But in truth, the book had existed over millennia, though it had been called a couple of different things: The Red Dragon, The Great Grimoire. These texts had all been combined, picked apart, then combined again. But the original text was thought to have come from one man, some seven hundred years before Christ’s birth in Sumeria, what is now Iraq. It had been recopied, abridged and added to over centuries. The original was in an ancient form of Arabic, but it was later translated into Latin, Greek, German, and French by other scholars, monks, and priests.
The book contained ancient rights and spells with which to bind gods, which were in actuality demons. When the book was translated by Christians it was interpreted with less mysticism and more religion. The unorthodox nature of the text made many Christian scholars nervous, so they added locks and safety measures into the text, but it still stayed powerful.
Despite the changes made to the incantations, the text included spells for necromancy, raising the dead, the binding of demons, and mastery over the earthbound. If someone knew what they were doing the book was as potent as the day it was written. But there was one spell in particular—the only spell in the Necronomicon which Dean was interested in—a spell that could raise Lucifer.
The brothers had toiled to get Lucifer into the cage, but the Necronomicon was written to release Lucifer and bind him—a whole different story to raising Lucifer and starting the Apocalypse. It had never been done before because all sixty-six seals had to have been broken. But Sam had taken care of that and that meant that, in theory at least, Lucifer could now be raised and bound.
If Dean could get Lucifer out of Hell, he would be getting Sam out of the cage as well. Lucifer would no longer have to fight Michael, so he might have lost his spunk and perhaps could be lassoed silent for enough time for Dean to expel Lucifer from his brother’s body. But the first step would be freeing Lucifer.
Dean thought about where he could find a complete enough version of the book. The brothers had run into a Necronomicon a couple of times, though usually only abridged, watered-down, fit-for-public-consumption pamphlets. An elementary version of the book had been used by the teens who had switched Sam into the body of a suburban geek a couple of years ago. It was witchcraft all right, but the pesky, pimpled kids had probably picked up their copy in a head shop.
The actual Necronomicon was locked up in a cloister somewhere in Europe. Chances were that H.P. Lovecraft had made most of his version up, since reading from the actual text is often fatal—it can only be used by someone very practiced and powerful. Dean was pretty sure that Amazon wasn’t selling the originals. He had to find a real one.
And then who would help him cast the spell? He needed someone who knew how to handle powerful magic. Witches and those who practice witchcraft had used the Necronomicon and texts like it since ancient cultures developed an alphabet. The lineage of the sorcerers familiar with the book trickled down from ancient Sumeria to today. But where was Dean going to find a witch? He couldn’t ask Bobby to point him in the right direction, and he and Sam had ganked every other witch that they had encountered. Finding a witch that was powerful enough and willing to help Dean might be difficult in Cicero, Indiana.
Dean sat down next to Ben, who again commandeered the remote.
“You want more?” Lisa called to Dean. “If not I’m saving it for leftovers.”
Dean didn’t answer, he was thinking about his brother.
FOUR
Sam peered at the house through the Impala’s rain-splattered windshield. They had followed their mark home, but there hadn’t been any movement since he went inside.
“What do you think he’s doing in there?” Sam asked.
“What else would a guy who has killed everyone in his family be doing?” Dean said.
“You think he did it?” Sam asked.
“Totally. You’re such a softy, Sam. You think he’s in there making a fluffer-nutter and sitting down to watch Frontline? No, he’s getting ready to go out and eat more human flesh. He’s the last man standing. Of course he did it. He’s gotta be a rugaru or a shapeshifter or something.”
Sam wasn’t so sure. Granted, Nick Warner had been found in the house where all three of his family members were found dead. But he claimed that he was sleeping and didn’t hear anything. Plus, the police had cleared him. However, in all of Sam and Dean’s travels they had come across stranger things. It could be a case of amnesia. Certainly in werewolf cases they had encountered the infected people didn’t remember anything when they turned back. Maybe Nick Warner didn’t remember killing his family.
“We have to just wait and see.”
“Well, I’ve had enough, I’m going in,” Dean said as he kicked open the car door and grabbed his sawed-off from the back seat.
“Dean, wait. What’re you gonna do? Just walk into the guy’s house? That’s breaking and entering,” Sam said, following closely behind his brother, shotgun in hand.
“Not the way I do it. The way I do it, it’s just breaking.”
Dean stomped up the steps and yelled, “Nick Warner, we know you’re in there. Come out with your hands up or we’re coming to get you!”
“What are you going to do when he comes out and sees you’re not the police, Kojak?” Sam asked.
Dean ran his fingers through his hair. “Just let me handle that pa—”
A horrible scream came from inside the house. Followed by the sound of breaking furniture.
“Watch out!” Dean cried.
He stepped back, then hurled his shoulder into the door. The lock splintered away, revealing the dark interior beyond.
“Mr. Warner? Nick Warner?” Sam called.
The house had fallen silent. Dean motioned that he was going to check the back rooms, and he indicated that Sam should sweep the upper floors. As Sam crept up the stairway, a dark streak crossed quickly before him. A door slammed at the top of the landing. Sam stood before the door with his shotgun at the ready, then slowly turned the door handle and entered the room.
On the bed a nasty old crone crouched over a tied and bound man, who Sam assumed to be Nick Warner. She was up to her elbows in Nick, her hand jammed into his mouth. Nick was turning blue. She was trying to tear out his heart.
Sam pulled the trigger back and aimed at the crone’s back. But she was quick. In moments, the old hag humped on top of him and overpowered his large frame. He struggled beneath her weight, her putrid breath wet his face with corpse-smelling saliva.
“Dean!” Sam yelled.
The crone was stronger than her bony body suggested. Both Sam’s arms were pinned to the floor. She bent down and examined Sam’s face. Sam half expected her to tell him how pretty he was. Instead she said, “I’m going to eat your heart.”
“Talk about cliché,” Dean said from the doorway.
The crone’s dark pupils swept over Dean.
“You’re next. But first I’m going to take his liver,” she cackled.
She shot her arm down Sam’s throat. His eyes bugged out, and he fought against her with his one free arm.
BLAM! The bullet blew apart the crone’s head. Her body slumped over. Sam gagged and threw the body off him. He rubbed his tongue with his hand, trying to get the taste of the old woman’s disgusting limb out of his mouth.
“Yum. Croney,” Dean said.
He took one look at Nick Warner and his smile vanished.
“Let’s get this poor guy to the hospital. He’s lost a lot of blood.”
“I almost lost a liver. I can still feel her fingers touching my stomach lining,” Sam said with a grimace. “So, I guess Nick wasn’t to blame.”
“Nope, guess not,” Dean said, untying the poor man from the bed. He then hoisted him onto his shoulder. “Come on, let’s get going.”
Later that night, as Dean and Sam drove out of the small North Dakota town, they both enjoyed a moment of quiet contemplation. The feeling that they were doing good in the world.
Dean woke from his reverie.
�
��You seem far away.” Lisa leaned back in her lawn chair and regarded Dean.
It was a very warm day, summer was in full swing and Ben was out riding his bike with friends. Dean had been staring into space silently for a good twenty minutes without speaking. His mind was far away, in a different dimension entirely, he was thinking about breaking Sam out of the cage. The terrible dreams about Sam had stopped, but Dean’s obsession with springing Sam had not.
“What’s going on in there?” Lisa tapped Dean’s head with her index finger.
Dean dusted away the cobwebs.
“I’m good. I’m good. Don’t I look good?”
“Yes. I was just wondering what you were thinking,” Lisa said, then held up her hand in defense. “I know it’s one of the cardinal sins of relationships to ask a guy what he’s thinking. But I figure I have a kid, I’m way past stuff like that.”
“I’m thinking...” Dean in fact knew he couldn’t tell Lisa what he was thinking. The Necronomicon, he thought. I’m thinking about how I’m going to find a powerful ancient book, steal it, and then use it to bounce my brother—who is probably already ripped to shreds—out of Hell. I know I said I would stop obsessing about Sam. But I just can’t help but think this book could get me my brother back.
Now of course finding a copy will prove difficult, there might not even be one in the United States. Even if I do get my hands on it, I’ll have other problems, like figuring out how to get Lucifer out of my brother’s body. I’m hoping the binding spell in the Necronomicon will help me cast Lucifer back, just not in Sam’s body.
To top it all off, thinking I need to find a powerful person, most likely a witch, to help me with the whole thing. So basically I’m thinking about doing the impossible—getting Sam out of Hell.
Dean knew he couldn’t say all that to Lisa. So he said the thing that every woman likes to hear.
“Let’s go on vacation.”
Lisa sat up to face him. “Really? Dean, that would be so wonderful. Ben would love that. The last vacation Ben and I had was when he was six. We went to a water park in Michigan and I got the flu and couldn’t take him on any of the rides. A vacation would be perfect.” She leaned over and kissed Dean on the mouth.
“Wow, if I’d known I’d get that reaction I would have mentioned it weeks ago.”
“Where are we going to go?” Lisa asked.
Where would we go? Dean thought about it. He responded with an answer that was impossible to disagree with.
“It’s a surprise, been planning it for a while. I’ll let you know.”
“Dean, that’s great. Ben is going to flip.”
Lisa was happy. Mentioning a vacation was a symbol that Dean was finally moving on from his past; putting away the crazy life that he had led for twenty-five years. Normal people take vacations. A vacation would mean Dean had finally joined the ranks of the normal and he’d retired from hunting monsters and killing things.
Of course, Lisa would never tell Dean how she felt about his old life, in fact she had always told him to do what he wanted. She didn’t want to mold Dean. He was unmoldable. But if Dean made changes himself she was more than happy to accept them.
Dean smiled. A vacation would be nice. But even as he thought about where they should go—Disneyland, Yellowstone, New York—there was something that unnerved him. For the past few months Dean had been in self-imposed exile. Even though he had begun to play suburban Ken—he had begun working, his life with Lisa and Ben was happy and fulfilled, and the memory of Sam had become less like a gnawing and more like an slight stitch that panged his soul—Dean still felt guilty about truly enjoying himself. And the idea that the Necronomicon could possibly liberate Sam from Hell was tantalizing.
“Salem?” Lisa peered at Dean over breakfast.
“Sure, I mean, look. They have the beach, restaurants, and old clipper ships. It will be educational. Ben will love it. Really.” Dean pushed the AAA brochure over to Lisa.
She stared at it skeptically.
“It’s not a vacation destination though. Is it?”
“Of course it is, look at all the tourists in this picture!” Dean beamed.
Lisa looked at Dean’s satisfied face. She couldn’t really argue about it, any vacation would be nice.
“Okay. Salem it is.”
“Ten AM. Everyone ready. “ Dean took the last swig of his coffee.
“Really?” Lisa asked. “You want to leave now?”
“Sure, why not? What are we waiting for?” Dean wanted to be heading east as soon as possible. He could have driven the fifteen-hour car ride in one sitting, but he knew that Lisa would balk at that. They would probably stop halfway through New York State. After that it would be an easy five-or six-hour drive.
Thinking about it the night before, Dean had realized that to find a witch he was going to have to go somewhere legendary—Europe was out of the question, but the next best place was Salem. That town had to be teeming with witches. He could have a nice family vacation with Lisa and Ben and also find a witch that could help him raise Sam from the dead.
Lore said that a Necronomicon had been burned during the Salem witch trials in 1692. Chances were that someone in that town still had one. Dean reasoned if he could find the book, he’d find the witch. But he would have to be prepared.
“I’m going to go out and pick up a couple of things,” Dean yelled, grabbing the keys to his truck. “I’ll be back in a half-hour. Be ready.”
Dean knew he had to have plenty of protection once he was in Salem; a Necronomicon wasn’t something to fool around with, and the person who would be powerful enough to use it wouldn’t be either. He decided to stop off at the local garden store; there was no better place to find mandrake, hemlock or monkshood. Not only were these things essential for making hex bags and protection spells, they all made excellent perennial ground cover.
After shopping, Dean sat in his truck outside the garden store. He snipped off the plants’ tops and threw the pots of soil out his truck window, drawing stares from the store employees. Feeling guilty, he got out of the truck and took the pots back inside to be recycled. Wow, he thought, I am a suburban douche-dweller.
Back at home Dean took the cut plants and some of the weapons he kept in the trunk of the Impala, and packed them into his duffle.
Dean didn’t touch the Impala anymore. He had shoved it into the garage and covered it with a tarp. It was best he not be reminded of all the time he and Sam had spent in it.
Instead he climbed into the driver’s seat of Lisa’s CRV. Ben hopped into the back seat. As long as Ben had his videogame player he was happy. Lisa took her seat beside Dean.
“Family vacation, huh?” Lisa said.
“Yeah, I’m so Chevy Chase right now. Holiddaayy Roooaad,” Dean sung at the top of his lungs.
“Okay Sparky, let’s go.”
Dean gunned the engine. Pulling out of the driveway he admired Lisa’s little house; he was hoping that the next time he saw it he would have his brother with him. Maybe they both could stop hunting once and for all, together.
FIVE
The Indiana clouds hung low like charcoal smudges wiped against a newsprint-colored sky, threatening rain.
Sam looked southward. He was twenty miles away from Dean. It would be a short drive—thirty minutes at the very most. Sam could make an excuse, slip away from Samuel and be there at Dean’s front door. He’d embrace him. Sam would tell him he was back, he didn’t know how it had happened, but he was back.
Sam looked in the direction of Cicero; Dean was there with Lisa. Of course, he knew he should make every effort to see Dean. But strangely he didn’t really want to. Sam wondered what he was feeling: Was it comfort that Dean was safe and finally happy? Was it happiness that he was alive and brought back from the dead? Sam had said “yes” to Lucifer and on that field he fought with every fiber of his being to gain enough control of his own body in order to throw himself into the pit. It seemed that was the last time he felt... anything.
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* * *
“You coming, Sam?”
Samuel Campbell leaned out of the door of his truck and stared hard at his grandson. Sam always seemed so far off. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Or rather he didn’t want to. He hadn’t ever met the boy before. Maybe that’s how he always was. Though Samuel couldn’t quite convince himself of that. It was strange how he had found him in the first place, but despite the strange situation and the strange grandson, Sam was family.
Samuel sighed, the reality of this weird existence hitting him again. Most days he hated waking up. He didn’t think it was a miracle that had brought him back from the dead; there was too paralyzing an ache inside him for this to be a true blessing.
What bothered Samuel was walking the Earth with the knowledge that his daughter, Mary, was dead. The regret and the loss stung him every day. All he wanted was to see his daughter, her radiant face ringed with blonde hair. She always looked like a cherub to him. He didn’t have the chance to see her grow past the age of twenty-one.
It’s said that it’s awful for a child to die before a parent, but Samuel thought it was more terrible to come back to life and be told of your child’s death. And to know that she was killed by the same demon that had killed him was even worse. What he would give to go back to 1974 and murder Yellow Eyes! Samuel knew that he should be overjoyed that he could spend time with his grandson. In any regular person’s life dying ten years before your grandchildren are born ordinarily precludes being able to spend time with them—but not if you’re a Campbell.
“I’m coming!” Sam swung around and got into his grandfather’s truck.
“Why you dilly-dallying?” Samuel cast Sam a sidewards glance, trying once again to see what was behind that blank stare, but as usual it betrayed nothing. He just had to hope he was getting through to the kid. Much depended on Sam being at his side.
Supernatural: One Year Gone Page 3