Melissa Smith jolted awake, sitting upright in the backseat of Dean Winchester's 1967 Chevrolet Impala, a cold sweat layering her shivering body. She'd had the dream again - the one where everything around her was burning. The people, the buildings, and even the dirt beneath her feet. Melissa always figured it had something to do with her family; unfortunately, she had no way of knowing for sure. Nevertheless, it always scared the living daylights out of her.
Melissa had that dream sporadically over the past six years whilst living with the Winchesters. For the first six months after with them the dream occurred every night, usually leaving her with only two hours of rest. After those first few months, for the next two years, until the December of 2001, Melissa got the average amount sleep a hunter could get. Around mid-November of 2003 was when the dream stopped haunting her. By then, however, Melissa's sleeping schedule was already messed up.
Unfortunately, earlier in October, it came back. Melissa wasn't surprised by that, though she wasn't too thrilled about it either. So far she's been trying her best to hide it from Dean, though Melissa can guess that he suspects something; he gives her this look every time she's lucky enough to wake up during proper morning hours. Like this morning.
The only reason for that was she and Dean were up late invading Stanford University to collect one Sam Winchester. Their mission, should they choose to accept it (they did), was to rope the youngest Winchester into looking for the brothers' father, John Winchester, who had been missing since around the same time Melissa's nightmare started to occur once again. Melissa and Dean could probably find John by themselves, but Dean was pretty adamant on bringing Sam along.
Thankfully, the trip to Palo Alto wasn't for nothing. Sam had reluctantly agreed to help look for John, but under one condition. Sam wanted - actually the word he'd used was 'needed' - to be back by Monday, the second of November, for a law school interview.
That could be easily done if they could find out what John had been hunting at the time. The strange thing, however, was it shouldn't take three whole weeks to hunt something. If it was a witch, Melissa could understand that. But if it were just your run-of-the-mill ghost? Something had definitely gone wrong. Plus, the voicemail John left for Dean wasn't helping.
After following a series of clues, Melissa and Dean were able to deduce that John had been hunting that something in Jericho, California. As of now, the Winchester brothers and Melissa were about ten miles outside of the small town.
Melissa brushed her curly black bangs away from here eyes and looked out the window to see they were making a breakfast stop at a gas station. Dean was no where in sight (most likely inside the station) but Sam was sitting halfway out of the open passenger doorway. He appeared to be sifting through Dean's cassette tape collection.
"You okay?" Sam asked without glancing up from the box.
"Yeah," Melissa replied sleepily as she cleaned her heavy dark rimmed glasses with her shirt. "I'm fine." She put her glasses back on.
"Is it the nightmares again?"
Melissa answered a little too quickly. "No."
Sam made a small noise of disagreement but didn't press the subject.
"Why are you looking at Dean's tapes like they're the next big thing?" Melissa asked him.
Sam shrugged. "I figured he'd have some CD's by now."
Melissa picked at the fraying hems of the black fingerless gloves that went up to the crook of her elbow. This was a bored and/or nervous habit she'd developed since the second bout of nightmares; at the moment, Melissa was bored. "You know Dean; always sticking to the classics."
"Yeah," Sam agreed. He was acting really quiet, though not in is usual shy-quiet manner. Melissa decided to ignore it; after all, Sam had been the one to get, almost literally, dragged into this hunt. If Sam wanted to be pissy, he could be pissy.
Melissa rolled her neck around, wincing when it cracked in certain places. "Do you think this place has a bathroom?"
"Doubt it," the younger hunter replied.
"Great," Melissa muttered distastefully under her breath.
"Hey! You guys want breakfast?" Dean's voice sounded throughout the small, empty parking lot.
"No thanks," Sam replied.
Melissa shook her head. "I'm good for a few hours. You got me a drink, right?"
"Yep; they only had the green stuff, though." Dean handed Melissa her a regular flavored Monster drink through the open window. "I don't understand how you can drink that crap every day."
"It's the nectar of the gods, Dean," Melissa joked as she popped the can open.
"So how'd you pay for that stuff? Still running credit card scams?" Sam asked wryly.
"Yeah, well, this job ain't exactly a pro ball career, Sam, you know that," Dean reminded him as he re-hooked the gas nozzle to the pump; them being at a gas station must have been primarily to get more gas.
"It's not like we get caught, either," Melissa added. "…Yet."
Sam let out an exasperated sigh. "Yeah, and what went on the application this time?"
"Uh…Burt Aframian." Dean got into the driver's seat and put a bag of chips and a water bottle down. "And his fraternal twin children Hector and Maybelle."
"That sounds about right," Sam muttered, before changing the subjects. "I swear, man, you've gotta update your cassette tape collection."
"Why?" Dean asked, incredulous.
"Well, for one, they're cassette tapes. And two: Black Sabbath; Motorhead; Metallica? It's the greatest hits of mullet rock."
"Don't insult the music, Sam," Melissa warned in a deadpan tone.
"Yeah, and house rules, Sammy," Dean said, popping one of the tapes in the player. "Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole."
Melissa rolled her eyes and tuned out the bantering brothers. After two years, their attitude towards each other were pretty much the same; loved each other to death, but always took the opportunity to start a fight.
As AC/DC's Back in Black drifted loudly through the speakers, Melissa brought out recent newspapers to do further research on the hunt she and the boys were about to take. The only thing they were sure of so far that it was a spirit and it killed guys on this one 5-mile stretch of road. That, and the EVP on the message John left on Dean's phone indicating it was a woman.
'I can never go home,' could mean many things. It could be that the spirit was trapped on that road, and kills the guy she's riding with out of anger when he can't get her back home. She might be an angry hitch-hiker, and it's one of those deals where it's just impossible to get to her destination. Another, more unlikely, idea is that she got hit by a car that had a male passenger as the driver.
Melissa's musings were interrupted by Sam's voice. "Hey, Mel, there's an upcoming gas station. You still need to use the bathroom?"
Melissa shook her head. "Nah, I'm good." She could hold it until they booked a motel room. "Hey, have either of you called the local hospital yet to see if your dad's there?"
The younger Winchester shrugged. "I'll do that now."
It was by the time they passed a road sign reading 'JERICHO 7' that Sam hung up the call; John had been neither admitted to the hospital nor put in the morgue.
"We'll just have to dig around some more once we get into town," Melissa said.
"Or not," Dean said. Up ahead, there was what appeared to be a crime scene being searched by the police. Without further adieu, Dean pulled the Impala over and cut the engine.
While the boys (that is, Dean) picked out a fake ID cover ("Federal marshals, Mel"), Melissa dug around in her bag for her fake ID that she had, unfortunately, lost about six months ago. On the bright side, she and Dean knew it was somewhere in the car.
"Can't we do FBI?" she suggested, looking under the seat. "I still haven't found my federal marshal one."
"You lost a fake ID?" Sam wondered curiously.
"Shut up," Mel shot back easily and emerged from under the seat.
"Hate to break it to ya, but federal marshals are gonna be our best bet with these guys," Dean admitted. "C'mon, you should be fine." Melissa highly doubted that.
The trio got out of the car and approached the crime scene. It looked to be as if the driver of the vehicle had been another of the victims, if the road they were on was the road where the disappearances happened. A quick look at a distant road sign told Melissa that yes, it was indeed that same highway.
Melissa trailed behind the brothers as she attempted to be as subtle as possible searching her jacket pockets and back jean pockets for the missing ID. She had no such luck, however, and quickened her pace to catch up with Sam and Dean.
She caught the tail end of a conversation two of the cops were having: something about a girl putting missing posters up downtown.
"You fellas had another one like this just last month, didn't you?" Dean interrupted them, feigning curiosity.
The guy Melissa dubbed Cop #1 stood up from his crouched position next to the victim's vehicle.
Dean flashed his badge. "Federal marshals."
"You three are a little young for marshals, aren't you?" Cop #1 inquired, glancing suspiciously between Sam and Melissa. It didn't take a genius to figure out he was wondering why they didn't also present their badges.
Dean chuckled, appearing to not notice the officer's wariness. "Thanks, that's awfully kind of you," he replied snidely, and approached the car. "You did have another one just like this, correct?"
"Yeah, that's right," Cop #1 nodded. "About a mile up the road. There've been others before that."
"So, this victim, you knew him?" Sam questioned.
The first cop nodded. "Town like this, everybody knows everybody."
Great. I hate these kinds of towns, Melissa thought. They were always so friendly and cheery, and everyone knew what everyone was up to, and they always put their noses in other people's business.
Dean circled around the car, looking for something to indicate what it was that they were hunting. It was hardly needed, though, because Melissa could smell ozone from where she was standing, ten feet away from the vehicle; ozone usually meant that some sort of spirit had been nearby recently.
"Any connection between the victims, besides that they're all men?" Dean asked.
"No. Not as far as we can tell," the Cop admitted.
"You guys have any theories?" Melissa asked, deciding to take a glance at a few skid marks on the road; they were most likely caused when the driver lost control.
"Honestly? None that we have any hard evidence on. Serial murder? Kidnapping ring?"
"Well, that is exactly the kind of crack police work I'd expect out of you guys," Dean remarked. Sam stomped on his brother's foot, interrupting with a "Thank you for your time," and Dean winced.
Melissa rolled her eyes and began to trudge back to the car. "Sorry about them; they're not as mature as they make themselves out to be," she called back to the local officers, apologizing to cover up the brothers' behavior.
Sam and Dean followed close behind her; they didn't get far before Dean angrily whacked his younger brother on the head.
"Ow! What was that for?" Sam demanded.
"Why'd you have to step on my foot?"
"Why do you have to talk to the police like that?"
Dean moved to stand in front of Sam, forcing the younger Winchester to stop. "Come on…they don't really know what's going on. We're all alone on this. I mean, if we're going to find Dad, we've got to get to the bottom of this thing ourselves."
Melissa sighed and continued on her way to the car. She knew it would be difficult bringing Sam back into the life of hunting, so it wasn't all that much of a surprise when he and Dean started bickering not a day into the case.
Melissa took the passenger's side of the vehicle and waited for the brothers to finish speaking with the officers. The boys looked like they had a close shave, seeing as what looked like the Sherriff and a couple FBI agents stopped to talk with them for a brief moment. Idiots. If they weren't careful, the three of them would get caught and then put in jail - or worse, prison.
As the boys got back in the car, Dean in the driver's seat and Sam in the back, Melissa hoped that their little spat was over with for now. Thankfully the brothers were silent the rest of the way into town, though an uncomfortable silence pervaded throughout the interior of the Impala. Both brothers were obviously frustrated with one another, and neither of them was about to say anything more.
The town was small, yet not small enough for "everybody to know everybody," as the officer back at the bridge had said. Dark grey rain clouds were beginning to roll in. They gave the town a somewhat dreary atmosphere; maybe it would rain later.
Melissa decided to break the silence. "Listen, you guys are frustrated with each other and I get it. We are, however, on a - "
"But he - " Dean protested, while Sam simultaneously said, "But I don't even - "
"Let me finish!" she snapped, turning in her seat to face them both. "We're working a case right now. If you want to find your dad, we have to finish this case. And we can't finish this case if you guys continue to argue like an old married couple." After she said her piece, Melissa returned to her previous sitting position.
Sam unexpectedly spoke up. "Mel's right." He didn't say anything more than that.
After finding out the names of both the victim and the victim's girlfriend, they decided it was best to split up. Sam and Dean would talk to the victim's girlfriend, Amy. According to the police, Amy had spoken to the victim, Troy, minutes before he was killed. To make the case go faster, Melissa would go to the library while the brothers would talk to Amy. Afterwards, the three would meet up with her later. The meeting place they decided on was the motel they'd spotted on the way into town.
The library wasn't hard to find. Melissa supposed that the big sign that said "JERICHO LIBRARY" gave it away. She entered the library and walked up to the old woman behind the desk.
"Hi," Melissa greeted the woman. 'Phyllis', the name-plaque in front of her read.
"Hello, dear," Phyllis said, "Can I help you with anything?"
"I was wondering if I could have access to one of the computers here?" Melissa asked. "I'm working on a project that requires me to look up old archives from local towns."
Phyllis didn't even seem to think twice about whether or not that was a lie. She led Melissa to a quiet place closer to the back of the library and left her with the login information, quietly muttering about "you kids understand it more than I."
The local search engine was bland, but it did the job. After going through the few possible searches, "female suicide centennial highway" was the golden ticket. It brought up a single article: SUICIDE ON CENTENNIAL, dated April 25, 1981.
Quietly, Melissa read it to herself:
'A local woman's drowning death was ruled a suicide, the county Sheriff's Department said earlier today. Constance Welch, 24, of 4636 Breckenridge Road, leapt off Sylvania Bridge, at mile 33 of Centennial Highway, and subsequently drowned last night.
'Deputy J. Pierce told reporters that, hours before her death, Ms. Welch logged a call with 911 emergency services. In a panicked tone, Ms. Welch described how she found her two young children, 5 and 6, in the bathtub, after leaving them alone for several minutes.'
There was a picture of a very familiar looking bridge in the article, next to a picture of Constance Welch's husband, Joseph Welch. Melissa wrote down the house address. She decided to ask to use the printer before she met up with the guys.
At night, Sylvania Bridge gave off an eerie atmosphere. The air stunk of ozone, meaning that the ghost they were hunting was nearby. It was probably watching them right now.
Melissa went ahead of the brothers. They were worrying about John again, and she only knew that would somehow escalate into a fight. Because of Sam's rivalry with his dad, most of his and Dean's conversations turned into arguments. Melissa thought it was stupid and pointless. They spent more time fighting than actual working, and it was grating on her nerves. At least they took the job seriously enough.
Besides the residual ozone, one would have thought it was just an ordinary bridge. Melissa leaned against the railing and looked down at the water below. Like earlier in the afternoon, the water was rushing by in the strong current. Yeah, if someone were to take a nosedive down there, they would definitely die. Possibly on impact, too, if it was as shallow as it seemed.
Melissa leaned over farther. Was that a…cell phone?…on that rock? Maybe. "Guys?" she called over her shoulder. "I think Troy's cell phone is…" she'd looked over at them, to check if they were listening. They weren't, but that was the least of her problems.
The ghost of Constance Welch was standing on the railing a foot away from her. Oh. That's why they'd stopped talking.
Constance Welch looked as young as she was the day she died. Black hair, pale skin, and a flowing white gown. Woman in White, her brain supplied. Constance was looking down at Melissa with a piercing gaze, as if she knew all of Melissa's secrets. Out of the corner of her eye, Melissa could see the guys staring at the ghost as well.
"I can never go home," Constance said eerily, before stepping off the bridge.
Behind her, Melissa heard Sam and Dean running towards the railing, but Melissa was focused on the ghost. Right before Constance hit the water, she disappeared.
"Where'd she go?" Melissa wondered, slightly worried.
Before any of them could come up with an answer, the car started up. Now, here was the thing: Melissa had her keys with her, and Dean had his keys. So did that mean that the ghost started the car? Seriously?
"Who's driving your car?" Sam asked, squinting at the aforementioned vehicle.
In answer, Dean pulled his keys out of his pocket. Melissa did the same.
The car drove towards them at full speed. Melissa cursed under her breath before parkouring over the railing. She held on to it, planting her feet firmly on the bridge. Sam and Dean weren't as lucky with their escape. They ran past her before finally jumping over the side. Melissa watched as Sam caught onto a loose pole a little further down from her spot. Dean landed in the shallow, muddy water next to the bank below.
"You guys alright?" Melissa asked, raising her voice enough for Dean to hear, too. Sam nodded. She climbed over the railing before rushing to help Sam back up.
Sam looked down at the river, focusing on his brother. "Dean! Hey, are you alright?"
Dean turned around onto his back, made the a-ok sign, and deadpanned, "I'm super." Sam laughed at his brother's muddy figure, relieved, and Melissa chuckled quietly.
After Dean made his way back onto the bridge, he looked over the Impala's engine.
"Your car alright?" Sam asked as his brother slammed the hood down.
"Yeah, whatever she did to it, seems alright now. That Constance chick, what a bitch!" The last part was shouted at Constance, but she was most likely long gone by now.
"Well, she doesn't want us digging around, that's for sure," Sam said, sitting down on the car hood next to Dean. "You okay, Mel? She appeared right next to you."
"I'm fine," Melissa told him, sitting down next to him. "She gave me this real creepy stare, though."
It was quiet for a minute, before Sam turned to Dean and remarked, "You smell like a toilet."
Dean's retaliation was a shrug. Melissa scrunched up her nose; she could smell that from where she was sitting.
After looking around for a few more minutes, Melissa discovered that the cell phone she might have seen was gone. It was getting late anyway. They might as well head in.
They didn't get into town until early in the morning. The sun was just coming up. Melissa waited outside by the car while the boys booked a room. She was getting their things together when, without reason or warning, she was assaulted by a searing headache. Thousands of voices buzzed around in her head, the words so jumbled she couldn't make heads or tails of it all. But as quickly as it had come, the headache and voices were gone. It took her a second to realize she was doubled over, clutching her head, and someone was calling her name.
"Mel! Mel, snap out of it!" Dean. Regaining her composure, Melissa straightened up. "Another one'a those headaches?"
Melissa nodded. "Yeah. They were louder this time."
"Wait, you're having those headaches again?" Sam asked, seemingly appearing out of nowhere, confused.
Melissa nodded. "Yeah. Can we go inside now?" All of the attention was making her feel claustrophobic.
"Yeah, we were coming to get you so we could check out dad's room," Dean said.
John's motel room was number 10. While Dean and Mel kept lookout, Sam picked the lock. Once said lock was picked, Melissa followed Sam inside. Dean, however, seemed unaware that they had gone inside, and had to be grabbed by the jacket collar and yanked inside.
The motel room looked almost like a criminal central. On almost every vertical space, something was taped, tack, or pinned to it; maps, newspaper clippings, pictures, and notes. Not only did it look like a hideout, but it also looked like a tornado had ripped its way through the room and thrown everything around. There was a half-eaten cold burger on the nightstand, dirty laundry strewn everywhere, and garbage spilling out of the bin. Supernatural protection items were placed haphazardly about as well.
Melissa saw Dean turn on the bedside lamp, pick up the burger, sniff it, and recoil at the smell. "I don't think he's been here for a couple days, at least," Dean informed them.
Melissa inspected the papers that covered the far wall away from the bed. There was a picture of each Centennial Highway victim, all of them lined in order of who disappeared when.
"Salt, cats-eye shells…he was worried," Sam noted. "Trying to keep something from coming in."
All that protection, along with the car possession, proved that Constance was a particularly powerful spirit. Sam and Dean joined Melissa by the wall.
"What have you got here?" Sam asked.
"Centennial Highway victims," Melissa answered. "They're all different men, different jobs, ages, race…None of them seem to even be related. It's almost like there's no connection; they've got nothing in common besides gender."
"Dad figured it out," Sam said from across the room. Melissa hadn't even noticed him move.
"What do you mean?" Dean asked as he and Melissa turned around to look.
"He found the same article we did. Constance Welch…she's a Woman in White."
The older Winchester turned his head to look back at the victim lineup. "You sly dogs."
"I figured that out on the bridge," Melissa informed them. "I thought you guys did, too."
"You could have told us," Dean said.
Melissa shrugged. What was done was done. "If we're dealing with a Woman in White, John would have destroyed the body by now," Melissa said.
"She might have another weakness," Sam suggested.
Dean crossed the room over to his brother. "Well, Dad would wanna make sure. He'd dig her up. Does it say where she's buried?"
"No, not that I can tell. If I were Dad, though, I'd go ask her husband." Sam tapped the picture of Joseph Welch. "If he's still alive."
Melissa walked over and looked at the caption below the picture, it said he was thirty, and the article was dated 1981, so if her math was right he would be about 64. The chances of the husband still being alive were moderately high.
Sam turned and went to look at something else. Below the newspaper clipping, Melissa noticed an old black and white picture of a woman dressed in a long, flowing white dress that looked similar to Constance's.
"All right. Why don't you guys, uh, see if you can find an address. I'm gonna get cleaned up."
"Hey, Dean?" Dean turned around at Sam's words. "What I said earlier, about Mom and Dad…I'm sorry."
Dean held up a hand. "No chick-flick moments."
Sam chuckled. "All right. Jerk."
"Bitch," his brother replied. Melissa chuckled at the old nicknames; it seemed they were now on somewhat better terms. Dean looked at her with a stern face. "Nerd." He went into the bathroom.
Melissa just sighed. "I'm gonna go hide out in the car, 'k?"
"Mm-hm," Sam mumbled.
Shrugging, Melissa stepped outside and strolled over to the car, which was parked across the street from the motel.
She got into the backseat and sat so she could put her feet up. She got her laptop out, which was a crappy and cheap Toshiba PC, and worked on writing the book she wrote during her free time. Melissa supposed she was probably supposed to be doing research, but there probably wasn't anything to research in the first place. Actually, the husband's address…
Melissa had gotten about five pages done when someone knocked on the window behind her. Turning her head, Melissa felt her heart sink when she saw the police deputy officer from the bridge standing there expectantly. Melissa rolled down the window and put on a cheery smile. "Hi! Can I help you, officer?"
"You're going to have to come with us," he grunted.
Melissa blinked. "Is there a problem?" Better to play innocent than just immediately go on offence.
"Sorry, ma'am, but you're going to just have to come with us," he repeated.
Sighing, Melissa shut her computer down and packed it away. Once she was out of the car, the deputy spun her around whilst pulling out a pair of cuffs. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do can and will be held against you in the court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot or do not appoint an attorney, an attorney will be appointed for you. You are now under arrest."
Crap.
"So, you guys wanna give us your real names?" the Sheriff asked as he came back into the interrogation room, carrying a large box filled with stuff from John's motel room.
Both Melissa and Dean were currently seated at the interrogation table.
"I told you, it's Nugent. Ted Nugent," Dean insisted.
"And I'm his twin sister, Brittany," Melissa shipped in; it was true, they are the same age: 26.
The Sheriff sighed. "I'm not sure you realize just how much trouble you're in, here."
"We talkin', like, misdemeanor kind of trouble, or, uh, squeal like a pig trouble?" Dean taunted, not at all fazed. Melissa just sighed; she knew exactly how much trouble they were in.
"You got the faces of ten missing persons taped to your wall," the older man shot back. Dean looked away, and Melissa sighed again. "Along with a whole lot of satanic mumbo-jumbo. Boy, Miss, you two are officially suspects."
"Well, that makes sense. Because when the first one went missing in '82, we were three," Dean replied, frustrated.
"I know you've got partners. One of 'em's an older guy. Maybe he started the whole thing. So tell me, Dean and Mel," the Sheriff grabbed John's journal out of the box and tossed it onto this. "is this his?" Melissa and Dean just started at it, smart enough not to say anything if they wanted to get out of this. The Sheriff paged through the journal, which is filled with all of John's notes about every monster he knew about. "I thought that might be your names. See, I leafed through this. What little I could make out - I mean, it's nine kinds of crazy." Dean leaned forward to see which page the Sheriff was looking for. "But I found this, too." It was a piece of notebook paper, completely blank except for one sentence that was circled: 'DEAN + MEL 35-111.' "Now…You're stayin' right here til you tell me exactly what the hell that means."
Melissa kind of knew what that meant, but it had nothing to do with their current case.
"Oh I remember; it's my old high school locker combo. He needed it to get something while I was still in school." That's great, Dean, but it doesn't help us, Melissa thought miserably.
"Well, then why does it got her name on it, too?" the Sheriff argued.
"Because I kept forgetting it, so she had it so she could remind me." Melissa mentally groaned at Dean's excuse.
It was many, many, many slow hours later when mercy was brought down upon them.
"I don't know how many times I gotta tell you," Dean was saying. "It's my high school locker combo."
The old man gave him a look. "We gonna do this all night long?"
Please, no.
"We just got a 911." Bless. Melissa, who had been staring at the ceiling for the past half hour, looked up to see one of the deputies from the bridge leaning his head through the open doorway. "Shots fired over at Whiteford Road."
The Sheriff looked at Melissa and Dean. "Either of you have to go to the bathroom?"
Melissa shook her head. Dean said, "No."
"Good." The older man produced two pairs of handcuffs and chained them to the table. The Sheriff left the room, closing the door behind him.
"So, now what?" Melissa asked, now that the entirety of the Sheriff's Department was gone.
Dean grabbed a paper clip from the journal, and shrugged. "I have no idea." He grinned and unfolded it. Quickly, he picked the locks on both their cuffs and grabbed John's journal. They waited by the door until the station was completely empty. They grabbed their guns from the evidence room before leaving.
Once outside the building, they located a phone booth and used that to call Sam, seeing as their cell phones had been confiscated.
"Fake 911 phone call, Sammy. I don't know, but that's pretty illegal," Dean said once Sam answered his phone. "Listen, we gotta talk."
Melissa and Dean had the pone in between their ears so they could both hear Sam's side of the conversation.
"Tell me about it. So the husband was unfaithful. We are dealing with a Woman in White. And she's buried behind her old house, so that should have been Dad's next stop," Sam informed them. It sounded like he was driving.
"Sammy, would you shut up for a second?" Dean demanded.
"I just can't figure out why Dad hasn't destroyed the corpse yet," Sam said, ignoring his brother.
"Sam, that's what we need to tell you," Melissa interjected.
"He's gone," Dean added. "Dad left Jericho."
"What? How do you know?"
"We've got his journal," Melissa said.
"He doesn't go anywhere without that thing."
"Yeah, well, he did this time," Dean replied snappily.
"What's it say?"
"Ah, the same old ex-Marine crap, when he wants to let us know where he's going."
"Coordinates. Where to?"
"We don't know yet," Melissa told him.
"Guys, what the hell is going on?" Sam asked worriedly. Then: "Whoa!"
The sound of a phone being dropped could be heard, and Dean frantically called his brother's name. "Sam? Sam!"
Faintly, Constance's voice could be heard; "Take me home."
"Crap," Dean muttered, hanging up. "C'mon, we gotta go jack a car."
Hurriedly, they rushed out of the phone booth and ran to the nearest car. Melissa hopped into the driver's side and began hotwiring the car. Once it did, she made sure Dean was inside before stomping on the gas pedal. They were off at full speed down the road.
"What does she mean by 'home'?" Melissa asked.
"Probably the house her kids died in," Dean answered.
Melissa looked around before making a random turn. "Okay…do you know where it is?"
"No…don't you?"
Melissa sighed, and pulled the car over. "The address is 4636 Breckenridge Road. Did you see a Breckenridge Road on the way into town?"
Dean thought for a moment. "I…I…" He was so worried about his brother that he couldn't remember.
"Dean," Melissa snapped. "Did you see Breckenridge Road? We're not gonna find Sam if you don't focus."
Dean squinted, trying to remember, before saying, "Yeah. Yeah, it's just past Sylvania Bridge."
Without saying a word, Melissa gunned it and they were heading in the direction of the bridge. There was a turnoff for Breckenridge Road was about two miles before the bridge, and Melissa took the turn. There weren't many trees in the area, and it was easy to tell which home on the lonely road was the abandoned home of the Welch's.
Melissa drove the car up the driveway, and Dean was out of the vehicle before it came to a full stop. Melissa got out of the car once it was parked. Dean was already firing iron rounds at the ghost, which happened to be in the Impala. She plucked her 1911 Colt from the back seat of the car before running to assist the brothers.
Finally, Dean ceased fire and Sam's pained cries died down. Before anyone could say anything, Sam started the car up and shouted "I'm taking you home!" The Impala burst forward through the front wall of the house.
"Sam!" Dean and Melissa both shouted. There was silence for a few seconds; it was enough to send the pair bolting into the house. They stumbled over the wreckage of the house to get to Sam.
"Sam! Sam! You okay?" Dean frantically shouted.
"I think…" Sam's voice drifted from the car.
"Can you move?"
"Yeah. Help me?"
As Dean helped his brother out of the car, Melissa watched as the ghost of Constance bent down to pick up framed photograph. The spirit didn't appear to recognize anyone on it immediately, but Melissa knew that could easily change. Sure enough, Constance's curious gazing turned into a cold stare as she turned her eyes first onto Melissa, then Dean and Sam. Constance threw the picture frame aside. Melissa was too slow to avoid the dresser the ghost threw at them, leaving all three of them effectively pinned to the car.
As Constance approached them, Melissa tried, along with Sam and Dean, to pry the dresser away. It was useless to try. Constance was going to kill them all.
The lights started to flicker, and Constance stopped moving. Melissa ceased her struggle, watching as the Woman in White looked around. Apparently, the electromagnetic disruption wasn't by her doing.
Water began flowing down the stairs, drawing Constance's attention away from them.
Eerie voices, the voices of children, whispered, "You've come home to us, Mommy." Constance's children.
Melissa knew what would happen next. The children would take vengeance upon their mother by destroying her spirit and themselves; that's exactly what happened next. The children appeared at the bottom of the stairs and didn't give Constance a chance to do anything. They "hugged" her, killing their mother and themselves. All three of them horrifically disappeared into the floor in a flash of bright light.
Silence. Then, Melissa, Sam, and Dean pushed the dresser away.
Dean moved to look at the wet spot on the floor where the ghosts had disappeared. Sam and Melissa followed. "So this is where she drowned her kids," Dean commented.
"That's why she could never go home," Sam said in realization. "She was too scared to face them."
As Sam and Dean talked about the ghost, Melissa's attention was diverted to the doorway beyond the stairs. Something - no, someone - was standing just out of eyesight; their silhouette was the only thing visible. Their back was to her, but she could tell it was a man.
It wasn't the first time Melissa had seen a figure in the shadows. When she'd first started traveling with the Winchesters, there would always be someone in the distance. It was almost as if someone was keeping an eye on her.
"Hey, Mel!" Dean's loud voice jolted her out of the trance. "Whatcha starin' at?"
Melissa turned, forcing her lips to form a small smile. "Nothing. Just thinking."
A/N: So here it is, the revised version of chapter one! Seriously, this took longer than necessary.
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