Cherry Pie

Tattoos and Parlor Tricks

[Rayne]

The ghostly giggles of children that had guided me into unconsciousness were still there, ready to accost me again, as I started to come back to my senses. When my eyes slowly opened, everything was spinning so fast that for a moment I actually thought it was the world that was off its hinges and not my head.

"Ugh...that was SO cliché...come on — get it together! Try again...you got this. Just be yourself!"

It took me a long few moments to realize that someone near me was muttering something to themselves. The blurry shapes eventually focused and the pounding in my head subsided enough that I could finally focus on who was sitting in front of me. 

John Winchester, his eyes infuriatingly black, stared at me with eager anticipation. "Oh, good! You're awake. I was worried there for a second that I overdid it. You must forgive me, Rayne. I'm a sucker for theatrics."

My hands, which were tied behind my back with some sort of rope, protested painfully at the joints. The soreness in my arms told me that I had been bound to the chair for quite some time. What happened while I was out? And that's when the smell registered. That faintly metallic smell which made me want to puke. When my gaze drifted off to the side, that's almost exactly what I did. Trying to contain my gag-reflex, I turned my head sharply away from the grotesque sight of the mother lying in a pile in the corner of the living room.

My turning motion, however, only forced me to come face to face with the perpetrators of the monstrous crime. Just like in my dream, the two children — their eyes glowing brightly yellow — stood motionless, staring at me with nothing more than the occasional giggle escaping from their lips. Both their hands were dripping crimson red. I swallowed the bile climbing up my throat and clenched my eyes shut, shaking my head to rid myself of the images.

"This isn't real. This isn't real. This isn't real."

"Again," John said, interjecting my whispered chanting, "I must apologize. I realize it's a bit much."

My eyes flew open then and focused on the demon before me, careful to avoid the horrifying sights on either side of me. "Where is Dean?" I wasn't in excruciating pain yet, and neither was I dead, so I took some slight comfort in the fact that at least Dean was somewhere close by. "What did you do to him?"

"Oh, don't worry. Don't worry! He's alive. Your connection wouldn't let me kill him," he replied, sounding more perplexed by the celestial wrench in his plans than annoyed. "But no worries...there's always time for that. Nothing is impossible if you just believe hard enough!"

"Who are you?" I asked. I was trying to make my voice strong, but whatever he did to knock me out was still threatening to send me back into the dark void of nothingness.

"My name is Tom."

I waited for him to elaborate. "That's it?"

His head tilted. "Isn't that enough?" 

"No,"— I tried to shrug casually —"well...I mean. I guess I was just expecting something more. Demons usually have better names than that."

He smacked his knee in frustration as he turned his head to glance out the window. "I knew I should have changed my name to something more evil sounding. Can we start over? I think I could pass off as an Alfonzo The Terrible...don't you? Or maybe The Devil's Executioner. Or Chad."

His behavior didn't make sense. He wasn't following the typical 'demon' guidebook, and I didn't know what to make of him. Not knowing set my teeth on edge. "I repeat: who are you, Tom? A name doesn't help me."