When Darkness Calls

Chapter Seven

"Dean," came Charlie's deceptively calm voice from directly behind the spot where Dean was bound to a chair. Charlie gripped Dean's shoulders, leaned in and whispered in his ear. "Aw . . . come on, I know you're awake. Don't make me have to prove I'm right."

Dean opened one eye briefly then squinched it shut. His temples throbbed mercilessly from the blow he'd received trying to escape as Charlie dragged him into the underground bunker. Taking a deep breath, Dean gagged, his stomach churning violently as the scent of rotting flesh intermingling with putrid mold, assailed his senses.

"Come on, Dean, I'm dying to hear one of those witty little bits of sarcasm you're always spewing." Charlie grabbed a fistful of Dean's scruffy hair and forcefully yanked his head backwards. Lightly pressing a sharp blade against Dean's throat, Charlie slowly dragged it across Dean's neck, blood oozing from the shallow wound. "Call me a sonuvabitch . . . tell me how you're gonna kill me — how you're gonna save Sammy."

Letting out a low hiss through gritted teeth, Dean cocked his head to the side and glared at him, remaining silent. No freakin way you sonuvabitch.

"Ah, the strong silent type. You know, that's what I like about you, Dean." Charlie chuckled, clapping Dean on the shoulder. "Frankie, over there," he gestured toward the boy in chains, and continued, "he would've been squealing like a pig, if I'd threatened to slice his throat open. But not you — no . . . you're special. That's why I'm gonna love killing you."

Sammy, you'd better be using your geekboy computer skills to track my cell phone or I'm so screwed.

Charlie moved to stand in front of Dean. Digging the tip of the knife into the soft flesh under Dean's chin, Charlie forced Dean to look up at him. "Wanna play a game, Dean?"

Dean swallowed hard as the blade dug deeper into his skin.

"I'll take no response to mean you do want to play." Turning abruptly, Charlie stalked toward Frankie.

"The rules are simple, and being a sporting man, I'll even bet you win." He grabbed Frankie by his long shaggy blonde hair, jerked his head backwards, and held the knife to his throat. "Either you answer me when I speak to you or Frankie here's gonna need an awfully large blood transfusion."

Frankie's heart-wrenching sobs and Charlie's malicious laughter echoed through the expansive underground dwelling, and filled Dean's heart with dread.

"Feel like talking now, Dean?"

"Leave him alone, you sonuvabitch," Dean growled through clenched teeth.

"Ah, I knew you'd be good at this . . . and now for sudden death." Charlie pressed the knife into the hollow at the base of Frankie's neck, and Frankie let out a pitiful yelp. "I'm gonna bet I know what you were thinking while you were brooding."

"Why don't you just let him go?" Dean yanked at the tight restraints holding him captive, to no avail. "You wanted me — you got me."

"I believe you were hoping Sammyboy would be tracking your cell through GPS — think Sam can find me before I find him." Charlie asked, ignoring Dean. "Am I right?"

Dean glared at him, the muscle in his cheek jerking. Damn it, I should've known that's how he's been tracking us.

"I said — am I right?" Arching a bushy black brow, Charlie stared intently at Dean, his grip tightened around the handle of the knife and sliced into the trembling boy's skin, blood seeping from the wound.