My daughter told me that I'm to evil for my own good. I'm taking it as a complement. -grin-

A Hunt Gone Wrong - Chapter 4

"I need more!" roared Freiberg, his body shaking so fast he became a blur then suddenly stopping and in utter stillness stared at Sam. Waves of fear and the screams of terrified teenagers permeated the foyer; the air…thick and heavy… swirled around Sam like a tidal wave, overwhelming him. He struggled to draw air into his lungs and fought the urge to collapse to his knees, to give in to the fear. Sam ripped his arm out of Freiberg's grasp and stumbled backwards onto the porch. He turned and managed to take a few steps before hands grabbed his jacket collar and arm, roughly jerking him back.

-"Sam wake up. Sam."-

Yelling "LET ME GO!" Sam struggled and squirmed out of the jacket loosing his flashlight in the process. Tripping over his own feet in his haste to escape, he landed face down on the porch, knocking the air out of his lungs. A burning pain tore through his side as he coughed and scrambled to get back to his feet. Clutching his bloody side he sprinted across the porch to the steps and jumped, almost falling down again when he landed awkwardly in the slick mud. Flailing his arms, the tall brunette managed to stay on his feet and ran headlong through the high weeds and brush surrounding the mansion, intermittent moonlight lighting his way. 'Keep the doctor busy…keep him away from Dean…keep the doctor busy…keep him away from Dean…' he repeated in his head.

-"You need to open your eyes Sam."-

Sam put his arm up to protect his face from the stinging slaps of small tree branches. Something to the right screamed, veering to the left he tripped over a rotting fallen tree and rolled several feet before coming to a stop. Rain pelted him as he lay curled up in a ball, he screamed through clenched teeth as sharp pains ran through his chest and side. Freezing cold air blew across the back of his neck separating strands of wet chestnut hair.

"You can't hide from me boy," a guttural voice whispered in his ear.

Recoiling, Sam got moving again. Both knees twinged as he climbed to his feet, staggering slightly he wrapped his arms around his stomach and ribs, and stared into the darkness searching for the doctor's spirit. "You can't catch me you murdering bastard!" Sam shouted when a swirling mist rushed out from amongst the leafless trees. With fingers numb from cold, the youngest Winchester reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a small Ziploc baggie containing white crystals. He opened the baggie and poured a small amount of the salt into his fist, zipped the bag shut then shoved it back into his pocket. Knowing the salt wouldn't last long in the rain he waited until the last possible moment to throw it into the mist. Rewarded with a scream of pain mixed with rage, Sam took off in a stilted run, away from the dissipating mist and in what he hoped was the direction of the Impala.

-"Sam stop fighting, you're going to tear open your stitches. Keogh call Doctor Jameson stat!"-

The tree line tilted sideways in the early dawn light when Sam slammed into a tree trunk. Crying out, he squeezed his eyes shut as stars shot across his vision and dropped to his knees. Exhausted, he leaned his head and shoulder against the trunk and tried to bring his breathing under control. There wasn't enough light out for him to see the knife wound but he could tell by the warmth spreading across his stomach and down his thigh that if he didn't stop the bleeding soon, Freiberg would be the least of his worries. Getting back to his feet, he slowly jogged until he came to a shallow ditch bordering the highway. "Shit." He hung his head and leaned over with his hands on his knees when he realized he'd completely missed the Impala, ending up instead on the highway that ran two miles south of the mansion. Pulling his cell phone from the front pocket of his sodden, dirty jeans he punched in Dean's number, "Please work, please…Dean hurry up, the doc got me good and I don't know how much longer…I'm on the highway south…" Simultaneously, the phone was ripped from his fingers and a disembodied voice screamed, "YOUR'RE MINE!" in his ear.

Sam's eyes flew open wide in surprise then in shock as cold metal slid into his lower back. A guttural sound fell from his lips, he arched his back and involuntarily stepped backward when the knife was yanked out. Images of Jake and Cold Oak flashed through his mind as the knife blade was sunk to the hilt in his back again.

Hot blood flowed soaking into the waistband of his jeans while ice cold fingers grasped the back of his shirts, holding him still while Freiberg muttered, "it's been so long…so long since I've felt the warmth of life giving blood flowing through my veins." Sam couldn't breathe, his lungs immobilized by the blinding pain and black spots soon formed in his vision. Listening to the desperate gasps for air, Freiberg smiled and jiggled the handle of the knife before pulling it out slowly and letting go of the shirts.

-"Where are the restraints? Sam you have to stop fighting us. Here, get him tied down before…damnit he tore his stitches. JC give him one hundred milligrams of pentobarbital."-

His legs unable to hold him Sam collapsed, falling onto his side then rolling onto his back, his arms and legs askew. Finally able to breath again he gulped down air, the knife wounds throbbing with every beat of his heart. Freiberg knelt down next to Sam and looked him over from head to toe. "You're a fine specimen my boy. I will take much pleasure in your disembowelment." He reached out and held the young man's face in his hands, gently wiping away tears with his thumbs, "there, there my boy, no need to cry. All of us were put here on God's green earth for a purpose," he stroked Sam's hair. "I am so close to a break through," he smiled benignly, "you should know that your sacrifice will help further my research into how to replace diseased internal organs and circulatory systems."

"No, no," Sam pleaded shaking his head as he reached up and grasped the doctor's icy wrists, pulling at them weakly, "please no." He wanted to kick, to scream, to run away but he was so cold and tired he could only manage to shift his left leg. His mind wandering, he closed his eyes, willing himself to pass out before the doctor could follow through with his threat.

-"Dawn call the OR, tell them he's coming back up."-

A malevolent grimace twisted the doctor's face into a horrifying sight; he tore his hands away, clasped them together and raised his arms over Sam's chest, Dean's knife appearing out of nowhere. "It's time…Sam," he said, plunging the knife down.