The strange things one comes up with in the middle of the night when you're dying of heat prostration and the fans don't quite drown out the distant drone of the gazillion and one Harleys going to the 2008 Sturgis Rally.
Trust Is Everything
"Ghosts are benevolent entities…mostly." - Fox Mulder¹
Nine days ago
"Sam check this out," Dean held the newspaper under his kid brother's nose pointing at the article he'd just read.
"Dean!" Sam said recoiling from the paper thrust beneath his face; he shoved the paper away and finished bringing a forkful of waffle to his mouth. Dean laughed as he took a bite of ham and eggs. Sam glared then read aloud, "'The Curse of the Claddagh Cove Hotel Claims Two More Victims'...you're kidding right?"
"Nope."
"'Two bodies were found at the Claddagh Cove Hotel last night after calls for assistance were received by the Ogunquit 911 Emergency Services, names of the deceased have been withheld pending notification of family members. Last month search personnel discovered the bodies of Sean and Ian Jacobson and Janine Thibodaux in the abandoned hotel. Family members had reported the cousins missing three days prior. Autopsy reports released by the county medical examiner list the cause of death for Thibodaux as a broken neck and inconclusive in the deaths of the Jacobsons. The police are investigating and have no suspects at this time.' Okay I still don't see anything curse like."
"Flip the page." The front page of the Ogunquit Times dated Tuesday, 27 December 1904 was reproduced. Under a five inch by three inch, black and white picture of large Victorian era hotel was a bold headline:
-Double Murder and Suicide at the famous Claddagh Cove Hotel-
The Claddagh Cove Hotel is world renown for its lush gardens, healing waters and first class accommodations. Today is was the setting for a terrible tragedy. The victims are Ilya Ostafeiko aged 26, Anastasiya Ostafeiko aged 20 of Yalta, Ukraine, and Ginger Flannery aged 16 of Drogheda, Ireland. Before dying from his injuries, Mr. Ostafeiko told the police that his wife had walked in on him in flagrante delicto with the upstairs chambermaid and in a fit of jealous rage, she seized one of his daggers and sliced the maid's throat open from ear to ear. She then proceeded to stab him in the chest and stomach numerous times before cutting out his eyes. After an intense search of the hotel and its grounds, Anastasiya's body was discovered lying in a pool of blood in an unused attic room, her wrists slashed. Pinned with the bloody dagger to a sheet of monogrammed stationery were the missing eyeballs and below them a scrawled sentence in Ukrainian. When translated it read, 'His eyes are for only me'.
Sam looked up at Dean, "tragic but still doesn't look like our kinda thing."
Dean gestured with his coffee cup towards the newspaper, "keep reading."
"'These are just the latest in a long line of tragedies at the hotel. The hotel had suffered through a decline for several years after the 1904 murders and finally closed in 1920. The hotel sold in 1960 and the new owners renovated the building from top to bottom and reopened in 1961. It didn't take long before rumors of mysterious accidents started to plague the hotel. In 1963, the rumors became reality when the bodies of two elderly guests, Sister Cora Haakon and Sister Bernice Haas, were found in a closed off area of the indoor pool. Tragedy struck again in 1965, when a maintenance worker discovered the bodies of Olav and Heidi Peterson inside the hotel's elevator and in 1966, Nicholas Smithe was found dead in his bathroom. An employee, Craig Craft, was a suspect in Smithe's death until his body was discovered a week later, hanging from a light fixture in a vacant third floor room. The Peterson and Smithe families sued the hotel for negligence and the hotel closed its doors in late 1970.' Renovated…" he muttered.
"Interested?" Dean watched Sam reread the paragraphs and could practically see the gears shifting in his brain.
"Yeah," he replied, folding the paper and placing it on the table, "drop me off at the library and I'll so some research."
Present
Muttering, "Dean where in the hell are you?" Sam reconnoitered the first floor of the hotel His frustration level rose as he checked his watch for the third time in ten minutes. "Damnit Dean," leaning against the door to the ballroom he flashed his light around the dusty, junk filled room, "first you don't want to split up then you don't show up on time."
"Sam."
The youngest Winchester spun around bringing his shotgun up. "Dean." He relaxed and lowered his weapon, "what held you…DEAN NO!" Sam yelled when his brother pointed a .45 at him and pulled the trigger twice. The shotgun clattered to the floor as the stunned man clutched his stomach; he fell back against the wall, slowly slid down to his knees then onto his side. "Dean?" Sam choked out between clenched teeth. The man he'd looked up to since he was four years old smirked at him and walked away. Groaning, Sam curled up into a ball on the floor unsuccessfully trying to escape the fiery pain radiating out from bullet wounds in his stomach. Blood dripped down between clenched fingers and over saturated clothing into an ever-widening puddle beneath his body.
"Sam? Sammy! Answer me damnit!" A terrified yell from his little brother had sent Dean running down the main staircase. He skidded to a halt when he saw a figure curled up on the floor. "Sammy?" He knelt down next to the quivering body, "Sam where are you hurt?" he asked while reaching out to grab his brother's shoulder. Sam flinched and Dean pulled his hand back sharply, his eyes widening in shock. "Hey, hey it's me bro," the older man said gently as he leaned down and ran his fingers tentatively through the kid's long hair, "Sammy where are you hurt?"
Pain filled hazel eyes looked up at him, "De..Dean why?"
Confused Dean asked, "why what?"
"Why d..did you shoot mm..me?"
He gently rolled Sam onto his back, "I didn't Sammy. I didn't shoot you," Dean replied pulling at his brother's resisting hands, "sorry kiddo, I need to see where you're hit." Sam threw his head back, screaming, when his torturer yanked his hands away and pushed his shirts up. His breathing turned ragged and the pain grew unbearable when Dean manipulated his stomach. The last thing Sam heard through the enveloping darkness was his brother's voice. "Sam there's no…don't you dare pass ou…"
