shackles part two 1

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    Shackles Part Two:

    What happened next was something straight out of the Exorcist(minus the head spinning

    and unseemly use of a crucifix). Ms. Ruthie came back into the room carrying a mason jar and

    an old cloth. Her mouth was pursed and her mocha colored skin looked taut with worry and

    disapproval as she stared at Naomi. As she stood there, he couldnt help but think that the

    woman looked wise, ancient. She looked at those in her presence as if she could read their

    inner thoughts. However, her matronly authority was not stifling or threatening. It was

    soothing. She had a way about her that put others at ease, and Dean really needed to be put at

    ease after the night he had.

    Ms. Ruthie was like a cool drink on a long hot day. Her authority took some pressure

    off of Dean even though this was his job. He had no doubts that the woman could handle this

    situation and any others that were thrown in her way. She certainly handled things differently

    than his father who would have already killed Naomi in an effort to stop her transformation.

    Dean watched transfixed as Ms. Ruthie covered her hand with the towel and stuck it into the

    black depths of the Mason jar. What she pulled out of the glass was dark, thick, and smelled

    like bile.

    Smelled like turpentine, looked like Indian ink.

    I held my nose; I closed my eyes; I took a drink.

    Dean shook his head and tried to pull his brain back into the solemnity of the moment.

    It often baffled him how his mind would veer off into uncharted territory when a moment

    became too stressful. But, God help him, the closer Ms. Ruthie came to Naomis prone figure,

    the louderLove Potion No. 9 played in his head.

    The aroma emanating from the fluid was so vile that Dean took a step backward from

    Ms. Ruthie as she approached. The moment he did so he felt like a coward and a phony. He

    was here to help Naomi and the only things he had managed to accomplish were watching as

    she killed an undead adversary and jumping back in horror at the sight of what could only be

    described as diarrhea in a jar. He just hoped that part of the remedy had nothing to do with

    Naomi putting whatever in the hell was running down the towel anywhere near her mouth.

    Come on boy. Grab her legs. Ruthie nodded her head toward the end of the couch as

    she spoke. We need to hold her down.

    Dean noticed that the we seemed only to refer to him, because the older woman made no

    move to ensure that Naomi didnt break free and run helter-skelter through the streets of New

    Orleans. But Dean did as he was instructed. He father had instilled the need to please those in

    authority. There was something about Miss Ruthie that made him want to receive her approval.

    From the moment he had looked into the older womans eyes as he carried Naomi in, he had

    felt a strange pull toward hera need to accommodate. He didnt know if she was working

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    any whacky mojo on him. He just knew that her presence made him stand a bit taller.

    He grasped Naomis ankles and was astonished at the temperature of her skin. From the

    moment he had met her, her flesh had alternated between opposing temperatures making him

    think that this was one of the lesser side effects of receiving a zombie bite. Sweat was falling

    from every pore and tiny rivulets of moisture were gathering and falling on her skin, but her

    legs were as cold as ice. The contradiction between sight and touch threw him for a loop, but

    he did not remove his hands from Naomi. Surprisingly enough, she gave no reaction at having

    his hands on her either.

    Dean looked at her face and saw that it was contorted with pain. Her back arched

    occasionally as the feeling seized through her body. Sweat poured like rain down her cold skin

    and she made no move to slap at the tickling sensation of sweat moving slowly down her skin.

    She did not call out either. She did not whimper. If it were not for the contorted features of

    her face, Dean would have thought she was simply taking a nap.

    She isnt asleep cher. Ruthie gently spread a thick helping of the tar-like fluid on the

    wound on Naomis leg. Dean didnt know if she had read his mind or if she was simply taking

    a stab at the obvious questions that a novice such as he would want to ask in a situation like

    this. She is trying not to wake her brother. Hes asleep.

    Upon finding out that she had a sibling and that she was writhing silently to spare him

    from being jarred awake by the sound of her screams, Dean felt a kinship with her. He

    understood what it was like to sacrifice his self and his pain in order to keep his little brother

    happy. Dean had chosen to stay with his father and bear the burden of their family name in

    order to give Sam the chance to live some sort of normal life. He knew what it was like to want

    to tell the world how he felt, but in the end he was always forced to writhe in agony and stifle

    his screams.

    Yes, at the moment he shared a one-sided kinship with the woman lying before him.

    They both knew what it was like to sacrifice for family.

    I thought that medicine was supposed to hurt. He nodded toward Ruthies hand which

    was applying the second dose to Naomis shoulder wound. He had expected a horrid spectacle

    milliseconds after Ruthie had dosed her. Instead, Naomi remained just as she was: in pain, in

    repose, and in control.

    Ruthie turned and gave him a frown. It wasnt a look of admonishment but one of

    thoughtful confusion. He supposed that she thought he should have known how Naomi was

    going to react to the medicine. She probably thought that because he spent his life hunting and

    killing things like the zombies that had bitten Naomi that he was some sort of walkingencyclopedia on the topic; No. The medicine doesnt hurt. Its the bodys reaction to the

    medicine that is going to cause her the greatest pain.

    Dean hadnt realized he had relaxed his grip on her ankles. He had probably done so

    while watching the older woman slather on her old world concoction. It didnt really matter.

    He had let down his guard, and Naomi chose that moment to pounce. The flesh around the

    wounds was absorbing the medicine. As her body took in the folk remedy, puss and venom

    began to roll out and onto the carpet. The room smelled of burning flesh and the vile black

    liquid. Deans nose took it all in right before Naomis foot came crashing toward his face.

    Non! Obtenir vos mains a cote de moi! Naomi was shouting nowin vehement,

    accented French. Her voice was ragged and her eyes wide and searching. The infection was

    leaving her body and it was a messy, volatile experience.

    Dean picked himself up off the floor and looked toward Ruthie; Huh?

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    She said that she wanted you to take your hands off of her. I have to go and check on

    Oliver. In her state, Naomi is not thinking about him. He does not need to see his sister like

    this.

    So youre leaving me alone with her?

    Ruthie smiled. Naomi bound from the couch, and Dean readied his body for whatever

    attack the berserker-Frenchie-frog woman was going to throw his way.

    You can handle her Dean Winchester. Ruthies voice was amused as she walked

    toward the room where the younger Laurent slept. The finality of her statement caused a cold

    chill to race up and back down Deans spine.

    She seemed to be okay and somewhat pleased with the fact that Naomi was once again

    mobile. Her reaction was so bizarre that Dean could feel questions and sarcastic parting shots

    form and sit on the edge of his tongue, but just like earlier in the evening, his tongue was as

    immobile and useless as his feet had been when watching Naomi.

    Dean was not amused. Even though he could see her reason for leaving and checking

    on Naomis brother, he did not see why she thought that he could handle zombie-Naomi well

    enough to stroll off into unseen rooms in the house.

    He really shouldnt have let go of her ankles. Hell, he had no idea what to do. He

    wasnt supposed to hit girls, but he couldnt very well let one pummel him. Could he?

    And so they stood. Dean was watching Naomis loose body movement and waiting for

    her next move. He had to think of a way to get her calm and restrained before she pounced

    again.

    Hey. He gave her a little smile. Women always dug the Winchester charm. Maybe

    zombie women would as well. Sure, Naomi might be half-crazed with zombie spit, but surely

    she could see through the undead haze and notice his winning smile; You have frustration. Ihave frustration. There are a few ways that we can un-frustrate each other that dont involve

    ripping me limb from limb.

    It wasnt his best line, and he wasnt one hundred percent sure that he wanted to dance

    the horizontal mambo with a woman who was covered with puss and other unknown fluids.

    However, he didnt have many choices at the moment. Sometimes you just had to take one for

    the team.

    Naomi punched him in the nose.

    Son of a BITCH! Dean growled out the phrase as he held his nose in his cupped

    palms.

    So much for the Winchester charm. Frankly, he wanted to know why she was so pissed.

    Or at least why she was so pissed at him. They had just met. Couldnt she have taken a few

    swings at the old broad? Damn, but he had enjoyed her company better when she was

    describing his sexual prowess in the car. And further more, he was going to have to talk to

    Bobby. If he was Naomis sensei then he had certainly outdone himself. The woman hit like

    she had fists made of concrete.

    Maybe he should try the rational approach. He needed to remain calm and objective,

    because he could feel his temper begin to rise. The urge to strike out in retaliation was

    becoming too strong, and Dean didnt want to hurt her. She was under the influence of forces

    greater than herself, but if she hit him one more damn time all bets were off.

    Dean moved swiftly behind the couch and held up his hands in a defenseless gesture.

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    He only hoped that the floral printed piece of furniture was enough of a barricade until he was

    able to get this situation under control; Its me. Dean. You know, Impala Man? Im friends

    with Bobby Singer.

    Still looking vicious and crazed, Naomi tilted her head at him in the same manner that

    the drunken zombie had done earlier. Her feverish gaze stared, analyzed and obviously found

    him wanting. Because she leapt over the couch. Yes, leapt, like some damn animal on the

    Discovery channel and landed right on top of him. Dean hoped that she was getting closer to

    him so that she could take him up on his earlier offer. After all, being on a never ending road

    trip with your father certainly didnt give him a plethora of opportunities to get laid. Of course,

    he made time for one of his favorite activities, but it had been a long timeone monthsince

    he had last had a woman on top of him.

    Naomi was not in the mood to accommodate his licentious thoughts. Instead, she bit

    him as he struggled beneath her. Her teeth sank into his neck and Dean cried out in pain and

    surprise. Her teeth and tongue made contact with his skin, but fortunately she did not break the

    surface. She just nipped and growled in his ear. It was weird. It was not sexual, and Dean did

    not like it at all. He looked around frantically and knocked over a nearby hat stand in an effort

    to draw Ms. Ruthie out of her hiding place. No one rushed to his aid.The friggin cavalry never showed up for Dean Winchester.

    No, dont mind me. Dean thought wryly as he tried to push Naomi off of him. She was

    tiny, but she had a grip like a damn bear. Her legs were wrapped around his waist like a pair of

    vice grips. He couldnt even buck her off. No, dont mind me. Im just going to die at the

    hands of a beautiful woman who is trying to eat me alive.

    Stupid New Orleans.

    Stupid zombies.

    Stupid crazy women who wouldnt stop trying to take a chunk out of skin.

    Laissez le bons temps rouler? My ass.

    He was warm. Those words repeated like a litany in Naomis mind as she pressed her

    cold flesh into the body beneath hers. Her mouth and tongue sought the warmth of his blood as

    she bit harder into the skin. Heat emanated from the hard lines and contours of the body

    beneath hers. Just being on top of him made her feel as if she were basking in the sunlight. She

    had been cold for too long. She wanted to lie next to him, move his skin aside and situateherself inside his warmth; she wanted to devour him.

    He just wouldnt let her.

    First, he had tried talking. She could vaguely remember something about frustration and

    a toothy grin as he a tried to placate her into submission. She had barely heard what he had

    been yammering on about, because her main focus had been the rhythmic pulse of his carotid

    artery.

    Lequlibre maintenant. Je ne vais pas vous nuire. Etre calme. She looked into his

    eyes as she whispered her platitudes. Of course, she couldnt really see him. Her gaze was

    narrowed and unfocused. He was nothing more to her than a series of warm blood vessels.

    Okay Morticia. I dont know what in the hell you are saying. Two strong hands came

    up to grasp her shoulders. Those same hands forcefully sought to remove her from his person.

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    She didnt want to go.

    Im cold. She whispered.

    He snorted and quickly moved away from her. He was thankful that he had finally

    proven fast enough and strong enough to be able to escape her python like grasp; So you can

    speak English. I was beginning to think I was stuck in some lame foreign film.

    Im cold. She repeated.

    You are hurt. Zombies? Biting? Ringing any bells?

    Why did he have to talk so much? She held out her arms. She was going to get close

    to him. He was going to feed her, make her warm. He was going to somehow satiate the

    glacial blue fire that made her body feel as if it were walking through the coldest of tundras.

    Her limbs felt heavy as she wrapped herself around him, and she was glad that he did not push

    her off this time. She held her body against his and smiled when she smelled the blood at the

    base of his neck.

    She must have bitten him harder than she realized, because she could see the stark

    crimson rivulets as the formed like tiny raindrops against his throat. It was thick, warm, and

    hot. Without pause, she took her tongue and gently ran it along his skin to catch and absorb

    each crimson drop. She heard his sharp intake of breath and felt his body relax. She was glad

    that he was receiving some enjoyment. It was good to have a symbiotic relationship with prey.

    If he enjoyed what was happening to him, then perhaps he would not notice when she bit

    soundly into his neck. She would do more than just break the skin this time. She would rip at

    flesh, bone, and cartilagetear away the outer lining and see the warm center hidden

    underneath. The only thing she had to do was force him into submission long to sink her

    teeth

    You will submit.

    Naomi gasped and pulled away from the warmth of his body. She felt him, her prey;

    pull back in surprise at the motion. She struggled to shake off the burden of that voice, but it

    would not go away. Cold seeped into her bones, muscles and soul as her brain played the voice

    of a man who had taken so much from her. Her body jerked once more in a vain attempted to

    cast off that voicehis voicewhich had now been relegated to nightmares and the dark

    corners of her mind. Her mind began to formulate and play a scene from her past that she never

    wanted to repeat again. Naomi was surprised when her body began to grow even colder.

    I am not yours to control! Naomi clinched her fists as she looked into the brutal blue

    eyes that stared down at her with dispassionate tolerance She wanted to use her fists, legs,

    head. She wanted to use any body part she could to battle off and run away from the man

    standing in front of her.

    She was nude. The air in the hall taunted her body. She tried to imagine that she was

    wrapped in wool or bathing in the warmth of the New Orleans Summer sun, but her

    imagination provided no succor from the chill that invaded her every time she was in his

    presence.

    Maison de Sang. House of Blood. That was the name given to her demon husbands

    ostentatious abode. The walls in the palatial mansion were painted a deep crimson and the

    floors were just a tad bit lighter. The walls looked as if they bled, but the house remained cold.Empty. As if the inhabitants restrained it from capturing the warmth that its name should

    provide.

    After all wasnt blood meant to be hot and life sustaining?

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    Stephen jerked her left hand up. The movement was swift and violent. Once her hand

    was in front of him, he took the third finger on that handthe finger which held the shackle of

    her matrimony and bent it back until she heard the bone snap. Pain. It was fresh and vivid and

    it poured through her body. She did not cry out. She knew that her pain would only bring him

    pleasure. Instead, Naomi looked at him and forced her eyebrow to rise in challenge. Her entire

    body vibrated with the pulse of pain emanating from her finger, but she did not relent. She had

    been his puppet for too long.

    Stupid bitch. He was angry. Her finger was pulsating so loudly with agony that she

    barely felt his hand as it bashed against the side of her face. Spit ran down the sides of his

    mouth in thick, frothy lines making him look like a mad dog. You will do as I say or I will kill

    you and everyone you love. You are my wife. That means you are my chattel. And as my

    property, you will do as I wish. So, quit bitching or your punishment will be much worse than

    what I have asked you to do.

    His punishments were brutal. Stephen was a cold and indifferent jailor who knew her

    every weakness, because she had been nave enough to tell him. He had a way of tearing her

    apart from the inside out, because he knew how to use what she feared the most against her.

    But she was tired of being a demons pawn and for the moment, these small bursts of defiance

    were the only thing she had to throw back into the face of a man that she had once loved more

    than her own life. She just wanted to go home. She wanted to be with her family. She wanted

    to sleep in her own bed and close her eyes without the ever present gnawing fear that

    something or someone was going to leap from the shadows and harm her. She wanted to be

    herself again.

    When she answered, her heart was hammering like the wings of a hummingbird. And

    still, her hand thrummed with the blood rushing in her body. Thump. Thump. Thump.

    Thankfully, her voice was in control and her eyes did not waiver as she met his gaze. With

    each word, she could feel the stinging pull of the skin on the flesh that he had brutally slapped

    just seconds before; Go to hell you worthless piece of demon trash. You are nothing but a

    figment of a man. A ghost who steals the body of others. You may hit me, punish me, even kill

    me but you will not get the pleasure of doing so with your own hands. The poor bastard you

    are wearing will have that satisfaction. I only hope that if and when the time comes that you

    can feel his joy at taking that away from you.

    He picked her up by her chin. His grip was brutal and unforgiving. She could almost

    feel the blood rushing to the areas that he touched; there would be bruises later. Each mark

    would serve as a small reminder that he still had the power to control her. He still had the

    power to leave his mark on her skin. He loved to put on a showto show her and all present

    that he was the master of his domain. She could hear the laughing voices of those in the

    background. Some taunted him saying that no human whore should have the right to talk to

    him that way. Some were guffawing and shouting that she must enjoy the torture he forced

    upon her. She could hear all the demons as they shouted suggestions while her naked toes

    dangled and brushed the cool marble tiles.

    Stephen grinned. If she hadnt known what lay beneath his smile, she might have

    thought that the roguish tilt of his lips was a handsome affectation meant to flatter her. She

    might have thought that the glint in his eyes was affection shining through. Naomi knew better.She knew that all these signs were nothing more than the demon planning and plotting its next

    method of torture.

    Chambray. Stephen called the other demons name in a voice barely above a

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    whisper.

    Naomi knew she would come. Sophie Chambray always came when her master called.

    Now was no different. She slinked toward the front of the room to more chortles and lurid

    suggestions from the guests. Her long red gown floated around her ankles allowing Naomi to

    hear the soft staccato clicks of her Dolce and Gabbano heels. When she sidled up to Stephen,

    she threw her long blond hair over her shoulder in an exaggerated show of femininity and gave

    Naomis husband a lavish kiss on the cheek.

    You called?

    Naomi could feel her eyes narrow. She wanted to hurt the demon possessed form. She

    wanted to kill everyone in the room, so she wouldnt have to listen to their taunts and bawdy

    jokes. She wanted to run screaming into the streets and let everyone know that demons

    inhabited their city. She wanted to run out and grab every man, woman, and child and shout at

    each about the things she knew. She wanted to let all of Paris know that monsters were

    roaming their streets and they needed to barricade themselves inside the warmth and safety of

    their homes.

    But she couldnt tell the humans from the demons anymore.

    Chain her to the wall.

    At those words, her body tensed. She tried to make her muscles relax, but her body

    defied her. She knew what the chain meant. For the past five years, Stephen had kept her in

    little else. He had left her bound and watched as unspeakable acts were forced upon her

    person. She hated the iron objects that would soon leave her securely tethered to the house she

    loathed. She hated the way the candlelight in the room caught the iron. She hated the way

    every demon in the room sat up a little taller upon hearing his order.

    She would not cry. Tears gathered and burned in the back of her eyes. God, she wished

    she could fight back. She wished she had the power and the energy to defeat her foes with a

    withering look, but she was not a superhero.

    Sometimes, when she was chained and cold, she felt like she was nothing at all.

    Naomi struggled with keeping herself calm and centered as Chambray took her arm.

    The other woman intentionally dug her manicured fingers deeply into Naomis skin.

    Tutt-tutt. Her exaggerated French accent caused more pain to Naomi than her

    Krueger nails. It would seem that the masters toy as been naughty once again.

    Naomi turned toward her husbands flunky and gave the woman a self assured smile.

    No one in the room needed to know that she was screaming inside. No one needed to know

    that with each small rebellion she imposed on her husband she feared that he was finally going

    to kill her. Let them all think that she was mad or that she enjoyed their treatment.

    She was not going to be here forever. Naomi had an ally in the form of a servant girl

    who was working diligently on an elaborate plan of escape. She only hoped that Monique

    Gerard was clever enough to avoid the black-eyed stare of the houses inhabitants long enough

    to bring fruition to the plan that the two women had been working on for the past two months.

    With her best Pepe LePeu accent, Naomi countered with; Oui. And it would seem that

    my husbands bitch has decided to carry out his punishments because he does not have the

    balls to do it imself.

    Chambray beautiful face transformed with anger, causing her ice blue eyes to turn a

    crystalline color that reminded Naomi of frost gathering on a window shield. However, the

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    blond never lashed out at her. She was snide and uncomplimentary, but other than the

    occasional nail digging she never truly hurt Naomi. Perhaps she got her satisfaction from

    seeing others inflict pain on the woman that she saw as her competition?

    Chambray threw her to the ground. Naomi fell onto the cold stone floor with her legs

    spread in an indecent manner. Given her naked state, she was well aware that everyone in the

    room now had a courtside view to her nether regions and God only knew what else. Chambray

    smiled coldly as she grabbed each of Naomis wrists in her hand and shackled her to the wall.

    Bitch I may be, Chambrays breath was glacial and held the scent of sulfur, But I

    am not the one chained naked to the wall. Instead, I will be beside your husband in your bed

    tonight.

    Naomis parting shot came from her heart and made her smilejust a littlewhen it

    made the demon woman stop in her tracks: I would rather be chained to the wall facing my

    punishment than one figment lying next to the other. I am a real woman Chambray. You are

    nothing but smoke and mirrors. Why do you think he married me? Smoke and mirrors are

    good for those who want an illusion, but at the end of the day, a man wants flesh and blood

    next to him.

    Stephen who must have sensed an impending cat fight walked over to her shackled form

    and smiled at her as if she were a petulant child; Take the boy back to his cell.

    He kept his eyes on Naomi as he spoke, but his servants moved efficiently to do his

    bidding.

    She wanted to look at Monique. The French woman had been Naomis only contact

    with an actual human for all her years in France. Monique would make sure that the boy who

    appeared to be no older than twelve or thirteen was brought back to his family. The knot of

    dread that had gathered in Naomis stomach loosened a bit when she realized that he would be

    set free. Not long from now he would be at home with his family eating bread and cheese and

    this entire incident would be nothing but a distant and disturbing dream.

    Naomi and the boy were to have been that nights entertainment. The sick and

    debauched masses had the audacity to think that she would deflower and assault the young man

    while they watched. In the beginning, she had found their modes of entertainment amusing even

    intriguing. She had never known the heights of pleasure that she could be brought to, but after

    the pleasure had come the pain. Rape. Torture. Beatings. There was nothing fascinating

    about their need to harm the innocent. Yes, she would gladly take this punishment if she it

    meant that her soul would be clean of this sin.

    There were so many others that she had yet to repent for.

    She watched as the boy walked out of the room just as he had entered. His head was

    bowed. His hands and feet were shackled and his entire body was shaking. Naomi sent up a

    prayer and hoped that God would still listen to someone such as her. She prayed that the

    young man would make it out of her husbands home and go on to live a life of laughter and

    freedom.

    Why must you misbehave? Stephen ran his hand down the side of her cheek. She

    hadnt always misbehaved. There had been a time when she would have smiled wantonly at

    him or pouted and sweetly demanded for the next sinful delight to be brought forward. He told

    her before every punishment that he missed the way things used to be. He missed having her at

    his side.

    She would never be that woman again. She would not vie for the love of a man who

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    wanted her soul to be as tarnished as his own.

    Naomi spit in his face with her hands bound and her feet clasped tightly together at the

    ankles to ensure no passing fiend saw what was not his. The small dab of liquid was all that

    she could muster; You are nothing. I will get out of here dear husband. When I do, the

    torture you have put me through will be nothing compared to what I do to you. I will watch

    you burn in fire hotter than the ones you crawled out of.

    He chuckled in true amusement; We will see.

    Chambray who could never go too long without seeking some sort of attention from

    someone with a penis sauntered over and put her arms around Stephens waist. She kept her

    eyes on Naomi as she slipped her hand into the darkness of his button up shirt. Stephen smiled

    at Chambray before giving her a long and satisfying kiss. The room filled with goading and

    sexual innuendo. Naomi was amused with the picture they made.

    The opulence of the room and the sophisticated cut of their clothing made them look like

    the cover of a romance novel. The Demons Kiss. A smirk marred her delicate features as she

    thought of her nonexistent novels tagline: If it looks too good to be true, it usually is.

    When the two separated, Stephen spoke. He was a bit breathless by his recent amorousencounter, but he spoke with authority and jocularity that made Naomi want to scream. As

    soon as he finished speaking, her punishment would begin. She could not run or hide. She

    would simply have to endure.

    My friend and I are going to retire for the evening. He punctuated his statement by

    giving the crowd a roguish smile and paused for their obligatory roar of immoral

    encouragement. I bid you all good night and ask that you partake of what I have laid out for

    you. I only ask that you leave her just the way you found her. Alive.

    He and Chambray turned to leave. Naomi watched their well coiffed figures disappear

    behind the garish wood of an overly ornate gilt door. She then turned her eyes back to the

    demons that remained in the room. They were all smiling. Some were even rubbing their hands

    in ham-fisted anticipation. She could hear the clock strike eleven in the hallway. She could

    hear a piano playing in the great hall, and she could hear the triumphant laughter of her

    husband as she was attacked and abused by twelve demons.

    She kept her eyes closed most of the time.

    And she didnt make a sound.

    Dean was jarred from the depths of a very interesting dream involving Carmen Electra

    and a feather duster by the sound of rattling chains and fluent cursing. Normally, he would find

    such sounds odd, but he was able to remember the previous evening with high definition clarity.

    He turned to look at the origin of those expletives.

    Naomi looked better this morning. She had passed out in his arms the night before.He

    had been more than disappointed with the change in her demeanor given that she had been

    licking his neck in the more intriguing fashion moments before she dropped like a rock. The

    way she had slumped forward in his arms had caused him to freak out, so he had left her

    momentarily to seek the advice of Ms. Ruthie.The woman had looked tired but had been relieved to discover that Naomi was sleeping

    soundly. She had apologized to Dean for leaving him so abruptly. She had explained that it

    had been too painful to watch the child she helped raise writhe in pain. Upon hearing her

    explanation and seeing the tears waiting to fall from her soft, sad eyes, Dean had been more

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    inclined to forgive her for her abrupt departure. He had been on far too many jobs where his

    father had been harmed. He knew the stone cold terror that watching someone you care for

    wrestle with agony could cause.

    Before dismissing him, Ms. Ruthie had told him to take Naomi to her room. She had

    also said that she had placed a cot for him in that same room earlier in the evening. Dean had

    not been happy with the fact that he would have to spend the night with a woman who had

    alternated between assaulting and licking him. He was also a bit curious as to what Ms.

    Ruthies intentions were if she thought it was appropriate to put a strange young man in the

    same room with a young woman that she treasured so much.

    He had looked around the house for something to restrain his on-again off -again

    attacker and had been inordinately pleased when he had looked at the wall next to the window

    in her room. After removing the frilly lace curtain from the screws attached to the restraints, he

    had been a bit surprised to see a pair of shackles securely screwed into the wall. He was even

    more surprised to discover that the shackles had been reinforced so that if a person were

    chained then he or she would have no way to escape. Thinking of his safety, Dean had secured

    Naomi to the wall. He certainly didnt want to wake up and find her standing over him with a

    knife or lying on top of him trying to bite his neck. Well, the second scenario didnt ring as

    horrible as the first, but either way, if she was going to be on top of him he would prefer thatshe not be coated with foul smelling liquid and seeping zombie venom.

    After all, he had standards.

    He had noticed that when she was putting her wrists in the shackles that her skin had

    been flushed, but it was increasing temperature. She no longer felt like a human popsicle and

    Dean considered that to be a huge improvement over her previous condition. So, to see her

    awake and extremely articulate after the night she had, Dean figured that Naomi Laurent was

    going to be all right.

    Her brown eyes clashed with his hazel ones from across the room. Last night she had

    looked petite and lonely. Even when fighting creatures that most people didnt believe in, there

    had been something vulnerable about her. Something that brought his protective instincts to the

    surface. Again, her demeanor had seemingly changed over night. The look she was giving him

    was full of so much anger that Dean actually flinched. Her head was low and the bottom part of

    her face was hidden by the mass of curls that decorated her skull, but her eyes seared into his.

    Take these damn things off of me. Now. Her voice wasnt slurred. It was strong,

    assured, and

    Dean who had gotten up to release her stopped when he saw Naomis bottom lip quiver.

    His father had always told him that everyone had a tell. Even the best card sharks would give

    away their secrets if you looked close enough. Naomi was showing him hers. Her lip was

    quivering and if he looked closely at her hands they were shaking. She was scared.

    Hell, they were her shackles.

    He walked over to the night stand where he had put the key and moved slowly toward

    her. Her shoulders were shaking now. His heart tightened as he watched her struggle and

    ultimately fail to get her body under control. He had been wrong. It wasnt fear. The look in

    her eyes and the tension in her body suggested something far more visceral than fear.

    He momentarily waylaid his decision to unlock the chains and stooped down next to

    her; Im not going to hurt you.

    Then why did you chain me?

    Tears gathered in her eyes. Dean was torn between shock and terror. The woman could

    fight off a zombie attack with the fervor of a religious zealot but turned on the water works

    when she found herself chained inside of her own home. (Again, with hershackles.) Dean

    didnt know how to deal with tears. He had been forced to quell his own so many times that

    dealing with the pain of others often left him at a loss. But there was something about the way

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    she looked at him.

    The connection he had felt with her the night before when she had been fighting off

    supernatural elements reared its head and sent a jolt of emotion to Deans heart. The pain he

    saw on her face was like a wild flame licking at his skin. He wanted to tame it, control it, and

    extinguish it. He didnt want her to be scared of him. So, going against his very nature, Dean

    Winchester sought to reach out to someone, because she could possibly understand how he felt

    inside.

    Cautiously, Dean put his hand on her cheek. She flinched at his touch and that only

    made him ache a bit more, but he did not remove his hand. He wanted her to know that she

    could trust him. He wanted her to know that his hands were there to help not harm; Im not

    going to hurt you. I put you here, because I didnt want you to attack me again.

    It was her turn to look a bit perplexed; I attacked you?

    He chuckled; Thats putting it mildly. First you kicked me in the face. Then you

    punched me in the nose. Finally, you jumped on top of me and tried to tear the skin from my

    shoulder.

    Her eyes widened at his brief recitation; Are you okay?

    His hand was still on her face so he threw caution to the wind and gently rubbed his

    thumb against her cheek. Her skin was soft, smoothpure. He loved touching women. Theywere always so supple. He hadnt had much softness in his life.

    That had all burned up in a fire.

    He was also humbled by the look of concern on her face for him. She was still shaking,

    but she was able to quell her fear long enough to check his person and ensure that she had done

    no lasting damage.

    Her eyes widened a bit as she continued to search his face; Do you feel any different?

    Did the virus spread to you?

    He could feel his lips quirk in amusement; Im fine. No need to bring the black goo

    out. Nothing but my pride is hurt. How would it look if anyone ever found out that a girl

    kicked the crap out me?

    She didnt reply. Instead, she just looked at him. The air was pregnant and waiting for

    either of them to make a move, but neither did. The birds continued to chirp outside and he

    could hear the distant clash and bang of pots and pans coming from the kitchen. To expunge

    the awkward silence that permeated the air, Dean reluctantly removed his hand from her face

    and released her from the shackles.

    There was a part of himthe part that watched Oprah and secretly enjoyed flavored

    coffeesthat had wanted to stay with her down on the floor. Just staring. Just being. Every

    now and again, Dean felt as if he needed human contact. Not the late night encounters that

    formed in smoky bars or dingy alleys. But a real human connection. Someone who he could

    be himself with and not have to worry about ridicule or reprimands. Someone that would listen

    to him bitch about his family. Yes, every now and again, Dean Winchester needed a friend.

    And the brief contact of his hand on her cheek had brought up those latent needs with a

    vengeance.

    She got up rubbing her wrists and Dean felt like the worst kind of jackass when he

    noticed that they were red. He was about to apologize, but she spoke first. Again, her gaze

    locked with his; Im sorry I hit you last night, but if you every chain me again, I promise you I

    will get free and make it my lifes mission to kick your ass from here to kingdom come.

    Yes, some women were soft. And some women were steel wrapped in silk.

    He nodded in concession to her fiercely given threat. Dean felt the need to put his cards

    on the table as well. I will not chain you to a wall if you promise to never interfere with a fight

    again. I dont need you putting my car into drive every time you think things are getting out of

    hand. I can handle myself Naomi. Its what I do. If we are going to work together, then we

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    work as a team. And just so we are both clear, if you ever put my car in harms way again, I

    will put the hurt on you so bad that a night in those chains will look like a trip to Club Med.

    Deal. Her eyes had turned to cold amber, and she held out her hand. Again, he was

    forced to stare down at the irritated skin.

    Dean put his hand in hers and gave it a gentle shake. He had to resist the urge to run

    his finger across the red welt in silent apology; Deal.

    She smiled at him; it was the soft and feminine look of a woman who was thoroughly

    satisfied with an arrangement. Dean was able to momentarily forget about the debacle of the

    previous night and the fact that he had unwittingly hurt her by marring her flesh.

    Her smile faded when she looked around his shoulder at a digital alarm clock resting on

    her vanity. The time piece was situated a top a frilly lace doily that had turned yellow at the

    edges with age and use. That made Dean smile. She was a real girly-girl. He had noticed it the

    night before, but couldnt help but revel in it today. Her room was full of flowers and faded

    pinks and blues. There were Jane Austen novels on the shelves and teddy bears in the floor.

    During his search for a proper weapon in case she were to try to nip at him during the night,

    he had also discovered that behind the bookshelf she had a sawed of shot gun and two large

    machetes. He had not been surprised either when he had accidently knocked over a stuffed

    rabbit to have the damn things head come off to reveal a pistol.She was definitely steel wrapped in silk.

    The bathroom is two doors down on your right. You can get a shower and clean up.

    We will grab some breakfast and then I will take you to our first destination. She was all

    business now. Even her posture had changed. Naomi no longer stood relaxed. Her shoulders

    were back and she had a certain John Winchester look about her.

    Dad would get a real kick out of her. Dean squashed that thought as abruptly as it had

    appeared, because Naomi would never meet his father. In fact, Dean would never see Naomi

    after he left New Orleans. It was easier for him if he had no entanglements. Life on the road

    was not very lucrative for lasting relationships.

    Dean raised an eyebrow and chose to focus on the job at hand instead of his

    increasingly melancholy thoughts; And that would be?

    You just drive the Impala. Ill navigate.

    I am Impala Man.

    She smiled again. It was like a burst of sunshine settled on her face; Hurry up

    Winchester. We have a long day ahead of us.

    He saluted her and gave her a grin.

    She was almost in the hallway when a question struck him and he called her back into

    the room.

    Whatcha need? Her head was halfway in the door and her thick curly hair fell in a

    brunette cascade.

    He had the sudden urge to find a pencil and draw her. Which was odd, because Dean

    couldnt draw for shit. But he wanted to preserve her image, so that maybe, when he felt like

    he needed a friend and there was no one around, he could pull out that likeness and remember

    that he had once had several friendly conversations with someone who only knew him as Dean

    and not John Winchesters son or Sam Winchesters brother.

    Why are the shackles in your room? I dont really think they go with your dcor and

    you dont seem like the kind of girl who is into that kind of kink. He cleared his throat and

    waited for her reply.

    She nodded toward the shackles and their stagnate position on her wall; The shackles

    are a reminder.

    Her face had lost its jovial demeanor. Dean didnt want to push the issue too far, but he

    wasnt able to forget the way she had looked, how her body had quivered with pain, when she

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    had been in the shackles.

    A reminder of what? He kept his voice gentle and conversational in case she found

    his prodding offensive.

    Instead, she gave him a triumphant smile. It was the kind of smile that made him think

    of conquering warriors who stood over their victims with head thrown back. They remind me

    that I belong to no one. With that said, she hit the door with her open palm as if to call the

    conversation to order; Now, get ready Winchester. We have a big day, and I think I smell

    Ruthies famous French toast.

    His stomach growled in response and he caught her grin. She had heard it as well.

    Let me rinse the funk off and I will be at your table with bells on.

    He was able to momentarily push aside Naomis earlier fear and their mysterious trip

    later in the day at the mention of French toast.

    He had never seen anything like it. Dean propped himself up on the doorjamb at the

    entrance to the kitchen and smiled. The entire room smelled like cinnamon and coffee. The

    aroma had hit him in the bathroom and caused him to rush through his morning ablutions in an

    effort to get to the chow hall before all the food was gone. He hadnt expected the joyful image

    that would greet him.

    Great Balls of Fire blasted through an iPod that sat underneath a window. The window

    was open and greeted the warm breeze with welcome arms as the smells from the outside came

    to mingle and converge with the scents of the kitchen. Jerry Lee Lewis strong voice pelted

    every note as if he were in competition with the bird that tweeted incessantly in the large

    magnolia tree in yard. And at the center of it all was Naomi Laurent. She had pulled her hair

    back into what looked like a birds habitat and was currently bumping her hip against Ms.

    Ruthies as they sang along with the song.

    The dynamic duo bobbed their heads and wiggled their hips in time with the music and

    turned to face each other only when Jerry Lees voice shouted Goodness Gracious Great Balls

    of Fire. When this would happen, a giggle from a small boy sitting at the edge of the table

    would join the cacophony and float out of the window and into the wind. Dean watched with

    fond remembrance as the child colored his picture of Clifford the Big Red Dog and thought

    about the endless nights he had spent coloring with Sammy.

    He was a small child with a wide, happy face and big brown eyes that took in the scene

    in front of him with joyous abandon. As he smiled at the two women, Dean found himself

    replacing the smaller boys features with his brothers. In fact, just looking at the child caused

    his heart to burn as memories surfaced and taunted Deans memory. Hell, the kid even had a

    head full of unruly brown hair like his younger brother. Still staring at Naomis sibling, he

    allowed himself to wonder and wish what would have happened if Sam Winchester had gotten

    up one morning to find people dancing and singing while his breakfast was being made.

    There sure hadnt been any breakfasts like this at the Winchesterhome? Could he

    really call a string of motels and fast food restaurants home? If anything, the seats of the

    Impala were more home to him than any building he had ever inhabited, but still, it would have

    been nice to wake up and find people who cared for him and his brother dancing around a

    kitchen. Dean felt his smile widen a bit when the boy clapped his hands and laughed with

    sheer delight as Naomi deftly flipped a piece of French toast in the air to only have it land on

    her foot.

    Ollie needs ice cream too. She had said those words to him the night before when she

    had been fighting off the venom. Then, he had thought that she was delusion and simply

    stringing together words. But, she had been talking about her younger brother. There was that

    damn ache again. It latched itself onto his heart and squeezed the organ gently. She had a little

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    brother whose need for ice cream outweighed her need to get home and receive treatment.

    Deans gaze returned to Naomi. He had expected to find her working on another piece of toast

    or making faces at her brother in the hopes of teasing a laugh from him. Instead, for the second

    time that morning, their eyes clashed.

    I found my thrill

    On Blueberry Hill

    On Blueberry Hill

    When I found you

    Fats Dominos voice replaced Jerry Lee Lewis as the iPod switched to the next song on

    its play list. Still smiling, Naomi came from behind the counter and walked toward him. Her

    hips were swaying gently to the beat of the song. She was singing. She wasnt half bad. Her

    voice was deep and smoky. It made him think of hot summer nights and stolen moments in the

    dark. Her singing blended seamlessly with Dominos providing those in the kitchen with a

    sensual duet.

    He raised an eyebrow when she held out her hand to him.

    Come on Winchester. I cant have you standing in the corner looking like a kicked

    puppy. Dance with me?

    He was more surprised at her question than when she had soundly kicked him in the nose the

    night before. For the life of him, he couldnt think of a polite way to tell her no. Dancing

    wasnt his thing. He could shoot a ghost at twenty paces and burn the bones of a dead man

    without flinching, but dancing with her in a setting such as this scared the living hell out of

    him.

    But as usual, his body defied his minds demand and he found himself accepting her

    offer without a note of dissent. On its own accord, his hand moved into hers. She gave it a

    gentle squeeze as if to assure him that she understood his mental turmoil, and again, against his

    better judgment he squeezed hers back.

    Ms. Ruthie grinned as she sprinkled confectioners sugar on the toast she was piling onto

    a plate. Oliver was moving his head along with the music and concentrating on a particularly

    difficult section of his Clifford picture. And Dean Winchester was dancing to oldies with the

    oddest woman he had ever met.

    And damn it all to hell and back if he didnt feel included in their domestic bliss. Even

    if it was only for a moment.

    Naomi continued to sing as they danced. He had to fight the urge to close his eyes and

    drink in the moment. No demons were bursting through the door. No shot gun had to be

    loaded with rock salt, and there was no father to worry about. He was just dancing. Hell, he

    felt almost normal.

    But as with all good things, the music and the moment had to come to an end. Ms.

    Ruthie clicked off the music player halfway through the opening rifts ofMy Boyfriends Back.

    Naomi extricated herself from his embrace and he followed her to the table. Even Oliver

    followed the silent command and put his coloring books and crayons on the floor next to his

    chair. Everyone took a seat at the oval table that monopolized a large corner of the cozy

    kitchen.

    He made himself forget about dancing and family. There was food to be eaten and he

    had a long day ahead of him. Besides, perhaps the food would stop him from having such un-

    manly thoughts. Dean prepared himself for his meal by loading his plate with five pieces of

    toast and several of the succulent sausage links that had been placed right in front of him. He

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    put thick wedges of butter in between each piece of bread before adding a hefty portion of the

    yellow substance to the top piece. Finally, he poured copious amounts of warm butter onto his

    plate. He sank his fork into his meal and anticipated the delight it would bring to his taste

    buds. However, when he looked around the table with the fork poised in front of his lips, he

    noticed that no one else was eating. In fact, they were all looking at him with varying

    expressions. Ms. Ruthie gave him a look that made him want to hang his head in shame. Little

    Olivers mouth had formed into a distressed O as if Dean was somehow breaking a rule by

    eating what had been placed in front of him. Naomi was glancing at him with humor dancing

    in his eyes and a smile tugging at her lips.

    What?

    Ms. Ruthie answered his question; We do not eat in this house until we have given

    thanks.

    It took great effort for him to put his utensil back onto the plate. Damn it, he was

    hungry. But the look he was getting from Ms. Ruthie was enough to quell his appetite. Soon,

    he found himself connected to the three people at the table as they bowed their heads for prayer.

    He mimicked their actions but gave no thanks. There was no doubt in his mind that the food

    would be delicious and the company entertaining, but he did not feel the need to thank a God

    who allowed creatures like he was hunting to exist in the same realm with small children and

    women who thought they could take on the world with the sheer force of their will.

    She wanted to hug him. Naomi took a bite of breakfast and studied the man sitting

    across from her. There was something about him that made her want to comfort him. She

    wanted to reach out and soothe his furrowed brow or at least coax the relaxed expression he

    had worn while they had been dancing in her kitchen. She had known the moment he had

    entered the room while she and Ms. Ruthie had been preparing breakfast. She had seen him

    smile while watching Oliver, and she had also seen the look of longing on his face. Bobby

    Singer had told her about the life that the Winchester boys had been forced to lead after they

    had lost their mother.

    She couldnt imagine the life that two small boys had led as they traveled from motel to

    motel searching for the thing that killed their mother. She certainly couldnt imagine hauling

    Oliver around as she fought. It would have been unfair to him if she were to take him away

    from the only home he had known in order to feed her own need for vengeance. But she could

    also understand and appreciate John Winchesters need to seek out the demon that killed his

    wife. If Ms. Ruthie and Oliver werent in her life, Naomi would have done the same thing after

    escaping from Stephens house of horrors. She would have trained, hunted, and fought until her

    knuckles were bloody. She would have left all humanity behind to finally see the look on

    Stephens face when she plunged a knife in his belly.

    Yes, she could see the world through John Winchesters blood crazed eyes, but that

    didnt stop her from pitying the two boys he took along for the ride. Naomi grinned when she

    looked across the table to see Dean talking animatedly to Oliver. French toast formed a softball

    sized deterrent in his right cheek as he told her brother some far fetched story that made Oliver

    toss his head back and laugh. As her little brother roared with amusement, Dean reached for a

    glass of milk, took a long gulp, and wiped the excess milk off with the back of his hand. Theaction was so child like that Naomi could almost see the little boy he had been. She could see

    him sitting next to some faceless younger Winchester telling tall tales in an effort to make his

    younger brother laugh. She wondered if John Winchester had ever taken time out of his busy

    demon killing schedule to share a moment of levity with his sons.

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    Taking another bite, Naomi savored the taste of the food and the look on Deans face

    when she had asked him to dance. Of course, he had wanted to say no. She had seen it in the

    set of his jaw and the way his shoulders had tensed. The damn man had looked like he was

    getting ready for a brawl instead of being asked to dance with her. She had made the gesture in

    an effort to make him feel as if he belonged therewith her familyif only for the space of

    time that this job took. She had wanted to give him a memory of laughter, music, and being

    held close as the world continue to spin outside.

    Can I go over and play with Amos this afternoon? Oliver jarred her out of her

    thoughts when he asked her the question. He was looking at her with hopeful eyes and

    confectioners sugar smeared all over the bridge of his nose.

    Naomi frowned at the mere mention of the other childs name. She didnt like Amos

    Monroe. He lived in the house across the street and the boy was nothing but trouble. He

    terrorized the whole neighborhood with his antics. He had been suspended from school for

    stopping up the toilets because he had been trying to desperately get rid of a grade that his

    parents would have disapproved of. He had been chastised numerous times at church for

    belching during the sermon or taking out the choirs music and replacing it with Funky Cold

    Medina. Two weeks ago Naomi caught the little pervert balancing his skinny legs on a trashcan

    outside her bathroom window in the hopes of catching a glimpse of her in the buff. When she

    had hauled him in the house to box his ears, he had smiled at her and said I have to learn what

    a woman looks like sometimes and they dont tell you nothing about that on the Disney

    channel. Thankfully, she had been able to hold her laughter until Amos had gone back home.

    I dont know. You had a fever last night. She couldnt tell Oliver that she thought his

    taste in friends was horrible. It would only incite her brothers rebellious nature and cause him

    to seek out the little boy more.

    Oliver grimaced and let his fork drop to the plate with an irritable clack. You never let

    me do anything. He twisted his cute face into what he thought was a look of adult derision

    before inaccurately mimicking Naomis voice; You cant go outside Ollie; you might catch a

    cold. You cant go with me tonight Ollie; you might get hurt. You cant go to the bathroom

    without me Ollie; who would wipe your backside? All I want to do is go play!

    Her need to comfort the oldest Winchester brother dissolved when he began to cough

    loudly into a napkin. Of course, he wasnt really coughing but trying to smother his own

    raucous laughter. She wanted to throw something at the man to get him to shut the hell up, but

    that action would most likely exacerbate her current situation. Instead, she looked at her

    brother and tried to put a stern look on her face.

    First of all, dont you ever use that tone of voice with me young man. I am trying to do

    what is best for you

    I dont want to spend the rest of my life inside! Olivers voice rose as he no doubt

    reached the pinnacle of annoyance.

    Naomi remembered feeling the same way when she was his age, but at nine she hadnt

    known what was lurking in the dark corners. She hadnt known that the things that went

    bump in the night wanted nothing more than to suck the very marrow from her bones. Again,

    she thought of John Winchester and the way he had taken away his sons childhood in order tohunt the things in the dark. She had fought too long and too hard to give Oliver a sense of

    normalcy to let it all go now. Even if Madame Renauld was out for blood.

    I will let you go this time. Oliver let out a whoop of excitement and Naomi held up

    her hand. She hated being the parent. She would have given anything if she could have been

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    the cool older sister instead of a pitiful replacement for a mother and father who would have

    been doing so much better than she. I dont want you to leave the front yard. Do you

    understand me? You will stay where Ms. Ruthie can see you at all times. If she calls me and

    says you have run off, there will be consequences.

    Yes maam. Olivers face was stretched to the limit with the smile he was wearing

    and he pushed back his chair in exuberance to run around the table to throw his arms around

    Naomis neck. I will stay where Ms. Ruthie can see me. He confirmed her orders and placed

    a sloppy kiss on her cheek. I wont run off with Amos, even if he tells me that the Donner

    triplets are outside washing the car.

    Smart ass. She chuckled and returned her brothers kiss before he went scampering

    off to make ready for his day with Amos.

    Ms. Ruthie let out a tut of disapproval; Shouldnt be talking like that in front of the boy

    Naomi Renee. Unseemly and unladylike. And you dont have all day to be sitting at this table;

    you need to take the hunter where he needs to be.

    Naomi knew when she was being chastised, and as always, Ms. Ruthie was right. She

    didnt have time to ruminate over the life of Dean Winchester or the life she wanted for Ollie.

    She had a job to do and sitting at the table wasnt getting it done.

    She turned to Ms. Ruthie and gave her an apologetic smile; Yes maam. She stood aswell pushing her chair back with much more grace and dignity than her brother. She looked at

    Dean who had been taking in the familial interaction with his mouth quirked in amusement;

    Are you ready to go?

    He nodded toward his plate; Plate is empty. Lets hit the road.

    Ruthie watched as Naomi kissed her brother good bye and Dean Winchester tussled the

    boys hair. Her stomach lurched and she fought and subsequently controlled the need to wretch

    in the sink. She needed them to leave. She needed Oliver to go with the other child from

    across the street. Something bad was coming. Soon. She could feel it in her bones and see it

    in the wind. And she wouldnt be able to tell what it was until she was alone. Her stomach

    roiled in defiance and again, Ruthie quelled the urge to vomit, to let the evil that was

    approaching roll like a canker inside her. She would not let it control her. She closed her eyes

    and thought of home. She thought of her mother baking bread and singing softly in the kitchen.

    She thought of the sun on her skin as she had laid out in the back yard and read ancient texts.

    She had to make the dread in her stomach dissipate. She needed to be completely and utterly

    alone. She needed to concentrate without having to worry with the flurry of emotions that

    oozed off of other people. Her head was still ringing with the frustration that had bounced off

    of Oliver when he thought he was going to be denied a day in the sun.

    She needed to get hold of her breath and unwind.

    The door shut once signaling the exit of Naomi and Dean as they made their way to the

    boys car. Seconds later, she heard Olivers shout that he was going to go get Amos and that

    they were going to stay in the front yard. She waved the child on without even looking at him.

    This feeling had been on her for days. Dragging her down and making her feel like she had

    been pressed between a rock and a hard place with shadows closing in and no method of

    escape. Now that she was alone, she could smell the tangy scent of oranges and the dead. With

    the house quiet, she could hear the humming of the old songs as they ricocheted in the recess of

    her mind and mixed fluidly with the bright timbre of haunting laughter.

    A shiver as cold as death, ran up her spine.

    She knew who it was. She knew that laughter. She knew her smell. She knew that she

    would never stop until Naomi was dead. She just didnt know what the bitch was up to. Clara

    Renauld always had a trick up her sleeve.

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    Reaching underneath the counter, Ruthie sighed with a mixture of relief and reprieve

    when she wrapped her hand around the neck of a bottle she only got out when the stress of the

    world bore down on her shoulders and made her feel heavier than a preacher after Sunday

    dinner. Ruthie wasnt feeling particularly holy today. She opened up the bottle of moonshine

    and took a long pull before coughing violently over the sink. The liquid cut like glass but

    thankfully moved with serpentine agility to easy the cold in her hands.

    Last time her hands were this cold, she had come home to find Joseph Laurent trying

    his best to kill Oliver. She would never forget the brutal image of Joes large hands as they

    wrapped around the fragile neck of the son that he had once doted upon. She could still see his

    eyes as they turned pitch black and hear his cruel bark of laughter as it released into the house.

    Ruthie could remember that and the fact that her hands had been icy cold. Almost as if she

    could have reached out and brushed the frost from the evil that tainted the Laurent family. Her

    mother had always told her that cold hands meant that evil was in reach. Ruthie believed it.

    She took another swig from the bottle and stared out into the yard. Oliver and Amos

    were huddled underneath a tree looking at a magazine. She smirked. She knew good and damn

    well that Amos Monroe had been pilfering in his fathers nudie magazines again. That damn

    child was nothing but trouble. She ought to go outside and tan both of them for even looking at

    such, but she didnt want to leave the kitchen or her bottle. She wanted to drink deeply andignore the fact that her fingers were growing numb with the ice chill of an approaching storm.

    She could feel Claras eyes on her, and Ruthie didnt want that sour mouthed old bitch

    to even get a glimpse of Oliver. She had felt Claras eyes last night too. When Naomi had

    been laid out on the couch, Ruthie could have sworn that she heard her cousins triumphant

    chuckle coming from right next to her ear. That was why she had plastered the false smile on

    her face and ran from the room. Clara didnt need to see Naomi suffer. When Naomi suffered,

    then the demon who once owned the child got a thrill. Ruthie was having none of that. It was a

    shame, a damn shame that Clara had gotten involved with that demon. It was a shame that

    Ruthie was now on opposite sides of the fence from a cousin that had once been closer to her

    than any sister. But that was how it was. They had both chosen their sides years ago.

    After taking another long swig, Ruthie spoke aloud into the empty kitchen. She knew

    Clara could hear her. Hell, her damn hands were shaking with cold; Im not going to let you

    hurt them. Youll have to go through me first.

    The bottle fell to the floor, not breaking, but pouring moonshine all over Ruthies good

    stockings when she heard her cousins voice answer with; That can be arranged.

    Kansas blared through the radio. Carry on My Wayward Son drifted through the car

    unhindered. Dean smiled and gently pounded out the emphasized notes against the steering

    wheel. He loved this song. Secretly, he had always thought of it as his theme song. Especially

    when he had been traveling alone. He would put the radio on full blast and drive down the road

    pelting out the verses with barely restrained emotion. He was carrying on. He only hoped that

    when the hunts were over and he was an old man sitting on his front porch cleaning his rifles,

    back talking his live in nurse (who would be stacked and know how to cook) that he would find

    the rest that the song promised. He would love to close his eyes and give in to the weary

    demands of his body, heart, and soul.

    But not right now.

    Right now, he was in his Impala driving to an unknown destination sitting next to the

    woman who could provide him with much needed information. Naomi had been quiet since

    leaving the house. She had simply stared out the window. Occasionally, she had rubbed her

    hands together as she watched the passing scenery. It was 103 degrees in the shade and she was

    rubbing her hands together as if it were the middle of winter. He had remained silent not

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    knowing her well enough to make his usual commentswell, no, that really wasnt it. He was

    tired of her hitting him.

    She was a fickle and impulsive woman. That made her dangerous.

    The last strains of the song faded into the air, and he turned the radio off. He glanced

    her way as he put the breaks on in front of a stop light; Do you want to tell me where we are

    headed? Or am I supposed to guess?

    She looked up at him in surprise like she had forgotten that he was in the car with her.

    The sigh she let out was heavy and dripping with her unknown burden; We are headed toward

    the Garden District. There are a few things that I need to show you.

    Show me? I dont need a trip through the Antiques Roadshow.

    Her lips quirked in answer to his sarcastic reply; And I dont need you acting like a

    jackass and making back handed pop culture references at me all day. Her amusement faded

    quickly and the car was soon permeated with silence again. Dean had the feeling that she was

    gathering herself. She looked to be in deep thought and occasionally she rolled her shoulders.

    Dean did the same thing before he was about to go head to head with a guy a whole hell of a

    lot bigger than him. We are going to my ex-husbands house. Did Bobby tell you anything

    about what happened to me?

    Dean shook his head; No. He told me to show up and not piss you off.There was no smile. There was no snappy comeback. Instead, her voice was soft,

    almost wistful; The house is at the end of the road. It has honeysuckle yellow siding and white

    shutters. There is a picket fence in the front yard. It looks like something ripped from the

    pages ofBetter Homes and Gardens. A place where a family should live. A family with a

    loving husband, a happy wife, and children.

    There was something in the cadence of her words, the way she was looking down at her

    hands that stayed Deans need to push the story along.

    I was fifteen when I married Stephen. A humorless chuckle burst from her lips before

    she continued; My father met him at church of all places. He was rich, handsome, and told my

    father that he thought he could help me meet my full potential.

    Dean raised an eyebrow and turned his left blinker on when Naomi motioned her hand

    in that direction. His stomach pitched in disgust as he thought of Naomi trudging down the

    aisle like some child bride marching toward her perverted suitor. He found the beginning of her

    story deranged and nasty as hell; Your potential?

    A sad smile appeared; I suppose I jumped the shark a bit. My father was a store clerk

    and my mother worked part time at a diner a few blocks from our house. They did what they

    could to make ends meet. They had two mouths to feed. Two children to put through school. I

    was a burden to them emotionally and financially. When I was seven, I sat down at a piano

    and just began to play. The moment my hands touched the white ivory I knew I belonged

    sitting in front of one for the rest of my life. It was feral, profound, natural. It was that way

    with every instrument I touched. When I put them in my hand, I would close my eyes and the

    notes would come to me like a painting. In vivid blues, greens, purples. I would see the colors

    and move my hands on the instrument I was playing. I would paint the picture I saw in my

    head in the air as music just poured out. Because of my talent, my mother begged my father to

    enroll me in a special school for the arts. Even with three scholarship offers and Ms. Ruthie

    footing the bill for books, I drained my family dry. My father saw Stephen as a way out.

    Someone who could remove me from the home and provide me with the education that was

    putting them in the poor house.

    Again, Dean turned right. He wanted to tell her that he thought her fathers decision

    was pretty damn shitty. He wanted to tell her that family needed to stick together, but wouldnt

    he be the worlds biggest hypocrite if those words left his mouth. His brother wouldnt talk to

    him and his father ran off without a word.

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    Naomi must have taken his silence for his approval to continue talking; My father

    wasnt a bad man. He was just a simple man who wanted his children to have the best. I

    married Stephen because my father asked me to and I thought I was in love. He was handsome,

    worldly, and didnt treat me like a child. I thought I was living in a romance novel.

    She motioned for Dean to turn one last time and they ended up in front of a house that

    was as big as a dream. It was just as she had described it. It was large and painted a

    welcoming shade of yellow with creamy white shutters and lattice work. The yard was well

    maintained and a grinning garden gnome peaked at visitors from beneath the towering shade of

    a willow tree. Dean could see the same things as Naomi. He could see children playing,

    laughter, and family growing and changing in a house like this.

    Stephen lived in this house when we first met. Naomis voice was matter of fact.

    Dean parked the car close to the curb and followed suit when Naomi unbuckled and

    stepped out into the thick air. He wanted to clear his throat. Every time he took a deep breath

    in his damn city he felt like his throat was being coated in a thick slime and no matter how

    many times he tried to shake the shackles of the heat, he was still left with a glob of the South

    in the back of his throat. He took one step toward the house but stopped abruptly when Naomi

    reached out to grab his arm.

    I havent been back here since I left Stephen in Paris. She removed her hand and gavehim an apologetic smile for having touched him (again) without his express permission. This

    is still his house. I can still smell him. Hear him. Naomi closed her eyes.

    Dean readied himself. She looked wild. The breeze picked up her hair and sent it

    tumbling forward. When she opened her eyes, he fell into them. They were bright and

    saturated with memories that only she could see. He wanted her to tell him everything, but

    knew that their acquaintance was too new and too fragile for him to demand. So he watched, as

    tears began to shine and fall down her cheeks in a gentle water fall. The sun reflecting off of

    each tiny wet drop.

    Shit. Damn. Hell. Naomi reached up to quickly wipe away the evidence of her

    emotion. I will not let that bastard bother me

    She was talking to herself. Dean let her have a moment. He looked around the yard.

    His surroundings had not changed and it was broad day light, but he felt something sinister

    creep in and block out some of the beauty of the day. In his eyes, the grass began to look a bit

    brown, the flowers didnt look so fresh, and the gnome began to look like a sinister leprechaun

    beckoning them into unknown terrors.

    This was his home.

    He brought his gaze back to hers when he heard her voice. Her eyes were still shining

    bright with emotion. Her cheeks were stained with wetness and again, he could see that her

    shoulders were shaking. If she had been sobbing, acting hysterically, or stomping around the

    yard in some theatrical and histrionic way, Dean would have ignored her. He would have

    walked toward the house and waited for her to pull herself together before he even

    acknowledged her presence.

    But she wasnt doing any of that.

    She was standing stark and alone in a yard full of sunshine reliving things that he could

    only imagine.

    Hell. He breathed the word and pulled her roughly into his arms. He ignored the

    click of connection and fought the urge to close his eyes and enjoy the human contact.

    She didnt fight him. Thank God. She just stood there breathing heavily against his

    chest. Her arms remaining at her side. Her resistance to comfort only made him want to hold

    her longer.

    Steel wrapped in silk.

    This was his home. Naomi repeated her earlier statement before bring her hands up to

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    his chest and pushing back just a little. She didnt try to remove herself from his embrace. She

    just stared into his eyes. He lived here. He was the man I loved here. We laughed. I played

    music. This is where he lived Dean, but this house, those walls; it was where I began to die.

    To be continued in Shackles Part III