When Darkness Calls

Chapter Three

"I've been watching you two for sometime now, and must admit my intrigue."

The blade slid to rest in the hollow at the base of Sam's throat. Sam's heartbeat quickened, chest heaving. Furrowing his brows, he glared at the stalker.

"Awww . . . Don't look so angry, Sammyboy, it was a compliment. I don't impress easy." The corners of Charlie's eyes wrinkled as he chuckled. "All your late night escapades: breaking into houses and building, digging up graves and setting the remains ablaze, pretending to be reporters, ahhh . . . so much fun to watch."

He lifted the scalpel from Sam's throat and jabbed it toward him. "But the one I enjoyed watching the most was when the two of you broke into that bank in Milwaukee, posing as workers from a security system company and then later escaped dressed as SWAT officers." He nodded in approval. "Now that — that was impressive."

Oh God, Dean was right. He does know everything about us. But how? Sam racked his drug-befuddled brain trying to recall if he'd ever noticed anyone watching them. Why can't I think of anyone?

"I can't wait to kill you, Sammy." Charlie's hand trembled as he lovingly caressed the knife. "Can't wait to hear you scream as I cut you apart piece by piece while your brother helplessly watches."

I need to get away from him . . . need to get to Dean. But how? Sam shuddered, uselessly trying to writhe against the binds, beads of sweat forming on his brow. Dean, where are you? I need you.

Charlie poked the tip of the blade near the corner of Sam's right eye and Sam instantly stilled. "I think I'll start here first." Jerking the knife away, he shook his head. "No . . . not the eyes. If I did, you wouldn't be able to see the stark terror on Dean's face — couldn't have that." His low sinister laughter echoed in Sam's mind.

"I want to hear him beg for your life, Sammy — want him to scream as I tear you apart." Charlie paused and drew in a deep breath. "But most of all, I want to see the fear on his face before I murder you both."

Sam swallowed hard, tears welling at the corners of his eyes. I won't let you hurt him. I'll kill you before I let you harm Dean.

"Are you afraid, Sammy?" Charlie asked, his voice just above a whisper, a faint hint of pleasure in his tone.

The man's a freakin psycho, Sammy. Don't let him get inside your head. Sam heard Dean's voice inside his mind.

I won't let him do this to me. Won't let him win. Sam gave a curt shake of his head, glowering at Charlie.

"Liar," the stalker chided. "You wear your emotions like other people wear their clothes. And the look on your face right now tells me you are absolutely terrified — it's why I choose to kill you first. Let's just call it instant gratification." He hesitated, a glint of pure evil in his eyes. "But Dean . . . Dean is a prize. A diamond in the rough, you might say. Of all the people I've killed, I think I will enjoy him the most."

Charlie lifted Sam's hospital gown and sliced through the thin material with the scalpel, exposing Sam's chest. Sam breathed hard against the gag covering his mouth as Charlie traced a path from his throat to his navel, the knife lightly scratching his skin. "I think I'll cut Dean wide open and watch his innards spill to the floor. What do you think, Sammy? Doesn't that sound like fun?"

I'm gonna kill you, you sonuvabitch. Sam desperately tried to free himself, lax muscles straining ineffectually against the bed railings. Oh God, come on, just a little help here. He lifted his head a few inches off the bed, then it fell back to rest on the pillow, his mind swimming, vision blurring.

The knife dug into the soft flesh of his belly. "Careful, Sammyboy, I wouldn't want the blade to accidentally slip and slice you open — yet." He shook his head, clucking his tongue in disappointment. "No, that would ruin all the beautiful plans I've fantasized about for so long."

Sam stilled, chest heaving and nostrils flaring.

"Ahhh . . . this has been fun, but I really must be going before Dean comes searching for you. No doubt he's arguing with the doctors right now because they haven't let him see you yet."

Charlie reached in his pocket and pulled out a black permanent marker, jerked off the cap, bent and scrawled something on Sam's chest. He put the marker away and then reverently placed two blue-tinged human fingers on Sam's stomach. He gestured to them. "Such a shame," he tsked. "Those are from the boys you and your brother forced me to kill last night. They would be alive right now if you hadn't tried to run from me."

Sam stared at the severed fingers, stomach churning, the acid rising in his throat. Oh God, I was right. It was our fault. They're dead because of us. He screamed against the gag, trying to call Dean's name over and over again.

"He can't hear you." Charlie gloated as he grabbed Sam by the hair and cut off a chunk of it. "I've given you something belonging to me, so it's only fair you give me something of yours in return — sort of a memento of our time together." He chuckled.

Charlie strode to the door, kneading the lock of Sam's hair between his fingers. He turned to look at Sam. "I'll see you soon, Sammy. Tell Dean I said hello."

xXx

Dean's long determined strides carried him through the corridor toward his brother's room. Damn hospital making me wait so long to see Sammy. You'd think the place was Fort Knox for all the freakin security they have.

He brushed past a doctor headed in the opposite direction. A sudden chill spread up the length of his spine. Dean turned to stare at the man casually strolling down the hallway. His eyes narrowed as the doctor disappeared around the corner. He scratched his head, puzzled by his reaction to the stranger. That was freakin odd.

Picking up his pace, Dean found Sam's room. He stood with his hand on the door and glanced toward the spot where he'd bumped into the man. Cocking a brow, he shook his head. I'm so getting paranoid.

Dean entered the room, stopping short when he saw the gag on Sam's mouth and the look of terror in his brother's big hazel eyes. "Oh God, Sammy!" He rushed to his brother's side and carefully peeled off the duct tape on Sam's mouth and wrists. "You okay? Who did this to you?"

Sam trembled, rubbing his wrists, tears spilling down his pale cheeks. "I-I don't know, Dean . . . couldn't see his face."

"Was he dressed like a doctor?"

Sam nodded.

"Sonuvabitch." Dean slammed the heel of his hand against the railing. "I saw him, Sammy . . . I knew I should've followed him. Damn it, why didn't I go after him?" He turned and glared at the closed door. "I have to go and find him."

"No, I just want to leave, Dean." Sam hesitated, drawing in a staggering breath, he continued, "Before he hurts someone else because of us."

"But — "

"Please. Can't we just go?" Sam glanced at him, sad eyes begging for him to understand. "I can't have anyone else die because of me."

Dean stared at him for several seconds, then nodded. "Okay, Sammy. We'll leave as soon as you can travel."

"Thanks, Dean." Sam turned his head and stared out the window. Sam's body trembled as he choked on a sob.

Dean stared at his brother, not knowing what to do or say. He laid a protective hand on Sam's shoulder. "It'll be okay. I promise. I swear to you, I won't let him hurt anyone else."

Dean glared at the message written on his brother's chest and the two severed fingers.

Sorry I missed you, Dean. Remember, anytime, anywhere . . . Sammy first then you.

I'm so gonna kill you, you sonuvabitch. . ..