Episode Nineteen: Dead Man's Party

By Thru Terry's Eyes

Part Two

Dean shifted uncomfortably in the stiff-feeling shirt and pants he was wearing, annoyed at the tightness of the new boots that were squeezing toes used to the well broken in feel of his usual footgear. The only thing he liked about them was the fact that despite their rather stylish look, they had steel toes. Sam’s too. They couldn’t totally forego practicality over style. They had stopped and purchased the new, dressier clothing that morning with part of the advance money they had been given.

Dean hated them because the clothing was virtually useless for work and there weren’t that many occasions when they required anything better than jeans and t-shirts. Sam had argued that the clothing was part of the deal, but secretly he was enjoying the feel and smell of new clothing that hadn’t been blood soaked, mud soaked, slashed, ripped, repaired repeatedly, belonged to someone else originally, actually fit and hadn’t just generally been worn to death and beyond. Dammit.

“Stop twitching,” Sam finally snapped.

“It’s itchy!” Dean snapped back.

“You look good. You’ll get used to it. Can we please talk about these files Carlyle gave us? We’ll be there in like three hours and you haven’t done any more than just glance at this stuff.” Sam rattled the papers in his hand. “I checked out a lot of this information on the laptop, including as much of the history of the house as I could find. I got some stuff his people didn’t but most of it matched up. They were very thorough, I'll give ‘em that.” Sam shuffled papers again.

The constant sound of papers crunching was getting on Dean’s nerves almost as much as the clothing and he resolved if Sam did it again, advance money or not, he would pull over and kill him. Unidentified body of young male found by the side of the road with a ream of papers stuffed-

“Are you even listening to me?” Sam cried in exasperation.

Dean jerked. “Yes!! Yes, I’m listening! Anyway, I will, if you say something worth listening to!” He yelled. “And I did more than glance at those papers! Just 'cause I haven’t memorized them into my geek brain like you, doesn’t mean I don’t have a grip on the information! Okay?” Dean hit the steering wheel with his hand, swearing.

“You really hate those clothes don’t you?” Sam said quietly, glancing at Dean.

Dean shot him a dirty look and tore at his thumbnail, rolling his shoulders.

“I guess we should have washed 'em first.” Sam commented, lapsing into a hurt silence that was worse than the paper rattling.

Dean writhed internally, giving up with a heavy sigh. It wasn’t Sam’s fault the damned clothes were pissing him off, or that Dean actually preferred it if Sam ran through this kind of background stuff out loud so he could think about what he was hearing, mentally sorting the dross from the information that mattered.

He had tried to read the mass of paperwork about the house but his eyes had tended to wander the pages and despite his claim, he had absorbed only the barest of information, concentrating mainly on the staggering list of items in the house that were supposedly from genuinely haunted buildings. Some of them had made Dean laugh out loud and others had him slavering to see for himself.

“So, okay,” he finally said. “Why don’t you go through that stuff again, refresh my memory, in case I missed something, I mean.”

“You sure?” Slightly petulant.

“Sam.”

Again the paper shuffle. And throat clearing this time.

Dean rolled his eyes and ground his teeth.

“Okay,” Sam began. “The house was built by a Daniel Blackmoor as a wedding present for his wife, Lucia. It’s built on a small island, the only way to get there is by ferry.”

“What?” Dean exclaimed, having totally missed that part. “Ferry? By ferry?”

Sam shrugged. “You could always swim, or use your superhero powers to fly—oh, no I guess that wouldn’t--”

Dean snorted. “So not funny, Sam,” he warned.

“Anyway…” Sam went on pointedly. “Apparently, this Blackmoor was in shipping and he was away from home a lot. Mrs. Blackmoor stayed there with the servants and was perfectly happy. She was an accomplished pianist. Blackmoor even had a special grand piano built for her and sent over from Europe on their first anniversary. When the wind was right, people on the mainland said they could hear her playing.

"Despite the location of the house, when Blackmoor was home, the couple were famous for the extravagant parties they threw. It was considered quite an honor to be included on their guest list.”

Dean made a popping noise with his mouth to indicate boredom. “Sounds pretty damn scary to me.”

Sam grinned despite himself. “It get’s better. Creepier anyway. The Blackmoors had a child five years after they were married. A daughter named Iris. Lucia died two days after Iris was born.” Sam cocked an eyebrow at Dean’s sideways look. “Blackmoor lost it, Lucia had been everything to him. He sold his business, stayed on the island constantly, everything was done through servants. If they needed something, Blackmoor paid to have it brought from the mainland. From everything I read, mostly based on what servants reported, Iris looked exactly like her mother, beautiful, talented, she started playing piano at four. Blackmoor hired private tutors for her, nannies, the only stipulation being they had to agree to live on the island. He doted on her, anything she wanted.”

Sam paused and rubbed his eyes.

“And?” Dean prompted, moving his hand in a circle.

“Sorry.” Sam cleared his throat. “Like I said, he gave her everything that she ever wanted, except for one thing.” Sam rested the papers in his lap and looked over at Dean. “She was never allowed to leave the island. Ever. In her entire life, she never once stepped on the mainland.”

Dean frowned. “Are you kiddin’? How is that possible?”

“You gotta remember this was a long time ago, the father’s word was iron. Women had very little say about their lives, especially in wealthy families, and this was a child. She probably didn’t even realize what her life was like compared to other kids. She had the servants' children as playmates, a couple anyway. She didn’t know any different. It was normal to her.”

Sam paused again, caught in a small epiphany, "normal" meant so many different things to so many different people. He wondered if there really was such a thing as "normal…"

“So what happened?” Dean snapped into the growing silence. He glanced at Sam and frowned at the look on his face. “What?”

Sam shook his head; he and Dean were not on the same plane where "normal" was concerned. “Nothing.” He took a deep breath. “As time went by, things started to…change. Iris was growing up and Blackmoor apparently started believing that some of his servants were planning on taking her away. Servants would quit and not be replaced, the house started to run down. Blackmoor’s behavior became,” Sam’s mouth tightened slightly, “-erratic. He started drinking and calling Iris "Lucia". Insisted she spend all of her time playing her mother’s piano. There are photos of some of the portraits; I mean, they looked exactly alike.”

Dean grimaced, suddenly not liking the direction this felt like it was going. It made his stomach feel strange.

“The few remaining servants started fearing for Iris’s welfare and theirs. Blackmoor would beat the servants, whipping them for things they did or didn’t do, or nothing at all. These were people who had remained with the family for years. Some of them decided to leave one night when the boat from town brought supplies to the house.”

“Did the servants take her?” Dean asked softly.

“They tried. Iris was seventeen years old. She might not have gone, she loved him, he was her father. She admitted she thought he was going insane. She’d fallen in love with the son of one of the servants, a kid she’d grown up with named Kenneth Amstead. She’d never been off the island, but he had, he must have told her what she was missing. His family was leaving and he wanted Iris to come with them. She insisted on telling her father what she was doing and why. Kenneth went with her.”

Sam shifted into a more comfortable position. “Blackmoor was drunk, crying over a painting of his wife when they found him. When Iris told him what she was gong to do, he went crazy. He killed Kenneth and locked Iris up in her room. When Kenneth’s family came to see what was keeping him, Blackmoor claimed he had stopped the kid from raping Iris. He ordered them to take his body and leave.”

“What about the cops? Didn’t anyone call 'em?’ Dean exclaimed, outraged.

“Different times, Dean. No phones. A wealthy man’s word against a servant? No witnesses? Iris was definitely traumatized. Nothing came of it.”

“So what finally happened? And how does anyone know all this crap anyway if Iris never left the island?”

“She didn’t leave,” Sam replied solemnly. “Not alive, anyway. A year went by before some people from town finally got up the nerve to go out to the house. They found Daniel Blackmoor dead from a gunshot wound to the head, the only two servants who had stayed were locked in the cellar, dead from starvation and Iris was found hanging from a noose in the main stairwell. They’d all been dead for at least a month. ” Sam slowly folded the papers up and replaced them in the envelope.

“Most of what I told you came from the servants themselves who were there. Tthe rest came from a set of diaries that Iris’s mother had started. Iris found the books and continued with them. All that 's in that part at first are simple drawings and gibberish, but as time went by they became actual entries.

"The entries stopped in the middle of the last book in the set. All the pages after Iris says she and Kevin are going to speak to her father had been torn from the book. The books were discovered in a wall space when the house was being cleared out after the bodies were found.”

Sam glanced at Dean, “The last book in the diary is part of the collection in the house. The rest of the books were destroyed in a fire.”

Dean returned Sam’s look, wincing slightly. “So no one really knows what happened that last year?”

Sam shrugged. “Rumors, nothing to substantiate them. The usual stuff that gets started in small towns if something like this happens.

The house became the property of some relatives of the Blackmoor family. Different members tried to live in it a few times but it never worked out for one reason or another.” Sam stretched. “Usual stories again. Finally, the house was abandoned and eventually it wound up being bought by Mr. Carlyle.”

“So this murder suicide thing…”

“A female guest and a male guest were found dead, both shot, the woman had a gun in her hand. According to the other guests present, and the reports are really conflicting here, there was some kind of animosity between the two of them from the get go. Considering the fact that up until that night they’d never met, that seems a little odd to me. In fact almost everyone had some really strange things to say about what happened that weekend. It was like after they’d been there a while everyone started acting weird, at least according to everyone else. None of the guests thought they themselves were acting strangely, just everyone else. There was one lady in her sixties who practically raped some young guy who was there with his fiancée.”

Dean made a yuck face. “Dude, that’s just wrong.”

Sam laughed and cocked an eyebrow, “Well, it’s weird all right. Everyone’s behavior was totally off the wall but no one can explain what happened.” He shook his head. “I don’t know what could cause something like that. Mass possession? Hypnosis?”

“Beats me,” Dean replied, reading the approaching exits. “Where were we supposed to get off at?”

Sam grabbed the directions and scanned them quickly. “Exit 118. Then take the Shoreline Road until you reach Maidenville. Turn left at the second light then right on-"

“Stop, stop, stop…too much information, keep it 'til we get there.” Dean swung the big car onto the exit down the heavily wooded side road that led to the shoreline.

* * * *

The drive along the shoreline had been interesting if for no other reason than the sight of ocean waves crashing against the rocks. The ocean had seemed a trifle wild even for the time of year and Dean was a little uneasy at taking a ferry over it.

Maidenville was a typical, small ocean side town during off season. Deserted. The regular inhabitants hurried along the street, bundled against the cold wind. It had been late fall two days ago, here it was early winter, cold, damp and windy.

“Left at the crab place,” Sam said suddenly, pointing at the small, barn like building with a faded wooden sign sporting a big red crab at the end of the street.

Dean grunted and slowed for the turn.

“There should be a warehouse two blocks down on the right, almost right on the water. Pull in there.” Sam sat forward, watching.

“You got it,” Dean replied, spotting the drive and turning in. Sure enough, there was Carlyle’s big Mercedes and as the Impala growled into the parking area, Carlyle himself and Dean’s new best friend, Monty, stepped out of the car.

Carlyle smiled and gave a friendly wave, Monty scowled and gave them the finger behind his boss's back.

“You know,” Dean remarked, putting the car in park and killing the engine, “I can’t quite put my finger on it, but I don’t think that Monty guy likes us.” He opened his door and stepped out.

Sam grabbed his folder of papers and slid out on his side with a laugh. “Speak for yourself. You’re the one who kept poking him with a stick, not me.”

Dean sneered. “Always nice to know you have my back.”

Sam laughed again. “When it comes to him," Sam murmured as they drew closer. “I will definitely be standing behind you.”

Carlyle came toward them with his hand out. “Four o’clock on the dot. Glad you could make it!” He wore a mid calf, cashmere topcoat and kidskin leather gloves.

In their new clothes, even with the old jackets, Sam and Dean now looked trendy rather than shabby. Dean wouldn’t have admitted it, but Sam looked really good and happy in his new clothes. Itchy as the damned things were, it was still kinda nice. Even if just for Sam’s sake.

“So what now?” Dean asked, watching Monty over Carlyle’s shoulder.

Carlyle’s mouth tightened slightly. “We’ve got a little problem. We had some last minute cancellations: one couple, became ill and now they won’t make it. They were flying here with another couple who won’t be able to make it either. There were supposed to be six couples, but now there will only be four, plus you two, Monty and I and a very small staff of three that will see to the needs of the guests including the catering, and housekeeping service.

"Miriam Desmond, the guest of honor, and her escort are already here, along with four of her friends. The weather delayed the last couple and they will be here within an hour. Since the staff and house are ready I want go along with you on the ferry and then Monty and the last couple will follow along as soon as soon as they arrive.

"If you’ll get your bags and follow me I’ll take you to the ferry and introduce you to the guests.”

Carlyle smiled again but his manner was noticeably tense. Sam and Dean glanced at each other.

“Is this gonna ruin the weekend for your client?” Sam asked bluntly, to Dean’s surprise. Sam worked at being tactful like some people worked at creating art.

The smile vanished and reappeared like a magician’s trick. Carlyle shook his head. “Weather and client health issues are out of my control. As long as Ms. Desmond gets what her father paid for, she and her guests have a good time, and nothing untoward happens, which is where you boys come in-" Carlyle’s voice hardened slightly on the last words, and then the smile blossomed again, full force. “-I know we’ll all have an enjoyable weekend and you’ll take care of my little problem for me.”

“What exactly did Ms. Desmond’s father pay for?” Dean asked sharply, eyeing Carlyle.

Carlyle shrugged. “She wanted to spend the weekend in a real haunted house. Not even a game. The timing on this was the most important part.”

“Whada you mean?” Dean said sharply. He glanced behind him as Monty growled.

Carlyle frowned. “Didn’t you look at the dates on that research I gave you?” He rolled his eyes. “Tomorrow is the anniversary of Lucia Blackmoor's death. It also coincides with the date that Iris and Daniel Blackmoor’s bodies were found seventeen years later.”

* * * *

“Didn’t you read the dates on that research?” Dean mimicked in a snarl, yanking open the Impala’s trunk. “Hellfire, Sam!” he jerked out the weapons bag and threw it at Sam.

“Don’t yell at me!” Sam exclaimed. “You said you read it! You’d think if both of us read it, if one of us didn’t catch it the other would!”

Dean scowled but refrained from commenting further. He made a sound of disgust. “Why do I feel like this is not only gonna come around and bite us in the ass, it’s gonna rip 'em off. I don’t think that advance money was enough.” He slammed the trunk lid down and jerked open the back door to retrieve their bags.

Sam shouldered his own bag and followed along as Dean stomped back toward the Mercedes, muttering to himself. “It may not mean anything, Dean. People die every day and nothing happens on the anniversary of it. We don’t even know if this house is actually haunted. Maybe Carlyle’s right, we’ll all just have a nice weekend, check the place out. Remember, nice beds, good food.” He paused as Dean glanced over at him. Sam smiled encouragingly. “What could happen that we can’t handle even if there is something going on? I’m sure everything will be fine.” He knew his logic was a little faulty. Every hunt was different and if there was one thing that guaranteed trouble, it was taking stuff for granted. Somehow though, that didn’t seem to support his point.

Dean rolled his shoulders. “Yeah, I guess. This is just too easy, man.” He fell silent as they got back to Carlyle.

Carlyle was smiling that professional smile again. “Ready? Come along then. We can’t keep Ms. Desmond waiting. She’s anxious to get to the house.” He turned to his burly bodyguard. “Stay here until the rest of the guests arrive, Monty. The ferry will be back before then.”

Monty looked as though he tasted something sour. “Yes, Mr. Carlyle.”

Carlyle led Sam and Dean into a rundown-looking building with a sign on it that said "Blackmooor Ferry" that was nothing like rundown on the inside. It was beautifully restored and well appointed for comfortable waiting. Several people and a large amount of baggage were sitting at one end of the smallish room. When Carlyle, Sam and Dean entered, the waiting clients rose with a soft sound of money. The obvious big money stood in the center, artfully surrounded by her entourage of young up and comers.

They weren’t that much younger than Dean, or Sam for that matter, but something about them made Dean feel world weary and old. He sighed and dropped his duffel on the ground, stopping next to Sam as Carlyle halted, arms opening to welcome his guests.

“Ms. Desmond, so sorry to keep you waiting. The young men I was telling you about are here and we can leave anytime you like."

A young woman with long blonde hair stepped forward and swept the two brothers with an appraising once over. Whatever she had been about to say was forgotten, her look changing from irritated boredom to languid interest and a smile played at the corner of her lips.

“I’d ask how you are, but I think I can tell by looking,” she commented, running her eyes up Sam lanky form, displayed quite nicely in the new, well fitting clothes before shifting to Dean’s slightly smaller but equally well kitted out body. ”I’m Miriam Desmond, you must be the…” her mouth quirked, “security… Mr. Carlyle has been telling us about.” She held out her hand to Sam. “And you are?”

Sam took her small soft hand in his large rough one. “Sam Winters,” he replied, using the names on the ID Carlyle had provided for them in the packet they’d been given. He gestured at Dean’s slouching form. “This is my brother, Dean.”

Dean offered Miriam one of his better smiles and shook her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Miriam eyed him speculatively and nibbled on one long painted nail. “Trust me,” she murmured. “The pleasure is mine.” She swayed slowly from one foot to the other.

They all jerked back as another hand was thrust into their midst. It was wielded by a tall, sturdily built young man about Sam’s age with short dark hair. He looked like a football player. He moved close to Miriam and slipped a possessive arm around her waist.

“Brent Michaels,” he said, leaving his hand out.

Miriam giggled softly and pecked his cheek. “Meet our bodyguards, Brent. Sam and Dean Winters. They’re brothers,” she whispered loudly in his ear.

Sam and Dean shook hands with Brent mumbling first time greetings.

The rest of the waiting group came forward and introductions were made. The other two couples- Frank, Jennifer, Lakita and Rome- seemed nice enough, if a little aloof. The fact that the other two girls left their eyes resting on Sam and Dean a little longer than might have been necessary obviously didn’t sit well with the two younger males.

“Well,” Carlyle said bringing his hands together. “If we’re ready let’s go down to the ferry and be on our way.” He extended a hand toward another door and allowed the guests to precede him. Two young men in simple uniforms grabbed the bags piled on the floor and followed behind. Sam and Dean took their own bags and brought up the rear.

The door led to an enclosed walkway that allowed the ocean to be seen on one side. The wind had come up and rain was now splattering the glass.

To Dean, the waves outside looked pretty rough and he tightened his grip on the weapons bag. He was so not going to enjoy this. He had never been on a boat in his life, let alone a ferry.

They all climbed aboard the rocking ferry and the luggage was stowed to one side. The compartment they were in was warm and dry and commanded an expansive view of the ocean on front of them.

Lakita, a pert, bouncy girl whose skin and wind blown mane of hair were the same rich copper color, rushed to one of the padded benches and kneeled on it, pointing ahead to a dark blob on the horizon.

“Is that where we’re headed?” she asked, turning back to look at Carlyle. The others moved forward to look.

Carlyle joined them nodding. “Yes indeed, that’s Blackmoor Island. It’ll take about twenty minutes to get there with since the water is a little rough. We have refreshments if anyone is interested." He indicated a small area to the side where there were coffee pots, iced drinks and, from the looks of it, a fairly well stocked bar. There were also some covered platters of small finger foods.

“Ooh, I’m starving!” Jennifer, the dark haired girl who was a little on the heavy side, although unattractively so, clapped her hands and went to the bar to see what was there. Her, companion, Frank, thin and bespectacled, grinned at Sam and shrugged.

“More to love,” he murmured, following her.

Rome and Brent joined them, seeming more interested in the liquor than anything else. Both young men were similarly built and their concentration reminded Dean of two football players in a huddle.

Miriam left her position at the window and drifted toward her friends, brushing against Sam in a move so deliberate even he couldn’t ignore it.

Dean grinned and gave Sam a nudge, mouthing, “Get her!”

Sam slapped Dean’s hand away, giving him a dirty look. “I’m gonna get some coffee.”

“Hey, get some for me, too, huh?” Dean grinned again.

“Jerk,” Sam muttered as he walked away.

“Bitch,” Dean replied, mouthing again. He turned and walked toward Carlyle. He stumbled as the ferry suddenly surged forward into the swell, leaving the dock behind them. He caught himself on a thin pole that ran from deck to ceiling. There were some startled cries behind him and then nervous laughter.

“Little rough, huh?” Dean offered when Carlyle turned at the sounds behind him.

Carlyle gave him a lopsided smile but did not reply. He looked back out through the rain splattered windows at the dark island in the distance.

“Have you ever wanted something so badly that you’d do almost anything to get it?”

Dean blinked at Carlyle’s quiet words. “Excuse me?”

Carlyle faced him this time, lowering himself to sit on the cushioned bench. “Have a seat,” he said patting the bench.

Dean was feeling the sway of the ferry a little more than he was happy with and sitting sounded like it would be a less than stellar idea. He swallowed. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll stand.”

Carlyle laughed softly. “Don’t like boats?”

“Never been on one.” Dean admitted after a brief hesitation. “Spend most of my time in my car.” He rubbed his nose. “What did you mean? About wanting something.”

Carlyle shrugged, shaking his head. “This…endeavor. It’s original, it’s succeeding and I think it’s a marketable investment.” He looked at Dean who shrugged in return.

“Don’t look at me, man,” he replied, “I don’t know sh—anything about business. I guess if I could afford it and was looking for some fun…” Dean cocked his eyebrow and thought about it. He could think of a few good scenarios he’d have like to live out. “Yeah, I could see me checking this out.” He looked up as Sam laughed. He appeared to be getting on like a house afire with the guests, which in one way, surprised Dean but in another shouldn’t have.

Carlyle sighed and rubbed his forehead “My father was - is - a very successful entrepreneur. It seems like all I’ve ever done in my life is disappoint him with what I tried to do. I want this to work. I need it to work.” He snorted softly. “I can’t believe I’m fifty-two years old, and I’m still trying to do something to make that’ll make my father tell me he’s proud of me.” He looked up at Dean, who was staring at him. “How pathetic is that?” When Dean didn’t answer, Carlyle smiled. “I guess that’s hard for you to imagine.” He watched Dean for a moment and then turned back to the water. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

Dean’s eyes flickered wildly for a moment and the muscles in his jaw flexed as he struggled to come up with an acceptable answer. “We’ll do our best help you with this, Mr. Carlyle,” he finally forced out.

“Here,” Sam held out a cup of coffee to him. He gave Dean an odd look. “You okay?”

Dean glanced at Sam and away, taking the coffee. “Yeah, I’m fine. Be glad to get back on solid ground, though.” He raised the cup to his lips.

Hot coffee sloshed over his hand, making him swear at the burn as the ferry suddenly shuddered sideways, sending them all staggering to one side, sprawling on the deck.

Sam and Dean collided with each other and fell across the benches.

“What the hell!” Dean yelled, as the ferry slewed around in a sickening dip and roll. A loud clanking sound filled the air and Sam’s mouth fell open as black smoke billowed from the prow of the boat.

The guys were swearing as the girls shrieked and tried to struggle to their feet.

“Stay down!” Sam called out over the noise. “Someone’s gonna get hurt falling!”

“What is that?” Dean barked at Carlyle, who looked like a man living his worst nightmare.

“I don’t know!” Carlyle pulled himself to his feet and staggered drunkenly to a wall panel and flipped it open. Reaching in, he grabbed a mike and keyed it on.

“Carl! What the hell is going on?”

“We blew…starboard engine!” the voice on the other end crackled. “…got a fire but we’re getting…control!”

Jennifer cried out and huddled against Frank, who didn’t look any too calm himself.

“Can we make it to Blackmoor on one engine?” Carlyle barked over the noise. The rain was pouring now and lightning was dancing across the sky.

“…can’t turn back….have to compensate…not too far…”

Carlyle swore. “Do the best you can, let us know when your ready to land.” He tossed the mike back into the wall box. The ferry lurched again and he stumbled back to the bench.

Miriam Desmond sat where she had fallen, looking excited and breathless rather than frightened. “Mr. Carlyle? Is this part of the show by any chance?”

Carlyle shot her a short look of disbelief, matched by everyone else in the compartment.

“Are you nuts?” Rome snapped, holding Lakita tightly to keep her steady on the rocking deck.

“I’d like to tell you yes, Ms. Desmond but unfortunately, this is for real. You heard Carl, we just blew an engine. They’ve got the fire under control and we’ll still make our landing. The storm and only one functioning engine are just going to make it a little more difficult. Once we get to Blackmoor everything will be fine. Just a little added excitement.” Carlyle smiled, attempting to lighten the atmosphere a little.

“That’s fine with me, “ Miriam replied, looking satisfied. “I like a little excitement.” Her eyes were fixed on Sam, even though her arm was curled through Brent’s.

Sam turned to Dean, who had shifted to a cross legged position on the floor with his hands gripped around deck pole. Dean, a little wild eyed, shrugged helplessly at him.

* * * *

It took thirty minutes of painstaking maneuvering with the stormy ocean waters but Carl, the ferry captain, was nothing, if not good at his job. One more burst from the single engine and the ferry finally wallowed as close to the pier as it was going to get. The water was so rough near shore the rocks were banging against the bottom of the shallow drafted vessel as it rocked back and forth.

Sam, Dean and Carlyle had conferred with the captain and were prepared when the ferry landed. The rain hampered their efforts but the spotlights on the ferry coupled with lights on the pier helped. Lightning flashed wildly and the cold wet wind tore at them as Sam braced himself and jumped to the pier with a rope as the ferry dipped close.

Dean’s heart was in his mouth as Sam did it and he relaxed visibly when Sam hit the pier and began to wrap the rope around the nearest mooring cleat. In a calm, Sam could have pulled the boat in, but fighting the waves and rain, it was impossible.

Dean wiped the rain from his eyes and tossed Sam the other rope. Rome and Brent had come on deck to assist and stood ready with the gangplank to push it to the pier.

“Got it!” Sam yelled. “Swing it over!” It took all three of them to push the gangplank over. Dean couldn’t hear it hit but he could feel it. Sam grabbed the rope and hurriedly wound it around the end of the railing and the post closest to it to try to anchor it more solidly in place. The rocking of the ferry pulled it back and forth with great force.

Once it was in place, Rome raced across and ran to the black van that was parked by the boat house. Carlyle had given him the keys and he jumped in, started the engine and brought the vehicle as close as he could.

The bags had been brought on deck and were quickly thrown over and stowed in the van.

Dean grabbed Lakita’s hand and Brent Jennifer’s and they hurried the squealing girls through the cold rain to the gangplank. Brent walked each girl carefully to the pier, making sure they kept their footing. Once on the dock, Rome helped them get into the van. Sam kept watch on the sliding gangplank to make sure it stayed relatively in place.

Dean grabbed Miriam’s hand. “You ready?”

She grinned at him. “Always!” She hunched over against the rain, actually laughed and raced down the gangplank to the van, Frank ran along behind her. Dean, soaked through, stared after her in disbelief. He shook his head and went back to get Carlyle.

Carlyle met him at the door. “Can you believe this?” he shouted.

Dean grinned. “What about the captain?”

“He wants to try to get the ferry back. He seems to think he can make it. It’s just not safe enough for the passengers! C’mon, let’s get out of this monsoon!” Carlyle jogged to the gangplank, paused a moment as it shifted, then half jumped across and headed for the van.

“C’mon Dean! I’m gonna drown if I stay out here much longer!” Sam yelled.

Dean ran to the gangplank and was halfway down when the ferry suddenly rolled forward, forcing the gangplank down and then up as it racked back under an especially high wave that half drowned Sam where he stood in a spray of icy salt water.

Dean, caught halfway across, was catapulted from the gangplank. Sam watched in horror as Dean flailed wildly, yelling, before disappearing into the foaming water that crashed against the rocks.

Sam could hear screams from the van behind him, even through the driving rain and thunder.

He threw himself on the edge of the pier, searching desperately for some sign of his brother in the waves below.

“DEAN!”

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