Supernatural 7 - One Year Gone

by Rebecca Dessertine

  “I’ll see you later.”

  Samuel stared incredulously at his grandson.

  “You want me to get out here?”

  Sam shrugged.

  “I want to follow Dean. He’s on that old witch’s tail. I don’t want to lose him.”

  Samuel got out of the van. A light drizzle twinkled in the headlights of the few cars on the road at this hour.

  Sam nodded, pulled the door closed, then continued to follow his brother.

  Dean snuck into the hotel room just past midnight. Lisa was asleep on the bed, but as soon as Dean sat down to take off his shoes, she stirred.

  “What’s that smell?” she asked.

  “Cordite,” Dean said.

  Lisa sat up and peered at Dean.

  “Why were you firing a gun?”

  “Shooting practice,” Dean said, lying down on the bed beside her. “You still mad at me?”

  “Yes,” Lisa answered.

  “Okay. Can we talk about it in the morning?” Dean asked.

  Lisa nodded and turned her back on Dean. He shrugged; that was as good as he was going to get tonight.

  He tried to close his eyes but exhausted as his body was, sleep wasn’t on the cards. He had set out to find someone to help him to raise his brother, and he had. It just hadn’t turned out like he thought it would. He had found a Necronomicon, and he had found a powerful witch who could use it. Everything would be perfect if it weren’t for the fact that she was killing young girls, and bringing old witches back from the dead.

  Once again he opened up Nathaniel’s journal.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  A couple of weeks later all of Salem Village was in a frenzy. Tituba, Reverend Parris’s servant, had admitted to practicing witchcraft. She said that four figures had come to her in her sleep and told her to “sign a book” to swear allegiance to Satan. The magistrates, now four men, insisted on knowing the names of the people who had forced Tituba to hurt the girls.

  More names were called and more innocent people were brought before the magistrates and accused of witchcraft. As each accused person was brought into the meetinghouse, the afflicted girls would scream and writhe in pain.

  Nathaniel, Hannah, Caleb, and Thomas watched the proceedings from the back of the meetinghouse. As each day passed the theatrics of the court worried Nathaniel more and more. The town was clearly being whipped into a frenzy over witches. But since Constance and her daughters were absent from the proceedings, the question remained as to who in the court was a real witch.

  From his position at the back of the room, Nathaniel had a clear view of Prudence Lewis. Day after day she stood closest to the accused, always in the same place, with the rest of the girls lined up to her right. After watching her carefully for many hours on end, Nathaniel noted that it seemed whenever the girls went into a fit, Prudence Lewis was the one they all followed. If Prudence started to scream, they all started to scream. This happened time and time again as more and more accused witches were brought in.

  Nathaniel could not believe that the people being accused were all witches. One woman in particular, Martha Cory, he knew to be a pious woman who attended church every Sunday as well as Thursday scripture services. She could not be a witch.

  But what was at work? It seemed as if the afflicted girls were being harassed in some way. But by what? Scrapes and scars showed up on their faces and wrists. If they weren’t doing it themselves, someone or something must be doing it to them. This behavior, coupled with the strange encounter Caleb and Thomas had had with Prudence Lewis in the cellar, made Nathaniel suspect that Prudence was somehow influencing the other girls.

  “Boys, I want you to follow Prudence Lewis,” Nathaniel said. “I want to know where she goes tonight, when and with whom.”

  Caleb and Thomas nodded.

  That afternoon, as the winter sunlight waned and most of Salem trudged home through the snow, Caleb and Thomas waited for Prudence to leave the meetinghouse. She emerged escorted by Reverend Parris and John Hathorne and together they walked to Parris’s home. Once there, the men went inside but Prudence remained outside.

  After a few moments she stepped out onto the road, and peered both ways as though to check for spies. The boys crouched behind a hedge on the other side of the road, and held their breath.

  Apparently satisfied that she was alone, Prudence started walking up the road away from the village, before taking a sharp right to cut across a field. Caleb and Thomas followed a good distance behind her. They could barely see her figure in the waning light as she disappeared into the tree line.

  “Is she going toward Constance Ball’s?” Caleb whispered. His shoes crunched on the firm snow as he followed in his brother’s footsteps.

  “Looks like it,” Thomas replied.

  “Should we tell Father?” Caleb asked.

  “Let’s see what happens first,” his brother said.

  When Thomas turned back around he suddenly stopped in his tracks. Prudence was nowhere to be seen.

  “Where did she go?”

  “She was right there,” Caleb said.

  They squinted at the tree line fifty yards in front of them. Prudence had definitely disappeared. The brothers looked at each other—this wasn’t what was supposed to happen. They started walking again, still keeping quiet. Thomas drew out a silver blade from his jacket. Caleb took out a wooden bat. They hadn’t any shotguns with them.

  “Don’t make a sound,” Thomas murmured.

  “I’m trying not to. You don’t make a sound,” Caleb hissed back.

  They crept into the woods at the very spot where they had last seen Prudence. On the ground there was a circle of small footsteps, but they didn’t lead in any direction, they just stopped as if someone had scooped her up off the ground. Thomas and Caleb peered into the dark canopy above them. Shadowy, sinewy trees poked upward, their frozen branches creaking in the wind.

  “Does she fly?” Caleb whispered.

  “Shush,” Thomas said. His blade at the ready. “She has to be around here somewhere.”

  “Thoma—” Caleb screamed.

  Thomas spun around to find Caleb five feet in the air, pinned up against a tree. Prudence Lewis stood three feet away. An unseen force held Caleb up. His eyes bulged in fear.

  “Thomas, I can’t breathe,” Caleb croaked.

  “Let my brother down,” Thomas commanded.

  “Aw, if it isn’t the Campbell boys. Did your daddy tell you to follow me?” Prudence hissed.

  “Let Caleb down and maybe I won’t kill you!” Thomas threatened.

  “Oh please, you can’t kill me. I’m so much more powerful than you silly boys can imagine,” Prudence said. “Not only can I do this,” she flicked her wrist and Caleb’s ears started to bleed, “but right now it seems like I can get anyone in Salem to believe anything I say!”

  “You’re the one afflicting the girls,” Thomas declared. “None of those people are witches. You are!”

  “Maybe, maybe not.”

  “Why are you sending innocent people to jail?” Thomas demanded.

  “If I tell you that I might have to kill you. Though, I might kill you anyway,” she said with a smile.

  Thomas lunged at her with his knife.

  Prudence took an enormous leap and landed on a low tree branch fifteen feet behind him. The distance gave Thomas ample room to run to Caleb. He jumped and hung onto Caleb’s feet, but his brother didn’t budge, and he was quickly turning blue.

  “Let him down! Or I swear to God I will burn down this entire forest with you in it.”

  “I’d like to see you try!” Prudence taunted.

  Thomas pulled a couple of bags of herbs from his coat. He spread them on the ground and started chanting in Latin.

  “Ego vocamus upon bonitas of life, ad concertamus tergus hic malum. Imus circa me conditi annulus of ardor. Imus circa me loco custodia.” A small flame of fire sprang up in Thomas’s hand, which he threw at the base of the tree. The fire quickly spread to for
m a ring around the tree and the two boys.

  Prudence dropped elegantly back on the ground, standing outside the ring of fire.

  “Looks like you’re stuck,” she observed maliciously.

  “Or you are,” Thomas said. He chanted a little more Latin. The fire rose and crackled, until it reached eight feet high. Then Thomas gave one last command in Latin.

  The fire exploded over the woods. Prudence covered her face as the percussion threw her onto her back twenty feet away. Caleb dropped to the ground and Thomas ran to his brother’s side. As quickly as it had started, the fire died down to embers around them.

  “How did you do that?” Prudence demanded. “You’re not a witch!”

  “No, but we are not without our own tricks,” Thomas replied.

  Thomas pulled Caleb up from the ground and turned back to Prudence.

  “I know what you are, and you’re not going to get away with tricking the entire town into thinking those people are witches.”

  “Oh really? And what are you going to do about it, Thomas Campbell? Tell your father? Tell the magistrates? I have them wrapped around my finger like a string. I’ll make sure that they know what you are.” Prudence turned on her heel and in an instant was gone.

  Thomas grabbed Caleb’s shoulder and the brothers retreated back across the frozen field toward home.

  “Well, one thing’s for sure,” Caleb said.

  “What?” Thomas asked.

  “Prudence is definitely not as pretty as she used to be.” Caleb smirked.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Dean woke up at gone nine a.m, alone. He pulled himself out of bed and headed downstairs, hoping to grab a cup of coffee. Lisa was sitting at a table drinking hers, and when she looked up as he walked in, a little scowl crossed her face. Clearly, she still wasn’t happy with Dean about yesterday. The fact that he had come home past midnight probably hadn’t helped.

  Dean pulled up a chair and sat down across the table from her. He fingered the lace tablecloth. He anticipated that Lisa was going to go after him, but didn’t want to be the one to speak first. This obviously wasn’t turning out to be the vacation Lisa had hoped for.

  He took a deep breath; someone had to break the stalemate.

  “So. I thought we could go to the beach today,” Dean began cautiously.

  Lisa raised an eyebrow.

  “Haven’t you had enough of the water? Any second I’m expecting the police to come through the door and arrest you for causing millions of dollars of damage.”

  “That wasn’t specifically my fault,” Dean countered. “Anyway, you don’t have to worry about the police, I had Ingrid change our name in the registry.”

  Lisa shook her head.

  “You just think of everything don’t you?”

  Dean had to admit that he did.

  “Where’s Ben?” he asked.

  “Perry came to pick him up. I think they went sightseeing and then to watch a movie,” Lisa said.

  Dean furrowed his brow.

  “To a movie or to watch a movie?”

  “I’m not sure. She’s a nice girl, Dean,” Lisa said. “I’ve spent more time with her than I have with you in the past couple of days. I’m thinking about taking her home instead of you.”

  “But you don’t know anything about her,” Dean objected.

  “So? She’s a girl, Dean. A regular girl. Not everything is a conspiracy.”

  “Lisa, I’m not some wack-a-doodle who thinks we didn’t go to the moon. Though I still would like to know why we haven’t gone back.” Dean shook his head, he was getting off topic. “The point is, I’ve seen things and there are monsters everywhere. Do you know what’s really hiding in the sewers of New York? You don’t want to know.

  “But I would like to get to know the girl a little more before sending Ben off on his own with her.”

  Lisa got up from the table.

  “He’s my son and if I think it’s okay for him to go see a movie with a girl, then it’s okay.”

  Dean threw up his hands. He hated this “blended family” shit. At least with his father you always knew whose word to go by.

  Dean followed Lisa out of the dining room and through the lobby area of the inn. Ingrid stood in her regular gnomish way behind the registration counter.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Winchester!” she called. “Oh sorry. I meant Mr. and Mrs. Newsted. Would you like to schedule that ghost tour now? It’s ten percent off for all guests.”

  “Ingrid, I hate to break it to you, but you don’t have any ghosts,” Dean said.

  Ingrid gasped.

  “Look,” Dean said pulling out his EMF meter. “See, nothing. No ghosts. If there were ghosts in this place believe me, I would know.”

  A touristy-looking couple in Bermuda shorts and T-shirts printed with “I believe in ghosts” stared at Dean. They looked crushed.

  Dean turned around.

  “Sorry. Just couldn’t keep my mouth shut any longer.”

  Lisa apologized to a despondent Ingrid and dragged Dean out of the inn and onto the brick sidewalk.

  “Really? You had to do that didn’t you?” Lisa looked at him, incredulous.

  “Lisa, I really don’t want to get into a fight about this. Where is Ben? I’m going to go pick him up.”

  “There’s no talking sense into you,” Lisa said, taking out her phone. “You can call him and ask.”

  “You don’t even know where he is?”

  “He’s with Perry, Dean. Get over it.”

  Dean pointed to her phone.

  “Get him on the phone, now.”

  “Why are you doing this, Dean? What aren’t you telling me?”

  Dean pursed his lips. For a moment, he thought about blurting it all out, the Necronomicon, the witches, the horrible murders. But he imagined her terrified face and just couldn’t do it. The truth hurts and Lisa was the last person he wanted to cause any pain.

  “Can you just trust me?” he said gently.

  “We aren’t here just for a vacation, are we Dean? Is Ben in some kind of trouble?” Lisa persisted.

  “I don’t know that he’s in trouble. I’m just playing it safe. I want us three to spend time together and I would rather he not discover Love Story, Part Two: The Salem Years. Just call him. Please.”

  Lisa pressed some buttons on her phone, then put it to her ear. After a few moments, she spoke into it.

  “Ben, it’s Mom. You’re supposed to always keep your phone on, we talked about this. Call me as soon as you get this. Dean and I are going to come pick you up.” Lisa hung up and looked back at Dean. “Should I be worried?”

  “No, he’s just watching a movie with a strange girl in a strange town with some very strange things going on in it.”

  “What does that mean?” Lisa asked.

  “It means that, yes, there is something happening in this town. But I swear I didn’t know about it until we got here,” Dean said. It was, strictly, the truth.

  “I knew it. Why couldn’t you tell me?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Now what are you doing?”

  Dean had opened the car, which he had parked in front of the inn. He had pulled out his laptop and was furiously hacking into Lisa’s cell phone site.

  “Wait a minute, how do you know my password?” Lisa asked, looking over his shoulder.

  “You have a GPS on the phone right?” Dean said. “I’m just activating it so we can see where he is.”

  “You still haven’t answered my question: How do you know my password?”

  “Lisa, please. Favorite Show: Gilmore Girls. Town you grew up in: Cicero. Name of first pet: Snowball.”

  “When did I tell you about my guinea pig?” Lisa asked.

  Dean looked at her.

  “Hello! First date. I learned many things. Including how bendy you are,” Dean said with a smirk.

  “I can’t believe you’re breaking into my private account and trying to charm me at the same time.”

  “Please,
it’s not the first time,” Dean said. “Okay, got it.” He brought up the tracking map of Ben’s cell phone. The little blip said he was somewhere on a street called Harpers Circle.

  “Where is that? Is it far?” Lisa asked. “They were supposed to go to the movie theater.”

  “No, you assumed seeing a movie meant going to a movie theater. You can’t assume that with boys. Believe me, I know,” Dean said as he put the address into his phone. “Let’s go and get him, before this becomes a Thora Birch Lifetime movie.”

  Lisa looked at him as they climbed into the car.

  “You know, some of your pop culture references are seriously obscure.”

  Dean nodded. He did know that. They pulled out into traffic. Dean was really hoping he was overreacting and everything was fine, but he had learned a long time ago that you can’t be too careful in a town when things are going ass-over-elbows.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Following the GPS, Dean and Lisa drove out of town and onto a double-lane freeway. A short while later, they turned onto a side street. Even though it was mid-morning, the streetlights were slowly flickering in response to a bank of dark clouds pushing in from the shore.

  The road swung around in a large circle. On one side a deep thicket of trees ran along the edge; on the other a series of modern apartment buildings were set at different angles around the grounds. Suddenly, the landscape opened up, revealing a long brick building topped with spires and gothic-looking windows, that stood in stark contrast to the modern buildings that surrounded it.

  Dean surveyed the scene. He had omitted to tell Lisa what else he had found out during his brief foray on the Internet. This wasn’t some ideal planned community that had popped up out of nowhere. The complex had been built on the grounds of the old state insane asylum.

  They parked the car at the leasing office and walked in. Behind the counter a kid, who looked scarcely older than Ben, was sitting watching a baseball game on his computer.

  “Are the Sox up?” Dean asked the kid, who hadn’t even glanced up as they walked in.

  “Bottom of the eighth. Two runners on. Ortiz is up.”

  “Great. Can you tell me what apartment Perry—” Dean looked at Lisa. “What’s her last name?”