Unbreakable II
mirror | prologue | chapter one | chapter two | chapter three | crossroad
chapter four | chapter five | chapter six | chapter seven | epilogue
II.
Humility.
He’s too late again.
John parks a fair distance from what used to be a family’s home in New Jersey and prowls the police line, fading in and out of the crowd of men and women gathered around, voices secretive as they talk about what they think happened. He sips his coffee and watches detectives flip over tiny pile after tiny pile of burnt refuse with their pens, looking for clues. If he’s right and the lightning storm was any indication, the spark they’re looking for is long gone and headed to the next town, wherever that is.
Once they all leave and the show is over, he walks the destruction and scans the remnants with EMF for what the bastard is after. He comes up empty. There’s no one left to save. He’s going to have to get further ahead of it. Maybe he’s been following the wrong clues.
He gets back to the truck and opens his charts, checks on the weather patterns over Oklahoma and Kansas, sees that the boys are in no danger. On his tracker, he stares pensively at Dean’s phone, still a small dot on Highway 40 outside of Topeka, and it hasn’t moved since last night. Dean had sworn that he’d never go back there. John dials his voice mail.
Dad? I know I’ve left you messages before. I don’t even know if you get ‘em… but… I’m with Sam… and we’re in Lawrence… and there’s something in our old house. I don’t know if it’s the thing that killed Mom or not, but… I don’t know what to do. So, whatever you’re doin’, if you could get here… please. I need your help, Dad.
Sam… he’s back. It’s about time.
John shucks his gear to the floorboard and buckles in for the long drive, and freezes. Maybe that's it… maybe it is about time.
As there is Humility, so there must be Pride.
It's nearly midnight, and John Colt still can’t sleep. The air outside is restless and dry. Heat lightning flickers across the sky in muted waves. His skin crawls. He throws back the bed sheets, giving up the fight. The old wooden stairs creak in protest under his weight as he descends to the first floor. The tile of the narrow hallway is cold underneath his bare feet.
John is waiting, but he’s not sure what for. He takes a seat on the bottom step, scrubbing one hand wearily over his aching eyes, searching his memory for anything that would account for his unease. The front door’s stained glass panels flicker red and blue with each flash in the night sky, and he finds himself drifting, mesmerized by the patterns. His eyes flutter in their struggle to stay open, and he almost misses the shadow that crosses the window pane.
Before his mind registers it, his feet respond, and he has the door open before he even remembers standing up.
Samuel, he breathes, in, come in, please. John reaches for his brother, pulling him inside away from the electricity and anticipation of the coming storm.
Samuel’s dark eyes are wide and bright, and his breathing is heavy. He’s holding one hand close to his side, pinning his brown duster close to his chest as though he carries something he doesn’t want anyone else to see. John doesn’t have to ask; he’s seen it.
Sit down, please. Is everything alright? Are you hurt? Is it …? The questions are coming faster than his brother can answer, and Samuel just shakes his head as he takes the edge of the oak bench in the sitting room.
No, no. Samuel grabs John’s hand in his, and his grip is strong. He smiles, and for a second John forgets the tension of the night around them.
Then what is it? John asks.
It’s Caroline, his brother whispers, the joy on his face sliding into fear. She’s going to have a baby.
John’s gut tightens and he thinks of the ripples in the atmosphere outside, of the steel and wood being so carefully crafted into the weapon strapped to his brother’s left hip, of golden eyes and their three young sister’s dead bodies, one by one by one, and he closes his eyes. Have they found out? Do they know where the gun is?
Sam nods uncertainly. We're being hunted. I think it’s only a matter of time.
Then we hunt them back. I’ll do everything I can, anything I have to. John rises from his seat and reaches into his breast pocket for the keys to the safe.
No, John. Sam lunges for his arm, and John stops and turns.
One look at Sam’s stricken face tells him what he fears most: that this won’t be the answer. They’ll keep coming. But he can’t believe it. He has to do something. Sam, after everything you’ve done for me, John’s gaze falls on Sam’s jacket. What am I supposed to do?
Please, John, don’t you do that.
John takes Sam’s distraught face in his hands. I have to. I have to look out for you - it’s my job.
It is 1842 and Samuel Colt’s brother John is imprisoned for killing a man and disposing of the body in a shipping crate. John almost gets away with it, but the weather is still against them and the body is found in the waterlogged hold of a boat. John turns himself in, not wanting to sully his beloved brother’s good reputation, and in the wake of his confession, he is sentenced to death.
The night before John is to be hanged, four people come to visit him in his cell: a priest, his brother Samuel, a close friend, and a woman with child. John Colt and the woman are married, and he claims paternity of the baby in the presence of the priest.
When the guards come to take him to the gallows the following afternoon, a jailer spots a fire in the roof. The jail has no working siren and the only fire truck to respond has never been used. The black steel and steaming water glow eerie in the wake of the fire, and the people who see it forever afterwards refer to it as The Ghost.
Officials think that John Colt has merely succeeded in delaying his own death by a few hours, but when they return for him, he is already dead. There is a knife buried to the hilt in his heart. To this day no one knows how he got it.
Samuel Colt takes care of John's wife Caroline and the child, and no one ever knows the truth about the baby. Sam Colt’s bloodline continues uninterrupted, living on quietly in the house under the oak tree while John Colt’s body turns to dust in the ground.
Chapter III