the smallest voice." Getting a pad of paper and a pen, Todd asked, "Now, where and when is this party?"
After she'd given him all the information, Darcy grinned and added, "Oh, by the way..."
He looked at her expectantly.
"Cool glasses," she finished, pointing to her own. "Are you a Beatles fan?"
Todd grinned back. "I get by with a little help from my friends," he said, and looked up to the sky.
it won't stop
The Ringu series is (c) 1998 The Ring/The Spiral Production Group. It is based on the novels by Koji Suzuki.
The motion picture The Ring is (c) 2002 DreamWorks Pictures. The title "She Just Wanted to Be Heard" comes from a line of dialogue spoken by Rachel Keller in this movie. The motion picture The Ring Two is (c) 2005 DreamWorks Pictures.
I do not know if the prequel, The Ring 3, will have any bearing on this story or not until I see it.
Miracles is (c) 2003 Spyglass Entertainment & Touchstone Television.
Everything else is (c) Demented Stuff.