Harmony, New York
"And over here we have a piece you might find interesting."
Emma Stone, forced a smile, and followed the silver-haired, art dealer through the arched doorway. Her critical gaze drifted over the plethora of framed paintings that lined the walls of the hundred-year-old farmhouse turned art gallery. After spending the past two weeks touring western New York on a buying trip, she'd come across at least fifty, so-called, 'Galleries' tucked into at least two dozen out of the way towns like Harmony. With a population of less than twenty-five hundred people, the tiny burg's only claim to fame was its quaint downtown.
Buildings dating back to the late eighteen hundreds and cobblestone walkways gave the town a historic feeling making it a popular choice for tourists. Even now at just a little past noon, Emma had seen couples strolling hand in hand as they gazed into the storefronts.
The town's charming feel is what led Emma herself to stop in search of a quiet lunch before she jumped back on the highway heading east. While she'd meandered along the sidewalk a sign for the Harmony Gallery had captured her attention.
Though it hadn't been on her list of places to check out, she'd gone inside on a chance. It had been too early for lunch at the little café down the street and she had no interest in checking out the more touristy shops for the next hour.
The added attraction was the possibility, minute though it might be that she just might find something of interest. Over the last four years, she had built a solid reputation and had become one of the youngest buyers in the history of her auction house. It didn't hurt that she had a knack for finding obscure artists and launching them into the limelight. She knew more than anyone that the next 'new thing' could be around any corner, or around any ancient plaster wall.
Her earlier enthusiasm had begun to wan about ten minutes after she'd scoped out the main showroom. The endless array of pastoral settings, quaint barns, and baby farm animals led her to believe the artists in Chautauqua County were lacking for inspiration.
More then ready to move on, Emma nonetheless followed the stout Mrs. Hodges. The older woman's enthusiasm and obvious pride in her shop made it impossible for Emma to be rude.
At last, the owner came to a stop in a small alcove. There she gestured toward a canvas covered square that stood at least three feet long and four foot wide. "Here we are. Now this piece was picked up at an estate sale a little more than three months ago." The tiny woman gestured toward the covered easel. "So far I've been unable to verify who the artist was, but, given the previous owner I feel confident in saying it's an…"
Unable to help herself, Emma leaned forward in anticipation.
"…Ogilvie."
Despite her better judgment, Emma's heart did a little dance at the older woman's reveal. An Ogilvie, buried here in the middle of nowhere would be a discovery of a lifetime. Too bad there was little chance that it was an actual piece of work by the famed artist.
"An Olgilvie," Emma said flatly, not even bothering to hide her skepticism.
A flare of annoyance or perhaps something even stronger flashed in the older woman's eyes. "Not John Ogilvie, of course," she admitted.
Emma's impatience led her to answer more sharply than she intended, "I didn't think so."
Now openly frowning Mrs. Hodges continued, "It's believed this work was painted by Gerta Ogilvie, a distant cousin on his father's side."
Though there might be a market among ardent Ogilvie fans, for some lost cousin's work, no real collector would give the piece the time of day. That was likely the reason it had never made it farther than this minor gallery. More than ready to put this tiny burg behind her, Emma forced a smile and enthused her voice with a bit more excitement, "Really, how interesting."
Apparently, she overdid it on the pep, for the older woman's frown was replaced by a toothy smile.
"Oh, you have no idea."
Well and truly caught, Emma nodded half-heartedly and resigned herself to wasting an hour.
In a gesture more appropriate for Vanna White, then a woman that was most likely a grandmother several times over, Mrs. Hodges approached the easel, swiped off the canvas drop cloth, and enthused, "Ta Da!"
Curiosity had Emma leaning in for a closer look. At first glance, her gaze was captured not by the canvas itself, but by the aged wooden frame that surrounded it. Simply made, the two-inch wide wooden border surrounding the canvas was in surprisingly bad shape. Chipped and peeling paint exposed coatings of different finishes. Emma could easily pick out layers of antique white, gilded gold, and even a glossy black enamel that looked to have been applied sometime in the eighties. Overall, the mottled frame did little but distract the viewer from the canvas it was supposed to compliment.
Already thoroughly unimpressed, Emma forced her gaze from the tired looking frame and focused on the canvas.
888
"You've got to be friggin' kiddin' me."
He couldn't help but grin at his big brother's incredulous expression. "I told you it was big."
"Yeah, Sam, you said big. This thing isn't big, it's huge." Dean reached up and wrapped a hand around his neck and grimaced. "How the hell're we gonna get the damn thing out of here?"
Sam really couldn't blame his brother for his outburst considering the size of the creature before them. "Hey don't ask me, I said I knew what it was, not how to get rid of it. It's a Bunyip, a water monster from Australia."
"'Course it is," Dean muttered as he took a step closer and bent down. "Damn things gotta be twelve feet long, and are those fangs?"
The younger Winchester nodded, thoroughly enjoying Dean's uncertainty. The older hunter liked to pretend he'd seen it all, but considering the look on his face, it was obvious there were still surprises to be had. "Actually, I think they're more like tusks. We've got to get it out of there; it's already killed half the dogs in the neighborhood."
Dean rolled his eyes at Sam's obvious statement and shrugged, "Obvious much. The drought must have forced it out of the lake."
Sam moved to his brother's side and Dean straightened. They stood side by side, only feet from the creature that lay submerged in the water basin before them. With only its dull yellow eyes and snout sticking out of the murky water it wasn't hard to believe that no one had reported seeing the creature yet.
In fact, if it hadn't been for some local gossip about missing dogs, Sam and Dean would have left Salem days ago, none the wiser.
The heat wave that had left the tiny Pennsylvania town limp and worn out had no doubt played a factor in the Bunyip's sudden appearance in a newly built water basin. The seemingly endless hot spell had turned most of the area's watering holes into muddy puddles. This left the local wildlife to either adapt or perish. Obviously, the grey-skinned creature had gone looking for the nearest body of water, and had settled for the brackish water of a high-end neighborhood water basin. Sam doubted that the builder, who'd dug the glorified pond, had ever imagined such an animal would end up calling it home.
He didn't want to consider, what was going to happen when the Bunyip had eaten up the neighborhood's share of Poodles and Pomeranians and decided the local kids would do just as well.
They needed the creature gone and they needed it gone now.
"Come on, Sam!"
Dean's exclamation startled him out of his perusal of the water creature. Teetering on the edge of the bank, he tried not to pay attention to the long black tongue that darted out of the creature's dog-like snout, or the way the monster seemed to lean toward the hunter in anticipation, as he worked to get his balance back.
Suddenly, a strong hand wrapped around his forearm and jerked him backward onto solid ground. "Watch your step, I sure as hell ain't jumping in after your ass."
Knowing full well his brother was full of crap, Sam just snorted and moved a couple steps back from the edge of the water. As if sensing his chance at dinner had passed, the creature slipped back beneath the water.
Dean, already well on his way up the embankment, called over his shoulder, "Haul ass, Sammy."
"It's Sam," the younger hunter snapped in irritation as he followed his brother up the hill. "So what now?"
"Now, well now I want a beer. Then tonight we're gonna come back here and take Bunny for a little ride."
888
"I can't believe you named the thing," Sam complained once again.
"Quit your harping, Francis. It'll be a piece of cake," Dean reassured his brother as he approached the cul-de-sac where he'd parked earlier in the day. He'd insisted on leaving the Impala well away from the neighborhood just in case this whole thing went to hell. That left the brothers on foot with nothing more than a duffle bag full of weapons. Not that Dean had much faith that the shotgun he'd brought would penetrate "Bunny's" think skin, but, at least he felt a little less naked with weapons on hand.
"Sure," Sam snapped as he trotted side by side next to his brother, "A real walk in the park."
Dean didn't bother to hide his grin at the younger man's sarcastic tone. Sam had made it clear on more than one occasion that he didn't like the plan. "I told you at the motel, you got a better idea, feel free to speak up."
His brother's stone-cold silence made it clear they'd be following Dean's plan. "It'll be a cake-walk, I'm telling you. Just keep watch, you see someone coming and you head them off. I'll take care of the rest."
Given the pre-dawn quiet, Sam's snort of disbelief sounded more like one of Bunny's growls. Dean really couldn't blame him. Despite the confidence he was working hard to project, he knew his plan was chancy at best. The hardest part wouldn't be getting Bunny out of the pond. The hardest part would be keeping a lid on their little endeavor. The elder Winchester was hoping that the neighborhood's well-built houses, combined with the hum of air conditioners that marked every home, would help to muffle the noise. "At least there's not a dog left in the neighborhood to narc us out," Dean muttered as he approached their destination.
"Very funny," Sam groaned as he veered off to the right.
A kind of bitter pride flowed through Dean as he watched his leggy brother disappear into the shadows. The kid had only been back on the job for a little over four months and yet it was like he'd never left. As if college and the life he'd led there had never happened. It saddened Dean in ways he didn't want to think about, and yet, there was something right in having Sam at his side once more.
"Dean!" Sam hissed out of the shadows.
The reminder served to break Dean's chain of thought and made him realize he'd come to a halt in a beam of light from an overhead florescent streetlight. Feeling suddenly exposed, the green-eyed hunter bolted the last fifteen feet to stand before his target. Construction had yet to be finished on this section of the neighborhood. Among the hulking shadows of houses, yet to be finished stood an even larger shadow. It was before this shape that Dean came to rest, a thrill of excitement causing him to bounce up and down on his toes for just a minute.
It was moments like this when he couldn't help but love his job.
888
Sam hunched low, giving the quiet neighborhood a cursory glance as he waited for his brother. He was surprised when the older hunter paused for a moment in the bright light of a street lamp. Carelessness wasn't the norm for Dean. As the moment, stretched on, Sam felt his nerves tense.
Certain he'd missed something that had caused his brother to stop in such a conspicuous spot, he again scanned the ever lightening area. At last, he barked the older man's name. "Dean!"
At his call, his brother jumped a bit and began to move once more. If Sam didn't know better he would have guessed that the experienced hunter had been caught daydreaming in the middle of a hunt. Sam chuckled as he pushed aside the thought, Dean Winchester didn't do distracted, and he certainly didn't do distracted during a hunt.
Focusing on his surroundings once more, Sam didn't see his brother reach his destination but he certainly heard it. The loud growl that rolled across the neighborhood seemed even louder than Sam had imagined. With a prayer to the gods that he and his brother didn't end up in some joke of a county jail by the day's end, Sam continued to play watchdog.
888
"Don't say it," Sam snapped as he flung one hand up in warning.
"To what are you referring?" Dean mocked as he raised the beer in his hand and took a long pull.
"Don't say what I know you're dying to say. I'm not listening to any 'I told you so's' on this one."
"Come on, Sam," Dean joked, "The whole thing went off without a hitch and Bunny's safe and sound in his new home."
Sam rolled his eyes at Dean's words, "That's what you call without a hitch? We got stopped by no less than two cops inquiring as to what we were moving at the crack of dawn. Your damn 'Bunny' nearly took a hunk out of your side and as if all that's not bad enough you wouldn't even kill the damn thing."
Dean looked down at his side where his brother had a wad of cotton pressed against the bite mark that now marred his left hip. "I've had worse. And I just couldn't do it, Sam. You saw its eyes. I just didn't have the heart to put a bullet in the poor creature."
Voice raised in irritation, Sam didn't hesitate to push harder against his brother's wound. "Poor creature, that poor creature is most likely gonna escape again and end up eating someone's German Shepard for dinner."
His kid brother had been making this same argument for the last hour, but Dean could tell he was running out of steam. Content to let Sam fuss, he took another long pull on his ice-cold beer. The hotel they'd fled too didn't offer much in the way of ambiance, but at least the mini-fridge was in good working order, and the beer was nice and cold. "Come on, Sam, your supposed to be the one with the soft heart. Where's the kid that used to feed every stray that wandered across our path?"
"That 'kid' understands there's a bit of a difference between giving a stray dog a few left-overs and allowing a mutant hippo to chomp on my brother."
Dean couldn't help but grin at the mutant hippo comment, and really Sam wasn't far off the mark. There was little to recommend the creature, which Dean had managed to scoop up along with enough water to keep it covered inside the metal bucket of a large earth-mover. Given the way it had growled and snapped the entire ride really didn't leave a person with the warm and fuzzy's. So, how was Dean going to explain just why he hadn't been able to take the warped creatures life, even when it had threatened his own. "You said it yourself, it doesn't go after humans."
"Not unless it gets hungry enough," Sam countered, his expression still mulish.
More then ready to let the whole thing go, Dean shrugged and pointed toward his side. "You plannin' on letting me bleed to death or are you going to patch me up."
"Fine," Sam snapped, as he carefully pulled away the cotton batting that had been staunching Dean's bleeding. Practically snarling, the younger Winchester examined the wound, which honestly didn't look that bad from Dean's angle, and began gathering supplies.
As he did, he muttered a litany of curses that seemed to center mainly around the idea that his brother was and idiot, bunyips were idiots and he was an idiot for ever agreeing to his idiot brother's idiot plan.
Dean content that Sam would forgive, if not forget his mercy treatment of the creature, leaned back, set his empty beer on the nightstand, and closed his eyes. Despite how angry his brother was, Sam's treatment of his wound was quick and relatively painless.
"There, I'm not gonna stitch it. You're gonna end up with a scar but it shouldn't be too bad."
Now that Dean's bleeding had been taken care of Sam seemed to relax a bit, even excepting the beer the older hunter offered him with a ghost of a smile. "You'd better come up with a new scar story though, no one's gonna believe that was caused by a gang fight, or what was the other one you used to use?"
"Racecar driver," Dean said with a smirk. "Horrible accident, I lost my will to drive and everything. It was the love of a good woman that finally brought me around."
"No one spins crap like you, big brother," Sam replied dryly, referring to Dean's liberal use of the plot line to the movie Days of Thunder.
"Hey, it's better that then 'Hi, I hunt your worst nightmares', believe me I speak from experience." Dean answered. The older Winchester had learned the hard way that some truths were just too bizarre for people to believe. Hell, there were things that he'd seen in his lifetime that he still couldn't wrap his mind around.
Just then Sam's phone began to ring.
Both brothers turned to stare at the rectangle where it sat on the night table closest to Sam. For a moment both men were stunned, identical looks of surprise stamped on their handsome faces.
It was Dean that broke first. "Sam!"
Sam's hand shot toward the phone, but hovered over it rather than picked it up. "What if it's Dad?" the younger man muttered.
Dean who'd circled the bed and now stood next to his lanky sibling moved to reach past Sam for the phone. His brother grabbed it first.
Pressing talk, Sam braced himself and put the phone to his ear, "Hello?"