Supernatural: One Year Gone (24 page)

“So let’s play ‘What the hell are the witches doing?’ shall we? First question: Why are you resurrecting bodies? Whose are they?”

Prudence’s lips broke into a smile, her tiny, pearl-white teeth gnashed together.

“Oh games? I love games. But you have to play by the rules. One question at a time. But I’ll answer both for you. None of your freaking business. And screw off.”

“Wrong,” Sam said.

He stood up and spun the chair around. He grabbed the back of Prudence’s chair with one hand and his chair with the other and dragged both into the bathroom. He set the empty chair sideways next to the bathtub so that the legs pointed parallel to the side of the tub. Next he hefted Prudence’s chair so that her head hung halfway into the filled tub.

“So this is what we are going to do,” he began “Again. I hate to repeat myself. You’re going to answer my questions and if you don’t, you get dunked.” To demonstrate, Sam lifted the legs of Prudence’s chair and her head dipped into the water. Sam then righted the chair. “See? It’s a lot of fun.”

“Whatever, Sam, I took swimming lessons in the thirties. Eighteen thirties. That’s not going to do anything to me.”

“Oh, I forgot something,” Sam said. From his back pocket he pulled out a polyester pillowcase. He thrust it over her head and re-dunked her. “Now, officially, this isn’t happening. Just remember that if you ever go up in front of Congress.”

He pulled her back up. Prudence strained to catch her breath. But with each breath the wet material caught in her mouth, making it impossible to take in air.

Sam stood back and watched her panic.

Then he dunked her back into the water,
One Mississippi, two Mississippi...
and brought her back up.

“Let’s try that again,” he said. “Why are you resurrecting bodies?”

Prudence gasped and flailed her head from one side to the other.

“It’s a process,” she gasped. “A means to an end.”

“What’s the end?”

Prudence stayed silent. Sam tipped the chair back again.

“Okay, okay. We need the power, for a larger purpose. We’re resurrecting the most powerful witches of all time, most from back when we first came to this country.”

“Why?” Sam asked. “Keep talking.”

“I can’t breathe. Take the hood off. Please,” Prudence whined.

Sam whipped the pillowcase off her head and she gulped air.

“Keep talking,” Sam directed.

“Let me catch my breath,” Prudence wheezed.

Sam sat on the toilet, impatient.

Prudence looked at him. A smile crossed her face.

“What are you smiling at?” he growled.

“Oh nothing. Just you. Men. Big, stupid babies with no ability to understand cause and effect.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Sam said.

“You forgot what water does, asshole,” Prudence said.

Sam glanced into the tub and saw that the dark paste that he had rubbed on the rope had come off during the dunkings. Prudence’s long hair cascaded down her back, soaking both her shirt and the ties that bound her. In an instant, she tore apart the rope that bound her wrists, threw out her hand and Sam flew out of the bathroom and landed on his back in the middle of the bedroom.

“Give a lady her privacy, will you?” Prudence slammed the bathroom door behind her.

Sam got up and staggered toward the door. He pounded on it.

The door flew open. Prudence was completely free of her bonds and it seemed she wasn’t in the mood for talking. With a flick of her wrist she threw Sam against the motel room door. He slumped down, trying to not to lose consciousness.

“What is it with you Campbells? Why can’t you stay out of the way?”

“How do you know I’m a Campbell?” Sam demanded.

Prudence stomped over to Sam, picked him up by the collar and bent down until they were face to face.

“Because I can smell it on you,” she spat. “You’re always the goody goody do-gooders who come to rescue everyone. When it’s really
you people
who need rescuing. The funny thing is you’ve been doing it for hundreds of years and you still haven’t learned.”

“You know, I see your yapper moving, but I really don’t care.”

Prudence swung her leg over Sam’s lap and straddled him.

“You of all people should care, Sam Winchester. Because even though little you is up
here,
the real man-of-the-hour is below. And now that he’s out of that pesky cage, with all those super seals broken, he can be freed again.”

“How do you know about that?” Sam struggled to move, but her legs held him tightly in place.
Who the hell is this little bitch?
he wondered.

“Really, you’re going to ask me that? Do you have any idea how powerful I am? How powerful my family is? I know everything about you. Besides word gets around in certain circles.

“I’m sort of pleased to meet you actually. It’s a bit of an honor. Lucifer’s vessel. Too bad he still isn’t in it. That would have been one hell of a honeymoon.”

“You want to spring Lucifer? That’s ridiculous. That’s suicide,” Sam said.

“For a human like you. For powerful witches, not so much. Still difficult. No one aces their SATs on the first try. We didn’t in 1692, but we didn’t have all the facts. We didn’t know about the seals. But compared to his previous prison, Lucifer is in a bed and breakfast. And we’re going to get him out.”

“You can’t put a collar around his neck. He’s not going to do what you tell him. Believe me, we’ve tried,” Sam said.

“Oh yes he will. We have a little book that we’ve been using for ages. It’s not an Oprah pick—the human sacrifices alone would make that a no-go for her. But it’s very powerful and it’s going to take Lucifer and wrap him around all our little fingers. After we raise him, he’ll do exactly what we tell him to do.”

“It will never work,” Sam said.

“Third time’s the charm. You know, we tried again when you were born, thinking maybe the seals were broken when you popped out. But no such luck. But now. Thanks to you. Well, we can’t lose.

“I must say I’m glad this body got saved though.” She ran her finger down his chest. “Because it is a specimen. See, I have a little theory: You’re up here, Lucifer is down there, but you guys were specially made for one another. I think if this works, he’s gonna pop into you like a hand into a glove. Hmm. Somehow that turns me on a little.” Prudence ran her tongue up Sam’s cheek. “Yummy. Anyway, I would love to stay and chat but we have three more sacrifices to make before the big day. We will be seeing a lot of one another. Very soon.”

“You can’t do that. You can’t raise him,” Sam said.

“Oh Sammy, don’t tell me what I can and cannot do. Besides we are raising
all
the Princes of Hell. So, don’t worry, Lucifer won’t be lonely. He’s going to have all his brothers with him. Unlike you. Got to run. Bye now.” Prudence leaned down and gave Sam one last salty kiss on the mouth. Then she left.

Sam pulled himself up and headed for the mini-fridge. He took out a bottle of beer and sat on the bed mulling over the night’s events. Going after Prudence would prove futile at this point He’d have to wait and catch them in the act. And what would happen if the witches actually succeeded in raising Lucifer again? Would he come after him? Sam shook his head. He wasn’t scared, he actually felt very little. Revenge was the only thing he could feel; he only cared about getting those witches. It was a need. Not even a rational thought. It was the only thing he could concentrate on.

Sam stood up, grabbed his duffle and left the motel room. He walked down the cement sidewalk that ringed the motel rooms, passing room five. Then got into the van and left.

* * *

Ten feet away inside room five, Dean thumbed frantically through Nathaniel’s journal. He needed to know what Perry was talking about. If she was three-hundred-and-eighteen years old, as she said she was, then she had to have been involved in the Salem witch trials. Which meant she had to have a connection to Constance. Killing young people, resurrecting bodies--what were the witches up to?

“What did you give him?” Lisa asked.

She sat propped up on the other bed. Ben slumbered beside her. Dean had figured the kid would need a good night’s rest, what with his encounter with Perry and the events of the day, and as being tied up could have adverse affects on a child, and maybe a clear head and a good breakfast would make the experience a little more manageable for him...

“Just a little something. Don’t worry. It’s prescription,” Dean said.

“That’s what I’m worried about.”

Dean turned back to Nathaniel’s journal. He wondered if there was a way to raise Sam and stop Connie in the process. He came across a passage and started reading.

Nathaniel and the boys set off for town the next morning. They knew Constance was a witch, and the boys’ encounter with Prudence proved that she was too. Nathaniel warned Caleb and Thomas to be extra careful. They didn’t know what the witch’s next move would be. Nathaniel suspected that it had to do with the unearthed graves, but he had no proof. The one thing he was keenly aware of was that he had to stop the witch trials. Innocent people were being sent to jail and soon the hangings would begin.

Nathaniel and his sons reached the meetinghouse a little late. Every day the building would be so packed full of people that a crowd would form outside the door, spilling onto the street. The Campbells pushed their way into the room and found places at the very back in a corner. Three new people had been accused of witchcraft, and they were brought up to the stand and questioned. In most cases, the accused were so frightened that they weren’t able to answer the magistrates’ questions clearly, which only made things worse.

After an hour or so of futile questioning, two men appeared in the doorway dragging a woman between them. As they pushed their way through the crowd, Nathaniel recognized the woman as Bridget Bishop, who twelve years before had been accused of witchcraft, though at the time no proof had been found. As she was pushed before the magistrates, the crowd started to spit accusations.

The afflicted girls took one look at her and started to scream. Bridget covered her ears with her hands and the girls did the same. Everything Bridget did, the girls pantomimed, contorting themselves as if their movements were being painfully forced from their bodies.

The judges called for calm.

Judge William Stoughton, who had been appointed by the governor, spoke first. He asked Bridget if she knew why she had been brought in front of the court. She said she didn’t know. Stoughton told her that she was accused of hurting the girls through witchcraft. He pointed to the afflicted girls, including Prudence Lewis, in the corner. Bridget replied that she didn’t know the girls.

As she spoke, Prudence started to wail and writhe around. The other girls followed suit. The crowd rumbled with fear and anger, convinced that Bridget was hurting the girls before their very eyes. Bridget started to cry.

Anger rose inside Nathaniel until he could stand it no more.

“Your honors, I’d like to speak if I may,” he called. Nathaniel raised his hand and pressed forward through the crowd. All heads turned to look at him as he moved. A murmur swelled from the crowd and passed like a wave out into the street.
Nathaniel Campbell has something to say.
The magistrates lifted their eyes at this new interruption.

Nathaniel reached the front of the room and addressed the judges. His voice rang loud and clear and the crowd hushed so they could hear his words.

“Magistrates, I’d like to speak on behalf of the accused,” he began. “By my count you have some sixty-two people in jail for witchcraft at the present.”

William Stoughton responded, “Mr. Campbell, you do realize that this court has recently been appointed as a court of Oyer and Terminer by the governor of Massachusetts?”

“I do know that, yes. But that doesn’t change the fact that you have imprisoned a large number of people. And the proof that they are witches, well...” Nathaniel paused, then continued, “Your proof, sirs, is like smoke.”

“What do you mean?” Stoughton asked.

“If I set a fire right here—” Nathaniel began.

“Surely you wouldn’t do that,” Stoughton said.

“You’re right. But this is an example. If I set a fire with you on one side of the smoke and me on the other, you would see the smoke one way and I would see it another way.”

“I don’t understand your meaning,” Stoughton said.

“We would both see smoke, but it would look different to you than it would to me because of the different places we are standing, you over there, and me here. As the smoke twists and turns it looks even more different. If we both had to describe the smoke, you would not recognize what I described and I would not recognize what you described, even though we were looking at the same fire.”

“What is your point, Mr. Campbell?” Stoughton asked. “We are running short on time.”

“I would think that when lives are at stake accuracy is as important as expediency,” Nathaniel said.

Stoughton’s face tightened.

“I’d like you to arrive at your argument, Mr. Campbell.”