In the Presence of Evil

Chapter 1

The Man on Fire

The mixed music of the midnight bar blared into the empty streets of the countryside. It was a colourful place. Lights flashing on the dance floor; people screaming, drinking, dancing, and having a good time; friendly bartenders monitoring their customers; and vehicles with license plates from all over the country parked outside the door; one of them being a black 1967 Chevy Impala.

A hand grabbed a glass of liquor that slid across the counter top to where the person sat. He picked up the small shot glass and knocked back the liquid as if it was just water. He took a breath and slapped the counter while putting down the glass.

"I'll have another there, sweetheart."

The lady barmaid smiled and slid down another small glass of clear liquid to the man while cleaning out other taller glasses with a dirty rag. Again he caught it and threw it down his throat. A tall man that was obviously not interested in drinking walked up behind the man and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Dean, lay off the drinks, will you? You're on water for the rest of the night", he said.

The man drinking, known as Dean was appalled. He swallowed the last of whatever substance was in his glass and gave his friend a serious look.

"Water? You can't cut me off! This right here is Heaven", he stated, motioning to his glass as he placed it on the counter.

He slapped the counter and another glass came sliding in his direction. He picked it up and offered it to the other man.

"Here. Try some Heaven."

The man sat down next to his drunken partner.

"No, thanks."

Dean put down the glass as it started shaking in his grip. He sighed.

"Sam, come on, man. You have got to loosen up and have a little fun once in a while," he commented, slurring his words together a little as the drinks began to take effect on him.

Sam rolled his eyes as Dean continued.

"Tonight is a no strings attached night. Now, you don't have to get laid tonight, though I do recommend it, but you have to at least drink, or dance, or… or get that barmaid's number for me over there. Yeah."

He gave the other barmaid a couple stools over a bad boy smile and a 'hey baby' nod that he was famous for.

"Dean, one of us has to stay sober for us to get back to the motel in one piece, and since you are clearly out of it, I guess I will be the one to drive us back."

Dean picked up the glass and put it to his lips.

"Wus."

He sipped the alcohol, but then realized it was too strong for him to handle slowly and tipped the glass higher to rush it down his throat.

"Damn, that's good stuff!"

"You disgust me", Sam responded.

He opened a book and began to read, somehow avoiding the loud noises of the bar. Dean leaned over his shoulder, horrified.

"I disgust you? What the hell are you doing?"

"Reading."

"Reading what?"

Dean stretched out an arm in attempt to snatch the book from him. Sam pulled it away before he could get his hands on it. Dean sat back upright with a curious look on his face.

"Oh, I see. You don't want me to know what sissy book you're reading so that I can't make fun of you. Huh. I didn't know my opinion meant so much to you", he stated smugly.

"It doesn't. I'm reading Angels and Demons, just so you know", Sam said in defense.

"Oh that's appropriate", Dean commented with a roll of his eyes. "And how many times have you read that?"

"Three."

"Nerd", Dean mocked under his breath.

"You just don't appreciate the value of…"

"Hold that thought."

Dean raised a hand at Sam; his eyes focused on something straight ahead of him.

"Time to work some Winchester magic."

Dean adjusted his collar and stood up confidently. His eyes were fixed on a girl on the other side of the bar. She was facing another woman that was turned in their direction, making Dean only able to see the woman he wanted from behind, but for him, this was enough. She wore a tight red silk skirt that showed off her backside nicely. She had fishnet nylons that poked through her also red high heels. Her halter top, like the rest of here outfit was red. Her blonde wavy locks billowed over her broad shoulders. She twizzled a curl around her finger as she socialized with the other woman. This revealed her long scarlet nails that were obviously false, but Dean didn't seem to care.

From behind she looked like a vision to Dean, definitely someone of his style. Sam caught Dean's stare and examined the woman, paying attention to the detail that Dean hadn't. He grew hesitant.

"Uh, Dean, I don't think you should…"

It was too late. Dean had already tapped the girl on the shoulder.

"Hey, pretty lady. Why don't we get some shots in here and have ourselves a good time, huh?"

He leaned against the side of the bar counter, waiting for her to turn around and see her beautiful face. She turned at the sound of his masculine voice. Unfortunately the face he was expecting was not what he saw.

The girl had very thick, almost too perfect make-up smeared on her face, the beginning of stubble on her jaw line as well as her upper lip, and tufts of brown hair flipping out from underneath her blonde curls. Dean stepped back, stumbling over his own feet from shock. He gripped the counter fiercely, trying not to fall to the floor. She gave him an awkward glare while she gave him a look over. Dean's eyes bulged from their sockets as he noticed a lump in her throat that he recognized to be an Adam's apple. This was a sure sign to Dean that this woman was definitely not a woman.

"Sorry, doll. You're cute, but you're not my type."

Dean couldn't believe her comment. He couldn't believe those words were being uttered by someone like her to someone like him. The two women got up and walked onto the dance floor. Dean continued to stare blankly into space. Sam finally came over to relieve him from embarrassment, laughing hysterically. Dean brought himself to his feet and blinked out of thought.

"Man, I don't know what's funnier: the fact that you couldn't tell that that man was a man, or the fact that you just got turned down by a transvestite."

Dean gave his brother a deathly stare. They began walking for the door, now tired of sitting in the crowded bar.

"That was totally the most disturbing thing I've ever experienced", Dean commented.

Sam opened the door for his older brother.

"Could you imagine if she had taken you up on your offer?"

Dean cringed.

"You're sick."

Sam laughed, finding Dean's bitter attitude somewhat amusing.

They walked to their car, the dusty black Impala that waited all alone at the far end of the parking lot. Dean opened the car door to get in, but stopped suddenly with a concentrated expression on his face.

"What? Dean, what is it?"

"Shh!"

There was silence.

"Do you hear that?"

Sam listened closely trying to pick up the sound Dean had.

"What?"

"It's a – a chopper", Dean stated oddly, surprised himself at what he had said.

Sam could now hear the noise as well.

"A chopper? What's so weird about that? We're at a roadside bar. It's a fairly appropriate setting for that."

"I know. It's just…"

Dean peered out down the long empty road.

"It's just, there isn't a bike in sight. I mean other than the one's that are parked here. How could it be so loud?"

The answer to Dean's question came sooner than he imagined. In the distance, down the dusty old road came a hot red light. It picked up speed and came closer and closer by the second. The hum of the motorcycle got louder until the vibration was strong enough to burst someone's eardrum. The light slowly changed to a bright orange glow. Not only that, but the light seemed to be moving in different shapes and forms, like it had a mind of its own, still remaining close to its center. Because of this the image of what it really was, was fuzzy. They were just able to make out the fact that it was a motorcycle, but it was on fire and it carried on its back a dark rider.

At first they thought they had been seeing things, but then the vehicle came to a halt. It was going so fast that it had left a trail of red flames behind, sticking to the black tar, which blew out as the wind flushed by it.

Its rider stepped off the bike. The engine was still running. They could hear its rumbling vibration from where they stood. The brothers stared in silence and wonder at this mysterious person. The music inside the building had stopped. They too had heard the vehicle's power as it zoomed down the highway. The rider wore all black. Dark jeans, jet-black biker boots with a thick heel, and a motorcyclist's favourite item: a leather jacket.

His jacket was rugged and gave him an edgy, rogue look. It had three large pointed spikes on each of his broad shoulders, and a few studs on the cuffs of his sleeves. It had a wide metallic zipper that had been done up all the way to his thin neck. Though, aside from the outfit, one thing stood out about this man that left the spectators puzzled, even Sam and Dean.

His face and hands that should have been showing skin revealed thick white bone instead. His head was literally a skull, and even more intriguing, scorching flames blazed around his cranium and fists. The skeleton man grunted at his surroundings and stiffly marched over to the bar. The door opened before he arrived at it and a shorter man in grungy track pants and a hooded sweater lazily stumbled out with his head down, not noticing anything was happening around him. The rider of the flaming motorcycle growled at the man and clenched his bony fingers.

The teenage punk looked up with glazed eyes. He jumped back, half falling off his feet. He grabbed the back wall to help keep him standing as he tried to escape the glare of the monstrous man. He breathed heavily while screaming,

"No! Please, don't! Don't hurt me! Please! Please!"

The rider stalked toward the young man with an angry look on his face, though it's hard for a skeleton to have any other expression. The kid crouched down in the corner of the building, hiding himself behind a patio table. Sweat poured from his brow as the skeleton rider shoved the table aside and lifted him off his feet by his sweater.

"Look into my eyes", it hissed.

The young man had no choice but to stare into the dark crevices of the flaming skull. As he did so he began to shriek. He groaned and screamed in agony. Whatever he was seeing in the rider's eyes was causing him pain. Within seconds the rider dropped the man, his lively and frightened eyes now blackened and dead. The rider walked back to his chopper without a word. Dean stepped away from the car toward the man.

"Hey! What'd you do to that poor guy?"

The rider gave him a wicked look.

"Penance stare. Look it up."

With those last words the man straddled his bike. The flames gained a sudden surge of power and height when he sat on it. He put a bit of pressure on the gas pedal of the bike and turned the handles to rev up the engine. It raced out of the scene leaving nothing behind but a trail of sparks and a dead body.