Sam Winchester gazed up at the chipped, cracked ceiling of the seedy motel he and his older brother, Dean, and were holed up in for the duration of their current hunting job. Midnight had come and gone, and though his body was bone tired, his mind was running on overload. They had arrived in Farmington, New Mexico a few days earlier to investigate the disappearances and deaths of several young women in the area. Strange ritualistic symbols and bizarre track animalistic marks left at the death scenes were definite indications that the Farmington Police Department were dealing with something more than a sadistic serial killer whose target was pretty young women.
He and Dean had arrived at the home of the latest victim, determined to interview her two roommates, and were waiting on the front porch for someone to answer the door, when it finally opened, and Sam felt as if he had been sucker punched. The young woman before him, Felicia Connor, as she identified herself a few moments later, bore a striking resemblance to his deceased girlfriend, Jessica Moore. He had never recalled Jessica ever mentioning she had a look-a-like cousin, and he knew she did not have any sisters either, which made the physical similarities between the two young women even more uncanny.
He gazed at her with a dumbstruck expression on his face as his heart skipped an odd beat or two, and his mind had to work double time to form a coherent sentence.
Sam was aware of the questioning look forming in Felicia Connor's blue eyes, even as he caught the sharp look Dean cast at him, before he introduced the two of them as members of the New Mexico Branch of the Federal Bureau of Investigation's, Behavior Analysis Unit. She had been dutifully impressed, despite their young age, and shepherd them into the living room so they could question her. By the time they were seated, Sam had recovered enough to join the conversation, and was relieved when the young woman seemed just as eager to act as if the whole incident had not happened. Dean, for the most part, had played along as well, but true to form, did not hold his tongue after they left Miss Connor's house, and headed for the Impala.
No sooner were they seated in his brother's cherished vehicle, and the engine purred into life, than Dean demanded, "What the hell was that? Your brain get stuck on stupid?"
Sam flushed at his brother's tone, knowing exactly what Dean was talking about, but tried to deter him away from his reaction to Felicia Connor. "What was what?"
"Don't play me for stupid, Sam, I got first hand look at your awful impersonation of a mime. First time I've ever seen you falter like that when we're working a scene."
"It was nothing…just chalk it up to me having an odd day." Sam told him, hoping his brother would let the conversation drop.
"You are not the only one who noticed the Felicia was a ringer for Jessica, without the curls and Smurfs." Dean stated quietly.
"You noticed."
"Yeah, I noticed." Dean was quiet for a moment as he headed the Impala down the street in the direction of their hotel. "You got to let her go, Sam, before it eats you up inside and you aren't any good to me."
Sam gave a wry laugh. "You should talk! As soon as you stop feeling guilty about Dad selling his soul to a demon to save your life, I'll stop blaming myself for not being able to save Jessica."
His words worked like a charm to end the conversation, just as he hoped they would. Dean shot him a dirty look, before shoving a Metallica tape into the player, and cranking the volume up, as the Impala streaked through the night. The brothers had shared only a few words once they reached the hotel and headed for bed. Now here he lay awake, his mind flooded with images of Jessica, and flipping through the various memories he had of the two of them together, while Dean laid sawing logs in the bed across from him.
Among his favorite moments of their relationship was the first time he had seen her. He had been racing across the squad to meet up with some buddies and he had literally bumped into her as he rounded a tree, and he had profusely apologized to her for his clumsiness. He had been so embarrassed, but she had laughed off the incident good-naturedly. A few days later he had been in the library, during research for a paper, when he spotted Jessica at a table piled high with books on Native American myths and folklore and he had struck up conversation with her. He remembered their first kiss, the way her velvet hands caressed his skin, and the way her satiny skin felt against his. He remembered the way she smelt, how her nose would crinkle up when she laughed, or the stream of swear words that would escape from her sexy lips when he pissed her off.
Sam clenched his eyes closed in order to suppress the kaleidoscope of memories rushing through his head, and the torrent of turbulent emotions rising within him. Dean was right. It was time he released her hold on him once and for all.
"Goodbye, Jessica."
He said softly, before he closed his eyes, and willed sleep to claim him at last.