Episode Ten: Writhe

By Thru Terry's Eyes

Part Two

By the time they returned to the motel Dean was sick to his stomach again and not even slightly interested in the food Sam had gotten on the way back.

The heat in the room was a physical blow as they entered. Dean groaned, jerked off his shirt and fell on the bed, rolling onto his side, burying his face in the hot pillow. Extreme heat and nausea did not mix well.

Sam left the door open and jerked up the phone on the table, dialing the front desk.

“Yeah, this is Sam Carlton, room…yeah, it’s me again.” Sam rolled his eyes. “Listen, we have no air conditioning, my brother is sick and it’s stifling in here. If you don’t get someone to fix this NOW I’m coming to the office and I’m gonna kick the—" He paused at the frantic whining over the line. “Another room is available? Yeah, that’d be great. I’ll be right there.” Sam slammed the phone down. “Jackass. Dean, we’re changing rooms, I’ll be right back.”

“Thank God,” Dean moaned into the pillow. “I’ll get our stuff together…”

Sam shook his head. “No, stay there, I won’t be long,” he said, slamming the door behind him.

The A/C in the new room was so cold it left icicles on the vent. When Sam saw the room also included a small fridge and a microwave, he decided there was some truth to the squeaking wheel theory. He turned the A/C up full blast then went back to their old room, managing to get a befuddled Dean resettled in the new room before returning to gather up their scattered belongings and move them to their new location.

In less than an hour he was seated at the table rattling the keys of the laptop, eating his late breakfast. Dean was asleep, the room was freezing and -joy!- the TV had eight channels!

He pulled the lamp closer and carefully examined the shiny flakes Dean had found on the floor. There were eight of them, the edges on one side ragged, as though they had been torn free. He frowned and replaced them in the little envelope, before fingering the matchbook Dean had picked up, turning it this way and that as it picked up the light. It was for a place called The Inside Club.

Tossing the matchbook next to the envelope he went back to the internet.

Dean slept for five solid hours. Sam woke him once to drink something, but after draining the glass Dean had immediately gone back to sleep. Sam left him be, figuring that sleep was probably the best thing for him.

As a result of all the uninterrupted research, Sam’s notepad was covered with copious notes, web site addresses and the occasional sketch. He shook the envelope again, hearing the contents rattle. They needed to pay a visit to the university. Whatever the hell those things were, maybe someone there could identify them. He also wanted to pay a visit to the morgue. He had learned a lot of interesting things that afternoon and he wanted to get some evidence to support his burgeoning theory.

He grabbed the phone book and his cell phone to make the call, jerking back as Dean suddenly leaned over him.

“Crap, Dean!” Sam snapped, sending the cell phone flying. “You gave me a freakin' heart attack!”

“Dude, where in the hell are we?” Dean’s voice was thick with sleep and confusion. “Because I am positive, this is not where I went to sleep.” He sank into the other chair with a deep sigh, hands working over his face.

Sam stared at him. “We changed rooms, don’t you remember? The broken A/C?”

Dean looked around. “Oh. Yeah.” His eyebrows rose. “It is cooler in here.” He snorted. “I dreamed I was trapped in a refrigerator. That explains that.” Massaging the back of his neck, he chuckled softly and added. “Man, you were right, I guess I did need a nap.”

Sam got up and retrieved his phone. “You feel better?”

Dean nodded, taking a deep breath. “For now, anyway. Who were you calling?”

“Since you were occupied,” Sam said, sitting back down. “I did some hunting on the computer about that body we saw this morning.” Sam held the phone out with one of the pictures he had taken on the screen.

Dean made a face, closing his eyes and waving it away. “Not that much better, Sam. Save it for later.” He swallowed thickly.

“Oh, sorry,” Sam closed the phone and set it back down. “Anyway, after I did some digging, it turns out, this is the second body that’s been found in this condition.” Sam typed in an address and turned the laptop toward Dean, who drew away. “There’s no pictures. It’s a news article I found from two weeks ago.”

Dean squinted at the screen. "Mysterious Death of Student at Local Apartment Complex" He frowned and rubbed his eyes. “Tell me what it says.”

Sam turned the screen back to himself and began reading aloud, condensing as he read. “'Two weeks ago, the body of Daniel Burton was found in a state of extreme desiccation by a fellow student who said the sophomore had been missing from class for over a week. Authorities claim Mr. Burton had to have been dead for much longer than that in order for the body to have been found in such a state. Witnesses swear to have seen Mr. Burton alive no more than a week before the body was discovered.'”

Sam tapped a few keys. “I started doing some random back checking and it turns out that there have been a lot of bodies found in the same condition as that one. All over. And I do mean all over.”

Dean leaned over to see the screen, interest piqued.

“Never more than two or three over an extended period of time, random locations with no discernible pattern. But the descriptions all match about the body’s condition, and no cause was ever determined. The records I’ve been checking go back for years. Decades.” Sam gave Dean a pointed look. “Maybe centuries.”

Dean licked his lips. “Whadaya think it is?” He rose from the table and grabbed his shirt from the end of the bed, tugging it on. Sitting on the bed he slowly began to pull on his boots.

Sam shook his head. “No idea, I need to talk to a few people.” He turned off the laptop and closed it. “I was gonna call the science department at the university and see if someone there might be able to help us identify what these are.” He shook the envelope with the flakes in it. “Then I think we need to visit the morgue. If you don’t feel up to it I don’t mind checking this out on my own.”

Dean raked a hand through his hair, yawning. “No, I’m good. Can we grab some food first? Man, I gotta eat something.” He was so empty he felt hollow.

“Sure,” Sam agreed quickly, pleased Dean finally had an appetite. “Now that you mention it, I’m hungry too. Let me call the University and then we can go.”

* * * *

After eating at a Denny’s because Dean wanted eggs even though it was close to 5 pm they found their way back to the campus. A Saturday afternoon lecture had meant a Professor Horton of the Natural Sciences department would be around.

The lecture ended at 6:30 pm, so after parking and managing to get lost twice they finally found themselves quietly looking for seats in the back of the lecture hall. There was scattering of about thirty disinterested looking students snoozing through the last 20 minutes of a lecture on the prey/predator relationship.

Sam settled happily into a seat, drinking in the scent of old wood and books. Sometimes he forgot how much he missed this atmosphere.

Next to him, stuffed full of eggs, toast and coffee and already yawning in boredom, Dean, Sam realized, would be asleep in minutes. Sam sometimes wondered how Dean had managed to graduate from High School, considering he found the whole learning process so tedious.

Sam knew it had nothing to do with intelligence. Dean was so smart about some things it was scary, and he possessed natural instincts Sam had had to work damned hard to acquire, but Dean had a notoriously short attention span and bored easily if things weren’t moving fast enough to suit him.

Sam, on the other hand, liked to explore ideas and concepts, learn everything he could about things. The same skills that had earned him Dean’s Geek Boy nickname also made his aptitude for research and ability to draw sound conclusions from that research, indispensable to their work.

He was so lost in his thoughts he didn’t realize the lecture had ended until someone’s seat folded back up with a snap as the students rose stiffly and started to leave.

He nudged Dean, who woke with a grunt. “C’mon the lecture's over.”

He slid out of his seat and hurried down the aisle to catch Professor Horton before the teacher could leave. Dean followed along more slowly, hands in his pockets.

Sam stepped up on the stage. “Sir? Professor Horton?”

Horton, a tall, white haired man with a severe looking face, glanced up at Sam from putting papers in his briefcase. “Yes, young man, what is it?”

“I was wondering If I could ask you a question? I won’t take much of your time.”

Horton laughed, changing his entire visage to one of mirthful placidity. “Well, as much as I’d like to think it’s relating to the lecture I just gave, somehow I suspect that’s not the case.”

“No sir. My name’s Sam Carlton. Actually, I’m a student at Stanford,” What the hell, Sam thought, “I’m here visiting my brother.” He gestured at Dean’s slouched figure. “I have something I was hoping you might be able to identify for me," he said, pulling the envelope out of his pocket. "Or tell me where to go to get it identified.”

Horton cocked an eyebrow at Sam, dismissing Dean with a look. “Stanford, eh?” He held out his hand. “What is it? And what makes you think I can help you?”

Taking the envelope from Sam's outstretched hand, Horton moved over to the podium, and turning on the light before shaking out the contents onto a paper lying there. Frowning, he drew a pair of glasses out of his pocket and slipped them on, carefully pickingup one of the translucent bits and holding it up to the light.

“Where did you get these?” he asked.

Sam glanced back at Dean who was leaning on the stage with his arms crossed. “We found them. I thought they looked, well, I thought they looked like scales.”

Dean seemed surprised at this revelation.

Horton nodded. “These are scales," he confirmed. "Snake scales. Although, I’ve never seen any quite like this.” He picked up another and compared the two.

“You know about snakes?” Dean put in.

Horton looked at Dean over the rim of his glasses. “Young man, I specialize in the study of reptiles. I have written two books on herpetology. Trust me, these are snake scales.” He went back to studying the flakes.

Sam forced himself not to laugh as he watched Dean mouth the word, herpetology cluelessly.

Horton gestured at Sam to come over. From somewhere on his person, he produced a magnifying glass and proceeded to show Sam the magnified scale.

“One," he said, "Snake scales are transparent. Except for the blue and green, ones, they have no color, like this one, except that this one is tipped black. Also, if you look at the edge, here,” he pointed with the tip of a pen to the ragged edges on one end. ”This, and I would assume the others, were torn from their position, like they caught on something. Snake skin is one solid piece, not individual scales like these. Judging from the size of this scale, I would say it came from the central section of the body and a pretty good sized one.” He straightened and stood looking at the scale on his finger in puzzlement.

“This,” he began. “Is a snake scale. I’d stake my reputation on it. But what kind of snake?” He shook his head. “Son, I don’t have a clue. I’ve never seen anything like it.” He looked at Sam curiously. “Where did you say you found these?”

Behind them, someone cleared their throat and said, “Excuse me?”

All three men turned.

Dean’s eyes widened as he took in the dark haired girl standing behind him, holding a sack in her hand. “Ashley?” he said in surprise. He hoped, on reflection, that his voice hadn’t sounded as excited to her as it had to him.

Ashley looked equally surprised. “Dean? Well, hi there! Where did you guys go this morning?”

Dean looked uncomfortable. “We…uh, we had an appointment, sorry about that. That girl okay?”

Ashley walked towards him, nodding. “Just real shook up. She found some friend of hers dead in his apartment. That’s what set her off.”

Dean managed to look surprised. “Really? Wow. What happened to the guy?”

Ashley shrugged one lovely shoulder. “Didn’t hear.”

"So..." Dean asked casually. “What are you doing here?”

She lifted the sack. “Making a delivery. Then I’m going home.” She addressed the professor. “Are you Professor Horton?”

“Yes, indeed,” The professor pulled out his wallet. “My one indulgence.” He explained sorting through his money. “Hiding out in my office with a roast beef sandwich and a beer.”

He held some bills out to Ashley. “Keep the change, my dear.” He took the sack and turned back to Sam who had gathered up the rest of the scales and replaced the envelope in his pocket. “Young man if you find out where those came from I’d be very interested in knowing.” He held out a card. “That’s my phone number.”

Sam took the card and slipped it in his pocket. “Thanks for your help, Professor.”

Horton nodded. “No problem," he replied, grabbing his dinner and heading out of the auditorium. "And good luck.”

Sam climbed down off the stage and joined Dean and Ashley. “Hi,” he said holding out his hand. “I’m Sam. I don’t think we got to introduce ourselves this morning.”

Ashley smiled and shook his hand. “Nice to meet you. You going to school here?”

Sam frowned and then laughed. “Oh, yeah, taking a few classes. I had some research I needed to follow up on with Professor Horton. Hey, listen,” he said turning to Dean. “I can finish up the rest of this on my own if you have anything you want to do.”

Dean stared at him. “Huh? Oh.” A beat. “You sure?”

Ashley grinned and looked away.

“Yeah, Dean, I can ask questions on my own.” Sam rolled his eyes.

Dean’s outward manner changed instantly, like a chameleon. He looked at Ashley with a devastating smile. “In that case, can I interest you in some company since you’re going home anyway? If you don’t have any plans, that is.” He traced a finger across his lips.

Ashley smiled back. “As it happens, I have no plans. So, yeah, some company might be nice.”

“Great.” Dean took her arm. “I’ll find my own way home, Sam.” he called over his shoulder as they walked back down the aisle.

Sam grinned, shaking his head. He glanced at his watch, on to the morgue, for an evening of frolic.

He took some bills out of his wallet and put them where he could get to them easily, experience having taught him that when all else fails, grease the skids with green. Especially with evening shift morgue attendants.

* * * *

“God, I am so sorry.” Dean groaned. He sat on Ashley’s couch, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. A wet cloth was draped over the back of his neck. The only light came from the kitchen where he could hear her moving around.

“It’s okay. Really,” Ashley called back. “It’s not like you have a choice with stuff like that.” She drifted back out of the kitchen with a fizzing glass in one hand, flipping off the kitchen light and turning on a small table lamp. She set the glass down in front of Dean and sat next to him. “Most guys wait until the second or third date to throw up. It’s kind of sweet. Puts you on a more intimate footing right off the bat.” She smiled as he rolled his head to look at her in disbelief. She nudged the glass. “Go on, drink that. It’ll make you feel better. When you said you’d been sick this morning, I thought you were kidding.”

Dean sighed and picked up the glass, making a face at the chalky fizz as he swallowed. “I just can’t shake this crap,” he complained. “This is not how I meant to spend the evening.”

She rubbed his knee. “Do you want to go out on the balcony?" she asked, eyes gently amused. "Maybe some fresh air will help.”

“Sure, why not?” He sighed, dragging himself to his feet to follow her through the living room and out onto the small balcony. The cooler night air did feel nice on his hot skin. He leaned on the rail and looked out over the lights spreading below them.

She joined him, her shoulder just touching his. She sighed softly and brushed her hair out of her eyes. She had changed into a backless, soft cotton sundress just the right shade of blue to set off her tanned skin. “I took this apartment just for the view. I move around a lot so I always try to find a nice place to stay. Sometimes it’s just the atmosphere. Makes me feel like I’m part of something.”

“Why do you move so much?” Dean asked, turning to look at her profile.

Ashley shrugged, clasping her hands. “I don’t know. I can’t seem to find what I’m looking for, I guess. I feel like I’ve been searching forever sometimes.”

“Yeah, I know what that’s like.” Dean replied softly, surprised at himself. Normally, his small talk with women involved more basic information gathered as quickly as possible. For some reason, maybe because he felt sick, his interest in Ashley had climbed higher than his belt buckle.

She turned to look at him. “You do?” she asked in surprise.

He shrugged. “Yeah, I mean…after my Mom—" He cut himself off with a snap. For God’s sake, what was he doing? He looked back out over the lights.

After a moment of silence, Ashley’s hand was warm on his arm. “It’s okay, Dean.” She reached out and turned his face back toward her. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.” She smiled. “We don’t have to talk, we can just look at the view.”

Dean regarded her with a combination of longing and reluctance. The green of his eyes was shadowed as he searched her face and found no expectation there. Simply a gentle smile and the warmth of her eyes. He swallowed uneasily, feeling suddenly awkward and inexplicably embarrassed to be here. He took a step back, a hand over his stomach, eyes down.

“Uh, look. I really oughta go.” He glanced up at her. “It’s still early, you don’t want to waste the night with a guy who can’t stop puking.” He couldn’t believe how stupid he sounded or understand what was compelling him to act this way. It was so unDean. “I’ll catch a cab back to my motel or call my brother. There’s still plenty of time for someone like you to go out and have some fun…” His voice trailed off as she moved closer and slid her hand under the one resting against his stomach, pulling his arm toward herself.

“I don’t want to go out and I am having fun,” Ashley replied, rubbing her thumb over the back of his hand. “This is nice. You’re nice.” She lifted his hand and kissed his fingertips lightly. “Why do you want to leave so soon?”

Dean swallowed again, eyes closing briefly. He lifted his other hand to his temple. “I think I need to sit down…” He shifted his hand to the railing. He was breathing to fast.

“C’mon’.” Ashley pulled his arm gently. “Why don’t you lie down for a while? I’m sure you’ll feel better. There’s nowhere to go and lots of time to get there.”

Dean let her pull him back into the apartment and across the thick, mismatched rugs on the floor. She led him to her rather Bohemian bedroom, all scarves, beads and pillows and gently pushed him down on the bed. He felt her tug his boots off and heard the thud as they hit the floor. Then she walked around the bed and climbed in, fitting herself against him, her body soft and warm. She draped one arm across his chest and rested her head against his shoulder. Then she lay quietly, her eyes closed.

Dean felt himself relaxing and slowly curled his arm around her shoulders as he lay there, fingers lightly stroking her skin. It was…nice.

* * * *

Sam smiled down at the morgue attendant, a girl with thick glasses and large brown eyes. Her curly blonde hair hung around her face in a way that reminded Sam of a cocker spaniel's ears. She was cute as hell in a stuffed toy sort of way,

Sam wished fervently that Dean were there to handle this. Sam could scam with the best of them but he wasn’t comfortable with the flirting aspects of their jobs. It felt like betrayal even knowing it was just a means to an end.

She smiled back up at Sam in all his shaggy-haired, 6’ 5” glory, slipped off her glasses and said with more than casual courtesy. “Hi, I’m Clarice, can I help you?”

“Well, I hope so.” Sam leaned down, elbows on the desk to bring himself to her eye level. He deepened his voice slightly and licked his lips. “I’m Sam Bennett, I’m doing a follow up for the university paper on Matt Lewis’s death. The guy who was found dead in is apartment yesterday.”

Her eyes widened slightly and she made a small face. “Oh, him.” She shook her head. “Man, talk about weird. You see a lot around here, but that...” she trailed off, still shaking her head.

“Yeah?”

Clarice looked around conspiratorially and Sam couldn’t resist doing the same. “Do you want to see? The family can’t claim the body yet.”

Good grief, this was going to be a lot easier than Sam had thought. Take that, Dean!

“Sure, if it’s okay.” Sam stood back up as Clarice got out of her chair. She couldn’t have been more than 5’ 2” and Sam felt like a giant next to her.

“There’s no one here but me. I gotta tell you, most nights it’s pretty boring.” She gestured for him to follow and pushed through the heavy glass doors behind her.

Morgues were always so cold, Sam thought, as they walked down the short passageway to another pair of doors. He held one open for Clarice and followed her in.

There were several gurneys around the room, which was obviously for performing autopsies. Sam didn’t look too closely.

Clarice walked over to a desk and thumbed through a file, pulling out one labeled, Lewis, Matthew. She flipped it open and checked the locker number, leaving the file open on the desk.

“He’s in A4.” She strode to the wall where about a dozen doors were mounted in the wall.. She unlocked it then paused looking appraisingly at Sam. “You’re not squeamish are you? 'Cause you’re cute, but I don’t do vomit.”

Sam laughed. “I think I’ll be okay,” he assured her. “What does the Coroner say about this?” he asked as she pulled the tray out, the humor leaving his face as he saw the twisted arch of the body under the sheet.

Clarice pulled back the sheet, her face reflecting her thoughts. “Poor bastard. I can’t imagine what happened to him. Blew the Coroner’s mind, two bodies like this in less than a month.”

Sam glanced at Clarice. “Were you here when the other guy came in?”

“Yeah, really creepy to see it twice. It’s like a mummy; there isn’t a drop of moisture, blood, bile, brain fluid- nothing, left in this body. It’s basically been turned into a rawhide bone.” She shook her head. “There isn’t much to work with. There were similarities between the two bodies though,” she added, rolling her eyes, “I mean, other than the obvious.”

She pulled the sheet up and shoved Matt’s body back into it’s alcove.

Sam followed her back to the desk where she picked up the file and looked up a page before showing it to Sam. The words meant nothing to him, chemical terms. “Both bodies had two wounds, side by side, punctures made by two smooth, very sharp objects, long and tapering. The channels they left were longer than your fingers.” She drew a finger along Sam’s hand and rolled her eyes up at him.

Sam reached over to point to a place on the paper, smoothly removing his hand from hers. “What’s this?”

Clarice glanced at the paragraph, slipping her glasses back on. “Now this was weird,” she commented. “There were traces of some kind of toxin. Almost acidic. What little they could get was sent off for testing to see if the lab could identify it.”

Sam frowned. “Could a poison do that?” He gestured over his shoulder with his thumb at the bank of drawers behind them.

Clarice shook her head. “I’m no expert, but I can’t think of anything that would do that to someone, at least not in the period of time since he was last seen alive.” She closed the file and stuffed it back in the drawer. “And according to the police, that was less than five hours.” She frowned and took her glasses off again, chewing on the earpiece. “The Coroner tested the sample we had of the toxin,” she said biting her lip thoughtfully. “You know I really shouldn’t be telling you all this…” She added looking up at him again and lifting an eyebrow.

Sam smiled. “I won’t put any of the stuff you told me in the article. My wife proofreads everything to make sure I don’t screw up on stuff like that.”

At the word "wife", Clarice's face fell. She snorted. “Now I definitely know I shouldn’t be telling you this.”

Sam extended a hand and gently clasped hers with it, he lifted it to his lips and kissed it lightly on the back, to Clarice’s obvious delight. “I won’t tell if you don’t. What did the Coroner say about the toxin?”

When Clarice withdrew her hand she felt the unmistakable touch of paper. A quick glance revealed two folded twenties as she slid her hand into her pocket. What the hell, she still came out ahead.

“He said the initial test showed that the toxin was very powerful and was suspended in a solution very similar to human saliva.”

Sam stepped back and stared at her. “What?”

Clarice folded her arms. “Spit. The toxin was delivered in human spit.”

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