Supernatural: Carved in Flesh

by Tim Waggoner

  Hel shrugged. “He was a tool I was finished with, so I discarded him. I needed someone to serve as my agent in the physical world, but now that I have a suitable body, I need no one but myself.”

  Hel continued to face him as she spoke, so she didn’t see the look on Catherine Luss’s face, but Dean did. The adoration was gone, replaced by confusion. Mamma can’t wrap her head around what her little girl just did, he thought. If Hel kept going like this, it wouldn’t take long for the spell she’d cast over the doctor to break. Once that happened, she was liable to get zapped by that weird blue stone of Hel’s and end up like Dippel.

  Dean wasn’t close to his full strength again, but he thought he might be strong enough.

  “You know, I was going to try to make a deal with you to save my brother’s life, but I get the feeling you aren’t really the dealing type.”

  “You are correct. If I want something, I take it.” She grinned. “It was one of the reasons the Vikings were so fond of me. They thought like I do.”

  “That’s what I figured. In that case...” Dean drew his Colt, aimed for the stone, and fired.

  * * *

  Sam stood on the shore of a vast dark ocean. The water looked like ink, the ground beneath his feet black ash. Fragments of ivory bone poked through in places, most unrecognizable, but Sam saw several skulls, hands, and feet. The sky was a canopy of roiling shadow that stretched from horizon to horizon, but despite the complete lack of illumination, he had no difficulty seeing. Waves rolled into shore, moving thick and slow, more like tar than water, and when they broke they made a sound like sandpaper scraping bare flesh.

  The last thing he remembered was taking a shot at Marshall Luss. After that, nothing.

  “Am I dead?” he wondered aloud.

  “Nearly.”

  Sam turned to see a man standing next to him. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, with short blond hair and a kind, gentle face. He wore a light blue button shirt and dark blue pants, and even though Sam had never seen him clearly before, he knew who he was.

  “You’re the shadow figure I’ve been seeing.”

  The man nodded. “The infection you acquired from the bite from Dippel’s hound made that possible. But you know that already.”

  “What are you? A Reaper?”

  “Yes.”

  “So I am dead.” Sam took in the surreal landscape around them. “I have to say, I’ve been dead before, and I don’t remember it being anything like this.”

  “The infection combined with the amount of stimulants you took proved too great a strain for your body. However, as I said, you’re only nearly dead. This...” He spread his arms. “...is a construct of your subconscious. And a most theatrical one at that.”

  “So you’re here to shepherd me to the afterlife. I don’t suppose there’s any way I can talk you out of it?”

  “I have come to take you away from here, but our destination isn’t eternity. We both have unfinished business back in the realm of the living.”

  “Dippel,” Sam said.

  “Not anymore. He’s been... dealt with. Unfortunately, the creature that he’s brought into corporeal existence is a far more dangerous threat than he could ever be. She is Hel, the Norse goddess of death, and she is using the body of Bekah Luss as her vessel. I was trapped in the Lapis Occultus, but your brother freed me, allowing me to come to this mindscape you created in order to retrieve you. I can return your spirit to your own body and even counteract the necro-mystical infection that has almost destroyed you, but other than that, I can offer no help. Hel is too powerful for me to confront directly, especially since Dippel used a measure of my own power to resurrect both Marshall and Bekah.” The man lowered his gaze to the ashen ground. “My capacity for acting in the physical world is limited, and I’d hoped to... use you and your brother to help me stop Dippel. If I could have thought of any other way...”

  Sam didn’t quite follow everything the Reaper said, but he got the gist.

  “Don’t worry about it. You were doing your job, just like we were doing ours. So, any advice for when I get back?”

  “I’m only permitted to return you to life this one time because of the particular unnatural power that brought you to the edge of death. So my advice is, don’t die again.”

  Sam smiled grimly. “I’ll do my best.”

  * * *

  Sam opened his eyes. He felt better than he had in days, wide awake and full of energy, as if he’d just woken from the best night’s sleep he’d ever had. He still had hold of his Beretta, and he gripped it tight as he lifted his head slightly to survey the scene. Dippel was gone, nothing but an empty set of clothes to indicate he ever existed. A teenager he assumed was Bekah Luss—or at least her body—stood on the deck, cradling her right hand to her chest, an expression of venomous hatred on her face. Lying near her feet were scattered fragments of dark blue stone. The remnants of the Lapis Occultus, he assumed, whatever that was. Catherine Luss stood close to the creature that now wore her daughter’s form, looking lost and confused. Dean was getting to his feet, less than twenty feet away from Sam, facing Marshall Luss. He had his Colt drawn and aimed at the man, but Marshall seemed not to care. He snarled like an animal, but although his eyes blazed with fury, he made no move to attack Dean. The man’s hands and arms were no longer swathed in ebon energy—or rather, Sam could no longer see it. The Reaper had been true to his word. The infection was gone, but so was his death vision. He had to assume that Marshall was still capable of draining life force, which meant they had to keep him at bay, out of arm’s reach.

  Sam took in all the details in an instant, along with one thing more: no one had noticed his restoration to the land of the living.

  I’m sorry about this, Bekah, he thought. He sat up and in one swift movement raised his Beretta and fired.

  The girl’s head snapped back as the round penetrated her skull. Catherine Luss shouted, “No!” and rushed to her daughter’s side. But Bekah didn’t fall down. She straightened her head, and trained her gaze on Sam, a trickle of black blood running from the new hole in her forehead.

  “You seem to have made a remarkable recovery, boy. I wonder if you had help.”

  She held out her hand, and the bullet popped out of the hole and landed in her palm. She regarded it for a moment before turning her palm downward and allowing it to clatter to the deck.

  “This body was created to be strong, and now that it is imbued with my power, it cannot be harmed by such simple means. You cannot stop me, hunter. My new servant will drain the life essence from both of you, then I shall animate your husks and make you the first recruits in my army of the dead.”

  Dean didn’t take his eyes off Marshall as he said, “Nice shot. Good to have you back.”

  “Good to be back. So we’ve got another rogue god on our hands, huh?”

  “Can you believe it? The damned things are crawling out of the woodwork like cockroaches.”

  “And it sounds like she plans to take over the world,” Sam added.

  “Yeah. Big surprise. You ever wonder if these jokers actually give any thought to what they’d do with the world once they’ve conquered it? It’s a pretty big place.”

  “Be a real bitch to keep clean,” Sam said.

  Bekah’s features tightened with Hel’s anger. “I shall not permit such mockery. Marshall—kill them both.”

  “Bad men!” Marshall growled, and then started toward Dean, hands raised. Although Sam could no longer see it, he knew black death energy radiated from them.

  Dean was through fooling around. He fired his Colt twice, putting a round in each of Marshall’s legs. The man didn’t seem phased by the wounds, but his legs collapsed out from under him, sending him sprawling to the ground. Dean tucked the Colt into his pants and took hold of the flamethrower’s nozzle.

  “This stuff might be diluted, but I’m betting it’s still got a spark or two left in it.” He thumbed the release button and pumped several streams of liquid onto Marshall. T
he man squeezed his eyes shut and sputtered as the watered-down kerosene splashed his face. He struggled to rise to his feet, blood pouring from the fresh wounds to his legs. Dean released the flamethrower’s nozzle and removed a flare from his jacket pocket. He pulled off the striking cap, lit it, and tossed the blazing flare onto Marshall.

  Flames erupted across the man’s body, and although he’d seemed unaffected by gunshot wounds, this was a pain he was unable to withstand. He let out an ear-piercing howl of pure agony.

  “Oh my god!” Catherine shrieked. “Marshall!”

  Hearing his wife’s voice, Marshall staggered to his feet and lurched in the direction of the deck. Whatever difference the Lapis Occultus had made in the man’s resurrection, it hadn’t caused him to be any less flammable than Dippel’s other creations. Within seconds, Marshall had become a mobile bonfire, flames roaring and crackling, greasy smoke rising into the sky, filling the air with the gut-churning smell of burning flesh. He cried out in agony one more time before his voice cut out, destroyed by fire.

  Catherine tried to go to him, but Hel grabbed her arm and stopped her.

  She struggled to pull herself free from the creature inhabiting her daughter’s body. “Let me go! I’m a doctor!”

  “I fear your husband is beyond all help, medical or mystical.” Hel flicked her hand toward Marshall and tendrils of ebon energy extended from her fingers. They struck Marshall like five black whips, and then retracted back into Hel’s flesh. Marshall stood still for a moment, flames burning furiously, then he fell to his knees and collapsed onto his side. He lay still as the fire continued to devour what was left of his flesh.

  Hel released Catherine, and she whirled to face the dark goddess. “What did you do?”

  “He had no need of what life force remained to him, so I took it. We gods no longer enjoy the high stations we once did, nor do we receive the offerings and sacrifices that are ours by divine right. Because of this, we’ve learned over the long, lean years not to waste resources. Or as your people would say, ‘waste not, want not.’” She smiled. “Of course, all of this will change once my darkness has cloaked your world in everlasting night. There are so many more of you now than there were during my time, and every one of you shall fall down and worship me. And if you refuse...” Her smile turned ice-cold. “...you’ll just fall down.”

  While Hel spoke to Catherine, Dean walked over to Sam. “I don’t suppose you brought back any knowledge about how to defeat this bitch with you from the Other Side?”

  “Afraid not.”

  “You think if we put enough rounds in her, she’ll go down long enough for us to burn her?”

  “I don’t know. It might work. If I remember right, the Norse viewed Hel’s domain as a realm of eternal ice and cold where those who died of sickness or old age were condemned.” When Dean gave him a questioning look, he added, “The Vikings preferred to die a glorious death in battle so they could get into Valhalla, the hall of heroes.”

  “That’s the one where you fight all day and feast all night, right? Doesn’t sound half bad. So you’re thinking that fire is the opposite of ice, and if we give her a hotfoot, it might take her out. All right, let’s reload and put that theory to the test.”

  “Don’t bother.”

  They looked up to see Hel walking toward them. Catherine remained standing on the deck, watching, eyes filled with despair, sorrow etched on her face.

  “I’m not deaf, you know,” she said with a smug smile. “While Niflheim is indeed a harsh frozen landscape, I am Death, and what is fire but the ultimate devourer, the ultimate killer? Flames cannot harm me.”

  “I told you, I’ve met Death—” Dean began.

  “Fine,” Hel snapped. “So I’m a death, not the Death. You may think of me as his little sister, if it helps. Whatever I am, I’m more than a match for a pair of mortals like you.”

  She stopped when she reached them. “Any last words before I turn you into my undead slaves?”

  “I can think of a couple,” Dean said, “but I don’t think they’re appropriate to say to someone underage.”

  Sam wasn’t certain, but he thought he heard a voice whisper next to his ear. It said, Catherine.

  Sam didn’t know what he was supposed to do, or if the voice was real or just another hallucination, so he just started talking and hoped something would come to him. “Catherine, I know you only wanted to bring your family back. The pain of losing someone you love... it’s indescribable. And no matter how much time passes, that pain never goes away, not completely. You think if only you could have a little more time with them, you’d say all the things you never got around to saying, do all the things you put off when they were alive. You pray for a miracle, and sometimes, one happens. In your case, Conrad found you, and with his help, you learned how to restore life to the dead. But when people come back, they’re not the same. Their personalities, their souls are gone, and what returns is... something else. My brother and I, we’ve seen it happen before. We knew a girl called Trish...” He trailed off. “My point is we watched someone we loved brought back as a horrible, murderous thing, and we had to—to make it right again.”

  Catherine’s face gave no hint of whether Sam’s words had any impact on her, or indeed, if they’d registered at all.

  Hel sneered at Sam. “How sentimental.” She raised her hands and tendrils of darkness began to emerge from her fingers.

  Sam could feel Dean tense, and he knew his brother intended to go down shooting. It might not stop Hel, but it was better than standing there and letting her kill them without a fight. Neither of them had gotten a chance to reload, and he didn’t know how many rounds remained in his clip, but he didn’t care. Whatever he had left, he’d make sure they counted.

  Before the brothers could begin firing, Catherine said, “Wait!”

  She stepped off the deck and came walking toward them. She glanced at the remains of her husband. The flames had died away for the most part, leaving behind only a blackened, smoldering husk. Sam thought he saw her lips tighten, but otherwise her expression remained neutral as she joined them.

  Sam exchanged a look with his brother. They couldn’t shoot now, not without hitting Catherine, too.

  “Before this goes any farther, I want you to tell me something, Hel. I understand that you’re in control of Bekah’s body, and that your spirit is dominant, but is she anywhere inside? And if so, is she aware of what’s happening?”

  The ebon tendrils slithered back into Hel’s fingers, and she turned to face Catherine. “If I say yes, will you follow me loyally and without question? Even though I no longer need an agent in the physical world, I have to admit that Conrad had his uses. You would make a suitable replacement.”

  “If my daughter is within you, then yes, I will serve you.”

  Hel smiled. “Of course she’s here. Can’t you tell?”

  Catherine stepped closer and peered into Hel’s eyes. She stared for several moments, looking deeply, before finally nodding. “I can see her. She is in there.” She stepped back. “I am yours, Hel.” She smiled. “Till death do us part.”

  Hel let out a laugh and then turned to face Sam and Dean. Once more the goddess raised her hands, and Sam knew they couldn’t wait any longer. They were going to have to start firing and hope Catherine didn’t catch a stray bullet.

  Catherine reach into the pocket of her lab coat and withdrew something sharp and silvery. Sam had just enough time to realize it was a scalpel before she plunged it into the base of Hel’s skull. Hel’s eyes went wide, more from surprise than pain. Catherine flicked the scalpel’s blade back and forth with a single deft motion. Hel’s eyes rolled white. She collapsed to the ground, the scalpel handle still protruding from her skull.

  Catherine, Sam, and Dean stood looking down at the body of Bekah Luss for several seconds. Then Catherine spoke in a toneless voice. “If you want to know death, study life. It’s why doctors make the best killers.”

  “You severed the connection
between her brain and spinal cord,” Sam said.

  Catherine nodded. “I don’t know how long it will take Hel to heal the wound and restore life to Bekah’s body. I left the scalpel in place in the hope it will slow her down, at least a little. But as powerful as she is, she will heal. It’s just a matter of time.”

  “We should burn her,” Dean said. “If Hel can’t work her mojo, fire should take care of her as easily as...” He glanced at Marshall’s charred remains. “...anything else.” He reached for the flamethrower’s nozzle.

  “Not yet,” Catherine said. “There’s something we should do first—as insurance, if nothing else.”

  “What’s that?” Sam asked.

  She raised her eyes and regarded the Winchesters grimly. “Disassembly.”

  Sam looked at Dean. In unison, they put away their pistols and reached for their KA-BAR knives.

  FIFTEEN

  “I’m getting tired of digging graves,” Dean said.

  “Me, too.”

  The crapmobile cruised through the night on I-70, heading west, Dean behind the wheel, Sam riding shotgun.

  After they’d “disassembled” Bekah’s body, they’d burned the parts and buried them separately in the Luss’s back yard. When that chore was finished, they buried Marshall’s remains as well. The sun had long dropped below the horizon by that point, and Catherine invited them in for a drink. They accepted, feeling more than a little awkward. As they stood in her kitchen and drank tap water, she thanked them for their help.

  What am I going to do now? Catherine had asked. I’ve done terrible things. I never asked where Conrad found the limbs and organs I needed, but I knew where they came from—especially the freshest ones. And the experiment that got loose, the dog... it killed people. Those deaths are on my hands, too. I may not have taken any lives directly, but I’m just as responsible as if I had. I don’t even have Dippel’s excuse of being manipulated by a dark goddess. I was just a sad, lonely woman who missed her family. I’d go to the police and turn myself in, but what good would it do? No one would believe my story.