"Soulmate"
Abilene, Kansas
A beautiful, young, blonde woman looks out of a kitchen window. Rain is pouring from the pitch black sky. She turns around and leans against the sink. "Em, it's really coming down out there. Are you still sure you want to stop by?" Her voice is raspy and scratchy, like sandpaper. She is wearing baggy sweat pants and a Kansas State t-shirt. "Plus, I don't want to get you sick."
She moves to the stove and stirs a steaming pot. "Alright, see you in twenty. Bye." She grabs a towel and coughs into it before reaching for a package of lozenges sitting next to the sink. Unwrapping the honey colored lozenge, she pops it into her mouth before returning to the stove. She tosses the wrapper onto the counter with the collection of magazines and books. A loud knocking makes her jump. She hurries through the living room and into the foyer. "I thought you said you were still at the bar," she says as she opens the front door. No one is standing there. The cold, wet night air causes her to shiver as she steps out onto the front porch. She looks around, peering into the darkness. Streetlamps are dim in the storm and don't penetrate beyond the sidewalk. She shrugs and rubs her hands over her bare arms before re-entering the house.
Checking the pot on the stove, she stirs it a couple of times to make sure it isn't sticking. A tendril of her blonde hair blows in her face. She scrapes it behind her ear as she turns around. The back door is cracked open. A chill races through her body as a shaky breath escapes between her lips. She looks around the kitchen before moving to grab a knife out of the butcher block on the counter next to the sink. Her hand, holding the knife is quivering with fear. With her back against the cabinet so she is facing the rest of the kitchen, she moves towards the door. Taking a deep breath, she throws the back door open and jumps into the doorway.
No one is there. "What the hell." She flips on the light and illuminates the space. Peering into the thick shadows of the backyard, nothing is there. Trees are swaying from the impact of rain and wind. A creeping shiver runs through her body. Closing the door, she locks it, looks out the window and returns to the stove. Except for the bubbling of the pot, silence surrounds her. She puts the knife down and picks up the phone. Dialing a number, she walks back to the kitchen window. As the phone is ringing, there is a scuffing sound behind her. She turns around. "You scared me." She punches a button on the phone. "What are you doing here?" A quizzical look crosses her dainty features before a scream rips from her scratchy throat.
Sam is reading a newspaper with his flashlight as Dean slides into the front seat, his mouth full of greasy French fries, with bags full of the same and hamburgers. Sam takes a soda from Dean and places it between his legs. Frowning, he looks through the bags.
"I thought I asked for a salad?"
"There's lettuce, tomatoes, and onions on these burgers. Too much rabbit food is bad for you."
Sam rolls his eyes and lays the burger on his thigh and returns to the newspaper.
"Did you find something?" Dean asks as he takes a huge bite of his burger. A look of ecstasy flickers through his green eyes.
"Yeah, I think so. In Abilene, Kansas over the past two months, there have been four disappearances. The bodies of the victims are found five days later. The most recent disappearance happened last night. Police say the MO matches the Serenity Park killer."
Talking around a mouth full of food, "It doesn't sound like one of ours. It's some local douche bag that escaped from jail."
Sam takes a swig from his soda. "No, this is one of ours. It says here the Serenity Park killer was executed 15 years ago."
"Damn, that's us. Let's ride." Dean fires up the Impala. The engine groans to life with a loud roar as he throws it into drive and pulls onto the highway.
The next day, they pull into a parking spot in front of the town's sheriff department. Sam feels in his pocket to make sure he has his fake badge ready. The suit is still a little damp from washing it last night. They haven't been back to the bunker in a while and Sam is getting tired. He wants to bury himself in the books he hasn't had a chance to read yet. Dean yawns and finishes off the last of the coffee they picked up earlier. He wasn't able to sleep last night after arriving in town. He misses his memory foam mattress and he knows it's missing him too.
The desk sergeant has his head bent low and is busy typing something. His large hands move quickly over the keyboard. He hits return before looking up. The guy is average looking but is built like a linebacker.
Dean pulls out his badge, "Hello, I'm Agent Elliott and this is Agent Collen. We're here about the disappearance last night."
The desk sergeant looks at the badges and frowns before picking up the telephone. A deep baritone dripping with contempt oozes from his mouth. "Sheriff, two FBI agents are here to see you." The desk sergeant nods before hanging up. "He'll be right with you. Wait over there." They move over to stand next to some chairs grouped around an ancient, scarred up coffee table with dusty fake flowers arranged in a green cracked vase.
"Are we sure they caught the right guy?" Dean whispers as he looks around at the out of date and dusty office.
Sam nods and watches as a short, rotund man with an awful comb over walks out of an office. The buttons on the man's shirt are stretched almost to the breaking point. As he moves the glasses resting on his forehead slide down to settle on his nose. He folds his arms over his chest as he comes to a stop. "Hi, I'm Sheriff Maxwell. You boys are with the FBI?"
Dean nods to Sam, "Yes, I'm Agent Elliott and this is Agent Collen; we just need to ask you a few questions."
With barely disguised contempt the Sheriff nods, "Well I would just love to help anyway I can. Come into my office."
The sheriff turns and stalks towards his office. Dean mouths "What the hell?" at Sam as they follow. They enter an office with a thin layer of dust on every piece of furniture except a beautiful wooden desk angled towards a corner. The desk is pristine and freshly polished with a shiny comfortable looking leather chair. Sheriff Maxwell motions to the two seats positioned in front.
The two chairs are wooden and appear to be straight from a grade school. Sam lowers into one of them and his knees wind up hitting him in the chest. Dean perches uncomfortably on the other one.
The sheriff skewers them with a cold stare. "How can I help you?"
Sam pulls out his pen and notebook and rests it on his knee. He didn't expect to receive any helpful information at this point. "We are here about the recent disappearances and murders. They match the Serenity Park Killer."
"Okay, and?"
Dean shifts restlessly; he really wants to pistol whip the prick for the hell of it. "Well, was there any forced entry, do you have any leads and may we see your case files?"
The sheriff steeples his fingers and rests his elbows on the desk. "There was no forced entry. We have a few leads we are working on." He opens a middle drawer and tosses a thin manila folder on the desk. "Here is everything we have."
Dean slides the file to Sam. Sam flips through the pages. "Is this it?"
"That's all I can give you. Let me assure you we have our best detective working this case."
Dean unleashes his skepticism, "And who would that be?" He had a hunch about the answer but asked anyway. The only thing this asshat has ever caught was a cold.
An arrogant smile crosses the sheriff's face. "Me. Now if there are no further questions I have a case to work." The sheriff stands up signaling the end of a non-productive conversation. Sam unfolds from the chair and extends his hand. The sheriff doesn't reciprocate. "I have another question; can you direct us to the morgue?"
"Sure, it's next door. I'll let Dr. Ramsay know you'll be stopping by."
Dean quickly exits the office and hears Sam thanking the arrogant ass for his assistance. What he wanted was five minutes alone with the jerk to pound some sense into him. Dean waits for Sam at the exit to the building. As the doors close behind them, Dean grinds out through clenched teeth, "What a dick."
Sam nods, "Yeah, I get the feeling he didn't want our help. He's hiding something."
"No kidding."
They walk down to the end of the block and enter the morgue. A tall, bald man with ebony skin is eating a sandwich and talking on a phone. "Yes sheriff I understand." He rolls his eyes before hanging up. "What a dick." He turns to find Sam and Dean standing in the doorway. Dean is grinning. "You must be the FBI agents that I'm supposed to frustrate and then feed misinformation too?" Sam and Dean nod as they shake the doctor's proffered hand. "I'm Dr. Ramsay and that's not going to happen. I want this bastard caught. I don't care what it takes."
They follow the doctor farther into the building. Sam pulls out his pen and notebook. "The latest killings match the Serenity Park Killer?"
"Yes, let me show you." He leads them into the cold storage locker room. Pulling out a shrouded body, he folds over the white sheet and grabs a folder off a silver tray. The body of a petite blonde is displayed on the stainless steel table. "The bruising around the temple is identical but the instrumentation doesn't match. It's almost as if the was performed without a weapon. I can't explain it. The cuts are identical but an instrument wasn't used. It's like the skin just split open."
Sam looks at the pictures enclosed in the folder. "The wounds are the same on all of the victims?"
"Yes."
"So some guy is doing copycat killings?" Dean looks over Sam's shoulder.
"It's possible. The original Serenity Park Killer fixated on petite blonde females. All of the victims have the same BFT and cutting patterns. I've never seen any copycat this accurate down to the slice patterns, though." The phone rings. "Excuse me for a moment." The doctor moves over to a phone hanging on the wall.
Sam examines the body on the table. "What do you think?"
Dean shrugs, "Ghost, maybe. Vengeful spirit, but it's been fifteen years. Why now?"
Dr. Ramsay walks back over. "I have a meeting to go to. If there is anything else you need, please let me know."
They shake the doctor's hand and leave the building. Climbing into the Impala Dean notices the sheriff looking out his window at them before dropping the blinds.
"Let's go talk to the family."
"The latest victim, Kathryn Edward, has no family, but she does have a contact listed, Emory West."