When Darkness Calls

Chapter Five

Charlie knelt beside the boy sitting in a chair. The boy's head slumped to the side, dried blood ran the length of his lean frame; a puddle of crimson covered the floor beneath the chair. Glancing from the dead boy to his terrified older brother, Charlie smiled. His grin faded as he remembered they were not the ones he wanted. They'll do for now, he placated himself, knowing it wouldn't be too long before the real fun began. Ah, Sammyboy, what will it take to break you? Break you and Dean will crumble.

"Frankie," Charlie softly called to the frightened boy chained from the ceiling with bare feet skimming the cold cement floor of the underground bunker. "Look at poor little Joey, all ripped apart," he taunted as he lifted the dead boy's head so Frankie could have a better look at his brother's mutilated face. "You know this is Sam and Dean's fault, don't you? If they'd only played along, hadn't tried to run from me, your brother would still be alive."

Frankie jerked his head to the side away from the sight of his dead brother. The heavy manacles holding him prisoner, rattled as he struggled vainly to free himself, wrists rubbed raw from the iron shackles. He sobbed against the gag in his mouth, the muffled sound of it eliciting a maniacal laugh from Charlie.

"You're pathetic," Charlie scoffed as he stood and strode to Frankie's side. Cupping the boy's jaw in a steely grip, Charlie yanked it toward him so Frankie looked him dead in the eyes. "I would've never chosen you or your spineless brother."

He turned and strode to the far wall of the dark room and lit several candles, illuminating a veritable shrine to Sam and Dean. Pictures of the boys: hunting, eating, laughing, sleeping and fighting, littered the walls and covered the old wooden table the candles were set upon.

Snatching the hair he'd taken from Sam at the hospital from the table, and stared at it and then at Frankie, a slow devious smile spreading across his face. Ah, Sammy, I know just the thing to bring you to your knees.

Charlie picked up two pictures from the table and headed back to Frankie. He kneaded the hair between his fingers as he shoved the photo in Frankie's direction. "This — " He jabbed his index finger at the picture. "This is Sam Winchester. He's a cold-blooded killer. He should've died instead of Joey. It's his fault your brother died."

Flipping to the next picture, he thrust it under Frankie's nose. "And this is Dean, Sam's older brother — You're gonna die because Dean's protecting him."

Frankie glared at the photo of Dean and then at Charlie. Tears slipped down his dirt-streaked face.

"Do you hate Sam?"

Biting down hard against the gag, Frankie stared at the picture of Sam and nodded.

"Do you want me to kill him?"

Frankie closed his eyes, lowered his head and refused to respond.

"You will." Eying the terrified boy, Charlie leaned forward and whispered in Frankie's ear, "I promise before I'm finished with you, you'll be begging me to kill him instead of you."

Stepping away from the boy, Charlie turned and walked to the table. He set the pictures and Sam's hair down, picked up a deadly looking curved dagger and a scalpel, and swung to face Frankie. "Knife or scalpel? Which would you prefer?"

Frankie yanked against the restraints, trying desperately to get away. Grabbing the heavy chains, he tugged on them forcefully. Bits of dust and dirt broke free from the ceiling and showered down on him, but the bonds held fast.

The muffled sound of his crying, spurned Charlie on. "If I were you, I'd conserve my strength for what's coming." Charlie set the knife on the table and lifted the scalpel so it caught the glint of light coming from the candle flames. "Cuts through skin like butter."