Topeka, Kansas
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Lisa wrapped a towel around herself and stepped out of the bathroom. It was only seven o’clock in the evening, but she had already set her alarm clock for four-thirty, and she wanted to get a full night’s rest.
She had just finished squeezing the excess water from her hair when she heard the beep-beep-beep of her phone. “Hello?”
“Hey, Lisa. It’s David.” At the sound of her husband’s voice, she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. She was afraid that Mr. Summers was calling her at home to let her know that he was out of town again.
“How did the meeting go?” she asked.
“Like usual. Too many boring speeches, too many blowhards. But it was over early, so I’m already back at the hotel, and I got my flight changed from the afternoon to the first flight of the morning. I should be home by seven-thirty.”
“Oh, honey, I have to work tomorrow,” she said. “It’s Monday. In fact, I’m leaving even earlier than on a regular workday. But I’ll be back in time for dinner, God willing, and I’ll pick up some of that artichoke salad that you like.”
“All right. I’ll see you then. Bye, sweetheart. Love you.”
“I love you too, Dave. Have a safe flight. Bye.”
*
Sam pushed his noodles around on his Chinet plate, spending a lot more time arranging them than he did eating them. He hardly tasted the red pepper flakes in the spicy tomato sauce; his mind was a million miles away than the slight burning on his tongue.
“You going to finish that?” Dean asked.
“Probably not. I’ll save it for tomorrow. You’re not supposed to have anything to eat today, remember?”
“Yeah, I remember. And I’m hungry as fuck right now. You know what I want? A T-bone steak.”
Sam sighed and scraped the rest of his spaghetti into an aluminum container that came with a clear plastic lid. “You’ll get one. Eventually. But you’re having major surgery starting in twelve hours. No steaks. And while you’re recovering you’ll be on a limited diet.”
“I’m fucking sick of orange Gatorade already.” Dean scowled at the half-full bottle of orange drink on the lamp-lighted nightstand next to his bed.
“You could try lemon-lime or the fruit punch,” Sam said.
“It’s not about the flavor in the sugar water, Sam. I am going to be out of commission for at least two weeks. We don’t have time for this! The 31st is in ten days and Mitch Parker won’t be able to talk to us until Wednesday. That gives us one week to find the spot that he heard Henry talking about.”
“One week is plenty of time. I’ll go out to see Mitch myself and bring back the information. I can search the spot myself in seven days. Well, six, with one to drive back.”
“I want to do it. I want to light that harpy on fire and watch her burn.” Dean shifted around on the mattress, curled onto his side. “I’ve had a backache for two weeks. And we’ve been chasing her around the country since May. I’m ready for this to be over, Sam. All of it.”
“All of it?” Sam wrestled with the ill-fitting plastic lid to the spaghetti container, careful not to look Dean in the eye.
“Running after Laura and feeling like I’m trying to smuggle the world’s biggest bowling ball around in my shirt.”
“Those won’t be for much longer.” Sam crossed the room and climbed up on the bed behind Dean. “I have the portable crib folded up in the trunk, and before you’re out of the hospital, Laura Townsend is going to be ashes and a memory. A really bad one, maybe, but we’ve had our share of those. And we’ll get some good ones.”
“Shit, Sam, why am I the one that’s pregnant, instead of you? You’re the girl here.”
Sam smiled. Hormone shifts and weeks of stress didn’t change Dean. “Probably because you’re tougher than I am.”
“Huh. You really think that?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Okay.”
Sam put his hands on either side of Dean’s spine, just below his shoulder blades, and ran his fingers in firm but careful circles. “You need to sleep, all right? Tomorrow’s the big day. Ryan’s coming.”
“His name is Anthony.”
“I thought we “ you know what? It’s not that important right now. We can talk about it in the morning.” He slid his hands lower, where Dean’s muscles were even tighter, and Dean grunted. “Is this helping at all?”
“Yeah, a little. Thanks, Sammy.” He reached around and took one of Sam’s hands, then brought it to his own navel. Sam’s stretch was rewarded with a light thump “ their son’s hello. “There, you got your chick flick moment for the year.”
Sam laughed and kissed Dean’s neck.
*
Weekend television is garbage. Lisa lifted a piece of reheated chicken parmigiana to her mouth with the fork in her left hand and clicked the TV remote with her right.
"One man was killed and five more injured in the second accident this year at Terrence Farms near Nashville, Tennessee. Mitchell Roland Parker, forty-nine, died in the explosion that rocked the south-” Click. The news is all bad, too.
She was reaching for her bottle of vitamin water when she heard a knock at the door. She debated for a moment whether she should answer it or pretend she wasn’t home. But she still hadn’t gotten her gate fixed “ the repairman wouldn’t be there until Tuesday “ and there was a possibility that her cat got into the neighbor’s yard again.
“Who’s there?”
“My name is Ruth Watson, and I’m with Avon. Do you have a minute?”
Lisa threw a kimono-style robe over her pajamas and opened the door. A woman stood there with a small bag of free samples and a stack of catalogues; she had shoulder-length blonde hair and wore a gown that reminded Lisa a little bit of the one that her mother had worn in her senior class picture. “I’m sorry, but I really don’t have time today. I’m eating dinner and then I’m going to go to bed.”
“I’m sorry to bother you then, Mrs....”
“Hughes. And that’s Doctor Hughes.”
“Oh. I’m dreadfully sorry. Good day.”
Lisa closed the door and turned the deadbolt tumbler, then went back to her dinner. When she was done, with no further interruptions, she took her plate to the kitchen to rinse it and put it in the dishwasher.
She saw a figure standing by the back door, halfway hiding behind the white curtain, and thought for a moment that it was David, but then she realized that it was impossible for him to get home from Omaha so quickly. “Jason, you get on home before I call your mother,” she snapped. “What did I tell you last week? It’s not a prank to sneak into people’s houses. It’s called trespassing and it’s a crime.”
“I’m not Jason,” Ruth said, and stepped out from under the curtain.
“What the hell is this? I told you I am not looking at your catalogues tonight. And trespassing is trespassing whether you’re in high school or not.”
“You’re interfering with my plans,” Ruth snarled.
“That’s it. I’m calling the police.” Lisa grabbed the rolling pin from her kitchen counter and backed toward the wall. She tried to look annoyed, and not let on that her heart was beating wildly in her chest. Who was this woman, really?
“Laura Townsend.”
“What?” Lisa’s free hand touched the smooth plastic of the wall-mounted phone. It didn’t occur to her for several seconds that the question that was answered was one that she hadn’t spoken out loud.
A rope was thrown over her head before she could begin to press the buttons. Lisa grabbed at it while it tightened around her neck. She tried to scream “ maybe those neighbor boys lighting firecrackers in their backyard would hear her. However, the only sound that came out was a thin wail; the rope was too tight to let more than the slightest breath escape. Lisa pulled at the rope with one hand and tried to grab onto something, anything, with the other as she was dragged across the floor.
Survival instinct took over, but she was already feeling dizzy. Lisa tried to breathe, but couldn’t get any air. Her lungs burned, and the blackened edges of her vision crept toward the center.
Topeka, Kansas
Monday, October 22, 2007
“One hundred forty over eighty,” said Julie. “It’s a little up from the last time I saw you, but that’s normal, especially in the circumstances. The bottom number is the one we’re more concerned with, anyway.”
“The cuffs don’t lie,” Sam said, mock-chidingly. “You told me you weren’t worried at all.”
“Shut up, Sam. I wasn’t lying on this inch-thick mattress with a needle in my arm at the time, either,” said Dean.
“It’s not really a needle,” Julie explained. “It’s a small plastic tube and it doesn’t have a point on it. And, Mr. Summers, there’s nothing to worry about. Dr. Hughes will be in shortly, and can answer any questions you have.”
“Where is she?” Sam asked. “She was supposed to meet us here a half-hour ago. It’s already six-thirty.”
“Probably looking over a few files.”
“She hasn’t even gotten here yet, has she?"
“Um… I haven’t seen her, but I’ve been here for the last ten minutes and checking supplies for ten before that. I’m sure she’ll be here in a little while.”
At seven o’clock, Julie excused herself - to escape Sam’s death-glare and Dean’s grouching, and to call Dr. Hughes. She borrowed the phone from triage to call Dr. Hughes’ cell. It routed to voice mail. Julie tried the home phone next, and got a busy signal.
At seven-ten, she still got a busy signal.
At seven-twenty, she was calling Sabrina and Geraldine at their homes to check for messages.
At seven-thirty, she was calling the police station.
At seven-forty-five, she was taking an extended break in the ladies’ room because it was one of the few places where Sam wouldn’t follow her and demand answers that she didn’t have.
*
David’s first thought upon reaching his house was that he hated it “ really, really hated it “ when Lisa parked her Buick Regal in the middle of the driveway. His second thought was that the Regal shouldn’t even be there.
Maybe the patient went into labor on Sunday night, and ended up going to the emergency room instead of calling Lisa at home. It wouldn’t be the first time, and he looked forward to a lazy weekday at home with Lisa, even though she would probably be stressed out about her patient’s welfare.
He parked on the street and went inside. He dropped his briefcase just inside the front door. “Lisa?”
No answer. He shrugged and went upstairs to get a change of clothes and step into the shower. He found their bed made, and Lisa’s scrubs still draped in plastic over the back of the vanity chair. Odd. She usually put them back in her closet if she wasn’t going to be wearing them, and if she was working, she’d have them on instead of over the chair.
He called out her name again, and then a little louder; there was still no response.
She doesn’t like it when you baby her, David, he told himself, but something felt just a little off. He went back down the stairs, glanced through the living room, the dining room, went into the kitchen…
His blood froze.
Lisa was sitting in one of the kitchen chairs, wearing her white and yellow pajamas. She had duct tape around her mouth and her eyes, and her arms were tied behind the chair. Each ankle was fastened to one of the chair legs with more pieces of rope. He saw fresh bruises and shallow cuts on her face and arms.
A woman of about twenty-five stood behind her with a gun pointed at Lisa’s head. Lisa pulled weakly at the bonds and wailed something that he couldn’t understand through the tape.
“David. You’re home,” the intruder said coldly. “Don’t move.”
He moved. He didn’t think; he just reached for the knife block. He was usually able to win a plushie toy at the fair at the knife-throwing and star-throwing booths, and now his target was the gun in the woman’s hand. One knife knocked into it and the gun went sailing away. However, she didn’t look surprised at all. She stood with her arms folded, challengingly, mockingly.
David picked up the butcher knife and ran at her. Until the last fraction of a second, he thought he would hit her. He didn’t understand why she wasn’t at least trying to get out of the way, and it heightened his feeling of dread.
She stepped aside, a snap motion that looked almost as if she blinked out of existence and reappeared in the next moment three feet away. He stumbled from the unexpected lack of impact, from not striking anything when he was expecting to, and cold hands closed around his left arm.
He felt the floor fall away from him and he crashed into something. It was only when he felt a sticky substance on his wrist and hair tangled on his ring that he realized he had been thrown into Lisa.
The knife in his hand was buried to the handle in her back.
Over his screaming, “Lisa! Lisa! Ohgod, baby, no!” he thought he heard a second voice:
“She was in my way. She won’t keep me from Sam now.”
*
The door swung open, and Dean snapped his head up. They’d kept him waiting two hours longer than he was supposed to have been waiting, and while he could understand that sometimes there were delays in the hospital, it would require a massive pile-up on the highway, or a fire in a public building, to take up all the operating rooms.
It was only Julie, ashen-faced and holding a blue plastic clipboard. She hugged it to her chest and looked at Sam and then Dean without speaking.
“It’s nine o’clock,” Dean said. “What is going on?”
“I need you to sign this form,” Julie said quietly. She handed him the clipboard and a pen.
“What is this? Authorization for a change of doctor? No way. I’m not going to have my picture pasted all over the country and called a freak. I have work to do, important work. I don’t want to be recognized and I don’t want anybody else in my business!”
“Dr. Hughes is not coming.”
“Why not?”
“Because she passed away an hour ago.”
“What? What happened?” Sam’s heart sank. Why would an apparently healthy woman in early middle age drop dead? And did that mean that he wouldn’t be holding his son that evening?
“I don’t know. The police aren’t answering any questions about it right now.”
“The police? Oh, shit. She didn’t just die. She was murdered.”
“I don’t know that either. I just need Mr. Summers to sign the form and give it back to me.”
“And I told you I’m not signing it," said Dean. "Hey, Sam. Hand me my clothes. We’re going back out to Tennessee.”
Julie frowned. “What’s in Tennessee?”
“Friend of ours, out near Nashville.”
“You’re going out to see a friend now? Can’t it wait? You’re due in five days, Mr. Summers, and that date could have been a little bit off. You’re on borrowed time right now. Your son could be born any day.”
“Firstborns are usually late, especially in this family,” Dean said.
“You’ll be AMA,” Julie warned.
“Oh, big, scary letters, there.” Dean pulled his IV out and got out of bed, then proceeded to pull on his sweatpants.
Julie sighed, accepting defeat. “Drive slowly. And stay away from the grain silos.”
“What’s wrong with the grain silos?”
“Another one blew up last night. Saw it on the news. It happened in April, too. The anchorman said it had something to do with weather change. Corn starch all over the place, and one guy died.”
“You don’t happen to remember his name, do you?” asked Sam.
“Um, something-or-other Parker. I wasn’t paying very close attention. Well, you know where the front desk is. Please be careful, Mr. Summers.” Julie slipped back out of the room.
Dean sat on the edge of the bed and strained to tie his shoelaces. “You know something, Sam? That bitch is really pissing me off now.”
“Julie means well. I don’t think she had anything in training that prepared her for... our situation.”
“Not Julie. Laura. Come on, Sam! Lisa’s dead, Mitch is probably dead “ she knows we’re getting close.”
“Close?! He was our last contact!” Sam shouted. “Got any other ideas?”
For the first time in months, he saw real fear, unhidden, in Dean’s green eyes. “No, I don’t. And we only have nine days to find her.”
“And what about you, Dean? What about Ryan?”
“No offense, Sam, but you can’t work without me on this one. The stakes were high to begin with and she just raised them. We just have to hope he waits.”
Dean signed himself out of the hospital and walked two steps in front of a silent and brooding Sam. He saw a man standing by the curb, three paces away from the ambulance driveway, in a long brown coat.
“Dean.” Sam caught up with his (much) longer strides and nodded towards the man. “Look.”
“I saw him.”
John Winchester walked briskly over to his sons. “Boys, I know I said I was leaving. And that I wasn’t going to talk to you again, but... but you’re both in trouble. It’s a little worse than I thought.”
“We kind of know that, Dad,” Sam said. Dean stepped on his foot. “Ouch!”
“I followed your credit card trail and this morning it ended here.” He nodded up at the hospital sign. “Are you all right, Dean?”
“I’m fine, sir. False alarm, that’s all.”
“Good. We’re going to Texas. I’m still missing a few of the pieces, but I’ve got part of the picture of what you’re up against. What we’re up against. Do you remember the Sisterhood of the Night God?”
“A little bit,” Dean said. “You showed me their symbol and how it was different from the Zenker sign.”
“Laura Townsend is a Sister who ascended to Tier Two before her death,” said John. “If my recent contact’s information is correct, she needs to sacrifice five more people to reach Tier Three. Which is exactly what we don’t want to happen.”
“Four,” Sam said. “Maybe even three. She took another one out this morning, I think.”
“No. She can only draw in the harvest, the lives of those who called on her, on the anniversary of her death. If she gets all the way through to you, Sam, she’ll have taken two hundred sixteen lives. And what she’s doing now will be child’s play compared to the future. We have to stop her before she gets that far. If we can save all five of you, then all the better. But that might not be possible. I don’t know. We have a lot to do in the next week, and I need both of you to help.”
“We’ll do whatever we can,” said Dean. “And, um, thanks for coming back.”
John nodded. “We have to work together or she wins.”
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