Against the Clock 9/13 (Gen, PG-13, Dean, Sam, Casefic)
Against the Clock
by Swanseajill
Chapter 9
Randall Miller’s one-story house was on the outskirts of town, set back from a quiet country road. Dean drove slowly past, noting that the Toyota jeep he’d seen in the driveway yesterday was missing.
He parked a hundred yards further down the road, out of sight of the house, got out of the car and popped the trunk.
A wave of dizziness washed over him and he held on tightly to the sides of the trunk, closing his eyes until the feeling passed.
The drive to Miller’s house had been a trial. He’d had difficulty focusing on the road, the need for concentration escalating the pounding in his head to epic proportions. Every bump and pothole had jarred his already aching muscles and the sheer effort of holding it all together was sapping all his strength. He was close to panic, because he wasn’t sure how much more his body could take without shutting down. And that couldn’t happen. Not yet. Not until Sam was safe.
He set his jaw. No way would he allow a stupid virus to stop him saving his brother.
He wasn’t sure whether he’d be facing a human or supernatural foe, so after some consideration, he loaded a shotgun with salt cartridges, putting some spares in his pocket, then picked up a .45 with ordinary lead bullets. Satisfied he was ready for all eventualities he slammed down the lid of the trunk and turned to find Rachel watching with her mouth open.
“What?”
“The trunk. All those weapons. You really need all that stuff?”
He gave her a grim smile. “You’d be surprised. I’ll tell you about it later, when we have Sam back.”
They walked back to Miller’s house. It stood at a distance from its nearest neighbor, stands of tall fir trees on three sides of the extensive yard shielding it from prying eyes.
Rachel had called Miller’s home number on the drive over and got voice mail. That didn’t guarantee Miller wasn’t home - he might be “busy” with his latest victim. Dean tensed at the thought, pain stabbing through him as his spine stiffened.
He left Rachel on the porch and checked around the house. Most of the drapes were open, and peering cautiously through, he saw no sign of life.
He debated ringing the doorbell, then decided against it. If Miller was at home, he wanted the element of surprise.
“Keep a lookout,” Dean ordered tersely as he got to work on disabling the alarm system he’d spotted on one side of the porch. Fortunately, Miller hadn’t invested in state-of-the-art equipment, and it took only a few minutes to disarm the box.
Rachel raised an eyebrow as he began to jimmy the front door lock. “So, I guess breaking and entering is a routine part of being a ghostbuster?” she remarked.
Dean shot her a quick look. “We do what we have to.” The lock clicked open. “I’ll check the house. I want you to stay right here on the porch until I come back for you.”
Rachel frowned. “Why can’t I come in with you?”
Dean blew out a breath. He didn’t have time for arguments. “Because there might be a killer in there, and if there is, I don’t want to have to worry about you while I’m taking him out.”
Rachel put her hands on her hips and thrust out her chin stubbornly. “I can look after myself.”
“I’m sure you can, but humor me, okay? If I don’t come back, or you hear anything you don’t like the sound of - you get out of here. Got it?”
With obvious reluctance, Rachel agreed, and Dean pulled out his gun and slowly pushed the door open.
The hallway was dimly lit and silent. Dean moved quietly through it and then the rest of the house, quickly checking all the rooms, including the attic and the basement. The only sign of life was today’s newspaper on the kitchen table and a couple of dirty plates in the sink.
He hadn’t really expected to find Sam - Miller would have been a fool to keep his victims in his own house - but still felt a stab of disappointment as he returned to the hall.
Rachel was there, examining the small pile of mail on the stairs.
“I told you to wait outside,” he growled.
She glared at him defiantly. “I heard a car driving past. I thought it might be Miller.”
Dean glared back. “This isn’t a game, Rachel. Miller’s dangerous. Remember that.”
“Okay, okay.” Rachel rolled her eyes. “Where do you want to start?”
Dean thought about it. “Let’s try the office.”
The room was large and comfortable, acting as part office, part den. A desk with a computer stood in one corner, a small television set in the other. Shelves full of books lined the walls.
“What are we looking for?” Rachel asked.
Dean shrugged. “I don’t know. Something that’ll link him to the murders and give us a clue where he is.”
Dean started with the desk, while Rachel examined the bookshelves. Miller was a neat man, the few papers on the surface stacked neatly in a filing tray. One drawer was packed with hanging files, and Dean went through those quickly, finding nothing more interesting than copies of bills and insurance policies. He turned on the computer, but again, the files were mostly related to bills and business and not even password protected. Miller’s e-mail account showed little activity, and the history on his web browser led to mostly news and information sites.
Miller showed all the signs of a man with nothing to hide, and Dean felt his confidence slipping.
“I think I might have something,” Rachel said.
Dean looked up. “What?”
“There’s a whole shelf of books here, all about ghosts and the supernatural and stuff.”
Quickly walking over, Dean scanned the shelf she indicated and saw she was right. Miller had a comprehensive collection of standard texts about ghosts and spirits. He pulled a few out at random and found that Miller had made comments in small, neat handwriting in many of the margins.
“Anything else interesting?” he asked as he checked Miller’s notes. All they told him was that he was on the right track - Miller had highlighted multiple passages referring to the means of anchoring spirits to this world.
“He has a wide taste in books,” Rachel said. “Local history, politics, thrillers. And there’s a whole stack of photo albums.”
That piqued Dean’s interest. “Show me.”
He discarded half a dozen albums of Miller’s childhood and looked more carefully through those that recorded his time with his wife. One album, dated 1998, was full of photos of the two of them looking blissfully happy in a country location. Shots showed the couple rowing on a lake, picnicking in a meadow and barbecuing outside a rustic log cabin.
“Do you know where this is?” he asked, pointing to the photo of the cabin.
Rachel looked at the photo and frowned. “I’m not sure. That lake in the background? It looks like one of the Emerald Lakes. There might be something in the file.”
She flicked quickly through the research file she’d brought with her and pulled out one of the older newspaper stories. “I thought I’d seen the place before.” She pointed to a photo in one article, showing Randall and Karen outside the same cabin. “This is the place they first met - it’s owned by Randall’s family. He proposed to her there, and they spent their honeymoon in the cabin. In the article, he says that the happiest days of their lives were spent there.”
Dean felt a prickle of excitement. “That’s where he takes them,” he said with certainty. “It makes sense - it’s the place he feels closest to Karen. That’s where Sam is.”
Rachel nodded. “Makes sense. The lakes are about ten miles out of town.” She studied the photos again. “I think this is the lower lake - the cabin looks old. The cabins at the lower lake are rarely used for holiday homes anymore; most people have moved to the upper lake, where there are more facilities.”
“Do you know which cabin is his?”
She shook her head. “It doesn’t say in the article either. But Grandpa will know. He knew Randall’s father - I think he’s probably even been out to the cabin.”
“Call him.”
While Rachel made the call, Dean sank down into Miller’s armchair and closed his eyes. He was hyped and desperate to leave, to find Sam, but he also needed a break from the relentless stabbing pain behind his eyes, and he felt so weak he was afraid his legs were going to give way. Every muscle throbbed, his limbs felt heavy and he knew the fever was taking a stronger hold - he felt as if all the blood in his body was about to boil.
He started and pulled away as he felt a hand on his arm.
“Hey,” Rachel said softly. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
She touched his hand. This time he allowed it, too weary to resist and, though he was loath to admit it, her touch was somehow comforting
“You kinda zoned out on me there, and you’re burning up, Dean. You’re really sick.”
“I’ll be okay. I need to find Sam. There’s not much time left. Did you get the address?”
She nodded. “I was right, it is the lower lake. Grandpa says the cabin’s called “Fir Glade.” It’s one of the more remote cabins, on the far side of the lake, right next to a large stand of spruce.”
Dean dug deep for his rapidly dwindling strength and dragged his weary body out of the chair. “You’ve been a big help, Rachel, thanks. If you show me the way to the lakes, I’ll drop you back in town on my way out.”
Rachel eyed him as he swayed and grabbed on to the arm of the chair. “No way, hotshot.” Her lips thinned in a determined line. “I’m coming with you.”
“Uh uh,” Dean said firmly. “Not this time.”
“Dean, listen to me,” Rachel said, equally firmly. “First, like I said before, I’ll just follow you up there anyway. I’m here for the story, remember? Second, I know the way, and you don’t. The lower lake is hard to find - there are no real signs. And third, you look like you’re going to collapse any minute. You can’t do this on your own.”
Dean raised a shaking hand to rub burning eyes and realized that she was right. His legs felt like lead, he was having trouble keeping on his feet and he was beginning to think it was normal for the room to be spinning. He doubted he could make it to the car, never mind navigate successfully to a lake in the middle of nowhere.
“Okay,” he said finally, “but the same rules apply.”
“Do what I say, when I say,” Rachel recited and smiled. She reached out a hand and steadied him as he swayed again. “Come on, hotshot. Let’s go find your brother
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8