(So I know I need to post something for Unforeseen Future, however everything that I am writing is not coming out right. I don't care to to post something that I dislike so I cannot put something out right now. Working on it I promise. However, I have made some headway on this one. For some reason I seem to have found the muse and and now can properly write this. So here you go!)
Chapter Two
Sam felt the eyes of her older brother linger on her. After a short conversation about the case the car ride had drifted to awkward silence. Awkward silence, where every so often Dean would look at her when he thought she wasn't aware. She blew out an irritated breath, jostling a strand of her hair. "You want to take a picture? That'll last longer."
"And not give me snappy comebacks." Dean deadpanned but he did turn back to the road. His eyes didn't focus though. He kept an image of Sam's colorful profile sharp and alive in his head. He knew since last night that her face would bruise but it just looked gnarly now.
Her lip had gone down after a pack of ice, but the cut and bruise combination on her left cheek still remained. The night before Dean had seen her skin start to purple, but now the vivid bruise just looked like an abstract painting. Yellow dotted the outside showing signs of healing, green ringed the dark purple center that resembled the wide frame of a pistol. Every time he glanced over at her and saw the weapons silhouette something boiled deep within him.
"So Mr. Simmon's is having a memorial today, so it's probably not the best to attack anyone with questions before or during the event. If there is a library in the city you can drop me off to do some research while you find a room." Sam didn't look over at her brother. She remained focused on the passing trees and cars, leaving dean to have the ideal view of her injury.
"Give people some time and ask afterwards; I'm good with that. What makes you think I'm letting you out of my sight however?" Dean scowled, not for the first time that drive.
Sam groaned and rubbed her hand on her face until she winced once it grazed her bruise. "I'm fine. I'm a big girl. I don't need 24 hour big bro security."
"Yeah you said that last night and got hit in the face with a gun. I mean besides damaging what was already a messed up face, you could have been fucking shot." Dean gripped the wheel tightly.
Sam looked put out. "Look, don't tell me that what I did was stupid, because while it was, that was something that you and dad would have done were you in my shoes. We're hunters Dean. We protect people, and that is from other people if need be."
"We would have beaten the bad guy, not let him get the upper hand and knock us out." Dean burst. He regretted it the second she casted her eyes down and her lips thinned in irritation. It was clear he'd struck a cord. While she was smart, she was also the weakest fighter of the three. Didn't mean to count her out. In a fight she used her surroundings and her skill to the best of her ability. Dean and John just happened to have devoted more time and patience to the art, and found it easier. "I didn't mean-"
"I get it." Sam interrupted. Her lips thinned out more and made it clear though that everything was not okay. "You were worried. I would be if you didn't come back in two hours with food, and ended up on the ground after a robbery. But look, I got the big brother speech last night. I'm going to try to be more careful; universe allowing."
"Universe isn't kind." Dean grunted.
"No it isn't. But I'm not hiding behind you." She rolled her eyes and leaned her forehead against the window effectively cutting off the bruise from his sight. "Partners...Remember."
"I seem to recall that conversation ending with I needed to see you safe too." Dean relaxed his grip. "But yes, partners. I'll drop you off at the library. When I find the room, I'll give you a call." And check up on you, didn't quite make it in the sentence but it was implied. "Just make good choices while you're there."
"I don't know what kind of trouble I can get in a library, but sure it's duly noted. If some guy comes up and asks me if I can help him find his dog-" Sam made quotation marks with her fingers. "-I will not get in the car, even if he has candy."
"Good." Dean nodded sagely. "Not even if he has drugs."
Sam snorted and kept her face pressed against the glass. The cool window was alleviating some of the pain the headache was pounding out. They spent the remaining time with her very nearly psychic brother shoving a bottle of Tylenol and warm water at his sister and Sam not wanting to admit the pain. Finally, the battle was won when Sam took the tablets. She had to admit to herself she did feel better when the medication took effect.
Hillwood appeared in Sam's passenger window first, and the first thing to greet them was an Inn town motel. Dean drove past heading for the center of the city. Hillwood seemed to be a decent mash of the old and new. Many new shiny metallic buildings sat adjacent to small mom n' pop shops with signs that clearly originated at least twenty years. The further in they drove Sam couldn't help but notice that a few of the businesses (mainly the smaller, privately owned) sported closed signs and had all lights out. They passed by a building with a sign reading Green's Meats and Sam noticed a familiar picture in the window.
"No wonder all the businesses are closed. The paper I read did say they would have a memorial for the guy." Sam rubbed at her chin thoughtfully.
"Hmmm?" Dean glanced over as he stopped at a light.
"The guy that died recently. When I read the paper, it did mention that he was pretty loved in the area. He's consistently won Teacher of the Year, even after he came out as gay." Sam glanced at a pastry shop that also promoted a closed sign and a blown up image of the man.
"He must have been awesome. Not everyone usually approves of those life choices." Dean stopped at a light and glanced over at his sister. "Have any clue where your biblioteca is?"
"Pasamos por una senal diciendo que se trata de una milla de distancia." Sam linked her fingers and put her hands behind her head.
Dean didn't approve of the wide grin on her face. "Okay I know some words and key phrases, but calm down there Ricky Ricardo."
"Probably know enough to get yourself slapped." Sam smirked.
"Or laid." Dean wagged an eyebrow. "What does that translate to anyways?"
"I said we passed by a sign saying it's a mile away." Sam pointed. "Just follow those signs."
Sure enough he hit another sign and followed the arrows. And to be honest it wasn't hard to miss. It was a white brick building with two grand pillars at the entrance, around the place was an iron fence sporting little gargoyles on each support. He pulled up the emergency brake while Sam dug around for her small green messenger bag holding her computer and slipped out of the car.
"Stay safe. I'll call you when I find a place." Dean waved his phone, wait patiently until Sam dug out hers to show him she did in fact bring her phone along.
"Yeah, yeah, say no to drugs, I got it." Sam rolled her eyes and shut the door not even giving Dean a second glance as she headed up the stairs to the library.
Sam wasn't aware of the time passing until the phone in her back pocket buzzed. The large clock on the wall informed her that she had been burying her complete attention on research for the last two hours. Sam glanced around before slipping her hand into her pocket and dragging out her cell phone and answered the call.
"So you got us a room." Sam heard her brother shift around on the line. She maneuvered the mouse as she clicked on useful links.
"Yeah. Dude, the bathroom is all fishy. There even is starfish soap." Deans soundedhorrified at the décor of their latest room.
"Hey at least we don't have a bunch of creepy portraits of cats around the room." Sam gave a slight shudder as she recalled the Bed n' Breakfast they had stayed at in Maine. The room they had rented had pink walls, and poorly done paintings of cats. Sam could have sworn that the eyes followed her as she moved.
"That certainly was one of our more interesting ones." She heard Dean shift around the bag of weapons. "So, you getting anywhere, Sherlock?"
Sam frowned as she read through Robert Simmon's obituary. "I have no leads, and any ideas I have are weak. So far six deaths, but as I mentioned before different races, genders, and careers. I have one guy who owned an ice cream truck, seemed pretty psychotic and mean, I think a total of ten showed up to his funeral. Then there's our recent guy, Robert Simmons. I think I'll stick in an application to get this guy into sainthood. Loved teacher, blood donor, gave money to charity, hosted a gift pick up for unfortunate families at Christmas, volunteered at the local animal and homeless shelter."
"Geeze, guy reserved a special spot in heaven. His room is right next to Jesus himself."
"That's the thing Dean. I don't know if he has skeletons in his closet. Were the people essentially chopped just random people who were in the wrong place at the wrong time, or did this thing choose them for a specific reason. All I know for certain though is that the deaths occurred within a mile of the Hillwood Garden's Cemetary, and save the last one, it always occurred on August 5th."
"Then the Cemetery is something to check out."
"Hate to go in blind though." Sam bit at her lip. "We could always cruise by the latest scene, and see if we get EMF."
Dean remained quiet in thought. "Good plan. We do have some time. Although, why don't you get the locations of every body found and we can check out each spot. Maybe ask around about local lore and see if we could get any more intel on what this could be." After Sam's last encounter with the armed gunman and countless situations they had run in blind Dean had to agree with her sentiment about going in prepared.
"Okay, no problem." Sam set to get the info. "I can meet you at the motel. What street is it-"
Dean cut her off quickly. "I can pick you up." She could practically hear him tense. "I don't want you walking too far on that leg."
"If the motel isn't that too far away then I can-"
"Pick you up in twenty, Sam." Dean's tone and immediate hang up ended all argument Sam had left in her.
Sam set to sketching out a small map of the city and marked each spot with a number. She went through the corresponding events and wrote down the details from the newspaper articles, and police reports. She printed up the last of the crime scene photos when a warm calloused hand landed on her shoulder.
"Jesus, you scared me." Sam put a hand to her heart, and took in a deep inhale.
"No need to be so formal. Awesome Big Bro Dean works as well." Dean smirked jerking the chair next to her out with his foot and sat down. "So you got everything? Ready to go?"
"Yeah. Let me pick up these at the printer." She stood up and walked over to the printer. She shifted through the papers and inspected each one before slipping the eagle eyed librarian a ten-dollar bill.
"Want change, hun?"
"Nope." Sam held fast to the pictures in her hand. She made the short distance back to her brother and shut down all the windows up on the screen and powered off the laptop. "Okay, I'm ready to go. I have pictures, descriptions, and locations." The computer and its cord made it back into the bag, while the photos were slipped between the sheets of the legal pad.
"Great. You certainly are the research queen." Dean scooped up her bag and shouldered it. He motioned Sam to the door. "So where are we headed first?"
xxxOOOxxx
They had started with the first death. A young, white male named Carl Williams. He'd been found intact with a few deep blows from an axe in 1979. Three years later, 1982 Karen Johnson a 50 year old black woman was found this time her arm clean off. Abel Adam's, a young black male, was found with the bloodshed escalated. In 1991 his arm and leg at the knee had been cut off. William (the hated Willie) Castellaneta, a Hispanic male was found missing three limbs. Only his right arm was found intact on the street just outside the cemetery in 2000. He was a few steps away from his ice cream truck. This year on the anniversary date, Maggie Gammelthrope was completely dismembered.
Each crime scene hadn't been pretty to revisit. Just the pictures alone made it something almost worrisome to look at. However, Mr. Simmon's scene took the cake. Not only had he been dismembered. The thing had taken the time to fling his limbs about the alley way. Chief Snell had gone through great pains to show exactly where each body part was found, including a leg that had ended up hooked on the ladder of a fire escape, and his hands in a dumpster. Whatever was behind this had escalated much further.
Dean snuck away to a corner, further away from the police while Sam walked through the scene with the forensic team. The force distracted, Dean pulled out his EMF device and switched it on flinching at the intense wailing it gave when it powered on. Dean let it continue for a minute before switching it on and off and pocketing the handmade machine. On his way back to his sister their eyes met and he gave a firm nod. It was a spirit for sure.
Rejoined they met up with the police chief again. They asked him questions about each scene and if they had any leads. The police chief claimed he didn't know who it was. He'd first seen Johnson's lobbed off arm in 1982 and was convinced they had some psycho who was murdering on an anniversary. However, the murder never left anything behind. No prints in the blood they'd spilled. They hadn't even pulled particulates from the injuries. An axe no matter where held would have some kind of trace…pollen, dirt, or even their own DNA. But there was nothing.
Chief Snell seemed pleased the FBI was finally taking a serious look into the related deaths. He offered all the files they had back at the station. Sam nodded politely and smiled, but she had already hacked into the system and taken what she needed.
"And all this time you've ruled out all your suspects?" Sam asked more knowingly.
"Every last one. Can't seem to peg this person…although." Chief Snell paused and shook his head more to himself.
"What is it? Anything will help, Chief." Dean prodded the man to release the information.
"Nothing. It's nothing." The look on the chiefs face didn't really read anything. Dean and Sam knew they'd get nothing from him at least not right now. Chief Snell glanced not for the first time curiously at Sam's face, and Sam sighed and put her hand up to the ugly bruise. "Perp?" He asked plainly and simply.
It was a ruse to change the subject but Sam allowed it. "Uh, yeah. He's been caught though. One last thing Chief Snell. I don't mean to sound insensitive but I need to know where the memorial service is being held for Mr. Simmons. Unfortunately, the further we wait-"
The chief looked a little off put that they were going to disturb his citizens so quickly after the memorial, but he knew that the longer they did wait the less chance they would find whoever did this. "Of course. I understand. He tugged out a folded paper from his pocket. It was a flyer that listed an address, a date, a time, and a picture; Mr. Simmon's picture. "Just don't push too much. He was loved by quite a few people in this city."
"We got it." Sam nodded.
xxxOOOxxx
Dean parked the car outside the church and slipped out. Sam straightened her black FBI jacket before joining her brother at the foot of the church steps. The small crowd was leaving the church in a somber mood, half shuffling off down the street towards cars and homes, and the other half converging into small circles talking in low tones.
Sam didn't wait for Dean to lead. She met the closest little group and fingered her badge. A man about thirty, blond hair and understanding eyes caught sight of the suits first. His hand entangled with a blond woman's next to him.
"Jan Reeve and Mark Meade." Sam held up her badge and didn't need to look over at her brother to know he mirrored her. In unison both badges were folded and put in pockets. "FBI. I know that you still are grieving, but would it be okay if we asked you some questions?"
The blond female tensed, but her (assumed) husband placed a hand on her arm and gave her a firm look. She stilled and sighed standing down, letting her husband step forward. In fact, the whole group seemed content to let the man take control of the situation.
"Arnold Shortman." He studied the two, his gaze lingering on the bruising on the side of her face. For a second his eyes flitted towards Dean almost accusingly but they calmed. In a second he seemed to read that Dean hadn't been the cause. Who the hell was this guy? "We don't mind. If it helps you find whoever did this, we're happy to help."
"It's not a who." A portly man shoved through, the buttons on his nice button up straining.
The blond woman rolled her eyes. "Crimeny! Leave it alone, Harold. What you heard was impossible."
"As tactful as always, Helga." Harold narrowed his eyes at the woman. "And I swear I heard it."
"You're the one who found him?" Sam thought back to the article. "Harold Berman."
"Yeah." Harold scrubbed a hand along his chin and gave a long sigh. "It was- it was horrible. But it wasn't a person. At least not a live person."
"What do you mean?" Dean asked shoving his hands in his pocket.
"I heard her. I heard her humming that wedding tune. The one the brides walk down the aisle to." Harold nervously tugged at his hand. "Only it was inside the cemetery, and it sounded like she was going back inside."
Arnold rubbed the back of his abnormally wide head. "He means the wedding march."
"Which means, Arnoldo, that he is referring to her her." Helga turned back to Harold after looking at each member of their group one by one and getting approval. "I'm sure you were just stressed. I mean we all loved Mr. Simmons. You don't want to lose faith in humanity, however, so who better to blame his death on than someone or something that isn't human. Well alive at least."
"I heard it, Helga. I know I did."
Sam cleared her throat bringing the attention back to herself. "Believable or not, we are open to any suggestions. All we want to find out is what happened to Mr. Simmons, and all the other victims it's taken."
A man with dark skin and a tall head of hair released the hand of his much smaller Asian wife, and stepped forward. "It's not possible though. As much as I want to support Harold…"
"Gerald-" Arnold scolded. "Helga, just let Harold talk. I'm sure the agents can decide what is useful and what isn't."
After a meaningful looked directed towards him Harold took a breath. "I heard her, I heard the Ghost Bride. Then I found Mr. Simmon's abandoned car and called Sid." He motioned to a man next to him with stringy hair and an almost comically long nose. "And I may have been tired and stressed but I swear I heard her awful humming."
"Who is the Ghost Bride." Dean asked starting to lose his patience.
"She's-" Helga started, but the man named Sid stopped her. He firmly shook his head Instead he gestured to Gerald. She made wrinkled up her nose and scoffed. "You have got to be kidding me, Sid. We are not in elementary school anymore."
"She's right." Gerald gave his friend a confused stare. "It doesn't really matter who tells it."
"She's not the holder of the story though. Only you are." Sid gripped.
Gerald notched up an eyebrow. "Technically I've passed down all those stories to Jacob. So do you want me to call over my nephew so he can tell them?"
"Look. Would someone just tell us who this woman is?" Dean had lost all patience now.
The gaze between the adults lingered between one another as they almost seemed to wordlessly fight. Finally, though with a sigh Gerald stepped forward. "I'm giving the cliff notes version. Okay, no spooky voice like I used to." Sid seemed to deflate. "Okay there was a woman, Cynthia Snell. She was madly in love with her fiancé, only when it came time to get married he never showed up. Later Cynthia found out that he had run off with her sister, and the day they were supposed to be married he instead married her sister. Later that night, Cynthia put on her wedding dress and grabbed an axe from the basement. She went over to the newlywed's home and murdered them in their sleep. When the police arrived they found her rocking herself in a rocking chair next to their bodies, humming the Wedding March. She committed suicide by jumping out the bedroom window so she couldn't be arrested. They buried her in her wedding gown at the cemetery, and supposedly, on the anniversary of her murder and suicide she rises from the grave looking for victims humming the Wedding March."
The small group broke into applause, while Dean and Sam remained stunned at their reaction.
"Good story. But that's all that is. It's just a story. We already proved it to be untrue. We spent the whole night in that cemetery on the anniversary and nothing happened. Just a few pranks." Helga crossed her arms.
"One of which was perpetrated by you." Arnold pointed out. He glanced over at the Feds. "We were ten. Wanted to see if it was real, but it was Helga in a wedding dress chasing us around. When we found out she wasn't the real woman in white it turned out that a second friend, put out that he wasn't invited, pranked us and had us lock ourselves into a mausoleum."
"Curly swears though…" Harold started.
"Curly is insane." Helga broke in.
Sam cleared her throat. "Curly swears…what?" They were certainly a handful.
"Curly was the one who pranked us second. Had us locked in that mausoleum and when we found out what he had done, we were all just a little angry. So we locked him inside for the night. When he got out he kept claiming that he heard her humming after we left, but we didn't stick around. We ran off the second we knew it was clear."
Dean looked a little skeptical. "How crazy is Curly though?"
"Certifiable." Scoffed Helga. "Belongs in a straight jacket and a padded white room. Moron painted himself up with tiger stripes and released all the animals in the zoo."
"I am not crazy though." Harold glared at Helga. "And I swear I heard her."
"You heard someone pranking you."
"She was real." Harold burst. "She's not just some legend. She once was alive and had killed her fiancé and sister."
"Once!" Helga scowled. Seemed to be a regular thing for her.
Sam broke the fight. "Okay. It's fine. Thank you, really." She offered Harold a warm smile and professionally flipped out a business card with her current name and number. "You see or hear anything else just feel free to call us. Anything you find out, we'll listen."
"Believable or not. Anything helps us solve this." Dean finished.
Harold gave a jerky nod.
"Same goes for any of you." Sam nodded politely. With that she spun and headed for the car, Dean hot on heels. She rested her hand on the roof of the car as Dean to walk around to the driver's side. She waited until Dean had his door open to open her own and slide into the car. "Well that was interesting."
"Yeah I mean, Ghost Bride with an axe…?!" Dean stuck the keys into the ignition and started the engine.
"It's worth a look. You did say we could look for local lore. That is- local lore." Sam scratched down the name of the woman in her legal pad.
"You got the name."
"Yeah, Cynthia Snell." She paused. "Isn't that the name of the police chief?"
"Come to think of it, yeah it is…" Dean put the car in drive and headed towards their motel room. "If she really exists, and her story is real, I wonder what kind of ties he has to her…"
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