Thanks for your patience! Sorry for the wait.

Pictures on the Wall: Chapter Four

Present Day…

Dean had never been very good at staying still, even when the flu was messing with him. He couldn’t sleep and his mind just got all wound up, sending unneeded energy into the rest of his body. It drove him to his feet so he could pace around…

Well, his pacing was dizzy and it involved crashing into things and sorta clinging onto them because they were the only things keeping him off the grimy carpet.

Sam wouldn’t be impressed. Dean could already see the look he’d be receiving. He knew, because he’d given Sam a fair few What do you think you’re doing? looks when he’d been sick the other week.

The pictures were still occupied, a figure or two passing through each every now and then. They didn’t even react when he prodded the frames’ glass with his fingers. It was like watching the world’s worst reality TV show.

So it was a combination of boredom and the need to know more that led Dean out his room and down to the office. Being unable to breathe through his nose sufficiently meant he was soon out of breath. Frustration with that led him to remember how it had been dealt with when he’d been a child. Soon, Dean was reaching for his phone and calling his brother.

“Did something happen?” Was Sam’s first question.

Dean couldn’t be bothered to come up with a joke. “Can you pick up some of that smelly vapour rub stuff? You know, the kind that clears your sinuses?”

He could almost hear Sam’s ‘WTF?’ expression.

“It smells good.” Didn’t need to mention it reminded him of Mom. “It helps.”

“How come you didn’t get any for me?”

“Because you don’t like it.”

“Sure I do.”

Dean rubbed a hand under his streaming nose. Oh for a tissue… Instead he sniffed hard and coughed it all down. Gross. “No you don’t. Dad gave you some as a kid and you spent the rest of the night crying until he washed it off.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. But I like it, so get me some.”

“Anything else?”

“Tissues.” Dean rubbed his hand on his jeans. “No soup. I don’t do soup. Bring back some…”

“Dean?”

“Mm?” He was distracted by a large nature shot hanging in the hallway, the image showing trees dominated by a mountain in the background. He waited to see if anyone would appear.

“You’re not, you know, doing anything…”

There! A girl! He leaned in and poked the glass, right on top of the girl’s moving image. Nothing. She didn’t even look up.

“Dean!”

“Huh?”

“What are you doing?”

“Looking at pictures.”

“The ones in the room?”

Sure, why not? He was looking at a picture and it was, indeed, in a room. Well, okay, so he was in a hallway but there were walls around him… “Yeah, of course.” Dean’s logic was self-satisfactory. He wasn’t lying, not at all little brother. “Still seeing stuff.”

“Okay. Just take it easy. I’ll be back later.”

Dean spotted someone coming out from the office behind the desk. Ah-ha. Mr. Hawkins himself. Nice. Maybe they could have a chat. If Dean accidentally said the wrong thing, they could both chalk it up to a flu-screwed mind.

“Dean!”

“Huh?”

“Dude, stop spacing out.”

“Yeah, yeah. Sorry. So, whatcha doing?”

“Trying to find a connection between these people.”

“Oh, yeah, of course. Anything?”

“Not yet but I’ve got a few ideas.”

Dean walked by a picture where he could see a couple yelling at each other in front of a group of broken down houses. “Need any help?”

“No. Go to sleep. I’ll call when I find something.”

“Fine. See you later. Don’t get lost in the library. Leave a breadcrumb trail if you have to go to the shelves right at the back.”

“Don’t you mean a M&M trail?”

“Hey, you only use M&M’s like that when times are desperate.”

Laughing goodbye, Sam hung up. Dean’s phone returned to his pocket before digging out enough change to get himself a bottle of water from the vending machine. Then he shuffled into the office, sneezed so powerfully he thought maybe the lining of his throat tore, ow, and made his presence known.

“You don’t look too good son,” Mr. Hawkins pointed out, an almost fatherly look of concern coating his features. “Shouldn’t you be in your room resting? Oh, or do you need a doctor?” The man eyed Dean. “You look like you need a doctor.”

“Nah, I’m fine. Seriously. All dosed up on… stuff.” His brain was too fuzzy to go naming brands. Dean shrugged instead and admitted, “I got kinda bored.”

Hawkins laughed. “Yeah, I guess a young man like you ain’t used to layin’ around and doing nothin’.”

“Yeah, you could say that.”

A picture on the wall behind Hawkins’ desk caught Dean’s eye. He watched as a pair of children, boys, walked across. Their clothes were seriously outdated – the flared pants and puffy shirts relics of the sixties or seventies. A few moments later, a man and a woman sauntered across the mountain path.

Hawkins noticed Dean’s interest. “You into photography?”

Dean shook himself and drew his mind into something resembling a working state. “Oh, yeah, totally. Totally the reason I’m in Colorado.”

“You don’t look the type.”

“That’s because right now I’m as pale as milk and about as attractive as what’s been coming out my nose,” Dean retorted with a grin.

Hawkins had to laugh. “Well, when you put it like that…”

“So did you take these photos? I noticed some in my room that look like this one…”

“Me? No, no. My father took ‘em. He was a miner but photography was his true callin’. He died back in ninety-nine. The flu. It takes the elderly like that sometimes.”

“Yeah… Sorry.” Flu? Fantastic. Not that Dean was elderly but still…

Hawkins turned to observe the large image. “The collection’s worth a fair bit but no one’d ever think to steal ‘em. Nature shots ain’t exactly screamin’ ‘steal me, I’m worth it!’ Nah, so I just spread ‘em around.”

Dean gave a small laugh. Worth money eh…? Could he really stoop that low? Out loud he said, “Yeah, people today don’t appreciate stuff like this.”

It sounded painfully lame, but Hawkins was nodding in agreement. “They sure don’t,” he said with a sad sigh.

“Were they taken locally?”

“Well, they were all taken in Colorado. Most of these were taken around one of the old mining towns to the west, nearer the mountains. Lotsa nice hiking places around there – a real tourist trap. We get a lot of the overspill staying here, especially in the summer. Not so much at this time of year though. Still, the snow’s not so bad now but round here we’re used to dealin’ with it.”

Dean nodded, trying to maintain his look of interest. “So what’s your Dad’s name? Maybe I should look him up and learn a thing or two.” Both of them realised how weird a sentence that was simultaneously. Dean rapidly sought elaboration. “I mean, someone wrote about him right? And there’s lots to learn from books, y’know, about photography. I’m always looking for tips.” Yeah, tips from a dead guy. Genius cover story there, Dean thought with an inward sigh.

Hawkins didn’t seem suspicious at all. Quite the opposite in fact. “Wow, someone lookin’ up my Dad.” He gave a proud smile. “Burty Hawkins.” He laughed. “Unusual name, I know. Maybe that’s what made the pictures worth what their worth, y’know?”

Dean remembered to offer a polite laugh. His concentration was drifting. He had to finish this, tell Sam whatever he learned, and then curl up in bed again. He planned on waking up again next week.

“Yeah, Dad. He was a good man. Every picture in the motel is his. Figured it’d add a bit of culture… or something.”

“Well, it’s an interesting feature,” Dean replied, hoping he sounded interested and not bored. Kinda hard to tell when his voice was so clogged with nasty, flu-induced gunk. And damn he was hot and his head pounded and as for his stomach, please oh please don’t heave… “Anyway, I’m gonna head back. Need to lie down before my brother comes back and goes all Florence Nightingale on me. Thanks for your time.”

“Don’t mention it. And you just give me a call here at the front desk if I can get ya anythin’.”

“Thanks.” And Dean shuffled off, dialling his phone and clearing his throat in time to tell Sam, “Look up a guy named Burty Hawkins. Miner-turned-photographer.”

“…How do you know that?”

“Some of the pictures are signed.” Dean had always been a fluent liar.

“…I didn’t notice that.”

“Well, I guess you didn’t look at the back of the pictures huh?”

“I did actually.”

Crap. “Oh, so you got them out their frames to check the backs of the pictures themselves?”

“…No.”

Hah, he still had it. “Yeah well, it’s amazing what the simple things can do.”

“Whatever. Shut up and go to bed. You sound like someone’s trying to strangle you.”

“And you’d know best.”

Sam just groaned.

Dean pushed his way back into their room, taking care to close the door silently so Sam didn’t notice. Ah, hello comfy, warm bed. “Did you find anything?” His throat felt like someone had sewn glass into the sides. Dean uncapped his bottle and took another swig. “Anything not depressing?”

Sam laughed but the amusement was scant. “Sorry but it’s not good. There are a lot of missing people – more than we found online. These go back to the fifties. I can’t believe the police didn’t do more about this.”

“Yeah you can. That’s what the cops do when this stuff’s too complicated for them – they bury it under the title cold case.”

“This is a whole lot’ve burying. These people are from across the entire country…”

“Mm.” Dean was glad he’d forgone the effort of pulling on his boots when he’d taken that brief stroll. He curled up and pulled the blankets to his chin, before deciding he was too hot and kicking them away. “Have fun Sammy.”

“Yeah, okay. I’ll be back later.”

“I’ll be here. Drive carefully through the snow.” And Dean snapped his phone shut, shoved it into his pocket and tried to sleep.

Once the bodies in the former town hall were dealt with, the brothers moved on to the train tracks. There was no telling when their psycho dead mayor friend would be back so they moved fast. The freezing cold snow was a great incentive too, neither of them willing to spend longer than necessary out here in the miserable weather.

Dean had taken to listing warm things to keep his mind off the snow, much to Sam’s frustration. “Coffee. Whiskey. Chillies. Chillies on a double-cheeseburger. Fresh fries. Fries dipped in Wasabi sauce… Uh… Curry…”

Sam looked at his brother. “You’ve had curry?”

“Mm. British people are weird.”

Sam was even more confused. “When did you meet a British person and what the hell does that have to do with curry?”

“Didn’t you know that curry is, like, the most popular meal in Britain?”

“Ok-ay…”

“If college doesn’t teach you all important information like that, what’s the point of it all?”

Sam dodged the issue. “Why do you know about curry? When did you meet a British person?” He wiped his nose on his sleeve before adding, “And why are we still talking about it?”

“Probably because you’re asking.”

“Oh God,” Sam sighed.

“Yeah, so I met a British girl in a bar in New York, who knew a dish…”

Sam knew from that smirk of his brother’s that this conversation was going places Sam didn’t want to go. He reached down, gathered a snowball, and threw it at his brother.

“Hey!” Dean hissed, trying not to yell loudly. They were still in stealth-mode… supposedly.

“Cold shower,” Sam replied with a smirk.

Dean glared at him for a moment later. “Whatever dude.” And he moved on, kicking up the snow. Sam cautiously followed his brother, staying on alert for sudden attacks – from the ghost or Dean.

They walked on in silence. At one point they had to pass by one very unwell guard, his face so twisted in pain that Sam felt guilty for Dean’s actions.

“I think maybe we should call an ambulance for them once we’re done,” Sam whispered as they jogged towards disused railroad.

“Why?”

Sam shook his head. “You’re pretty heartless when you want to be huh?”

Dean looked at his brother, blinking in confusion. “What? What did I do now?”

“Forget it,” Sam muttered and pushed on, taking the lead.

The railroad was barely visible under the thickening snow but its location was a dead giveaway thanks to the massive chunks of the destroyed steam engine that were still scattered around, rusted and scoured by time. Again, the brothers were indebted to the hardworking anthropologists and archaeologists who had dug up the bodies and marked them so nicely with little blue flags. There were around ten shallow graves in total.

“Any idea which one is the mayor?” Sam asked. “We should probably take care of his remains first.”

“Yeah. He’s the only one messing around…”

“Dude, don’t say that! You’ll jinx us!”

“I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear you say that because my brother isn’t a ten-year-old. Okay, the body of the mayor. Location? Uh… He should be the one in front of the train…” Dean paused for a moment, hand held thoughtfully to his chin. “Then again, there’s a chance he was smashed into pieces and got,” Dean threw his arms to the sides, “spread out.”

Sam winced. “Ouch.”

“Yeah. Maybe that’s why the ghost’s so pissed off.”

Sam was already heading to the front of what remained of the train, eyes trained on the blue flag indicators that were stuck in the ground. He had to climb over the wreckage here and there but eventually he found something promising. “I’ve got a ribcage. Well… most of it,” he called blindly over his shoulder, eyes still seeking out other body parts. “Ah, found a leg too.”

Dean didn’t respond.

Sam was about to call out again when he heard it, the unmistakable sound of someone taking a heavy punch. Sam hurried back as fast as he could, only to find his brother standing over the prone figure of a security guard.

“So, the laxatives weren’t enough?” Sam asked.

“Worse than that. There’s a new shift coming in.” Dean rubbed a hand under his nose absently. “Okay, we need to finish this. Did you find anything?”

“Ribs and a leg. There could be more. I’m not sure.”

“Let’s just burn as we go. We can hope that weakens the bastard.”

Neither mentioned their suspicion that burning the body piece by piece would only serve to enrage the mayor’s ghost. Instead, Sam nodded and took the lead, climbing back to where he’d found the bones.

“Damn,” Dean suddenly muttered. “Crap.”

Sam looked back. “What? What is it?”

“Don’t stop.” Dean motioned at Sam with his fingers, telling him to keep moving. “I just caught my leg on part of the wreck… oh… no, wait… Huh.” Dean crouched down, grabbed something and stood up. “Found a hand.” He then placed it back down and went about salting and burning it.

“What the hell do we do if we can’t find all of this guy’s body?”

“Sam, this isn’t the time for negativity.” The hand dealt with, Dean looked over to where Sam was just setting fire to the bones he had found. “So, what have we got left?”

“Two arms, one hand, the head and a leg.”

Dean poked around where he had found the hand and sure enough, the arm it had once been connected to turned up. “Remind me to never get hit by a train,” he commented as the arm was burnt into ash.

Sam didn’t get a chance to respond. Bright white flashlights burnt into their eyes and voices began shouting out, the words too mangled with each other to make sense at first. But it soon became clear what was happening. The rest of the shift change had arrived and the four new security guards weren’t too pleased to find their colleagues sick and the bones burnt.

But if they intended to hand Sam and Dean over to the police, their plans weren’t going to go according to plan. The flashlights winked on and off like bad club lighting. The guards looked at each other in confusion. Sam and Dean reached for their guns. The mayor was back despite the partial burning of his bones, and this time he had the wreckage of a train to throw around.

Dean couldn’t sleep.

It wasn’t that he was too uncomfortable because right now the flu symptoms were dulled behind a haze of drugs. Hours had gone by since he’d spoken to Hawkins but nothing was working and Dean was still awake, too tired to move but too awake to nod off. His mind just refused to shut down, pointless thoughts never falling silent.

His phone began ringing. Dean fumbled to free it from his pocket. “’Lo?” And he sniffed hard to dislodge the gunk clogging his nose.

“Ah, sorry. Did I wake you up?” Sam was quiet. Obviously he was still in the library.

“Uh… no.” Dean groped for bottle of water he had dropped somewhere. Talking reminded him just how sore his throat was. When his hand landed on it, he asked, “Did you find something?”

“Maybe.”

Dean wrestled with the cap until he pinned the phone to his ear with his shoulder and used both hands. “And…?”

“The photos were taken at one of those abandoned towns they turned into a tourist hotspot. It draws in huge amounts of visitors ‘cause it’s perfect for a day out. Educational and outdoorsy – perfect for families.”

Dean swallowed a mouthful of water and winced at the searing, dragging pain in his throat. “You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know.” He looked at his watch and lamented the time. He still had hours to go before he could pop any more pills. “I thought you had something.”

“The people who disappeared from the hotel? Most of them turn up at the tourist site. I’ve tracked almost all of the names to this place.”

“Credit card records?”

“Yeah, and some of them are listed on the historical society’s friends and benefactors list.”

“I guess we need to head to this place. What’s it called?”

“Ye Olde Miner Towne and yes, it has got tourist trap written all over it. We should probably pick up some t-shirts when we get there.”

“Nice. Know how to get there?”

“Mapquesting it as we speak.” Sam paused and Dean could hear his fingers typing at maniacal speeds. “It looks like it’ll take a few hours to get there. We may have to wait ‘til tomorrow so we have some daylight to walk around in. And the snow’s supposed to clear up some more too…”

“Okay. I’ll…”

P-Please…

The phone-line crackled ominously. Dean felt the temperature drop even. Worse than that was the sensation of something in the air, charging it with a static current.

“Dean?”

“Sam… I think your friend’s here…”

“Wait wha-“

The phone went dead. Everything went dead, the lights not even flickering before they snapped off.

Help…

Dean eased off the bed and approached the pictures. He frowned as blurry images fuzzed in and out on the landscapes. They were too indistinct to describe but Dean was willing to bet he was looking at the people trapped inside.

Help us!

The frame cracked. An instant later, the glass was flying. Dean dropped to his knees and the shards flew over his head, breaking up when they hit the wall behind him. There was a pause, breath was gathered and then came the scream, made up of countless voices and full of so much desperation. The noise tore through Dean’s head, his hands flying to his ears. He looked up at the pictures, watched them turn black like closed-off rooms with no windows.

His eyes went wide as the hands appeared, bunches of them rising out of the pictures and grabbing at the air. Dean just watched, fascinated. They were real hands, alive and solid. He found himself reaching up, curiosity overriding common sense. All of them were flailing, trying to catch something that wasn’t there. What did they want?

A sudden knock on the door had the hands withdrawing. The pictures showed their scenery once again. The lights came back on. Dean very carefully stood up, holding onto the wall as he did so. His head pounded, his ears full of his own rushing blood and everything around him swayed. He coughed to clear his throat and moved towards the door. He grabbed the handle and pulled it open.

“Yeah?”

Cold air was the only thing to greet him.

TBC…

Yes, I’m making the town up but it’s based on one of countless places that really do exist. So, you know, don’t go planning any holidays looking for this place ;)

Thanks for reading!