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jimmyhkim21Title: Neverwood, Part V
Pairing: ja/jp, former ja/jdm
Rating: R for language and violence
Warning: Genuine horror here. I hope.
Word Count: ~51k
Summary: Aiden Thomas Padalecki is violently and mysteriously kidnapped, leaving behind distraught parents who have no idea why their only child was taken. After months of futile investigation, the frantic father witnesses the slow but inevitable decline in the search of his only child. Half mad with grief, Jared goes to an island off the coast of Washington, holding the last clue that may help him find his son. But it is all a trap, and there’s someone crouching, waiting for him to pay back for sins not of his making.
Notes: Adapted from Peter Pan, written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
j2_everafter.
Disclaimer: 127.5% fiction.
Jensen carefully watched Jared from the wheelhouse as Steve maneuvered his boat next to the abandoned dock.
“You think it’ll hold?” he asked Steve when he heard ominous creaking from the salt-ridden wood.
“It did last week,” Steve answered as he turned off the engine.
Jensen looked sharply at his friend. “What? You come here often?”
“Just this area.”
“Why?” Chad looked both appalled and curious. "The dock alone looks like a deathtrap!"
“They never cleaned out the sanatorium after the fire,” Steve explained. “So a lot of shit got left behind: some of them are pretty valuable.”
“You hawk dead people’s belongings on eBay?” Chad sounded as shocked as Jensen felt.
“Nobody’s missing anything, and that’s doubly true for the dead,” Steve deadpanned. “Besides, it’s mostly medical stuff – doctors are huge collectors of old instruments and medicine bottles.”
Jensen suddenly had an idea. “How about medical files? Any paperwork?”
“That burned down along with the main building. The only paper records that would’ve survived would have been in the doctors’ private homes on the compound.” Steve looked curiously at his friend. “What are you thinking?”
“I wonder if any records of Kindle survived; him and his family.”
“That’s a good idea, actually,” Chad said. “Would something like that still be around?”
“You know – it might have survived the fire,” Steve said. “Kindle was a local celebrity and his personal physician was also the head of the entire place. The man’s name was Jeremiah Davies and his house was spared somewhat because it was built with stone.”
Jensen glanced outside and saw Jared already placing the gangway onto the dock. “Let’s get cracking. We’re wasting daylight now.”
Steve nodded and tossed a duffle bag to Chad. “Pack your foodstuff in that. We might need it for later.”
Chad looked like he wanted to question why Steve thought two-day supply of food was necessary for what was supposed to be a two-hour jaunt, but wisely said nothing.
Jensen followed Jared and caught sight of the big man nimbly navigating the rotting boards and reach land. The sheriff briefly wondered where Jared’s previous hesitation had gone. The entire time the father had been on the island, he was a curious mixture of fear, anger, and gratitude. A mixture that signaled to the sheriff the man was teetering on a precipice that had no return.
But now, Jensen sensed that something momentous had occurred. He rushed to catch up with Jared, in fear that the phone call he’d received from his brother had fundamentally changed Jared and for the worse.
“Wait up!” he yelled, and was glad to note Jared did.
Jensen caught up and asked, “What’s your hurry?”
“No hurry,” Jared said, his voice strangely distant. “I just wanted to get on land.”
Jensen’s alarms went off. Jared sounded as if he was floating above the island, seeing it from a great distance. And that meant one thing in the sheriff’s experience: trauma.
“What was the call about?” he asked sharply. “And don’t bullshit me.”
That got Jared’s attention. His hazel eyes focused on Jensen. “I was here before.”
“What?” Whatever anxiety Jensen felt was punched out by Jared’s admission.
“I was maybe six then? My father took us here on his boat. From what Jeff told me I had an accident and fell overboard. I was found two days later – not twenty feet from where we’re standing by a man named Sam Coates.”
Jensen's worried posture tensed further when he heard the familiar name, and Jared noticed the change in his demeanor.
“Do you know him? What happened to him?”
“He had a heart attack."
“Why does that bother you?”
“It’s just that the way he died. He drove off a road and slammed his truck on a tree. From what the medical examiner said, the accident probably triggered a heart attack and that was what killed him.”
“But you don’t know why he drove off the road to begin with.”
“Cause and effect,” Jensen agreed. “Did the heart attack cause the accident or vice versa? And if it’s the latter, then something forced Coates off the road.”
“Did you find anything?”
“Nothing to indicate anyone had been involved, but I can’t be sure.” Jensen looked annoyed by his admission. “It was raining badly that night, so if there were any evidence it got washed away.”
“Do you know Jim Beaver?”
“I tried calling him, actually,” Jensen said, blushing a little. “He’s in Olympia, visiting his daughter. I got his voice mail but he hasn’t returned my call yet.”
“If you do, please tell me. I’ve got few questions for him.”
“Will do.”
“Will you two stop flirting and get on with what we came here for?” Steve groused good-naturedly.
Jensen’s reply was to land a light punch on Steve’s shoulder. Chad looked at Jared, grinning from ear to ear but said nothing. Jared wondered when his friend had gotten so good at keeping his own counsel.
Steve blazed a path straight through bushes that looked completely unmarked by human trespass. Mercifully for his companions, it didn’t take long for them to reach the top. Now the men could see what they had only glimpsed earlier.
There were seventeen buildings in total: their damage ranging from negligible to charred ruins. What remained of the main building were the cornerstones: the only markers left of what was supposed to have once been a sprawling complex.
Chad had to do a complete 360 to fully encompass the compound. “Wow! How can anyone ignore this?”
“Nobody comes here,” Steve said, “besides me that I know of. The place has a bad rep.”
“But you’re not scared,” Jared said. “You’ve been here dozens of times, right?”
“That doesn’t mean I’m not scared.”
Steve’s answer puzzled Jensen enough to ask, “I don’t get it.”
“It’s like … the fear’s addictive,” Steve explained reluctantly. “Man, half the time I just wanna run out of here screaming, and I’ve lost count of how many times I promised myself I’d never come back.
“But I always do. In the end.”
“It’s the place,” Jared said softly. “It has a secret, and you want to be the first to find it.”
Steve looked pensively at Jared and agreed, “That’s exactly it. Okay, you’re a bit spooky, you know that?”
Jensen didn’t like how the conversation was progressing, and his desire for the search to be over became overwhelming. “Can we find the doc’s home and get on with it?”
Steve pointed to the building whose four walls were still standing. “The fucker built his out of stone. Figures.”
“And the hospital?”
“Cedar and brick, I believe,” Steve said. “The other buildings were just plain wood. They went up like a torch when the fire hit them.”
“When did the fire start?” Jensen asked.
“Between three and four in the morning,” Steve answered. “I’m amazed anyone survived at all.”
With that comment he started walking again. The front door was absent and Steve had to point out the various structural weak points, but the four men managed to enter the house without falling through the floors.
Even with all the fire damage and what nature had wrought, Jared could see Dr. Davies spared no expense in building and decorated his opulent residence.
Chad picked up a piece of lampshade glass and turned it over. “This shit’s amazing.”
“You better believe it,” Steve said. “Now you know why I come back?”
“Definitely a fortune to be had if one’s got the balls to dig through all this,” Chad said, dropping the glass and picking up a melted block of metal. He peered closer but couldn’t identify it.
“Where would his office be?” Jensen asked.
“To the right of the library,” Steve answered.
The room, while spacious and well lit due to numerous French windows, was filled with rancid smell of mildew and decaying remnants of animals. Jensen drew back in shock when he took a whiff of the place and Chad made a gagging noise. But Jared stepped inside without hesitation.
Steve pulled aside a ruined velvet curtain and pointed to a wall safe. “This place wasn’t a prison. Patients wandered about freely or at least as long as they had use of their legs, so I’m guessing the good doctor kept his notes locked up.”
Jensen gave it a hard thump with his right fist. “Have you tried to open it?”
“Many times, but no go.”
Jared examined the safe closely. “How about from the back?”
“What?” Chad asked.
“Holy shit,” Steve said. “I didn’t think about that.”
“Think about what?” Chad looked confusingly at his friend.
“Follow me,” Steve said and led them outside. He guessed where the back of the safe would be and began tapping against the wall. He located it immediately.
“Stand back.” With those two words, Steve swung his tire iron. The wall, such as it was, crumbled under the blows and they soon saw the back end of the safe. Steve checked it and shook his head. “It’s as solid as the front.”
Jensen turned to see if Jared had any other ideas and found the man absent.
“Jared!” he shouted, his voice loud with fear and alarm. “Jared!”
Chad looked around as panic immediately set in. “Fuck me. Jared! Jared!”
“I’m in here,” Jared said, peeking out from the room. “I got the safe open.”
The three men re-entered the study and discovered Jared had done just that.
“Where did you find the key?” Steve asked.
“There’s a pouch sewn under there,” Jared said, pointing at what used to be a leather and mahogany wing chair.
Jensen examined the key and the thin gold chain dangling from it while Steve pulled out the contents. There was a stack of letters along with notebooks bound in leather.
“Davies’ journals,” Jared said eagerly.
Chad nervously looked at his friend. “Let’s read them back at the boat. Is there anything else we need?”
“There might be other records we could scrounge up,” Steve offered. “Let’s give the place a once-over and see what we can find.”
By unspoken consent, the four men did not split up. Instead, they would hit a site and dig through. None of the other buildings offered up as much as Davies’ private home, but they still managed to fill up a carryall Steve had thoughtfully packed into his duffle. However, they had no chance of checking all the buildings. The sun was past its highest point and Steve wanted them off the land before three.
“What about the food?” Chad asked.
“We can eat in the boat,” Jensen said. “There is no way in hell we’re having a picnic up here.”
“It’d be like dancing over someone’s grave,” Jared added. “And I don’t think anyone will have anything resembling an appetite as long as we stay here.”
“Sounds good to me.” Chad hauled the bag over his shoulder and started marching towards the path they had taken earlier.
“Don’t go down that way,” Steve said, grabbing Chad by his shoulder.
“Why not?” Chad looked down the sandy trail.
“It’s a lot more dangerous going down than up,” Steve said. “I found that out the hard way.” He pointed to the left where the hill seemed steeper. “There’s a safer route down there.”
Steve once again took point and slowly made down a path that landed them on the right side of the dock instead of the left where they went up.
Jared checked his watch and found they had spent nearly five hours in the ruins.
Jensen did the same and remarked with wonder, “Wow, I didn’t think we were up there for more than two hours.”
“It has that effect,” Steve said.
Chad looked over his shoulder and squinted. “What is the place called anyway?”
“Robbin Sanatorium,” Steve answered. “I couldn’t find much reference to it in the local archives. But I didn’t have time to do a thorough research in the Seattle Library yet.”
With that remark the group fell silent until Steve pulled the boat away from the dock. Only then did the men feel like they had the freedom to speak as they wished without fearing reprisal: from what they knew not.
Jared took out an old notebook and opened it. “It’s pretty eaten up,” he said as he flipped through the pages.
Chad took one and passed along another to Jensen. He peered into the leather-bound work and noted, “It’s a personal diary. Lucky me.”
Jensen flipped through his. “Medical journal, and the doctor was admirably thorough.”
The three began reading silently, with Steve also equally stoic while navigating through the rough waters. Perhaps it was the currents or the winds, but it took them less time to return to Alliance Bay than going the other way.
The men disembarked as soon as Alabama's engine came to rest. After Jensen called in to make sure nothing important had happened in his absence, Steve led the men to the diner Jared and Chad had breakfasted in only that morning. But to them, it seemed like a lifetime away.
They took a booth in the back instead of the counter and began trading information.
“The entire place was run the on generosity of its patients and private donors,” Jensen said. “Which makes me believe they were always in need of more money.”
“That's what I'm seeing,” Jared agreed. “He complains a lot about his wife’s family not keeping their promises about donating to ‘his vision’. It seems Mrs. Davies came from loads of money, and when he opened the sanatorium his father-in-law promised hefty funds. But when the man found out it was basically a leper colony, he balked.”
“So, the good doctor was always working with a deficit,” Chad said. “That’s pretty normal, right?”
“Not to this degree,” Jared said. “This set-up is more like a boutique hospital but without the boutique services. I mean, it was a noble idea and all, but the execution was a complete clusterfuck from the start.
“Davies was losing a lot of money running the place.”
“Yeah, that sounds about right,” Jensen said as he flipped to the latter pages. “He whines a great deal about services he should get for his patients but didn’t because he couldn’t afford them.”
“Oh shit,” Chad said. “When did the place burn down?”
“July twenty-seventh, 1907,” Steve answered. “Why?”
“Because in January of that very same year, his twelve-year-old daughter, Alice, was diagnosed with leprosy.”
“Fuck no,” Steve whispered. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah, and the kid was so shocked by her diagnosis, she just stopped eating. The poor thing was in what I guess was a coma when the fire hit.”
“Where was the mother?” Jared asked.
“She left right after she found out about Alice,” Chad said. “The woman couldn’t take it. She ran back to New York.”
Jensen frowned as he took a closer look at a notation in his book. “Kindle’s wife’s name was Hemley, right?”
“Yeah, why?” Steve looked curiously at his friend.
“Because, from what I’m reading she gave the doctor a shitload of money in February of 1907. The amount being nearly two-hundred thousand dollars.”
“That was a huge sum back then,” Steve explained as he grabbed Jensen’s book and read the notation. “That must have been her inheritance from her grandmother. There were rumors that Kindle used it to help build the sanatorium, but maybe there was some left over.”
“And it went to the doctor?” Chad frowned as he thought about the new information. “Maybe it was for special treatment for her and her kid. You know, privileges and all.”
“But with Kindle around, his entire family was guaranteed the best of whatever was available,” Jensen argued. “So the money was for something else.”
Jared opened the duffle bag and pulled out all the notebooks. He flipped through what looked like ledgers until he found the one he was looking for.
“It’s the last one; covers two months before the fire,” Jared explained as he frantically scanned through the pages. “Son of a bitch! I knew it!”
“What?” Jensen's imagination gave birth to several, equally horrific suspicions.
Jared’s reply was to hand over the book. Jensen read the entries and slowly turned pale with anger and shock.
“What did he do?” Steve asked reluctantly.
“The good doctor started siphoning off money,” Jensen answered hoarsely. “And banking it with a private firm in Seattle. The bastard was robbing his own hospital.”
“Why?” Chad asked. “What … wait a minute.” He paused and looked at everyone at the table. “Oh my God, the fucker knew his hospital wouldn’t survive the summer.”
“He started the fire,” Jensen said. “And with the money he had stashed away, he could get a fresh start and nobody would be the wiser. After all, he was practically canonized by the locals for his ‘blessed work with the lepers'.”
“So the fire was no accident, then,” Steve concluded. “But it went south real fast because he didn’t survive.”
“He died?” Jared studied the man across the table from him. “Are you sure? Maybe he managed to sneak out.”
“No, he was one of the few who survived, for three days after the fire. The man was badly burned but people recognized him.”
“What happened to the money, then?” Chad asked. That question earned interested looks from his companions. “I mean, he stashed away a fortune. Did somebody get their hands on it or is it still sitting in some bank, earning interest?”
“That’s a damn good question,” Jensen said. “And you know what? I’m going to find out.”
“Do you guys know of someone named Marjorie Clennon?” Jared asked.
“Yes, why?” Steve’s focus suddenly intensified. “She was a member of the founding families.”
“Because, according to this, she also ‘donated’ a bucketload of money to the good doctor,” Jared replied. “These few pages are filled with how grateful he was of the ‘good lady who did much to soothe my disquiet regarding my profession and my family life’.”
“Why do I get the feeling she became something more than just a guardian angel after the doc’s wife left?” Chad said sarcastically.
“Who is she exactly?” Jensen asked Steve. “Because I get the feeling I’m not going to like the answer.”
“The Spencer family: they are the direct descendents of the Clennons.”
“Fuck me.” Jensen rubbed his face in frustration. “I was afraid you were going to say that.”
“Who are they?” Jared asked.
“The richest family on the island, and one of the wealthiest in the entire northwest,” Jensen answered. “There’s only one left now, Asa Spencer. The guy’s got to be pushing seventy? Maybe eighty? No one’s sure because he’s a hermit.”
“The man was in a bad car accident in the late fifties,” Steve said. “And came home mangled. From what I understand it was touch and go for a while but he managed to pull through. After his father died, he built an empire on what was already a respectable business that his grandmother started.
“The guy’s personal wealth measures in the millions,” Jensen explained further.
“And he lives here?” Chad looked doubtful by that idea.
“Yep, he does save for the occasions where he has to visit Harborview for medical treatments.” Steve looked out the diner’s windows: his gaze distant and troubled. “Even then we never see him because he has a private charter service pick him at the front door and deliver him to the hospital.”
“He’s also untouchable.” Jensen tapped the book in front of him. “The man might not own the island but he owns a lot of people on it. He’s done a great deal for the mayor, the town board, hell, practically anyone with any power owes him a favor or two.”
“So tread carefully is what you’re saying,” Jared concluded. “Because he can cause a lot of trouble for me.”
“Very, very carefully,” Jensen cautioned him.
“We’ve got company,” Chad whispered just loudly enough to be heard by the men sitting with him.
With slight movements, they closed the books and just in time as Ms. Lenmore approached their table.
“Well, this is a surprise,” she said, her eyes bright with curiosity. “What have you boys been up to?”
“We’ve been exploring some of the older places,” Jared said, not betraying a hint of anxiety. Then he grinned impishly. “And then we bumped into Jensen who was kind enough to talk to us earlier about the island. He gave us a brief tour of Cascade Park.”
“It’s a lot bigger than we thought,” Chad added. “Good thing we met the sheriff. Otherwise, we might have gotten lost.”
“And I thought Steve might give a hand at explaining why the island’s name changed so often,” Jensen said with a careless shrug.
“Yeah, that was a surprise,” Jared said, not having a clue of what Jensen was speaking.
“Oh, your confusion is nothing new,” Ms. Lenmore said sweetly. “I remember when they changed the name to Rose Island in honor of Lieutenant Rose who died so heroically in the Battle of the Bulge. I thought it was very romantic at the time, but I remember my parents complaining bitterly about the paperwork it generated.”
“So, after every major war, this island was renamed?” Jared asked. “What about after Vietnam?”
“It was renamed Robbin Island,” Steve answered. “After Captain Robbin who was as brave as Rose but luckier. He came back, ran for mayor, and died in his sleep just five years back.
“And yeah, the Robbin family is considered to be one of the original settlers, which is why you’ll find the name Robbin all over the place.”
Lenmore sniffed to show her distaste for the hero-turned-politician. “I never understood why they voted that man to that position. I respect his family and all, but I swear - if I had a dime for every bull-headed thing he did, I’d be filthy rich!
“It was his fault that James Beaver became sheriff!”
Jensen stiffened in his chair but said nothing. However, Steve was not so tactful.
“Now, now, Ms. Lenmore. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you are still sore Robbin shot down your idea of a waterfront museum.”
“Maybe,” Ms. Lenmore said bitingly. “But at least Thomas has the foresight to see that we all could benefit from such a place!”
“Funny thing about names,” Steve continued as if she hadn’t spoken at all. “This island had more then its fair share of name-switching. Red Wood Path used to be called Nigger’s Walk until well into the 70’s. Ain’t that right, Ms. Lenmore?”
The woman paled visibly as she looked alarmingly at the visitors. “Well … we don’t speak of such things, especially among polite company.”
“I guess each generation has their faults, then,” Steve said with a smile that didn’t have a hint of friendliness. “But then that shouldn’t be a surprise since, after all, we’re only human.”
“Nigger’s Walk?” Jensen looked at his friend in shock. “How in hell did that come by?”
“It was because of the trees,” Steve explained. “They were so thick and tall that barely any sunlight passed through. Hence the name.”
“I really should get back to work. Take care,” Lenmore said hurriedly.
The men watched as she all but bolted out of the diner.
“Always glad to see the backend of that bitch,” Steve growled. “Man, does she make me want to drink.”
Jared looked at Jensen who glared at the librarian as she disappeared from view.
“I’m guessing she’s not very popular?” Chad asked casually.
“No, not much,” Steve admitted. “She’s got a vendetta against half the people on the island and the other half hates her. But she knows her shit and isn’t afraid to use what dirt she managed to dig up to get her way.”
“But not Jim,” Jensen said with a harsh grin. “Lenmore hated his wife because she had nothing on Cecily, and when Jim married her – Lenmore hated them equally. And it was that way for years. The rumor is she’s watchdog for Spencer.”
There was a noticeable silence as Chad and Jared digested that particular bit of gossip.
“Yeah, the man likes to dabble in politics and he makes sure the mayor knows who’s not only supplying the butter, but also the bread for all of us.” Steve took a sip of his coffee and sighed. “It didn’t take long for people to figure out the guy must have a spy, and after that – well, Lenmore’s name started cropping up.”
“People started ostracizing her,” Jensen said. “Odds are they’re right: she was the ears of this place, once. But not anymore.
“And I, for one, am pretty damn glad she’s on the outside. The woman’s poison.”
“Agreed,” Steve said. “Even Chris won’t talk to her and he’s got a blind spot the size of Vancouver when it comes to women.”
Jensen took out a ten to pay for his food before standing up. “I’ve got to get back to the office. I want to make some phone calls and see what happened to all that money.”
“Call me if you find anything,” Steve said.
Jensen gave a deep nod and left without another word.
Jared absently perused a notebook before closing it. “If something happens, is he going to lose his job?”
“Probably,” Steve answered readily. “So, I guess we better make sure nothing like what you’re thinking about happens.”
“How did he become the sheriff?” Chad asked. “No offense, but a job like that … well, I thought it’d go to someone who has roots here.”
“And that’s exactly why he got the job,” Steve said. “You see - Jim Beaver - he was a great sheriff. And the man did a huge job turning this place around. So, when he tossed his hat to Jensen, nobody said a peep.”
Chad looked puzzled by Steve’s reply. “Turn around from what?”
“We have our dark phases,” Steve said. “Usually tied into the island’s financial health. And things were very bad in the seventies. But then Jim became the sheriff and broke a few skulls; drove out the worst people; you get the picture. It took a few years but the tourists started to come back.
“He did the best he could, but…”
“But he was from here,” Jared concluded. “And that meant he could only do so much, right?”
Chad closed his eyes and shook his head. “What is with this fucking place? It’s like it’s in your blood.”
Jared put a restraining hand on his friend’s shoulder without breaking eye contact with Steve. “It’s the same with you, isn’t it?”
Steve dipped his head once. “Something like that.”
“That’s why you took stuff from the ruins,” Jared whispered. “And sold them on eBay. Because you were hoping someone would pick up the trail and find out about the sanatorium.”
“It’s hard to explain,” Steve said. “I can’t betray … outright, but if I can drop enough clues then maybe the truth will come out.”
“Why don’t you just speak?” Chad sounded as frustrated as Jared had ever heard him.
“Because this is home,” Jared said. “And you can’t betray your own.”
“Betray them how?” Chad asked doggedly.
“Nobody knows about the fire outside the island. And what stories that managed to escape were either toned down or completely fabricated.”
“But why? Who’d do that?”
“The people responsible,” Steve confessed. “And the people who covered it up again and again until they succeeded and the truth died.”
“You think this entire island has been poisoned because of it,” Jared concluded, not at all surprised by Steve’s belief.
Steve nodded. “It seeped into us like mercury or lead contaminates well water. And we’ve drank it, generation after generation until it’s in our system like a genetic marker.”
“I’d like to say you’re insane before running out of here on top speed, but this entire place has been giving me waking nightmares," Chad said grudgingly. "So yeah – I’m open to an idea that a town can become compromised after facing years if not decades of corruption, and has been openly complacent about it the entire time.”
“Openly?” Jared asked.
Steve looked at the few diners in the place. “Because everyone on this goddamn island knows about the hospice but nobody seems to care enough to tell the truth about it. Not even to each other."
“It can’t just be because of shame or fear of retribution," Jared reasoned methodically, "not for something that happened a century ago.”
“You’re thinking someone’s actively repressing the truth from getting out.” Steve looked thoughtful for a second before flushing red. “Son of a bitch: there’s only one person in the entire goddamn place that could have that much pull.”
“The dying misanthrope living inside that scary-ass mansion?” Chad supplied. “That’d be one hell of a cliché but hey, I’m all for it.”
“Bastard’s never set foot in town, and people all thought it was because he was so scarred and bitter,” Steve said. “But maybe it’s because he never wanted to.
“He’s had everything delivered to him, clothes … food … information: everything. We often wondered why he didn’t just sell the place and move to Seattle or Olympia, or even Boston where he could get his treatments next door. Some people like Jim said it was because he couldn’t sell that big old thing and more importantly, there was something in the will that prevented him from selling everything off and moving away.”
“But maybe he didn’t because he wanted to stay,” Jared said. “It was by choice. Which makes no sense because he hasn’t got any ties to the island, right?”
“None that I know of,” Steve said. “The man’s a mystery but I kept out of his way because I felt sorry for him.”
The table fell silent and the men went back to reading the journals, in the hopes of finding more information, and dreading the moment when they would.
Steve’s phone rang. He checked call ID and said, “Jensen.”
“Yeah? Found anything?” Steve patiently listened, but both Jared and Chad could see he was getting more and more excited. “You sure?”
Whatever Jensen’s answer was, it was good enough for him. “Okay, that’s about what where we are too.
“Come by Chris’ place when you’re done with the office. We really need to meet up.”
“What did Jensen say?” Jared asked eagerly.
“That the money was withdrawn years ago, right before Vietnam, by an attorney representing a client named Asa Ellis Spencer. He had all the right documentation so nobody questioned why it took so many years for the owner of the account to come and get it. Besides, the account was set up by his grandmother and that’s common enough occurrence.”
“What?” Chad leaned eagerly forward. “His grandmother?”
“His grandmother, Marjorie Anathea Clennon.”
“Motherfucker,” Jared snarled and stood up violently. “I’m going…”
Steve landed a well-placed kick on the side of Jared’s right knee, forcing the giant to collapse back onto his seat.
“You’re not going to do anything,” Steve said calmly and coolly. “You go charging in there, I guarantee you’ll be in Jensen’s holding cell for days. Then, it’s going to get worse. If Spencer has anything to do with what’s happened to your son, he’s not going to be so stupid as to keep evidence around.
“And if you try to beat it out of him, odds are good you’ll just kill him.”
“But he has to have a caretaker, right?” Chad whispered harshly. “Someone to make sure he doesn’t drop dead and rot in that house for weeks on end before someone finds out.”
“We don’t know.” Steve studied the two men with him before he went on. “We suspect he has someone, but nobody really knows. I figured he might be able to get along by himself because on the weekends he has medical personnel come by.”
“What the hell do we do now?” Chad asked, desperation coloring his voice.
“We go back to the sanatorium,” Jared said. “There’s something there, there’s got to be.”
“You’re thinking whatever it is, it keeps Spencer tied to the island?” Steve didn’t look too enthused by the idea. “You want to go back tonight, don’t you?”
Jared nodded. “I don’t think we have a choice.”
“Oh fuck me.” Chad’s comment seemed to reflect everyone’s mood.
Asa smiled grimly. Patricia Lenmore was a leech but she was a useful one, and now he knew the son of a bitch had returned. His smile broadened. If Asa still had working fingers, he’d freely pour himself one of his excellent bottles from his cellar.
But since most of his fingers were either useless or no longer attached, Asa figured he’d just sit back and wait for hell to break loose. Or at least catch up to the Padalecki clan.
With a worried frown Asa spared a glance out the window closest to him.
He still didn’t know how the brat managed to survive, but Asa knew the boy, if still alive, was out there, somewhere. He was also equally sure that the kid now kept company with some very interesting creatures.
“What goes around comes around,” Asa said, amused by the thought of what the father’s reaction would be if he ever found out the horrors his beloved child perpetrated to keep himself alive.
As if sensing his thoughts, Asa heard howling outside. It sounded threatening not only because of its shocking volume, but the complete alien quality in the pain that threaded it. But Asa was no longer surprised to be greeted by that particular threat, even though he knew it was nothing that could possibly come from any creature that God made.
He’s heard the ululations too many times before.
“This is crazy,” Jensen muttered.
“You’re talking to the choir,” Chris said. He turned to Steve and asked bluntly, “Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you?”
“Yeah, I’m sure,” Steve answered with an easy grin. “If our fat goes into the fire, you’re best qualified to pull us out.”
“Boy, do I feel special.” Chris’ thunderous face showed everyone in the wheelhouse how special he felt about being left out of the foray.
“Just come and get us when you hear me screaming like a five-year-old girl, okay?” Chad begged.
“I’ll come with torches and pitchforks.”
Jensen grinned at Chris’ answer. “Wiseass.”
Chris blew a kiss then went back to checking his shotgun. Jared glanced nervously at him and caught Chris looking at him with a knowing smirk. Realizing he was being deliberately baited, Jared spared him no further attention.
However, none of that prevented Jared from openly looking at Jensen. The man’s easy grace translated into everything he did, as far as Jared could see. And handling weapons was no exception. Jensen had three firearms on his person; one on a shoulder holster, the second on a back-clip, and the last on his ankle.
“Dude, isn’t that a bit of an overkill?” Chad asked when he counted how many Jensen was strapping onto his body.
“Not really,” Jensen grumbled. “The one on the hip’s from my job and it’s a revolver. So is the ankle.” He tapped slightly on the one under his armpit. “This is the only automatic I’ve got, and I had to nearly sue the goddamn town board to get the thing.
“My deputies still haul around revolvers.”
“But you got hand grenades,” Chris said. “Did you tell the town board that?”
Jensen shook his head slowly. “Nope, half the members are as old as Original Sin, and I’m thinking hearing that bit of trivia will likely give them heart attacks.”
“Um,” Jared interrupted hesitantly, “hand grenades?”
“This island was part of a military blockade during WWII,” Jensen explained. “And the U.S. Army wasn’t exactly thorough with checking their inventory when they pulled out.”
“Fantastic,” Chad said. “Any flame throwers?”
“Just one, but it’s dodgy.”
“That was a joke,” Chad said, looking horrified at Jensen. "Right?"
“You need serious meds to enjoy Jensen's particular brand of humor,” Steve deadpanned.
Jared saw a sneaky gleam in Jensen’s eye and a tiny corner in his heart thawed. He was used to beautiful people, living the lifestyle he did. But he had never met one so capable or caring. Or possessing such faith in himself and his friends.
Strange I can think of faith outside of religion, Jared thought. Not that I think of religion at all. Then he was hit with a memory and along with it overwhelming guilt: the first time he’d entered a church voluntarily after he’d moved to San Francisco was after Aiden’s kidnapping.
And he’d only stayed a few minutes. The feeling of inadequacy had driven him from its protective arches.
Jared pulled himself from the sinkhole of his memories to find Jensen studying him with knowing eyes. Jared gave a wan smile, and Jensen responded by walking over to him.
“You must be so fucking tired by now,” Jensen said softly. “Are you sure you want to go with us? You can stay here and rest. Steve and I know what we’re doing.”
“No,” Jared said without any heat. “I can’t explain…”
“This place got to you too, hasn’t it?” Jensen placed a strong and worn hand on his shoulder. “I should know. I’m from Texas and I call this home.”
“Hey, where?”
“Richardson. You?”
“San Antonio,” Jared answered. “Man, do I miss Texas-sized portions.”
“True,” Jensen admitted grudgingly. “And real and I mean real Mexican food. Not the fusion shit that passes for one around these parts.”
“Now you got me hungry.”
Jensen grinned unrepentantly. “Then my job’s done.”
“Fuck you.”
“Who can refuse an offer like that?”
Jared nudged Jensen and said, “You know this can pass as flirting?”
“Only for the truly desperate.”
“Move over, your sarcasm is dripping on me and burning holes through my jeans.”
“Hey, you’re the one who asked.”
“Would you two lovebirds just quit it? I’m gonna die of sugar shock over here,” Chad yelled, which was completely unnecessary as the wheelhouse was no bigger than a decently-sized closet.
“Sucks to be you,” Jensen shot back easily.
“Play nice, children,” Chris said, sounding smarmy and forbidding at the same time.
“We’re approaching,” Steve said, pointing towards something that resembled a pile of sticks to the untrained eye.
The mood became completely somber as the tugboat slowed down then came to a complete stop. As Jared walked down the gangway, he couldn’t help but note that even in near blackness, Steve somehow managed to dock his tugboat in the exact same spot he’d taken earlier in the day.
Chris looked pissed but said nothing as he watched them march into the night, with only the occasional flares of their flashlights signaling their presence.
“This is complete bullshit,” he whispered as he sat down on the stool nearest to the entrance. “Goddamn clusterfuck in the making.”
“This is fucked, you know that, right?” Chad hollered from where he was standing as he watched the other three men scrounge around a building they passed over only hours before.
“Really?” Jared’s voice thundered out. “What makes you say that? Is it because we’re shit-deep in burned out buildings in the dead of night? Could that be it, Chad?!”
“Hey, asshole, I’m not complaining. I’m just stating a fact!”
Jared was tempted to continue needling his friend but took pity on him instead and kept silent.
“I gotta ask,” Jensen said from his corner of the hellhole. “You guys never dated? Like ever? Because you two act like a married couple who’s been together for way too long.”
“Let me tell you how hetero my friend is,” Jared said. “He wanted to impress a girl so much, he spent an entire Thanksgiving break shoving suppositories up cows’ asses.
“That’s how straight that kid is.”
Jensen didn’t even bother to try hiding his hilarity. He just bent over, his hands resting on his knees while he laughed.
“Do I even want to know?” Steve asked, swinging his light so that Jared and Jensen were illuminated.
Jared shook his head while patting Jensen’s back.
“Okay,” Steve said.
The darkness fell so swiftly that none of the four men were prepared for it. All their flashlights died simultaneously while a large cloud swept over the moon.
“Oh fuck,” Chad said weakly.
“Come to my voice, Chad,” Steve said forcefully. “Don’t think about it. Just do it.”
Chad slowly shuffled sideways until his hands swiped against Steve’s.
“Jared? Jensen? You guys okay?”
“Yeah, we’re right here.” Jensen went through his jacket pocket until he found what he was looking for. The lighter was weak, but against the pitch black, it was a strong beacon. “Come to us.”
The four men found themselves in a tight circle, facing outwards.
“I’m guessing that’s not normal,” Jared said, trying to swallow the lump of panic that made its appearance in his throat.
Steve took the safety off his gun and raised it. “Nope, can’t say that it is.”
“Dude, what are you going to shoot?” Chad asked.
“Have no fucking clue,” was the calm reply. “But I’m thinking with an overture like this, something’s bound to show.”
Chris peered out the window for almost a minute before he realized what he was seeing. It wasn’t because he was clueless, but the fact that what he was witnessing was unnatural. Fog was boiling down the steep hills and slowly encroaching the beach, heading towards the sea.
In his entire life Chris had never seen fog go out to sea. Coming in from the ocean? Common as rain, but this phenomenon for an island? Chris hadn’t even heard about.
Shit’s hit the fan now. Hope the idiots are holding together.
Chris stepped outside, wondering if he’d be able to see the emergency flares Steve had taken. It was only then he completely understood what had encircled him, the beach, the dock, and Steve’s tugboat.
It wasn’t fog. The white carpet was completely made of ash.
They dusted his face, went down his mouth, and painted his nostrils. Plumed against his eyelashes, coating them white.
With a shout of disgust and horror, Chris fumbled back into the wheelhouse. He slammed the door shut and locked it. With disbelief he watched the ashes rain down, covering everything including the tugboat.
“What the fuck?” he whispered, looking at the macabre sight.
Oh, but didn’t you know this was going to happen? A vindictive voice snarled inside his head. You fuck with the dead, they’re not going to be happy. And here you are: the one place where not even your father would dare approach. Did you think those poor, burned souls were going to allow you and your friends to trespass on their graves?
Chris hands shook as he tried the walkie-talkie Steve had given him. “This is C – report, over?”
There wasn’t even static: just dead air.
With trembling fingers he turned on the radio. There was no reception. He even tried his cell to find the battery dead.
Chris didn’t bother to turn the boat’s engines. He already knew what the result would be. He looked up at the spot where his friends had climbed. “Get the fuck out of there.”
It took him a moment to realize another reason to be upset. The ashes that coated his entire body had a definite scent: that of roasting meat and burning trash.
“Oh Jesus.” Chris gagged and nearly threw up.
He tried to keep down his gorge by resting his feverish forehead against a window. So, when a small child’s hand slammed against it on the other side, he jumped back a good foot backwards before stumbling over the stool, upturning it and himself.
The sooty palm slid against the pane, clearing a path from the ashes that coated it. Then, playfully, it knocked against the window thrice.
Chris watched its travail warily from the floor but said nothing. Did nothing.
There was another knock. Then Chris heard a soft sigh. The hand melted into sickly white slick, leaving Chris alone with his fearful imaginings as he watched the rain of ashes lick against the tugboat's windows.
Jensen knew the lighter wasn’t going to last more than fifteen minutes, if that. So, they had to get a light source going. Setting fire to something would’ve been his next course of action, save for the fact Jensen knew only too well where he was, and starting anything like that was about as intelligent as inviting the devil for tea.
So, leery because of the sanatorium’s history, Jensen was debating internally whether to risk trying to create a campfire when he heard Steve’s sharp intake of breath.
“What is it?” Chad’s tone revealed how he felt about whatever shit was inevitably charging their way.
“We’ve got company,” Steve said. “Folks, if your intake of the bizarre is small, close your fucking eyes. That way you can save your sanity.”
Jensen snarled, “Where, damn it!”
“My four o’clock.”
Jared whirled and saw a bank of what looked like broken stones. Then the cluster moved. Whatever air was left in his lungs rapidly leaked out in a thin wheeze when he realized what he was looking at.
Children – if one could call these creatures that. They were dressed in tatters, huge circles of bruises around their eyes if they were visible through the long, matted hair. For a moment Jared was reminded of the pictures of orphans who wondered around the Russian Front right after WWII ended.
However, there was one glaring difference between the pictures Jared had studied in a college course and the children standing in front of him.
These creatures were all possessed physical deformation to a varying degree. Some had only slightly visible signs while others had been inflicted with such severity that they had to be blind and crippled, at the least.
“Oh my God,” Chad whispered, his voice filled with pity. “Are they … who the fuck did that to them?”
“Nobody did. They’re not alive,” Jensen said hoarsely. For a moment he felt his sanity list like a sailboat confronted by a strong gust, and he wanted it to collapse: that way he wouldn't have to deal with what was in front of him. Then, he felt rather than hear Jared's wretched moan. With iron will, Jensen focused on the children and then forced himself to accept the fact that they were real, or as real as spirits could be.
Jared took a closer step while raising his hands in a motion of peace. “I’m sorry … I’m so sorry…”
The children, as a group, moved closer to him. Some opened their mouths, revealing malformed tongues. Few hid their faces in shame. The biggest child – a boy – tucked a little girl behind him.
“Who are they?” Chad asked.
“I had no idea,” Steve said, moving next to Jared. “The sanatorium must have treated more children than the two we know.”
“Children?” Jared’s gaze sharpened on him.
“It makes sense,” Jensen said. “If leprosy had spread through the adult population, then the children must have been infected, too.”
Chad slowly approached Jared but stopped right behind him, as if seeking cover from the phantoms. “What do they want?”
“The truth, of course,” Steve answered in a stony voice.
“What truth?” Jensen’s approach stopped as he asked the question.
“Because as far as I know, there were only two children who died in the fire: Kindle's and Davies'.”
Jared felt a slight tingle in his hands as realization dawned on him. “There are fifteen kids here.”
“What in God’s name happened to the other…”
Jensen never got to finish his question. Jared saw a face fleetingly behind the ghosts. And it was only too familiar even with the garish differences. “Aiden!”
With that heart-rending yell, the distraught father ran towards the already-fading phantoms.
“No!” Steve took off after him. “Stop! Don’t!”
The children disappeared, leaving the boy and his two living companions: feral dogs. One of them leaped and knocked Jared clear off his feet. It straddled his chest, snarling.
Aiden made a noise that seemed to translate well enough for the dog to understand. It jumped off of Jared and ran back to him. Then the three took off.
Jared scrambled to his knees, screaming his son’s name. It did naught though. The child completely ignored him and he and the dogs bolted into the night. Jared tried to take off but Chad and Jensen tackled him to the ground. They ended up needing Steve’s help in order to prevent the hellbent man from chasing his son.
As Jared struggled underneath him, Jensen understood the man was tipping into madness. Fearing for Jared’s life, he wrapped his arm around Jared’s throat until his Adam’s apple was tucked into the corner between the bicep and forearm. Then, Jensen squeezed. The effect was immediate: Jared stopped fighting to escape and began clawing at Jensen’s arm in order to stop the crushing pain.
“Listen to me now,” Jensen hissed. “You go running out there, and I’m going to be looking for your fucking corpse. So settle down or you can wake up in a hospital with handcuffs on you.”
Jared closed his eyes and relaxed. He knew Jensen wasn’t making empty threats.
“I’m sorry,” Jensen said, relaxing his hold but only slightly. He knew Jared’s condition only too well and wasn't planning on giving the man any chance of escaping. “But you’re forgetting something: something incredibly important.”
Jared rubbed his bruised throat and managed to gasp out, “What’s that?”
“Your son’s alive, and since this is an island – he’s not going anywhere.”
Jared whirled to look at Jensen. “Jesus Christ…”
“Don’t know if Jesus has anything to do with this, but your suspicions were right, Jared.” Jensen helped the father stand on his feet. “Which means we’re on the right track.”
“But how are we going to find him?” Jared’s anguish returned when he realized the predicament he was in.
“His dogs,” Steve answered promptly. “They’re definitely trackable.”
“Good idea,” Jensen agreed. “You and Chris could do that.”
“But what if they’re living in the Black Woods?” Chad said. “Wouldn’t that be impossible?”
Steve’s jawline hardened. “If that kid’s on the island, we’ll find him. Fuck the Woods.”
Jensen looked around and said, “The moon’s out.”
The men then noticed they could see again. And also their flashlights were on, though emitting only weak streams of light.
“We have to go back to the boat,” Jensen said. “We’re going to need rest if we want to head out to the Woods in the morning.”
He didn’t wait for Jared to agree or put up a fight. With a firm hand, he guided the exhausted father behind Steve. Chad silently fell to the back, his flashlight dancing all over the ruins. Jensen wondered if Chad was trying to find something or if his nerves were still jangling from their supernatural encounter.
It was Steve who first noticed the condition of the boat. “What the fuck?!”
He ran down the dock with such speed there wasn’t any chance the others could keep up with him.
“Chris!” Steve shouted on the top of his lungs. He looked around to see the gangway was missing.
A familiar face peeked out of the wheelhouse. Chris spotted them and stepped outside.
“What the fuck happened here?” Steve yelled, his arms opened wide to encompass the damage done to his boat.
“We got hit with a squall of sorts,” Chris answered. “It rained ashes.”
The four men once more studied the boat. It was near white, and there was definitely an unpleasant smell emanating from it.
Steve took three steps back before making a running jump onto his boat. He landed with no grace and toppled over, but Chris managed to grab him before Steve stopped his fall with his face.
“Wait!” Steve ordered the three men still on the dock. He went below deck and returned with a wooden plank, which he used as a gangway. Jensen forced Jared to go first, then followed. Chad nearly fell over when the unstable wood tipped to the side. It was because of Chris’ fast reflexes that he didn’t end up in the water.
The men examined the white coat that covered almost everything. Steve shook his head as he studied the ash between his fingers.
Chad grimaced and wiped his hands on his pants. “They feel … greasy.”
“You really don’t want to know why,” Jensen said grimly.
Chad paled dramatically and his narrow face seemed to thin even further. “That’s not possible … right? I mean … no fucking way.”
“Right now ‘no fucking way’ doesn’t seem to be applicable to what’s happening on the island,” Jensen said.
“Can we discuss this out on the water?” Chris offered. “Because I have absolutely no desire to stick around and see what comes out of the hat next.”
Steve nodded in agreement and they were well on their way back to Alliance Bay within minutes. As soon as everyone was settled, Jensen dug up a small bottle and handed it over to Chad. The man took it with a shaky ‘thanks’ then took a small sip before handing it over to Jared who took a large gulp.
Jensen took it and didn’t offer any to either Chris or Steve but neither man took offense. Instead, Chris took out a water bottle and drained it halfway before passing it to Steve who finished it off.
“I’m guessing from the look on your faces, you found something,” Chris said.
“Aiden’s alive.” Jared sounded like he didn’t believe what he’d seen.
“What?” Chris looked at them. “Are you serious? Here? He’s here?!”
“We couldn’t catch him though,” Jensen explained. “The kid’s in some kind of shock. He didn’t recognize Jared, and he certainly didn’t respond well to the rest of us.”
“He looked and acted like a rabid animal,” Jared continued as if Jensen never spoke. “I don’t know how long he’s been like that but he can’t last long out there. Not in the wild.”
“You and I are going out,” Steve said to Chris. “First light. Is that a problem for you?”
“No, I can call Danni and have her sub for me.”
“Good, because tomorrow we’re going to find some answers.”
Aiden picked up Jensen’s lighter and dusted off the sand from its bright green plastic casing. He vaguely remembered how to use the Bic and had some trouble lighting it. But, when he succeeded, a generous smile bloomed across his gaunt face.
The flame danced to a destructive tune the boy knew so well. After all, he’d been listening to that particular song every night since he had woken up in the woods with only vague notions of happiness and safety. And those comforting emotions didn’t last long in the frigid nights curled inside an abandoned mine with only his empty stomach to keep him company.
So, when his pack joined him, Aiden was glad to let go of the memories that never solidified. That very night, he met the other children: lonely, abandoned, and cursed as he was.
And they whispered stories to him, sung dirges like they were lullabies, and told him how to stop the endless pain. All he needed was fire.
Now, he had the very tool necessary to stop the nightmare and maybe earn himself some peace. Even if that peace was to be found only in the middle of a pyre.
Part IV * Part VI
Pairing: ja/jp, former ja/jdm
Rating: R for language and violence
Warning: Genuine horror here. I hope.
Word Count: ~51k
Summary: Aiden Thomas Padalecki is violently and mysteriously kidnapped, leaving behind distraught parents who have no idea why their only child was taken. After months of futile investigation, the frantic father witnesses the slow but inevitable decline in the search of his only child. Half mad with grief, Jared goes to an island off the coast of Washington, holding the last clue that may help him find his son. But it is all a trap, and there’s someone crouching, waiting for him to pay back for sins not of his making.
Notes: Adapted from Peter Pan, written for
j2_everafter.Disclaimer: 127.5% fiction.
Jensen carefully watched Jared from the wheelhouse as Steve maneuvered his boat next to the abandoned dock.
“You think it’ll hold?” he asked Steve when he heard ominous creaking from the salt-ridden wood.
“It did last week,” Steve answered as he turned off the engine.
Jensen looked sharply at his friend. “What? You come here often?”
“Just this area.”
“Why?” Chad looked both appalled and curious. "The dock alone looks like a deathtrap!"
“They never cleaned out the sanatorium after the fire,” Steve explained. “So a lot of shit got left behind: some of them are pretty valuable.”
“You hawk dead people’s belongings on eBay?” Chad sounded as shocked as Jensen felt.
“Nobody’s missing anything, and that’s doubly true for the dead,” Steve deadpanned. “Besides, it’s mostly medical stuff – doctors are huge collectors of old instruments and medicine bottles.”
Jensen suddenly had an idea. “How about medical files? Any paperwork?”
“That burned down along with the main building. The only paper records that would’ve survived would have been in the doctors’ private homes on the compound.” Steve looked curiously at his friend. “What are you thinking?”
“I wonder if any records of Kindle survived; him and his family.”
“That’s a good idea, actually,” Chad said. “Would something like that still be around?”
“You know – it might have survived the fire,” Steve said. “Kindle was a local celebrity and his personal physician was also the head of the entire place. The man’s name was Jeremiah Davies and his house was spared somewhat because it was built with stone.”
Jensen glanced outside and saw Jared already placing the gangway onto the dock. “Let’s get cracking. We’re wasting daylight now.”
Steve nodded and tossed a duffle bag to Chad. “Pack your foodstuff in that. We might need it for later.”
Chad looked like he wanted to question why Steve thought two-day supply of food was necessary for what was supposed to be a two-hour jaunt, but wisely said nothing.
Jensen followed Jared and caught sight of the big man nimbly navigating the rotting boards and reach land. The sheriff briefly wondered where Jared’s previous hesitation had gone. The entire time the father had been on the island, he was a curious mixture of fear, anger, and gratitude. A mixture that signaled to the sheriff the man was teetering on a precipice that had no return.
But now, Jensen sensed that something momentous had occurred. He rushed to catch up with Jared, in fear that the phone call he’d received from his brother had fundamentally changed Jared and for the worse.
“Wait up!” he yelled, and was glad to note Jared did.
Jensen caught up and asked, “What’s your hurry?”
“No hurry,” Jared said, his voice strangely distant. “I just wanted to get on land.”
Jensen’s alarms went off. Jared sounded as if he was floating above the island, seeing it from a great distance. And that meant one thing in the sheriff’s experience: trauma.
“What was the call about?” he asked sharply. “And don’t bullshit me.”
That got Jared’s attention. His hazel eyes focused on Jensen. “I was here before.”
“What?” Whatever anxiety Jensen felt was punched out by Jared’s admission.
“I was maybe six then? My father took us here on his boat. From what Jeff told me I had an accident and fell overboard. I was found two days later – not twenty feet from where we’re standing by a man named Sam Coates.”
Jensen's worried posture tensed further when he heard the familiar name, and Jared noticed the change in his demeanor.
“Do you know him? What happened to him?”
“He had a heart attack."
“Why does that bother you?”
“It’s just that the way he died. He drove off a road and slammed his truck on a tree. From what the medical examiner said, the accident probably triggered a heart attack and that was what killed him.”
“But you don’t know why he drove off the road to begin with.”
“Cause and effect,” Jensen agreed. “Did the heart attack cause the accident or vice versa? And if it’s the latter, then something forced Coates off the road.”
“Did you find anything?”
“Nothing to indicate anyone had been involved, but I can’t be sure.” Jensen looked annoyed by his admission. “It was raining badly that night, so if there were any evidence it got washed away.”
“Do you know Jim Beaver?”
“I tried calling him, actually,” Jensen said, blushing a little. “He’s in Olympia, visiting his daughter. I got his voice mail but he hasn’t returned my call yet.”
“If you do, please tell me. I’ve got few questions for him.”
“Will do.”
“Will you two stop flirting and get on with what we came here for?” Steve groused good-naturedly.
Jensen’s reply was to land a light punch on Steve’s shoulder. Chad looked at Jared, grinning from ear to ear but said nothing. Jared wondered when his friend had gotten so good at keeping his own counsel.
Steve blazed a path straight through bushes that looked completely unmarked by human trespass. Mercifully for his companions, it didn’t take long for them to reach the top. Now the men could see what they had only glimpsed earlier.
There were seventeen buildings in total: their damage ranging from negligible to charred ruins. What remained of the main building were the cornerstones: the only markers left of what was supposed to have once been a sprawling complex.
Chad had to do a complete 360 to fully encompass the compound. “Wow! How can anyone ignore this?”
“Nobody comes here,” Steve said, “besides me that I know of. The place has a bad rep.”
“But you’re not scared,” Jared said. “You’ve been here dozens of times, right?”
“That doesn’t mean I’m not scared.”
Steve’s answer puzzled Jensen enough to ask, “I don’t get it.”
“It’s like … the fear’s addictive,” Steve explained reluctantly. “Man, half the time I just wanna run out of here screaming, and I’ve lost count of how many times I promised myself I’d never come back.
“But I always do. In the end.”
“It’s the place,” Jared said softly. “It has a secret, and you want to be the first to find it.”
Steve looked pensively at Jared and agreed, “That’s exactly it. Okay, you’re a bit spooky, you know that?”
Jensen didn’t like how the conversation was progressing, and his desire for the search to be over became overwhelming. “Can we find the doc’s home and get on with it?”
Steve pointed to the building whose four walls were still standing. “The fucker built his out of stone. Figures.”
“And the hospital?”
“Cedar and brick, I believe,” Steve said. “The other buildings were just plain wood. They went up like a torch when the fire hit them.”
“When did the fire start?” Jensen asked.
“Between three and four in the morning,” Steve answered. “I’m amazed anyone survived at all.”
With that comment he started walking again. The front door was absent and Steve had to point out the various structural weak points, but the four men managed to enter the house without falling through the floors.
Even with all the fire damage and what nature had wrought, Jared could see Dr. Davies spared no expense in building and decorated his opulent residence.
Chad picked up a piece of lampshade glass and turned it over. “This shit’s amazing.”
“You better believe it,” Steve said. “Now you know why I come back?”
“Definitely a fortune to be had if one’s got the balls to dig through all this,” Chad said, dropping the glass and picking up a melted block of metal. He peered closer but couldn’t identify it.
“Where would his office be?” Jensen asked.
“To the right of the library,” Steve answered.
The room, while spacious and well lit due to numerous French windows, was filled with rancid smell of mildew and decaying remnants of animals. Jensen drew back in shock when he took a whiff of the place and Chad made a gagging noise. But Jared stepped inside without hesitation.
Steve pulled aside a ruined velvet curtain and pointed to a wall safe. “This place wasn’t a prison. Patients wandered about freely or at least as long as they had use of their legs, so I’m guessing the good doctor kept his notes locked up.”
Jensen gave it a hard thump with his right fist. “Have you tried to open it?”
“Many times, but no go.”
Jared examined the safe closely. “How about from the back?”
“What?” Chad asked.
“Holy shit,” Steve said. “I didn’t think about that.”
“Think about what?” Chad looked confusingly at his friend.
“Follow me,” Steve said and led them outside. He guessed where the back of the safe would be and began tapping against the wall. He located it immediately.
“Stand back.” With those two words, Steve swung his tire iron. The wall, such as it was, crumbled under the blows and they soon saw the back end of the safe. Steve checked it and shook his head. “It’s as solid as the front.”
Jensen turned to see if Jared had any other ideas and found the man absent.
“Jared!” he shouted, his voice loud with fear and alarm. “Jared!”
Chad looked around as panic immediately set in. “Fuck me. Jared! Jared!”
“I’m in here,” Jared said, peeking out from the room. “I got the safe open.”
The three men re-entered the study and discovered Jared had done just that.
“Where did you find the key?” Steve asked.
“There’s a pouch sewn under there,” Jared said, pointing at what used to be a leather and mahogany wing chair.
Jensen examined the key and the thin gold chain dangling from it while Steve pulled out the contents. There was a stack of letters along with notebooks bound in leather.
“Davies’ journals,” Jared said eagerly.
Chad nervously looked at his friend. “Let’s read them back at the boat. Is there anything else we need?”
“There might be other records we could scrounge up,” Steve offered. “Let’s give the place a once-over and see what we can find.”
By unspoken consent, the four men did not split up. Instead, they would hit a site and dig through. None of the other buildings offered up as much as Davies’ private home, but they still managed to fill up a carryall Steve had thoughtfully packed into his duffle. However, they had no chance of checking all the buildings. The sun was past its highest point and Steve wanted them off the land before three.
“What about the food?” Chad asked.
“We can eat in the boat,” Jensen said. “There is no way in hell we’re having a picnic up here.”
“It’d be like dancing over someone’s grave,” Jared added. “And I don’t think anyone will have anything resembling an appetite as long as we stay here.”
“Sounds good to me.” Chad hauled the bag over his shoulder and started marching towards the path they had taken earlier.
“Don’t go down that way,” Steve said, grabbing Chad by his shoulder.
“Why not?” Chad looked down the sandy trail.
“It’s a lot more dangerous going down than up,” Steve said. “I found that out the hard way.” He pointed to the left where the hill seemed steeper. “There’s a safer route down there.”
Steve once again took point and slowly made down a path that landed them on the right side of the dock instead of the left where they went up.
Jared checked his watch and found they had spent nearly five hours in the ruins.
Jensen did the same and remarked with wonder, “Wow, I didn’t think we were up there for more than two hours.”
“It has that effect,” Steve said.
Chad looked over his shoulder and squinted. “What is the place called anyway?”
“Robbin Sanatorium,” Steve answered. “I couldn’t find much reference to it in the local archives. But I didn’t have time to do a thorough research in the Seattle Library yet.”
With that remark the group fell silent until Steve pulled the boat away from the dock. Only then did the men feel like they had the freedom to speak as they wished without fearing reprisal: from what they knew not.
Jared took out an old notebook and opened it. “It’s pretty eaten up,” he said as he flipped through the pages.
Chad took one and passed along another to Jensen. He peered into the leather-bound work and noted, “It’s a personal diary. Lucky me.”
Jensen flipped through his. “Medical journal, and the doctor was admirably thorough.”
The three began reading silently, with Steve also equally stoic while navigating through the rough waters. Perhaps it was the currents or the winds, but it took them less time to return to Alliance Bay than going the other way.
The men disembarked as soon as Alabama's engine came to rest. After Jensen called in to make sure nothing important had happened in his absence, Steve led the men to the diner Jared and Chad had breakfasted in only that morning. But to them, it seemed like a lifetime away.
They took a booth in the back instead of the counter and began trading information.
“The entire place was run the on generosity of its patients and private donors,” Jensen said. “Which makes me believe they were always in need of more money.”
“That's what I'm seeing,” Jared agreed. “He complains a lot about his wife’s family not keeping their promises about donating to ‘his vision’. It seems Mrs. Davies came from loads of money, and when he opened the sanatorium his father-in-law promised hefty funds. But when the man found out it was basically a leper colony, he balked.”
“So, the good doctor was always working with a deficit,” Chad said. “That’s pretty normal, right?”
“Not to this degree,” Jared said. “This set-up is more like a boutique hospital but without the boutique services. I mean, it was a noble idea and all, but the execution was a complete clusterfuck from the start.
“Davies was losing a lot of money running the place.”
“Yeah, that sounds about right,” Jensen said as he flipped to the latter pages. “He whines a great deal about services he should get for his patients but didn’t because he couldn’t afford them.”
“Oh shit,” Chad said. “When did the place burn down?”
“July twenty-seventh, 1907,” Steve answered. “Why?”
“Because in January of that very same year, his twelve-year-old daughter, Alice, was diagnosed with leprosy.”
“Fuck no,” Steve whispered. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah, and the kid was so shocked by her diagnosis, she just stopped eating. The poor thing was in what I guess was a coma when the fire hit.”
“Where was the mother?” Jared asked.
“She left right after she found out about Alice,” Chad said. “The woman couldn’t take it. She ran back to New York.”
Jensen frowned as he took a closer look at a notation in his book. “Kindle’s wife’s name was Hemley, right?”
“Yeah, why?” Steve looked curiously at his friend.
“Because, from what I’m reading she gave the doctor a shitload of money in February of 1907. The amount being nearly two-hundred thousand dollars.”
“That was a huge sum back then,” Steve explained as he grabbed Jensen’s book and read the notation. “That must have been her inheritance from her grandmother. There were rumors that Kindle used it to help build the sanatorium, but maybe there was some left over.”
“And it went to the doctor?” Chad frowned as he thought about the new information. “Maybe it was for special treatment for her and her kid. You know, privileges and all.”
“But with Kindle around, his entire family was guaranteed the best of whatever was available,” Jensen argued. “So the money was for something else.”
Jared opened the duffle bag and pulled out all the notebooks. He flipped through what looked like ledgers until he found the one he was looking for.
“It’s the last one; covers two months before the fire,” Jared explained as he frantically scanned through the pages. “Son of a bitch! I knew it!”
“What?” Jensen's imagination gave birth to several, equally horrific suspicions.
Jared’s reply was to hand over the book. Jensen read the entries and slowly turned pale with anger and shock.
“What did he do?” Steve asked reluctantly.
“The good doctor started siphoning off money,” Jensen answered hoarsely. “And banking it with a private firm in Seattle. The bastard was robbing his own hospital.”
“Why?” Chad asked. “What … wait a minute.” He paused and looked at everyone at the table. “Oh my God, the fucker knew his hospital wouldn’t survive the summer.”
“He started the fire,” Jensen said. “And with the money he had stashed away, he could get a fresh start and nobody would be the wiser. After all, he was practically canonized by the locals for his ‘blessed work with the lepers'.”
“So the fire was no accident, then,” Steve concluded. “But it went south real fast because he didn’t survive.”
“He died?” Jared studied the man across the table from him. “Are you sure? Maybe he managed to sneak out.”
“No, he was one of the few who survived, for three days after the fire. The man was badly burned but people recognized him.”
“What happened to the money, then?” Chad asked. That question earned interested looks from his companions. “I mean, he stashed away a fortune. Did somebody get their hands on it or is it still sitting in some bank, earning interest?”
“That’s a damn good question,” Jensen said. “And you know what? I’m going to find out.”
“Do you guys know of someone named Marjorie Clennon?” Jared asked.
“Yes, why?” Steve’s focus suddenly intensified. “She was a member of the founding families.”
“Because, according to this, she also ‘donated’ a bucketload of money to the good doctor,” Jared replied. “These few pages are filled with how grateful he was of the ‘good lady who did much to soothe my disquiet regarding my profession and my family life’.”
“Why do I get the feeling she became something more than just a guardian angel after the doc’s wife left?” Chad said sarcastically.
“Who is she exactly?” Jensen asked Steve. “Because I get the feeling I’m not going to like the answer.”
“The Spencer family: they are the direct descendents of the Clennons.”
“Fuck me.” Jensen rubbed his face in frustration. “I was afraid you were going to say that.”
“Who are they?” Jared asked.
“The richest family on the island, and one of the wealthiest in the entire northwest,” Jensen answered. “There’s only one left now, Asa Spencer. The guy’s got to be pushing seventy? Maybe eighty? No one’s sure because he’s a hermit.”
“The man was in a bad car accident in the late fifties,” Steve said. “And came home mangled. From what I understand it was touch and go for a while but he managed to pull through. After his father died, he built an empire on what was already a respectable business that his grandmother started.
“The guy’s personal wealth measures in the millions,” Jensen explained further.
“And he lives here?” Chad looked doubtful by that idea.
“Yep, he does save for the occasions where he has to visit Harborview for medical treatments.” Steve looked out the diner’s windows: his gaze distant and troubled. “Even then we never see him because he has a private charter service pick him at the front door and deliver him to the hospital.”
“He’s also untouchable.” Jensen tapped the book in front of him. “The man might not own the island but he owns a lot of people on it. He’s done a great deal for the mayor, the town board, hell, practically anyone with any power owes him a favor or two.”
“So tread carefully is what you’re saying,” Jared concluded. “Because he can cause a lot of trouble for me.”
“Very, very carefully,” Jensen cautioned him.
“We’ve got company,” Chad whispered just loudly enough to be heard by the men sitting with him.
With slight movements, they closed the books and just in time as Ms. Lenmore approached their table.
“Well, this is a surprise,” she said, her eyes bright with curiosity. “What have you boys been up to?”
“We’ve been exploring some of the older places,” Jared said, not betraying a hint of anxiety. Then he grinned impishly. “And then we bumped into Jensen who was kind enough to talk to us earlier about the island. He gave us a brief tour of Cascade Park.”
“It’s a lot bigger than we thought,” Chad added. “Good thing we met the sheriff. Otherwise, we might have gotten lost.”
“And I thought Steve might give a hand at explaining why the island’s name changed so often,” Jensen said with a careless shrug.
“Yeah, that was a surprise,” Jared said, not having a clue of what Jensen was speaking.
“Oh, your confusion is nothing new,” Ms. Lenmore said sweetly. “I remember when they changed the name to Rose Island in honor of Lieutenant Rose who died so heroically in the Battle of the Bulge. I thought it was very romantic at the time, but I remember my parents complaining bitterly about the paperwork it generated.”
“So, after every major war, this island was renamed?” Jared asked. “What about after Vietnam?”
“It was renamed Robbin Island,” Steve answered. “After Captain Robbin who was as brave as Rose but luckier. He came back, ran for mayor, and died in his sleep just five years back.
“And yeah, the Robbin family is considered to be one of the original settlers, which is why you’ll find the name Robbin all over the place.”
Lenmore sniffed to show her distaste for the hero-turned-politician. “I never understood why they voted that man to that position. I respect his family and all, but I swear - if I had a dime for every bull-headed thing he did, I’d be filthy rich!
“It was his fault that James Beaver became sheriff!”
Jensen stiffened in his chair but said nothing. However, Steve was not so tactful.
“Now, now, Ms. Lenmore. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you are still sore Robbin shot down your idea of a waterfront museum.”
“Maybe,” Ms. Lenmore said bitingly. “But at least Thomas has the foresight to see that we all could benefit from such a place!”
“Funny thing about names,” Steve continued as if she hadn’t spoken at all. “This island had more then its fair share of name-switching. Red Wood Path used to be called Nigger’s Walk until well into the 70’s. Ain’t that right, Ms. Lenmore?”
The woman paled visibly as she looked alarmingly at the visitors. “Well … we don’t speak of such things, especially among polite company.”
“I guess each generation has their faults, then,” Steve said with a smile that didn’t have a hint of friendliness. “But then that shouldn’t be a surprise since, after all, we’re only human.”
“Nigger’s Walk?” Jensen looked at his friend in shock. “How in hell did that come by?”
“It was because of the trees,” Steve explained. “They were so thick and tall that barely any sunlight passed through. Hence the name.”
“I really should get back to work. Take care,” Lenmore said hurriedly.
The men watched as she all but bolted out of the diner.
“Always glad to see the backend of that bitch,” Steve growled. “Man, does she make me want to drink.”
Jared looked at Jensen who glared at the librarian as she disappeared from view.
“I’m guessing she’s not very popular?” Chad asked casually.
“No, not much,” Steve admitted. “She’s got a vendetta against half the people on the island and the other half hates her. But she knows her shit and isn’t afraid to use what dirt she managed to dig up to get her way.”
“But not Jim,” Jensen said with a harsh grin. “Lenmore hated his wife because she had nothing on Cecily, and when Jim married her – Lenmore hated them equally. And it was that way for years. The rumor is she’s watchdog for Spencer.”
There was a noticeable silence as Chad and Jared digested that particular bit of gossip.
“Yeah, the man likes to dabble in politics and he makes sure the mayor knows who’s not only supplying the butter, but also the bread for all of us.” Steve took a sip of his coffee and sighed. “It didn’t take long for people to figure out the guy must have a spy, and after that – well, Lenmore’s name started cropping up.”
“People started ostracizing her,” Jensen said. “Odds are they’re right: she was the ears of this place, once. But not anymore.
“And I, for one, am pretty damn glad she’s on the outside. The woman’s poison.”
“Agreed,” Steve said. “Even Chris won’t talk to her and he’s got a blind spot the size of Vancouver when it comes to women.”
Jensen took out a ten to pay for his food before standing up. “I’ve got to get back to the office. I want to make some phone calls and see what happened to all that money.”
“Call me if you find anything,” Steve said.
Jensen gave a deep nod and left without another word.
Jared absently perused a notebook before closing it. “If something happens, is he going to lose his job?”
“Probably,” Steve answered readily. “So, I guess we better make sure nothing like what you’re thinking about happens.”
“How did he become the sheriff?” Chad asked. “No offense, but a job like that … well, I thought it’d go to someone who has roots here.”
“And that’s exactly why he got the job,” Steve said. “You see - Jim Beaver - he was a great sheriff. And the man did a huge job turning this place around. So, when he tossed his hat to Jensen, nobody said a peep.”
Chad looked puzzled by Steve’s reply. “Turn around from what?”
“We have our dark phases,” Steve said. “Usually tied into the island’s financial health. And things were very bad in the seventies. But then Jim became the sheriff and broke a few skulls; drove out the worst people; you get the picture. It took a few years but the tourists started to come back.
“He did the best he could, but…”
“But he was from here,” Jared concluded. “And that meant he could only do so much, right?”
Chad closed his eyes and shook his head. “What is with this fucking place? It’s like it’s in your blood.”
Jared put a restraining hand on his friend’s shoulder without breaking eye contact with Steve. “It’s the same with you, isn’t it?”
Steve dipped his head once. “Something like that.”
“That’s why you took stuff from the ruins,” Jared whispered. “And sold them on eBay. Because you were hoping someone would pick up the trail and find out about the sanatorium.”
“It’s hard to explain,” Steve said. “I can’t betray … outright, but if I can drop enough clues then maybe the truth will come out.”
“Why don’t you just speak?” Chad sounded as frustrated as Jared had ever heard him.
“Because this is home,” Jared said. “And you can’t betray your own.”
“Betray them how?” Chad asked doggedly.
“Nobody knows about the fire outside the island. And what stories that managed to escape were either toned down or completely fabricated.”
“But why? Who’d do that?”
“The people responsible,” Steve confessed. “And the people who covered it up again and again until they succeeded and the truth died.”
“You think this entire island has been poisoned because of it,” Jared concluded, not at all surprised by Steve’s belief.
Steve nodded. “It seeped into us like mercury or lead contaminates well water. And we’ve drank it, generation after generation until it’s in our system like a genetic marker.”
“I’d like to say you’re insane before running out of here on top speed, but this entire place has been giving me waking nightmares," Chad said grudgingly. "So yeah – I’m open to an idea that a town can become compromised after facing years if not decades of corruption, and has been openly complacent about it the entire time.”
“Openly?” Jared asked.
Steve looked at the few diners in the place. “Because everyone on this goddamn island knows about the hospice but nobody seems to care enough to tell the truth about it. Not even to each other."
“It can’t just be because of shame or fear of retribution," Jared reasoned methodically, "not for something that happened a century ago.”
“You’re thinking someone’s actively repressing the truth from getting out.” Steve looked thoughtful for a second before flushing red. “Son of a bitch: there’s only one person in the entire goddamn place that could have that much pull.”
“The dying misanthrope living inside that scary-ass mansion?” Chad supplied. “That’d be one hell of a cliché but hey, I’m all for it.”
“Bastard’s never set foot in town, and people all thought it was because he was so scarred and bitter,” Steve said. “But maybe it’s because he never wanted to.
“He’s had everything delivered to him, clothes … food … information: everything. We often wondered why he didn’t just sell the place and move to Seattle or Olympia, or even Boston where he could get his treatments next door. Some people like Jim said it was because he couldn’t sell that big old thing and more importantly, there was something in the will that prevented him from selling everything off and moving away.”
“But maybe he didn’t because he wanted to stay,” Jared said. “It was by choice. Which makes no sense because he hasn’t got any ties to the island, right?”
“None that I know of,” Steve said. “The man’s a mystery but I kept out of his way because I felt sorry for him.”
The table fell silent and the men went back to reading the journals, in the hopes of finding more information, and dreading the moment when they would.
Steve’s phone rang. He checked call ID and said, “Jensen.”
“Yeah? Found anything?” Steve patiently listened, but both Jared and Chad could see he was getting more and more excited. “You sure?”
Whatever Jensen’s answer was, it was good enough for him. “Okay, that’s about what where we are too.
“Come by Chris’ place when you’re done with the office. We really need to meet up.”
“What did Jensen say?” Jared asked eagerly.
“That the money was withdrawn years ago, right before Vietnam, by an attorney representing a client named Asa Ellis Spencer. He had all the right documentation so nobody questioned why it took so many years for the owner of the account to come and get it. Besides, the account was set up by his grandmother and that’s common enough occurrence.”
“What?” Chad leaned eagerly forward. “His grandmother?”
“His grandmother, Marjorie Anathea Clennon.”
“Motherfucker,” Jared snarled and stood up violently. “I’m going…”
Steve landed a well-placed kick on the side of Jared’s right knee, forcing the giant to collapse back onto his seat.
“You’re not going to do anything,” Steve said calmly and coolly. “You go charging in there, I guarantee you’ll be in Jensen’s holding cell for days. Then, it’s going to get worse. If Spencer has anything to do with what’s happened to your son, he’s not going to be so stupid as to keep evidence around.
“And if you try to beat it out of him, odds are good you’ll just kill him.”
“But he has to have a caretaker, right?” Chad whispered harshly. “Someone to make sure he doesn’t drop dead and rot in that house for weeks on end before someone finds out.”
“We don’t know.” Steve studied the two men with him before he went on. “We suspect he has someone, but nobody really knows. I figured he might be able to get along by himself because on the weekends he has medical personnel come by.”
“What the hell do we do now?” Chad asked, desperation coloring his voice.
“We go back to the sanatorium,” Jared said. “There’s something there, there’s got to be.”
“You’re thinking whatever it is, it keeps Spencer tied to the island?” Steve didn’t look too enthused by the idea. “You want to go back tonight, don’t you?”
Jared nodded. “I don’t think we have a choice.”
“Oh fuck me.” Chad’s comment seemed to reflect everyone’s mood.
Asa smiled grimly. Patricia Lenmore was a leech but she was a useful one, and now he knew the son of a bitch had returned. His smile broadened. If Asa still had working fingers, he’d freely pour himself one of his excellent bottles from his cellar.
But since most of his fingers were either useless or no longer attached, Asa figured he’d just sit back and wait for hell to break loose. Or at least catch up to the Padalecki clan.
With a worried frown Asa spared a glance out the window closest to him.
He still didn’t know how the brat managed to survive, but Asa knew the boy, if still alive, was out there, somewhere. He was also equally sure that the kid now kept company with some very interesting creatures.
“What goes around comes around,” Asa said, amused by the thought of what the father’s reaction would be if he ever found out the horrors his beloved child perpetrated to keep himself alive.
As if sensing his thoughts, Asa heard howling outside. It sounded threatening not only because of its shocking volume, but the complete alien quality in the pain that threaded it. But Asa was no longer surprised to be greeted by that particular threat, even though he knew it was nothing that could possibly come from any creature that God made.
He’s heard the ululations too many times before.
“This is crazy,” Jensen muttered.
“You’re talking to the choir,” Chris said. He turned to Steve and asked bluntly, “Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you?”
“Yeah, I’m sure,” Steve answered with an easy grin. “If our fat goes into the fire, you’re best qualified to pull us out.”
“Boy, do I feel special.” Chris’ thunderous face showed everyone in the wheelhouse how special he felt about being left out of the foray.
“Just come and get us when you hear me screaming like a five-year-old girl, okay?” Chad begged.
“I’ll come with torches and pitchforks.”
Jensen grinned at Chris’ answer. “Wiseass.”
Chris blew a kiss then went back to checking his shotgun. Jared glanced nervously at him and caught Chris looking at him with a knowing smirk. Realizing he was being deliberately baited, Jared spared him no further attention.
However, none of that prevented Jared from openly looking at Jensen. The man’s easy grace translated into everything he did, as far as Jared could see. And handling weapons was no exception. Jensen had three firearms on his person; one on a shoulder holster, the second on a back-clip, and the last on his ankle.
“Dude, isn’t that a bit of an overkill?” Chad asked when he counted how many Jensen was strapping onto his body.
“Not really,” Jensen grumbled. “The one on the hip’s from my job and it’s a revolver. So is the ankle.” He tapped slightly on the one under his armpit. “This is the only automatic I’ve got, and I had to nearly sue the goddamn town board to get the thing.
“My deputies still haul around revolvers.”
“But you got hand grenades,” Chris said. “Did you tell the town board that?”
Jensen shook his head slowly. “Nope, half the members are as old as Original Sin, and I’m thinking hearing that bit of trivia will likely give them heart attacks.”
“Um,” Jared interrupted hesitantly, “hand grenades?”
“This island was part of a military blockade during WWII,” Jensen explained. “And the U.S. Army wasn’t exactly thorough with checking their inventory when they pulled out.”
“Fantastic,” Chad said. “Any flame throwers?”
“Just one, but it’s dodgy.”
“That was a joke,” Chad said, looking horrified at Jensen. "Right?"
“You need serious meds to enjoy Jensen's particular brand of humor,” Steve deadpanned.
Jared saw a sneaky gleam in Jensen’s eye and a tiny corner in his heart thawed. He was used to beautiful people, living the lifestyle he did. But he had never met one so capable or caring. Or possessing such faith in himself and his friends.
Strange I can think of faith outside of religion, Jared thought. Not that I think of religion at all. Then he was hit with a memory and along with it overwhelming guilt: the first time he’d entered a church voluntarily after he’d moved to San Francisco was after Aiden’s kidnapping.
And he’d only stayed a few minutes. The feeling of inadequacy had driven him from its protective arches.
Jared pulled himself from the sinkhole of his memories to find Jensen studying him with knowing eyes. Jared gave a wan smile, and Jensen responded by walking over to him.
“You must be so fucking tired by now,” Jensen said softly. “Are you sure you want to go with us? You can stay here and rest. Steve and I know what we’re doing.”
“No,” Jared said without any heat. “I can’t explain…”
“This place got to you too, hasn’t it?” Jensen placed a strong and worn hand on his shoulder. “I should know. I’m from Texas and I call this home.”
“Hey, where?”
“Richardson. You?”
“San Antonio,” Jared answered. “Man, do I miss Texas-sized portions.”
“True,” Jensen admitted grudgingly. “And real and I mean real Mexican food. Not the fusion shit that passes for one around these parts.”
“Now you got me hungry.”
Jensen grinned unrepentantly. “Then my job’s done.”
“Fuck you.”
“Who can refuse an offer like that?”
Jared nudged Jensen and said, “You know this can pass as flirting?”
“Only for the truly desperate.”
“Move over, your sarcasm is dripping on me and burning holes through my jeans.”
“Hey, you’re the one who asked.”
“Would you two lovebirds just quit it? I’m gonna die of sugar shock over here,” Chad yelled, which was completely unnecessary as the wheelhouse was no bigger than a decently-sized closet.
“Sucks to be you,” Jensen shot back easily.
“Play nice, children,” Chris said, sounding smarmy and forbidding at the same time.
“We’re approaching,” Steve said, pointing towards something that resembled a pile of sticks to the untrained eye.
The mood became completely somber as the tugboat slowed down then came to a complete stop. As Jared walked down the gangway, he couldn’t help but note that even in near blackness, Steve somehow managed to dock his tugboat in the exact same spot he’d taken earlier in the day.
Chris looked pissed but said nothing as he watched them march into the night, with only the occasional flares of their flashlights signaling their presence.
“This is complete bullshit,” he whispered as he sat down on the stool nearest to the entrance. “Goddamn clusterfuck in the making.”
“This is fucked, you know that, right?” Chad hollered from where he was standing as he watched the other three men scrounge around a building they passed over only hours before.
“Really?” Jared’s voice thundered out. “What makes you say that? Is it because we’re shit-deep in burned out buildings in the dead of night? Could that be it, Chad?!”
“Hey, asshole, I’m not complaining. I’m just stating a fact!”
Jared was tempted to continue needling his friend but took pity on him instead and kept silent.
“I gotta ask,” Jensen said from his corner of the hellhole. “You guys never dated? Like ever? Because you two act like a married couple who’s been together for way too long.”
“Let me tell you how hetero my friend is,” Jared said. “He wanted to impress a girl so much, he spent an entire Thanksgiving break shoving suppositories up cows’ asses.
“That’s how straight that kid is.”
Jensen didn’t even bother to try hiding his hilarity. He just bent over, his hands resting on his knees while he laughed.
“Do I even want to know?” Steve asked, swinging his light so that Jared and Jensen were illuminated.
Jared shook his head while patting Jensen’s back.
“Okay,” Steve said.
The darkness fell so swiftly that none of the four men were prepared for it. All their flashlights died simultaneously while a large cloud swept over the moon.
“Oh fuck,” Chad said weakly.
“Come to my voice, Chad,” Steve said forcefully. “Don’t think about it. Just do it.”
Chad slowly shuffled sideways until his hands swiped against Steve’s.
“Jared? Jensen? You guys okay?”
“Yeah, we’re right here.” Jensen went through his jacket pocket until he found what he was looking for. The lighter was weak, but against the pitch black, it was a strong beacon. “Come to us.”
The four men found themselves in a tight circle, facing outwards.
“I’m guessing that’s not normal,” Jared said, trying to swallow the lump of panic that made its appearance in his throat.
Steve took the safety off his gun and raised it. “Nope, can’t say that it is.”
“Dude, what are you going to shoot?” Chad asked.
“Have no fucking clue,” was the calm reply. “But I’m thinking with an overture like this, something’s bound to show.”
Chris peered out the window for almost a minute before he realized what he was seeing. It wasn’t because he was clueless, but the fact that what he was witnessing was unnatural. Fog was boiling down the steep hills and slowly encroaching the beach, heading towards the sea.
In his entire life Chris had never seen fog go out to sea. Coming in from the ocean? Common as rain, but this phenomenon for an island? Chris hadn’t even heard about.
Shit’s hit the fan now. Hope the idiots are holding together.
Chris stepped outside, wondering if he’d be able to see the emergency flares Steve had taken. It was only then he completely understood what had encircled him, the beach, the dock, and Steve’s tugboat.
It wasn’t fog. The white carpet was completely made of ash.
They dusted his face, went down his mouth, and painted his nostrils. Plumed against his eyelashes, coating them white.
With a shout of disgust and horror, Chris fumbled back into the wheelhouse. He slammed the door shut and locked it. With disbelief he watched the ashes rain down, covering everything including the tugboat.
“What the fuck?” he whispered, looking at the macabre sight.
Oh, but didn’t you know this was going to happen? A vindictive voice snarled inside his head. You fuck with the dead, they’re not going to be happy. And here you are: the one place where not even your father would dare approach. Did you think those poor, burned souls were going to allow you and your friends to trespass on their graves?
Chris hands shook as he tried the walkie-talkie Steve had given him. “This is C – report, over?”
There wasn’t even static: just dead air.
With trembling fingers he turned on the radio. There was no reception. He even tried his cell to find the battery dead.
Chris didn’t bother to turn the boat’s engines. He already knew what the result would be. He looked up at the spot where his friends had climbed. “Get the fuck out of there.”
It took him a moment to realize another reason to be upset. The ashes that coated his entire body had a definite scent: that of roasting meat and burning trash.
“Oh Jesus.” Chris gagged and nearly threw up.
He tried to keep down his gorge by resting his feverish forehead against a window. So, when a small child’s hand slammed against it on the other side, he jumped back a good foot backwards before stumbling over the stool, upturning it and himself.
The sooty palm slid against the pane, clearing a path from the ashes that coated it. Then, playfully, it knocked against the window thrice.
Chris watched its travail warily from the floor but said nothing. Did nothing.
There was another knock. Then Chris heard a soft sigh. The hand melted into sickly white slick, leaving Chris alone with his fearful imaginings as he watched the rain of ashes lick against the tugboat's windows.
Jensen knew the lighter wasn’t going to last more than fifteen minutes, if that. So, they had to get a light source going. Setting fire to something would’ve been his next course of action, save for the fact Jensen knew only too well where he was, and starting anything like that was about as intelligent as inviting the devil for tea.
So, leery because of the sanatorium’s history, Jensen was debating internally whether to risk trying to create a campfire when he heard Steve’s sharp intake of breath.
“What is it?” Chad’s tone revealed how he felt about whatever shit was inevitably charging their way.
“We’ve got company,” Steve said. “Folks, if your intake of the bizarre is small, close your fucking eyes. That way you can save your sanity.”
Jensen snarled, “Where, damn it!”
“My four o’clock.”
Jared whirled and saw a bank of what looked like broken stones. Then the cluster moved. Whatever air was left in his lungs rapidly leaked out in a thin wheeze when he realized what he was looking at.
Children – if one could call these creatures that. They were dressed in tatters, huge circles of bruises around their eyes if they were visible through the long, matted hair. For a moment Jared was reminded of the pictures of orphans who wondered around the Russian Front right after WWII ended.
However, there was one glaring difference between the pictures Jared had studied in a college course and the children standing in front of him.
These creatures were all possessed physical deformation to a varying degree. Some had only slightly visible signs while others had been inflicted with such severity that they had to be blind and crippled, at the least.
“Oh my God,” Chad whispered, his voice filled with pity. “Are they … who the fuck did that to them?”
“Nobody did. They’re not alive,” Jensen said hoarsely. For a moment he felt his sanity list like a sailboat confronted by a strong gust, and he wanted it to collapse: that way he wouldn't have to deal with what was in front of him. Then, he felt rather than hear Jared's wretched moan. With iron will, Jensen focused on the children and then forced himself to accept the fact that they were real, or as real as spirits could be.
Jared took a closer step while raising his hands in a motion of peace. “I’m sorry … I’m so sorry…”
The children, as a group, moved closer to him. Some opened their mouths, revealing malformed tongues. Few hid their faces in shame. The biggest child – a boy – tucked a little girl behind him.
“Who are they?” Chad asked.
“I had no idea,” Steve said, moving next to Jared. “The sanatorium must have treated more children than the two we know.”
“Children?” Jared’s gaze sharpened on him.
“It makes sense,” Jensen said. “If leprosy had spread through the adult population, then the children must have been infected, too.”
Chad slowly approached Jared but stopped right behind him, as if seeking cover from the phantoms. “What do they want?”
“The truth, of course,” Steve answered in a stony voice.
“What truth?” Jensen’s approach stopped as he asked the question.
“Because as far as I know, there were only two children who died in the fire: Kindle's and Davies'.”
Jared felt a slight tingle in his hands as realization dawned on him. “There are fifteen kids here.”
“What in God’s name happened to the other…”
Jensen never got to finish his question. Jared saw a face fleetingly behind the ghosts. And it was only too familiar even with the garish differences. “Aiden!”
With that heart-rending yell, the distraught father ran towards the already-fading phantoms.
“No!” Steve took off after him. “Stop! Don’t!”
The children disappeared, leaving the boy and his two living companions: feral dogs. One of them leaped and knocked Jared clear off his feet. It straddled his chest, snarling.
Aiden made a noise that seemed to translate well enough for the dog to understand. It jumped off of Jared and ran back to him. Then the three took off.
Jared scrambled to his knees, screaming his son’s name. It did naught though. The child completely ignored him and he and the dogs bolted into the night. Jared tried to take off but Chad and Jensen tackled him to the ground. They ended up needing Steve’s help in order to prevent the hellbent man from chasing his son.
As Jared struggled underneath him, Jensen understood the man was tipping into madness. Fearing for Jared’s life, he wrapped his arm around Jared’s throat until his Adam’s apple was tucked into the corner between the bicep and forearm. Then, Jensen squeezed. The effect was immediate: Jared stopped fighting to escape and began clawing at Jensen’s arm in order to stop the crushing pain.
“Listen to me now,” Jensen hissed. “You go running out there, and I’m going to be looking for your fucking corpse. So settle down or you can wake up in a hospital with handcuffs on you.”
Jared closed his eyes and relaxed. He knew Jensen wasn’t making empty threats.
“I’m sorry,” Jensen said, relaxing his hold but only slightly. He knew Jared’s condition only too well and wasn't planning on giving the man any chance of escaping. “But you’re forgetting something: something incredibly important.”
Jared rubbed his bruised throat and managed to gasp out, “What’s that?”
“Your son’s alive, and since this is an island – he’s not going anywhere.”
Jared whirled to look at Jensen. “Jesus Christ…”
“Don’t know if Jesus has anything to do with this, but your suspicions were right, Jared.” Jensen helped the father stand on his feet. “Which means we’re on the right track.”
“But how are we going to find him?” Jared’s anguish returned when he realized the predicament he was in.
“His dogs,” Steve answered promptly. “They’re definitely trackable.”
“Good idea,” Jensen agreed. “You and Chris could do that.”
“But what if they’re living in the Black Woods?” Chad said. “Wouldn’t that be impossible?”
Steve’s jawline hardened. “If that kid’s on the island, we’ll find him. Fuck the Woods.”
Jensen looked around and said, “The moon’s out.”
The men then noticed they could see again. And also their flashlights were on, though emitting only weak streams of light.
“We have to go back to the boat,” Jensen said. “We’re going to need rest if we want to head out to the Woods in the morning.”
He didn’t wait for Jared to agree or put up a fight. With a firm hand, he guided the exhausted father behind Steve. Chad silently fell to the back, his flashlight dancing all over the ruins. Jensen wondered if Chad was trying to find something or if his nerves were still jangling from their supernatural encounter.
It was Steve who first noticed the condition of the boat. “What the fuck?!”
He ran down the dock with such speed there wasn’t any chance the others could keep up with him.
“Chris!” Steve shouted on the top of his lungs. He looked around to see the gangway was missing.
A familiar face peeked out of the wheelhouse. Chris spotted them and stepped outside.
“What the fuck happened here?” Steve yelled, his arms opened wide to encompass the damage done to his boat.
“We got hit with a squall of sorts,” Chris answered. “It rained ashes.”
The four men once more studied the boat. It was near white, and there was definitely an unpleasant smell emanating from it.
Steve took three steps back before making a running jump onto his boat. He landed with no grace and toppled over, but Chris managed to grab him before Steve stopped his fall with his face.
“Wait!” Steve ordered the three men still on the dock. He went below deck and returned with a wooden plank, which he used as a gangway. Jensen forced Jared to go first, then followed. Chad nearly fell over when the unstable wood tipped to the side. It was because of Chris’ fast reflexes that he didn’t end up in the water.
The men examined the white coat that covered almost everything. Steve shook his head as he studied the ash between his fingers.
Chad grimaced and wiped his hands on his pants. “They feel … greasy.”
“You really don’t want to know why,” Jensen said grimly.
Chad paled dramatically and his narrow face seemed to thin even further. “That’s not possible … right? I mean … no fucking way.”
“Right now ‘no fucking way’ doesn’t seem to be applicable to what’s happening on the island,” Jensen said.
“Can we discuss this out on the water?” Chris offered. “Because I have absolutely no desire to stick around and see what comes out of the hat next.”
Steve nodded in agreement and they were well on their way back to Alliance Bay within minutes. As soon as everyone was settled, Jensen dug up a small bottle and handed it over to Chad. The man took it with a shaky ‘thanks’ then took a small sip before handing it over to Jared who took a large gulp.
Jensen took it and didn’t offer any to either Chris or Steve but neither man took offense. Instead, Chris took out a water bottle and drained it halfway before passing it to Steve who finished it off.
“I’m guessing from the look on your faces, you found something,” Chris said.
“Aiden’s alive.” Jared sounded like he didn’t believe what he’d seen.
“What?” Chris looked at them. “Are you serious? Here? He’s here?!”
“We couldn’t catch him though,” Jensen explained. “The kid’s in some kind of shock. He didn’t recognize Jared, and he certainly didn’t respond well to the rest of us.”
“He looked and acted like a rabid animal,” Jared continued as if Jensen never spoke. “I don’t know how long he’s been like that but he can’t last long out there. Not in the wild.”
“You and I are going out,” Steve said to Chris. “First light. Is that a problem for you?”
“No, I can call Danni and have her sub for me.”
“Good, because tomorrow we’re going to find some answers.”
Aiden picked up Jensen’s lighter and dusted off the sand from its bright green plastic casing. He vaguely remembered how to use the Bic and had some trouble lighting it. But, when he succeeded, a generous smile bloomed across his gaunt face.
The flame danced to a destructive tune the boy knew so well. After all, he’d been listening to that particular song every night since he had woken up in the woods with only vague notions of happiness and safety. And those comforting emotions didn’t last long in the frigid nights curled inside an abandoned mine with only his empty stomach to keep him company.
So, when his pack joined him, Aiden was glad to let go of the memories that never solidified. That very night, he met the other children: lonely, abandoned, and cursed as he was.
And they whispered stories to him, sung dirges like they were lullabies, and told him how to stop the endless pain. All he needed was fire.
Now, he had the very tool necessary to stop the nightmare and maybe earn himself some peace. Even if that peace was to be found only in the middle of a pyre.
Part IV * Part VI
