Supernatural--Joyride

by John Passarella

When he heard the operator’s voice, he almost fell off the stool in relief. She wanted to know the nature of the emergency. So many, he thought. Where to start?

  “Hello?”

  “Yes, yes, we need help,” Ethan said quickly, afraid the signal would cut out before he finished. “This is Ethan. Ethan Yates. Me and my sister need help—fast! But my mom’s hurt bad. He stabbed her. Our father—in our house and he’s gonna… hurt us, if he finds us.” Ethan had been rambling, but caught himself before he said anything that might freak out Addison. Well, freak her out more than she already was. “We need the police—and an ambulance for our mom—but tell the police not to hurt my dad, because it’s not really him doing the bad stuff. Something’s inside him. That’s the bad thing.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Hiding in a pit, in our yard,” Ethan said. “But he’s coming—he’s close!”

  “I need your address, Ethan.”

  Ethan gave her their address, something his mother had always made him and Addie remember, but it changed so much, sometimes Addie mixed up street and town names. Ethan always made an extra effort to get it right, repeating it to Addie in case she ever got lost.

  He climbed down from the stool, careful of the wobble, and gave it back to Addie. She sat on it. He sat on the floor beside her. They waited in the silence of the pit, while above, another trapdoor thumped shut on squeaky hinges. Any minute, he would find their trapdoor and yank it open…

  His mother always said, “You never know when an emergency will happen.”

  This time, the emergency was in their own backyard.

  This time, it was their father who was lost.

  THIRTY-TWO

  When the Winchesters returned to the Moyer Public Library, Sam grabbed the loaded duffel bag from the trunk and followed Dean inside. Other than the Impala, the visitor parking lot remained empty. Too much chaos rolling through town for anyone to consider quiet time with books. Assuming Bonnie had parked her car in the employee lot in back, he expected at least one other car out front, whatever Barry’s new host drove. Unless…

  Dean looked over his shoulder at Sam. “Wonder if it’s burning man again,” he said, echoing Sam’s thought.

  “Any reason why it wouldn’t be someone else?”

  Dean shrugged. “Familiarity?” he said. “Each new rental car, you gotta figure out how to work the headlights and wipers all over again.”

  The automatic doors whooshed open. The library seemed deserted.

  “Bonnie,” Dean called.

  The office door behind the front counter opened, and Bonnie emerged. “Good,” she said, smiling. “You’re here.”

  Sam set the duffel bag on the counter.

  After glancing around at the freestanding shelves and the computer island, Sam asked, “Barry?”

  “He’s here and wants to help,” she said. “But he’s very agitated.” She turned to face her office, the door half open, as she’d left it. “Barry, come out.”

  The overhead fluorescent lights flickered once.

  Then Sam realized why the parking lot was empty.

  Barry had come as himself—a shadow person.

  Unnerving. If asked, that’s how Sam would describe his reaction upon seeing the dark human silhouette, undisguised and ghost-walking toward them, out in the open under the uncompromising glare of fluorescent lights. With no attempt at visual subterfuge, the shadow person calling itself—himself—Barry, seemed to distort reality, a willful darkness, rippling through the air, through the human world, completely out of time and place.

  “Whoa!” Dean said, reaching for the duffel.

  He had a shotgun half out of the canvas bag before Bonnie raised her hands, palms up. “Wait! He won’t hurt you!” she said hastily.

  “Guy with the burned hand might disagree,” Dean said skeptically.

  “He wants to help,” she pleaded. “Just hear him out.”

  “Shadows talk now?” Sam asked.

  Eerily, the mostly two-dimensional being turned toward each of them as they spoke. Even if shadow people couldn’t talk, they could apparently hear, or at least interpret meaning. They had been human once. Maybe that was enough.

  “We had something else in mind,” Bonnie said, grinning. “Practiced a bit while we waited for you.”

  “Practiced?” Sam asked, then glanced at Dean.

  “Shadow puppets?” Dean suggested, shrugging. “That’s all I got.”

  Shadow Barry glided forward from his position beside Bonnie.

  Instinctively, Sam tensed, ready for a hostile move. Unlike Dean, he hadn’t encountered a shadow person up close, only via surveillance video, and the visual experience was much more disturbing in person, even in perfect lighting.

  Barry pivoted to face Bonnie. For a moment, Sam saw only the narrow edge of the shadow body, which almost vanished, but appeared instead like a hairline fracture in reality or a visual fault in his field of vision. Then the broadside appeared and expanded again, Barry’s relative back to the Winchesters as he faced Bonnie. She smiled and gave a slight nod. Barry eased toward her.

  They were similar in height, but Shadow Barry expanded and contracted where necessary to match her physical dimensions. Briefly, the darkness coated her from head to toe, as if her whole body had been dipped in India ink, her face rendered in obsidian by a master sculptor. But the moment passed, and her body seemed to absorb the shadow with no ill effects.

  Bonnie stared at them, almost blindly, her body frozen in place.

  Then her eyes glowed, a pulse of red that faded as quickly as it appeared.

  “Bonnie?” Sam asked.

  Her mouth opened and closed. She nodded her head once, slowly. Her fingers curled, hands clenching and releasing. “Bonnie… can’t answer…”

  “Have you hurt her?” Dean asked.

  His hand still rested on the stock of one of the shotguns in the duffel. As a bluff, it failed. No way would Dean shoot Bonnie, even with a salt round. But Dean probably felt as helpless as Sam at that moment.

  “Would never… hurt my… Bonnie Lass.” Bonnie’s voice, but with a strained edge and hesitant. “She is… beneath, but aware.”

  “You’re a shadow person?” Sam asked. “You’re all shadow people?”

  “We are… what we are. Not sure… why we are… here. Now.”

  “Where were you before? All these years? Trapped in the Veil?”

  “Veil?”

  “It’s a plane of existence on earth but—” Sam began.

  “Where ghosts, hellhounds and reapers hang out,” Dean said. “Like a supernatural holding tank but without a door. It’s complicated.”

  Bonnie’s body shrugged, almost a pantomime of a shrug. “No Veil… for us. Alone but linked together… our minds… in darkness. Like dreaming… drifting… no sense of time.”

  Sam nodded. “There’s speculation in the lore that shadow people are extra-dimensional, inhabiting another universe or alternate reality.”

  Dean was skeptical. “Wouldn’t that make them aliens?”

  Sam smiled. “No, but what if the circumstances of their simultaneous deaths—the altered state of consciousness combined with the explosion—created, I don’t know, a metaphysical pocket universe. And when these types of souls break free, they bypass the Veil and manifest here on earth as shadow people.”

  Bonnie’s head nodded slowly. “Second explosion fractured… no more dreaming. Rushing back… to energy. Hungry for… life.”

  “You enjoy possessing people?” Dean asked. “That it?”

  “Some… addicted. Like new drug. I would not… chose not… but danger to you. Everyone. Moyer. Can’t ignore.”

  “No offense,” Sam said. “You don’t seem very good at it.”

  “Takes practice… to control. Only works with those… when we sense connection. A link… open minds. The rest… locked.”

  Obviously, Barry had a connection to Bonnie. And many older residents of Moyer had known about or interacted with the Fre
e Folk. If not them, their children and grandchildren. Connections beyond Moyer would be limited. And yet, Sam sensed he was missing a final piece of the puzzle…

  “I waited, refused. Others repeat many times. Some want… possession permanent. Right host… never leave. Live again.”

  “Your people—the shadows—want to take over human hosts permanently?” Dean asked, outraged.

  “Is that possible?” Sam asked.

  “Not my people. Caleb and those… loyal to him. Council leaders. Others. Some believe… permanent possible. Caleb’s mission… incomplete. Wants to try again.”

  “There’s nothing in the lore about shadow people possessing humans,” Sam said. “Incidents of paralysis, inducing feelings of dread, but not possession. Somehow, the Free Folk’s connection to Moyer created an exception.”

  Again, Bonnie’s head nodded. “Only if we sense link… to us.”

  There’s that word again, Sam thought. Then realization struck him. “That’s it,” he said. “The Free Folk were linked together when they died, linked in their pocket universe, and linked when they returned. The midnight blackouts are metaphysical aftershocks—diminishing echoes of the event that created them. Somehow, they create an altered state of consciousness in anyone within Moyer’s town limits when they happen. Good news is, the echoes will fade out, limiting the number of potential possession victims. Bad news is...”

  Dean frowned. “Blackout victims become honorary Free Folk.”

  “Or at least compatible minds,” Sam said, doubtful the comment made Dean feel any better about it. Maybe possession vulnerability would wear off when the blackout echoes faded away. “But why the pranks? The vandalism? Why all the violence?” Sam asked. If practice made possession permanent—or even if some of the shadow people believed that—Sam understood why they would repeatedly take over human hosts. But why lead them to violence and suicidal acts?

  “Many of us. Many reasons joined… Free Folk. Some… truth seekers, some free love, some freedom, some runaways and… criminals, wolves among sheep. Now free to hunt, kill, no… consequences.”

  “So, a few bad apples spoil the bunch?” Dean said unsympathetically.

  “We… many disbelieved Caleb’s vision… wanted only freedom, safe place, acceptance. Nothing more. Not Caleb’s ascension. Or his end of world obsession. But he… wouldn’t accept doubters, deniers. Those who refused ascension and his drug con-concoc—potion—were locked in detention rooms ‘for their own good.’”

  “He put you in one of those underground rooms,” Sam said.

  “Every gathering.”

  “Including the night the cult committed mass suicide,” Sam added. “That’s where they found your body.”

  Bonnie’s body shuddered momentarily. Barry confronting his own mortality from the other side, Sam thought.

  “Lies… not all suicide. Caleb chose for all, but many never knew his plan. Mass murder. All of us—snuffed out. Until now… back as shadows. Some angry… rage at life, at the living… feel cheated, lash out, want to hurt… But some possess only to… experience joy of life, freedom again, wind in hair, smell of flowers, warmth of sun. And yet… they know it’s wrong. Stealing minutes or hours from others. Want to stop. But, for some, hard to stop…”

  “They’re addicted to life,” Sam said.

  Bonnie’s head nodded, almost naturally this time. “Intoxicating… So, they want you to… find a way to stop them. For their own good.”

  “Gank them?” Dean asked. “How?”

  “We don’t know how to… end this unnatural existence. But we need to find a way. We want to… But some will never stop. Caleb’s will… remains strong, demands allegiance, submission, obedience. As he was in life…”

  “He wants to create a shadow cult?” Sam asked.

  “Until possession permanent and hosts fade away.” Another nod. “Some of us want to fight him. Stop him. Stop history from… repeating. Battle lines drawn. But numbers not… in our favor. Those who fight against. I tried to stop Caleb, but I was… ineffective, too weak to take control. I failed Ethan…”

  Tears welled in Bonnie’s eyes, spilled over her cheeks. But the grief causing them belonged to Barry.

  “Who’s Ethan?” Dean asked.

  “Ethan Yates. His family moved into our former home… before the dreaming ended. I promised Ethan he and his family would remain safe… off-limits. Caleb agreed, so others agreed. But Caleb craves power… and control… He’s become a mega-megalo—”

  “Megalomaniac,” Sam finished.

  An improved nod. “Again. Possessed Ethan’s father… Daniel… to kill whole family. Tried to stop him, but he controls hosts much better than I… He expelled me. Please help me stop him before more hurt… more die.”

  Sam looked up as the fluorescent light flickered again. To preserve battery life, he’d switched off the EMF detector before tossing it in the duffel. Too late now.

  “Dean!”

  A darkness rippled across the floor tiles, making a beeline for—Dean. The ink-like coating rose from Dean’s feet up to his head, enveloping his face.

  Dean threw his head back and managed to scream one word, “Nooo—!”

  —before the shadow submerged.

  His body convulsed, doubling over, then standing tall and stiff, almost vibrating for a moment before he relaxed.

  Though Sam had little warning, he yanked the duffel bag along the counter, close enough to reach inside.

  Wild-eyed, Dean glared at Bonnie, a malicious grin twisting his features. “Caleb had me follow you,” he said. “Treasonous little bastard!”

  “Deke,” Barry said through Bonnie’s mouth.

  “Who’s Deke?” Sam asked. Unlike Barry, Deke must have had a lot of possession practice. Not good. Sam’s hand moved carefully through the contents of the duffel bag.

  “Council leader,” Barry said derisively. “Caleb’s sock puppet.”

  “I’ve had it with you whiny runaways,” Deke said through Dean. “Especially you, leader of the runt pack.” Dean grabbed a stapler off the counter. “Cat’s out of the bag. Your juvenile rebellion ends here!”

  Dean backed up two steps, then rushed forward, and jumped on the counter.

  Expecting an attack, Sam swept his right arm out, knocking Dean’s feet out from under him. Dean collapsed to all fours, knocking the pencil holder and a folder tray onto the floor while maintaining his grip on the stapler. From his awkward position, he took a swing at Bonnie’s head, but missed as she jerked backward.

  Sam leaned over to press a stun gun to Dean’s side, and pulled the trigger. With a wild spasm, Dean fell backward, off the counter onto the tile floor. As Sam expected, the electric charge worked as Gruber’s taser had on Luther, the orderly. The darkness, expelled from Dean’s body, rose upward.

  Reaching back, Sam grabbed the shotgun stock protruding from the duffel bag and yanked it free.

  Before the disoriented shadow could flee—or try to possess Sam—he flicked on the black light flashlight mounted to the end of the shotgun and fired a salt round center mass—or whatever passed for center mass in a shadow person. Sam half expected the shadow to flicker out, like a ghost would, knocked temporarily out of commission. Instead, the shadow silhouette shattered like a sheet of glass. Under the glow of the black light beam, a thousand shards of darkness fluttered downward. As they struck the tile floor, they began to fade, from deepest black to palest gray. Sam moved the black light beam aside and watched as they faded away, leaving no trace behind.

  Sam worked the action, ejecting the spent shell casing and loading another round in the chamber.

  Barry, still controlling Bonnie’s movements, flipped open the counter gate and walked to the spot almost with reverence. Kneeling on the floor, he placed her palms where the pieces had faded. After a moment, her voice said softly, “You found a way.”

  “Is he gone?” Sam asked. “Gone for good?”

  Bonnie stood and nodded, her gaze fixed on Deke’s final r
esting spot. “That light… What is it?”

  “Black light,” Sam said. “Makes your kind more… solid. Figured I’d try it before Deke tried to possess me.”

  “He could not. Your mind is not… open to us.”

  “Only mine is,” Dean said, annoyed.

  “You blacked out… he did not. His mind remains sealed.”

  “Great,” Dean groused. “I’m a liability.”

  To Barry, the vulnerability had been obvious, not worth mentioning. Which meant shadow people knew at once who they could and couldn’t possess.

  “That light… the moment it touched Deke… I sensed it. He seemed… more of this world. Hard to explain. Caleb believed in midnight as a gateway. This was a different kind of gateway… almost a bridge between the living and our… half-existence.”

  “Don’t need an explanation,” Dean said pragmatically. “If it works, I’m good.”

  “When the time comes, when Caleb is defeated, I ask that you… release me the same way.”

  This time, the tears welling in Bonnie’s eyes might have been her own.

  Sam’s cell phone rang. Gruber again. “Blair here,” Sam said, putting the call on speaker.

  “Get this,” Gruber said. “Weird call just came in from the cult house.”

  Bonnie took a wobbly step backward, grabbed the edge of the counter to steady herself. Barry bracing himself for bad news about Ethan.

  “Kid and his sister say they’re trapped underground, mother injured, father armed and dangerous,” Gruber said. “Dangerously possessed, I’m guessing.”

  “Sam.”

  “Ethan? Ethan’s still alive?” Bonnie’s voice asked.

  “Where are you?” Gruber asked. “Who else is on the line?”

  “Librarian who gave us the cult house lead,” Sam said, focusing on the call and momentarily ignoring Dean, who kept looking around as if he’d forgotten where he left his car keys.

  “As of a couple minutes ago, both Ethan and Addison, his sister, were alive,” Gruber said. “Hiding underground. On my way there now, with Chief Hardigan.”

  “Sammy!”

  “What?” Sam asked, then followed Dean’s gaze.

  More than a dozen townspeople, men and women ranging in age from twenty-something to sixty-something, approached from all directions, some from across the street, others from more than a block away, all walking methodically toward the library. They carried guns, knives, baseball bats, shovels and anything else capable of inflicting serious bodily harm.