The Winchester Code

Chapter 10 - Dream of the Devil

Dream of the Devil

Chapter 10

I walk through the house. The woman’s panicked voice filling my mind. I think back to what Dean had said about any hints as to where this woman lives.
Instead of following the same path I had before, I walk into the kitchen, looking at the fridge.
Notices of community events and photos of the woman are pinned everywhere.
Turning from the kitchen, I head down the hall. I hear the muffled words of the lady crying.
I turn into the living room, wanting to get a better look at the man.
“Forgive me.” He says just as I turn in. I watch as the woman is beheaded. Blood sprays all over me and her head rolls along the ground, stopping at my feet. Her eyes are open and staring, dead and begging for help.

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“Oh god.” I mumble, sitting up suddenly. “Oh god. Oh god.”
I wipe at my face, trying to scrub off the spray of blood. It takes me a moment to realise I had been dreaming. I take in a deep breath, trying to slow my heart rate.
“It’s not real.” I tell myself, but I can’t shake the feeling that it is, even if it hasn’t happened yet.
I look around the room, even though it is too dark to see. I close my eyes again and lay down, trying to concentrate on what it was I saw on the fridge of the woman’s house. I know there were notices there, but no matter how much I concentrate, all I can think about is her head rolling and the way she gasped. I can feel her blood splatter against my face.
I open my eyes again and sit up, reaching around me, my hands searching for a lamp that I know is plugged in somewhere.
I eventually find it and flick it on, shielding my eyes from the blinding light.
I sit there a moment before pulling back the covers from my legs and leave the room. I walk to the en suit bathroom. I run the tap and splash water on my face before retching in the basin. I sigh and wash my mouth, sick of being sick after seeing things.
I wait there for another minute, making sure I’m not going to vomit again.
I leave the room and head down the bunker hall.
Dean had assured me that I was welcome to anything I wanted. He seems to have decided that I’m ok. I wouldn’t go as far to say that he trusts me, but he seems to know that I’m not going to hurt him or his brother.
I walk into the kitchen and lean on the counter as I open the cabinet door, looking for a glass. I go to the fridge, this one has nothing on it whatsoever – unlike Bobby’s – and fish out a bottle of milk. I pour myself a glass and put the bottle back, placing the glass in the microwave as well. The microwave starts heating the milk and I turn to the cupboard, wanting something to make the milk sweeter. The microwave beeps before I find anything so I shrug and walk out the kitchen.
I intend to go back to my bedroom, but a light at the other end of the hall distracts me. I, instead, head towards the study, only to find Kevin at the long table. He doesn’t seem to notice me.
“Kevin?” I ask, glad I remembered his name from yesterday. It appears he didn’t hear. I look at the clock on the wall. It’s a little after two am. O take a sip of my milk and walk to the table, pulling out a chair two seats down from him.
“Kevin.” I say again. He jumps a little and looks up. His dark eyes have no spark in them. They’ve sunken into his head and are a little puffy. He looks pale and purple bags run down almost to his cheek bones. “You look like crap.”
“Thanks.” He mutters, turning back to whatever it is that he’s working on.
“Sorry.” I say leaning forwards to try read his chicken scratch hand-written notes. “Whatch’ya working on?”
“Trying to decipher the Word of God.”
“What?” I laugh. He looks at me again, but there is no amusement in his dark eyes. He can’t be much older than I am.
“Sorry.” I apologise again. He doesn’t go back to his work.
“It’s ok.” He says. His stare is unnerving. “I’m not used to people actually asking.”
“Oh.” I look at my cup of warm milk, then back at the clock on the wall. “You should get some sleep.”
“Looks who talking.” He laughs, leaning his head on his hand.
“Come on.” I say, standing up again. I grab the glass and hand it to him. “Warm milk to help you sleep.”
“I gotta finish this.” Kevin argues, looking at his notes. A stone with – what are they? Hieroglyphics? – on it is sitting just above his not book.
“Sleep is more important.” I say, mimicking my mother’s voice when she would tell me the same thing as I frantically tried to finish an assignment the night before it’s due.
“I can’t.” He says, eyeing the milk, then pushing it away. I walk closer to him, gently touching his shoulder. I feel his muscles tense under my fingers.
“It will still be here in the morning.” I promise, half guiding, half lifting him from his chair. He doesn’t object and grabs the glass of milk as I lead him out the study, turning the light off as we exit.
We walk along slowly and he sips at the milk, a distant look in his eye. We stop in front of the door to his room and he shakes himself from his thoughts, gulping down the last of the milk.
“Thanks.” He says, handing me back the glass. I smile as he opens the door. “Night.”
“Sleep well.” I order with a smile. He closes the door and I walk back down the hall to wash the cup.
I can’t help but be on edge as I walk through the darkened hall. I half expect a… I don’t even know what, a something – to jump out and snap my neck, even though Dean had explained that nothing could get in to the bunker. Even so, I walk quietly and avoiding doorways in the dark.
Thankfully, I reach the kitchen unscathed. I drop the cup in the sink and run some water through it, a pale white mixture running down the drain.
I turn to the fridge.
Should I?
I put the cup on the drying rack and go to the cabinet again, standing on my toes so I can reach a glass. I grab the milk, pouring myself a serving, and stick it in the microwave. I lean on the counter, my mind clouding a little as tiredness washes over me. I rub my eyes and turn back to the microwave as it beeps.
I grab the glass. Its warmth feels good in my hands.
I flick the kitchen light off and sip the milk. The warm liquid lines the cold of my empty stomach. It makes me sleepy and I walk down the hall in a daze.
My room is at the end of the corridor. There are a lot of bedrooms in the bunker, and I am two away from the nearest occupied one. I pass Kevin’s first. I hear him mumble something and the springs of his mattress squeak as he moves around.
I walk by Dean’s next. A loud, rhythmic snore travels under the door and I wonder if he is too asleep to be dreaming. What would he even dream about?
I take another sip at my milk as I near Sam’s room. I can hear someone talking and wonder who would be calling him at this hour.
“Piss off.” I hear him say through the door.
“Come on, Sammy.” I nearly spit out my milk as I hear the second voice. “Aren’t you just a little bit curious?”
“No, I’m tired.” Sam answers. I press my ear against the door, tying to hear better. Silence follows and I wonder if I had imagined the voices.
I pull back and shake my head.
I must be more tired the I thought!
I continue down the path to my bedroom.
Suddenly, I hear a noise behind me and I jump at the loud bang.
“FOR FUCKS SAKE!” I hear Sam shout. I race back to his room and fling the door open.
I see him sitting up, his bright eyes staring at me through the dark. He looks startled.
“Are you ok?” I ask, suddenly no longer tired.
“Yes.” He answers.
“No.” Answers the second voice. I look to the owner. A man is sitting on the desk in the corner.
“It was just a nightmare. I’m sorry I woke you.”
“You didn’t wake me.” I say earnestly, locking eyes with him.
“Go on, Sammy.” The man on the desk says. “Ask her.”
“Ask me what?” Both the men turn to me, eyes wide. Neither of them say anything.
“What?” Sam finally asks. I wonder if he heard me.
“Sam,” I say, stepping out of the door frame, squaring my shoulders. “What do you want to ask me? And who the hell is that?”

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I look at Lucifer. He seems just as surprised as me. Zai stands with her arms crossed, the dim light from the hallway making her just a silhouette.
“Is she talking about me?” He asks. A smile spreading across his face as he coos “Hello death.”
“What?” Zaviana asks. “I know who Sam is, of course I’m talking about you!”
“Zaviana,” I caution.
“At least call me Zavia! God, I feel like I’m being told off whenever you call me that!”
“Zavia,” I correct, reaching for the switch on my bedside lamp. “He isn’t real.”
“Of course he is.” She says. I flock on the light and she squints at its brightness. She’s wearing a black singlet and boxers that Dean gave her.
“No he isn’t.” I insist, hoping that she is kidding.
“Sammy, Sammy, Sammy,” Lucifer laughs. “Still denying the obvious. Sorry, sweetie. Sam’s a bit thick.”
“What do you mean ‘denying the obvious’?” She asks.
“I mean-”
“He’s inside my head.” I interject. Having the Satan tell her that I used to be the devil probably wouldn’t go down too well.
“Um, he sort of isn’t.”
I clench my fists and grab one of the cushions on my bed. Without looking, I ditch it at Lucifer.
“WHAT THE HELL!” Zai screams, spitting whatever it is that she is drinking out in a fine spray from her mouth. According to her reaction, the pillow sailed straight through him.
“A ghost?” She coughs.
“No.” I slowly say, wondering how on earth I am going to explain this. “A memory.”
“That I can see?”
“Well I don’t know –”
“You’re a psychic aren’t you?” Lucifer interjects. “Told you so.”
“Shut up!” I spit.
“So, Zai, is it alright if I call you Zai?” Lucifer continues. I roll my eyes, despite being somewhat interested in what he wants to say. “My name is Lucifer.”
“Lucifer? Like, the devil?”
“Yes.” He winces. “But I’m really not that bad. You see, I was thrown out of heaven for loving my father too much.”
“Thrown out of heaven?”
“Yes, yes. I am an angel. A fallen angel, well… Not exactly. I still have my wings, I guess I just got my own type of personal heaven. My brothers, Michael and Gabriel, cast me out. They locked me up in a cage. I was terribly bored.”
“Get on with it.” I groan, sliding back under my covers. I’ve heard this story so many times, including day-by-day recaps of the cage.
“Yes, well, long story short, these two knuckleheads broke me out. Then Sam here, locked me up again.”
“Ok.” She says slowly. “Why are you still here then?”
“Well,” He continues, “To lock me up, Sam had to get me back in the cage, and he sacrificed himself to do so. I invaded his mind and took his soul.”
“His soul?” She asks, completely engrossed in the story.
“Yes.” He pouts. “And being as terribly lonely as I was, I was glad for the company. But being deprived of any sort of contact had left me a little rusty with my social skills. Souls are fragile and I’m afraid I may have accidently hurt Sammy’s a little.”
I sit up again, anger churning my stomach. “A little! You pretty much hacked at it with a blunt knife!”
“Now, now, Sam, let Luci talk.” He turns back to her. “Anyway. He came back and left his soul with me. Then he got it back and put up a wall so he couldn’t see me. Quite rude, really, like a bad neighbour. But no matter, now I’m back.”
“Okay, that’s great.” She says, rubbing her temple. “If you’re in Sam’s head, why can I see you?”
“The same blood that runs through his veins run through yours.”
Her eyes grow wide and she looks between us. “He’s my brother?”
“What?” Lucifer shrieks with laughter. “Oh, honey!”
“No.” I glaring at him. “That man you saw with your sister? He was turning her into a psychic, just like he did with you. Blood in the mouth.”
Zai takes a step back and leans against the wall. I feel sorry for her.
“Like you.” She whispers. “I have demon blood in me, like you.”
“I’m so-”
“Ding, ding, ding!” Lucifer interrupts. “We have a winner! Psychics share a special bond. You’re ‘connected’.”
“Right.” She sighs, hunching her shoulders. I feel her tiredness. “Well, since I think my head is about to explode with crazy, I’m going to go to bed.” She looks at the glass in her hand and sighs, glancing back at me. “You let Sam sleep now.”
“What?” He objects.
“Let him sleep, Lucifer.” She repeats, shifting her gaze to him, her tone changing to one with authority. “And no more bombs.”
“Yes Miss Geller.” He mumbles like a school kid that was being told off. Zai freezes, glaring and turns to glare at him, but he’s gone.
“Thank you.” I say, rubbing my hands together.
“Do you want some milk?” She asks, looking at the glass in her hand again. “It’s still warm.”
“Aren’t you drinking it?” She shakes her head. “Then, sure.”
She walks over and places the glass on the bench next to my bed. She mutters something and walks to the door.
“Thank you.” I say again, reaching for it. I take a sip.
“Night, Sam.”
“Night.”
And with that, she opens the door and leaves.