Supernatural: Carved in Flesh (29 page)

Marshall’s muscles tightened and his spine arced as electricity coursed through his body. She’d inserted a plastic mouth guard between his teeth to make sure he didn’t bite his new tongue. After all the work she’d put in to attaching the organ, she didn’t want anything to happen to it. The Lapis Occultus was dislodged from his forehead, but before it could tumble to the floor, Conrad’s hand shot out and snatched it from the air, moving with inhuman speed. As far as she could see, the stone hadn’t done anything special, but Conrad held it close to his eyes, examined it, then nodded as if satisfied.

Once the charge had been delivered, Marshall’s body collapsed back onto the table and lay still once more. Catherine knew that what she had witnessed was a reflex action, not any sign of life, but she still couldn’t help being encouraged. Just to see him move again after all these months, even if it was just a reflex, filled her heart with joy.

“Check the defibrillator’s battery,” Conrad said. “We need to make sure there’s enough charge remaining for Bekah.”

Catherine didn’t want to take her eyes off Marshall, but she did as Conrad said. If he was right about the two men who were coming, they didn’t have any time to waste. She checked the readout and saw there was enough power remaining for at least one more charge, maybe two.

“It’s fine,” she said.

She turned back just in time to hear Marshall draw in a gasping breath of air, his first in months.

“Remove the bandages!” Conrad said.

They each grabbed a pair of surgical scissors and began cutting the cloth strips away from Marshall, Conrad cutting those around his chest, Catherine those around his head. When the bandages fell away from his face, she saw that his eyes were open and looking up at her. She had been afraid she would see the same glassy expression that the dog’s eyes had held—dead eyes with no hint of life or recognition in them—but his eyes were alive and intelligence shone in them. He mumbled something, trying to speak around the mouth guard. She gently removed it, and Marshall said, “Caff... rinn?”

His voice was a deep phlegmy rumble, unlike his normal tenor, and his mouth couldn’t form the syllables quite right, the sounds too soft and mushy, but it was Marshall speaking. The first word he’d said had been her name.

She felt tears trickling down her face and realized she was crying. “Yes, sweetheart. It’s me.” She took his hand and gave it a squeeze. At first his hand remained limp, and she feared something was wrong, but then he squeezed back, his grip strong—even stronger than she remembered.

“I’m genuinely sorry I have to do this. I’d prefer to give the two of you more time to enjoy your reunion, but as the British say, ‘Needs must when the devil drives.’”

She looked at Conrad in time to see him hold a small envelope over Marshall’s mouth. Yellowish powder drifted out and floated down to cover his face in a light coating. Without thinking, she lashed out and smacked the envelope out of Conrad’s hand, but it was too late. Whatever he’d intended to do was done.

Though Conrad’s eyes flashed with anger at having been struck by her, his voice was icily calm as he spoke. “His mind will most likely be confused during the post-regeneration period, and even if he was at his peak mentally, it would take too long to explain the current situation to him. The powder I used will make him obey me without question. I assure you the effect is only temporary.”

Catherine didn’t like it, not one bit. She especially didn’t like Conrad’s use of the word obey, as if he were the master and Marshall nothing more than his slave. She forced herself to think practically instead of emotionally, though. It had taken the dog almost a full day to recover from the effects of being reborn. During that time, it had slept, mostly. Perhaps Marshall would recover more swiftly, especially since they’d used the Lapis Occultus with him, but they couldn’t afford to wait and find out.

“Very well,” she said. “But I expect you to make sure he’s as safe as possible.”

Conrad smiled. “Of course. Take heart. If he
is
damaged, we’ll just repair him.”

He looked at Marshall, and his smile fell away. He removed the defibrillator’s electrodes from his chest and handed them to Catherine.

“Get off the table.”

Marshall did as Conrad commanded, not bothering to wipe the residue of yellow powder from his face. His movements were stiff and uncoordinated, but Catherine knew from previous experiments that he’d soon adjust to his new body. She hoped it would be soon enough to help him fight off the two killers Conrad assured her were coming. She did wish there was time to put some clothes on him, though. She didn’t like the idea of sending him out to fight naked, but there was nothing to be done about it now.

Maybe it won’t matter to him,
she thought.
Maybe he is like a newborn child, innocent and without shame.

“Stand over there.” Conrad pointed to the basement steps. After a second’s hesitation, Marshall lurched over to the steps and stood there, a blank expression on his face.

Catherine couldn’t stand seeing him look like that. She hadn’t brought her husband back to life to become a mindless automaton.

Before she could protest, Conrad said, “Quickly. We must make Bekah ready. I fear you’ll have to perform the procedure by yourself, my dear, but I believe you’re more than capable.”

Catherine wasn’t certain about that, but if it was a choice between bringing Bekah back by herself or watching as her daughter’s body was destroyed by these so-called hunters, then it was really no choice at all.

“Let’s get her on the table,” she said.

* * *

Sam wasn’t sure taking the stimulants had been a good idea. His heart was racing, and his skin was slick with sweat. Worse, his pulse felt erratic, black spots danced in his vision, and he couldn’t feel his right leg at all. It wasn’t even numb; it just felt like it wasn’t there. He had to concentrate extra hard with every step he took to make sure he didn’t fall over. The hell of it was, he
still
felt tired. Not sleepy-tired, but physically exhausted, as if his body was on the verge of collapse. To make matters even worse, he’d started hallucinating. Nothing major yet, just ghostly half-images of strange shapes he couldn’t identify, but he knew from experience that the hallucinations would soon intensify, and when that happened, he wouldn’t be able to tell what was real from what wasn’t. Which would be liable to get both him and his brother killed.

Come on, Sam,
he told himself.
Just try to hold it together a little longer...

One benefit of the Luss residence being located outside town was that there were no nearby neighbors to call the police and report a pair of armed men sneaking around to the back of the house. One disadvantage was the amount of trees in the Luss’s yard, or rather, all the leaves that had fallen from them. It seemed Dr. Luss had been too busy playing mad scientist to do any yard work, and her property was covered with brown, yellow, red and—above all—
crunchy
leaves. Sam and Dean had to move carefully to make sure they didn’t make too much noise, but a certain amount was unavoidable. They’d have to hope that whoever was inside was either too busy to pay attention to any sounds outside, or if they did hear some leaves crunch, would put it down to squirrels or deer. It was dusk, and the fading light would help to conceal them somewhat, but not as much as if it was full night. They’d debated waiting until dark to approach the house, but given the fact that Dippel might be preparing to leave town as soon as possible, they’d decided they couldn’t afford to. They would have to rely on a hunter’s two best friends: surprise and one hell of a lot of luck.

Sam began shivering, but although the air was chilly, he knew the cold came from inside. If he could examine himself unclothed in front of a full-length mirror right now, how far would he see the infection had spread? Onto his stomach? Maybe up to his chest? How much longer did he have until the dark taint inside him had spread to the point where his body could no longer function? He had no idea, but if he was going to be taking an eternal dirt nap after this hunt, he at least wanted to see it through to the end. He owed Dean far more than that, more than he could ever repay, but it would have to be good enough, for it might be all he had left.

The Luss family had a deck at the rear of their house, with a picnic table on one end and a gas grill set next to a patio door. Sam wondered when the last time was that all three of them—Catherine, her husband, and her daughter—had sat out there and had a meal, talking, laughing, enjoying being in one another’s presence. What had it been like for Catherine to come home to an empty house after a long day of seeing patients? Had she looked through the patio window at the picnic table, maybe even stepped outside and sat down at it for a few minutes, crying and remembering? No wonder Conrad Dippel had chosen her to be his ultimate Igor. With the sorrow she carried, she would have been ripe for his psychological manipulation.

The brothers walked side by side, close enough that when Dean whispered, Sam had no trouble hearing him. “I’ll go in through the patio door. You stay outside in case anyone tries to get away.”

“I don’t think so,” Sam whispered back. “I’m perfectly capable of going in with you, and since we don’t know if there are any more Frankenmutts or Double-Header juniors in there, you’re going to need back-up.”

Dean didn’t look happy about it. “Fine. But you’re not in the best shape right now, and you know it. So if—”

Dean was cut off by the sound of shattering glass as a naked man crashed through the patio door. Glass shards scattered across the deck, and blood from fresh cuts on the man’s hands and forearms pattered to the wood in thick droplets.

Dean looked at Sam. “He might be naked, but at least he doesn’t have any extra body parts.”

“True.”

Dippel, dressed formally in a gray suit and tie, stepped through the opening in the patio door and onto the deck.

“My apologies,” he said, his voice carrying a hint of a German accent. “It appears Mr. Luss hasn’t yet remembered the proper way to open a patio door.”

“The naked guy is the doctor’s husband,” Sam said.

“And it looks like we managed to get here before Dippel skipped town,” Dean replied.

Luss stood on the deck, looking at them without expression. He seemed more like a classic voodoo zombie—the kind that was resurrected to serve as a mindless servant of a houngan—than a Frankensteinian creation. Then again, as Sam looked closer, he could see the scar lines where NuFlesh had been used to attach various body parts together, and although they were close matches, they weren’t exact. The right leg was slightly longer than the other and had more body hair, while the left arm was thinner than the right, its skin a shade or two darker. As Sam watched, dark energy gathered around Luss’s arms, just as he had seen with the Double-Header.

“Do you see that?” he asked Dean.

“See what? The guy’s Frankendork hanging out? And by the way, if his wife put him back together, you’d think she’d have given him a little extra in that department, you know what I mean?” Dean looked toward the resurrected Mr. Luss. “Nothing personal!” he called out.

“He’s got the same ability to drain life force that the Double-Header had,” Sam said.

“Death vision?” Dean asked.

Sam nodded.

“All right. Important safety tip. Thanks.” Dean took a step forward and addressed Dippel. “You see we’re armed, right? So before any of us goes and does something stupid, let’s talk.”

Sam glanced sideways at his brother.
What are you up to?
he thought.

Dippel smiled. “What is it you Americans say? We don’t negotiate with terrorists.” He turned to Marshall Luss. “Kill them.”

The man started toward them, ignoring the glass shards on the deck. He cut his feet and left bloody footprints in his wake, but the injuries didn’t seem to cause him any more pain than the cuts on his hands and arms did.

Dean cradled his shotgun in his elbow, grabbed a flare from his jacket pocket, pulled off the striking cap, and lit it. A shower of reddish sparks burst forth from the flare’s tip. Dean dropped the striking cap and, still cradling his shotgun, held the burning flare out before him and started walking toward the deck.

Marshall stopped at the edge of the deck, blood pooling beneath his shredded feet and dripping from his hands. The dark energy that had been building around his hands faded and was gone. An expression crossed his face at last. It was one of fear.

“Fire bad,” Dean said.

“Indeed,” Dippel commented dryly. “I would think it doubly true in your case, considering you carry a container of flammable liquid on your back.”

“What can I say? I’m just a guy who likes living on the edge.”

Dippel regarded Dean for a moment, sizing him up, Sam thought, trying to determine how dangerous he was. Evidently, dangerous enough, for Dippel said, “What did you want to talk about?”

“My brother got bit by your dog, and he picked up some kind of Frankenrabies. You’re going to cure him.”

Dippel arced an eyebrow. “Is this so? And why, pray tell, would I do something so clearly against my own interests?”

“Because if you do, we’ll let you go.”

Sam couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Are you nuts?”

Dean ignored him. “And there’s one other thing.”

Dippel laughed. “You’re a bold one, aren’t you? Very well, what is it?”

“We need a weapon.”

Sam didn’t like where this was heading. “Dean, we can’t do this. We’ve both made deals we shouldn’t have, with forces we shouldn’t have, and it’s never turned out well.”

Dean kept his gaze focused on Dippel. “You ever heard of the Leviathan?”

Dippel’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve encountered some lore about them in my time.”

“Well, they’re real and they’re loose on Earth. My brother and I are determined to stop them before they turn the planet into their personal all-you-can-eat buffet, but to do that, we’re going to need some serious firepower. Something like that fire lizard you sicced on us back at the motel.”

“So if I cure your brother and give you a weapon, you’ll simply allow me to depart Brennan—
and you
won’t attempt to hunt me down later?”