Song Remains the Same

Chapter 4: Heaven Help Me

"Down here in the atmosphere, garbage, and city lights.
You've gone to save your tired soul; you've gone to save their lives."
- Our Lady Peace

They were welcomed inside the house by Pamela—a strong, tanned woman with a ready smile, dark hair, and a low rasping voice. The psychic's home boasted a few pagan artifacts and mystical imagery here and there, but otherwise was pretty nondescript. She wasted no time flirting with Dean and Sam both—and usually, Alex wouldn't have cared, but Pamela was over the top. Her shameless eyes ate the brothers alive and Alex quickly began to feel uncomfortable at all the innuendos.

Pamela set up a seance in between flirting and then called them all to a small table where six lit candles waited. She darkened the room and even though it was just a dinky old kitchen, the mood was eerie. Maybe because of what they were about to do.

"Right. Take each other's hands," Pamela instructed. Alex looked to her left where Sam sat. He held out his hand to her, a grudging peace offering. She took it reluctantly. Sitting across from them, Dean smiled sort of smugly at the twins, who, without meaning to, made matching faces at their oldest brother: a half-eye rolling scoff.

"All right," Pamela purred. "I need to touch something our mystery monster touched." Her eyes darted to Dean coyly.

"Whoa!" Dean jumped in his seat, which happened to be next to hers. Flustered, he recomposed. "Well, he didn't touch me there."

Pamela feigned ignorance with a chuckle. "My mistake."

Alex, Sam, and Bobby exchanged confused looks—had she just...? She probably had. Sam made a face and Alex raised an eyebrow at her disconcerted oldest brother, silently asking if she should kick someone's ass. Dean didn't appear to think it was a good idea. He instead cleared his throat and pulled up his sleeve, revealing the angry red handprint branded onto his shoulder. Sam stared in shock and looked from Alex to Bobby who were somber again, remembering the reason why they had come to this psychic. Alex couldn't look away from the chilling handprint.

Pamela laid her hand on the scar. "Okay." She closed her eyes and everyone else followed suit dubiously. "I invoke, conjure, and command you, appear unto me before this circle." She repeated it three more times. Her television flicked on, the buzz of static filling the room. "I invoke, conjure, and command... Castiel? No. Sorry, Castiel, I don't scare easy."

Alex peeked up, immediate curiosity tugging at her as a feeling like déjà vu washed over. What the hell is a Castiel? The word was beautiful and strange but forbidding.

"'Castiel'?" Dean echoed.

"The name of the being," the psychic explained. "It's whispering to me, warning me to turn back." She courageously returned to chanting. "I conjure and command you, show me your face." She repeated this over and over, louder each time. The room began to shake and the static on the television grew louder.

Alex gripped Sam's hand tighter, opening her eyes just barely to watch as the table began to vibrate. A sense of dread built. This felt like it was gonna end badly. Bobby was also opening his eyes. "Maybe we should stop," he suggested loudly, having to raise his voice over the din.

"I almost got it," Pamela insisted. She was in the zone, eyes squeezed shut, expression fierce and intense. "I command you, show me your face!" She was now shouting. "Show me your face, NOW!"

The candles flared up into flames several feet high and Pamela screamed as her eyes flew open, filled with horrifying white-hot flame. Before anyone could react, the flames went out and she collapsed. The house went still and became silent. "My eyes... my eyes!" Pamela sobbed in alarm. They had been burnt out completely.