In The Mouth Of The Rat
By: Tidia, December 2007
Disclaimer:
Supernatural is owned by Kripke. Thank you to Ridley C. James for
creating The Brotherhood Universe
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Chapter 2/9
The house was special. Daddy had made it with love. The rear of the
house had big windows to see the ocean. The windows were always open,
allowing the sea breeze to stir through the house, and leave its
aromatic saltiness. At night, Caleb could hear the waves lapping, and
the wind echoing as it came into contact with the house.
He was in the closet, the door slightly open. His mother didn't like it
closed all the way, just in case. She was painting, sitting on a stool,
her back to him. His father walked in, but he was different. Yelling at
his mother and Caleb wanted to intervene, to ask why his father was
being mean.
Then his mother fell to the floor with blood all over her body. Caleb's
voice strangled in his throat, unable to utter a sound. Then finally he
called out.
"Daddy?"
Isaac turned, his lips thinned out into a smile and then he put a gun
to his head.
"Daddy!"
Caleb sat up in bed, bleary eyed. He looked around the buff colored
room, and down at the white sheets. His senses kicked in, the salt
smell, and the sound of sea gulls. He groaned, recalling their
location. He shifted his legs off the bed. He could do this. Caleb
could blot out, compartmentalize his memories of his parents and do the
job. There was a bathroom in his room, and he took his time taking a
shower, not even looking at the clock. It didn't matter what time it
was, most of their job was done at night. He was going to have to make
some phone calls and check on Tri Corp.
He ambled down the wood suspended staircase. Mac's friend had modern
taste in decorating. For once he was thankful there was no art adorning
the wall. The furnishings were sparse, and so even his sneakers made
noise as he went down the stairs. "How long have you been up?
Dean was seated at the kitchen table with USA Today in front of him. He
put the paper down to reveal two cups of coffee. "Good morning,
Sunshine." The younger hunter pushed the cup towards one of the empty
chairs. "Did you get some sleep?"
"Some." Caleb opened the lid, and took a gulp of the milky, warm coffee.
"Right." Dean folded up the newspaper. He looked at his watch. "I had
enough time to go for a run on the beach, meet Cara from the coffee
place next door, and take a shower."
Reaves noticed the younger hunter had gained some color to his skin. At
least the beach agreed with someone.
"Let's get moving, Deuce." The further away from the house they could
be, the better. And they could go out for a hearty breakfast, or early
lunch. It didn't make a difference.
Dean shrugged. "So Dad said you were calling the shots."
Caleb coughed, choking on the coffee just as he was thinking about
offering to take Dean out for breakfast. "He said that?"
Dean laughed, knocking his fist against the table. "No, not really, man
you just got a little too excited."
Reaves frowned, then snorted. "When a Winchester says they are actually
going to listen to someone other than their own little, stubborn voice,
I take notice."
"Funny." Dean stood up. "So are you taking me out for breakfast?"
"What are you the psychic now?" Caleb finished off the coffee, took the
cup, set himself up and threw it into the sink for what would have been
a three point shot in basketball.
"No, I saw a sign for Cracker Barrel at a bus stop near where I went to
get the coffee." Dean grinned and gestured out the window to a place
across the street.
Caleb had left the Jeep at the airport, and had to wonder if it was all
part of John's plan. Dean adeptly maneuvered the Impala through the
summer, beach going traffic to the homey Cracker Barrel. The
store/dining establishment was a hunter's best friend; the only thing
lacking was alcohol. Biscuits with butter and a country style breakfast
helped Reaves's attitude.
Dean patted his stomach, and gulped the last of his Coke.
"I was thinking we should check out The Dollhouse." Caleb crumpled his
paper napkin. "I really want to meet Eleni." It was odd, carrying on a
pseudo relationship with someone on the internet who he had never met.
He had created a whole persona, a loveless marriage, a home in the
Midwest in order to speak to this woman.
"When she turns out to be a 60 year old woman with a pack a day habit,
I am so going to laugh."
Caleb had written out the address to The Dollhouse. It was in Boca
Raton, which was strange. The town itself screamed money from the high
rise condominiums on the beachfront to the mansions on the Intercoastal
with yachts parked in the back of the home. But, there was a seedy
side, just a strip really with The Dollhouse and some other rundown
establishments. They would soon be gone with strip malls filled with
Bed and Bath and Target taking their place.
"There's the Dollhouse." Caleb pointed out. The parking lot was bare.
Dean slowed down, and went further down the road, parking at a busy
establishment.
"So, looks like we're going to break into a strip club." Dean gave a
satisfied sigh.
"It's like VH-1 behind the scenes." Caleb smiled, believing this was
the first time that a hunting job had led him to working in this type
of establishment. And they were going to enjoy it.
They made their way to the Dollhouse, going to the rear exit with Caleb
covering, Dean easily picked the lock. They didn't want to leave any
evidence of their visit.
Any place which did business in the evening hours never looked good in
the light of day. It felt cheap. Plywood painted in dark colors of
black and purple were used to make benches, table tops and booths. The
stage was in the center of the room, and looking up; Caleb saw the
exposed ceiling with intricate lighting.
The cushions on the chair were well worn purple velvet. As an
architect, the place was disdainful. As a customer, he really wouldn’t
care either.
"What are we looking for?" Dean asked, taking in the atmosphere.
"Just a lay of the land. It all leads here." Caleb had traced Eleni
after numerous emails and a phone conversation. She had promised him
the world-love, sex, sex in interesting positions. All he had to do was
leave his make believe wife and go to her. He was very lucky no one
could read his mind.
"They got poles, and cages." Dean got up on the stage and leaned his
head against the pole. "Man, this is going to be a great gig."
"We'll have to do some recon tonight." Caleb went behind the bar,
seeing if he could find anything incriminating.
"Could involve a lap dance," Dean commented as he opened the curtain.
"It just could." Caleb knew he would have to be very vague about this
hunt if his father ever asked him.
Dean gestured he was going backstage. Caleb saw the office door, and
made his way there. He tested the knob, and it was locked. He took out
his tools, and heard the welcoming click.
There were three desks with a computer on each desk. Caleb didn't turn
on a light, but pulled out his flashlight. Immediately, he noticed
there were no personal objects—no photos of any sort to let anyone know
who the desk owners happened to be.
There was a scent of perfume, so he assumed it was only women working
in the office. He rifled through the desks, but only found paperwork
pertaining to The Dollhouse itself.
Dean knocked on the door before letting himself in. "Find anything?"
"No, you?" Caleb retorted, and walked out the open door; Dean shut the
door and followed.
"Nada." Dean let his hand skim the stage. "Looking forward to really
getting into this case."
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