Chapter 2
Settle Inn Motel, Council Bluffs, IA
Sam squinted as his tired eyes scanned another web page. He had been able to find quite a bit of information during his search. He glanced back at the digital clock on the nightstand between the beds, surprised to see that it was nearly 5:00.
After leaving the cemetery, Dean had driven to the motel, stopping long enough to change into his 'fed suit' before heading back out to talk to the latest victim's wife. In his brother's absence, Sam had been able to learn about Ruth Anne Dodge and her connection to the city of Council Bluffs. He had also found more information about the supposed dreams the woman had had about the angel as reported by Dodge's two daughters.
He looked up quickly as the door to the motel room opened, leaning back in the chair and stretching his tight back muscles as Dean stepped across the threshold. The older man smiled as he quickly located his brother in the small room, holding up a Taco Bell bag with a grin.
"I got us tacos, dude."
Sam rolled his eyes. "Yay," he deadpanned. He pushed the laptop to the back of the table as Dean tossed the bag in front of him. Sam reached in and retrieved the greasy contents as his brother shimmied out of his dark suit coat, pulling his dress shirt from the waist of his slacks before he plopped down into the chair on the opposite side of the table.
"So, how was your day, dear?" Dean asked as he unwrapped a soft shell taco. "I had a lovely day at the office."
Sam snorted a laugh and unwrapped his own taco. "I learned a lot about Ruth Dodge," he said. "But I'm not sure she has anything to do with these suicides."
"They aren't suicides," Dean argued around a substantial bite of food.
"And you know this… how?"
Dean swallowed and wiped at the taco sauce at the corner of his mouth. "According to Kevin Daugherty's wife Katherine, who, by the way is an accountant who owns her own firm, there is no way in hell Kevin jumped from that cliff of his own free will." He leaned back against the chair, one arm dropping into his lap. "Mr. Daugherty was visiting the grave of an old high school friend that he visited annually for the last fifteen years. He was not in any way, shape or form depressed, emotional or bereaved. As a matter of fact, the happy couple had just sent their youngest daughter off to college and were finally going to take a vacation to Ireland they had been planning for five years." Dean shrugged, his head tilted in question. "Now that doesn't sound like a guy planning to take a swan dive from a cliff to me."
Sam sighed, nodding his head slowly in agreement. "Okay. I agree that isn't exactly suicidal behavior." He finished the rest of his taco in one bite and turned the laptop toward his brother. "According to the records, there have been at least twenty 'suicides' from those cliffs in the last fifty years – and those are just the ones I could find. A few of them have been attributed to depression, lost loved ones, that kind of stuff, but the majority of them are like our Mr. Daugherty. Perfectly normal, well adjusted people who showed no signs of wanting to end their lives."
Sam wiped his hands on a napkin and reached across the table. With a few clicks he brought up a web page that had been minimized at the bottom of the screen.
"For example," he nodded toward the newspaper report that appeared on the screen. "Theresa Morgan. Twenty-eight years old. Her death was attributed to her being despondent over the death of her mother over a year before she supposedly jumped. But, according to her husband, Brian, Theresa had just found out she was pregnant and was ecstatic about the news."
He grabbed another taco from the bag and dropped it onto the table in front of his brother. "There are more like that. Each victim having at least one relative or friend who swears they were in no way suicidal."
"Of course the local police did their usual slip-shod job, ignored the pattern and slapped a solved sticker on the files. Case closed, huh?"
Sam frowned but didn't contradict his brother's assessment. "The cops don't know what we know, Dean. They're looking for reasonable explanations."
"Yeah, yeah," Dean waved a hand, not wanting to get into an argument about the crack investigative abilities of local law enforcement. "What did you find out about the Dodge chick?"
Sam sat back and rubbed his eyes. "Ruth Anne Dodge was the wife of General Grenville M. Dodge who was a Civil War veteran and the chief engineer of the transcontinental railroad."
"So pretty important people."
Sam nodded. "Around here they were royalty." He clicked the keyboard again and brought up another site. "According to legend, the Fairview cemetery is an old Native American burial ground that was taken over by the Mormons for a while. The angel was commissioned by Ruth's two daughters and designed specifically to emulate their mother's 'vision'."
The last word made Dean sit up and lean forward in interest. "Vision?"
"That's what the legend says." Sam continued. "According to the daughters, Ruth had three visions of…" he held up a finger while he scrolled down the page, finally coming to a spot in the text and reading it out loud. "…out of the mist, she saw an ancient boat appear that was covered with roses and rare fragrant flowers. As it approached, she saw that a beautiful young woman was standing in the bow of the ship clad in a glistening white garment…" Sam looked up to see a slight smirk on his brother's face. "The description goes on," he said quickly, ignoring Dean's amusement. "But here's the good part. According to the story, Ruth's 'angel' was holding a chalice filled with the 'water of life' which she encouraged Ruth to drink. The third time she did, and then she died."
He leaned back in the chair again and looked at Dean, his eyebrows lost under his shaggy bangs. "Sounds supernatural to me."
Dean nodded. "But you don't think Ruth Dodge is connected to these suicides?"
Sam shook his head. "I doubt it. The woman died in New York and her body was transported back here by her daughters. She's not even buried in that cemetery. She's buried in a stone mausoleum across town."
Dean crumpled the taco wrapper and tossed it toward the wastepaper basket near the door. "Okay, you said the cemetery is pretty old, right?"
Sam leaned back and picked up his brother's wadded wrapper from the floor and tossed it into the basket. "Yeah. It's actually known as the 'old burying grounds' around here. It's one of the oldest cemeteries in the region."
Dean crumpled up another wrapper and took aim again, watching as the small wad banked off the wall and landed in the basket. He looked at his brother with a satisfied grin. "It still could have something to do with those visions, though."
"Like maybe Ruth saw something that was already there?"
"Yeah, I'm still thinking some kind of siren… calls the victim to the cliff and entices them to jump. We just have to figure out how it's choosing its victims. I'll check through Dad's journal, see if he ever came across anything like this." Dean looked back at his brother, noting the dark circles under the younger man's bloodshot eyes. "You look beat, dude. Way too much screen time for you. Why don't you try to get some shut-eye. We can go back and check out the cemetery with the EMF later tonight."
Sam began to object, but a wide yawn interrupted the protest. He rolled his neck, feeling the tension from having been hunched over the computer for hours take its toll. "Yeah, maybe I'll catch a few hours." He pushed himself out of the chair, shuffling two steps before collapsing onto the bed. "Wake me if you find anything interesting."
Dean smiled fondly and leaned forward to toss the edge of the comforter across his brother's prone form. "You got it, Sleeping Beauty."
……………..
Sam looked down, watching as the waves crashed against the rocks. He could hear the hiss of the water as its spray danced in the mist, the scent of the water permeating the night air. The wind whipped his hair about his head as the water sparkled like diamonds in the bright moonlight.
On the shore below, a small boat ebbed its way toward land. As it drew closer, Sam could make out the beautiful figure standing at its bow. She was draped in long flowing robes of the purest white, falling from her form like curtains of spun silk. Her golden hair hung to her shoulders in soft ringlets, tossed about her head by the crisp breeze. Her head tilted up and her gaze found his, her eyes shifting from a deep blue to a warm emerald green as the moonlight played against them.
She stretched a graceful arm out toward him, her fingers slowly curling, inviting him to come closer. Her other arm was wrapped around a golden chalice, filled to the brim with glistening liquid. The liquid seemed to glow in the moonlight and Sam licked his lips, suddenly aware of an inescapable thirst that seemed to engulf his entire body. Without sound, she called to him, beckoning him toward her, a smile of promise on her ruby lips…
"Sammy, come on, dude. Time to wakey wakey, princess."
Sam gasped as he felt a hand on his shoulder. He reached out with unexpected speed, his own hand clamping down on a wrist and squeezing hard.
"Whoa," Dean's voice was level, but held a touch of surprise. "Relax, man. It's me."
Sam opened his eyes to find his brother half leaning, half sitting awkwardly on the side of the bed. Dean's eyes were wide and he looked from Sam's face to his captured wrist and back with dramatic flair. Sam's eyes followed his brother's and immediately released the wrist, allowing the older man to fall back onto the opposite bed.
Dean absently rubbed his wrist with his other hand, his eyes squinting in concern as he appraised his brother. Sam was pale and breathing too heavy for a man who had only moments ago been sound asleep. There was a light sheen of perspiration on his skin and his eyes held a look of confusion.
"Sam?" Dean watched as his brother blinked a few times, the confused deer-in-the-headlight look fading as he became aware of his surroundings. "Dude, you okay?"
"Uh, yeah." Sam cleared his throat and let his head fall back against the pillow. "I was just having this weird dream…"
When the younger man didn't continue, Dean pursed his lips and tilted his head in question. "Any dancing, bikini clad women or hot tubs involved?" Sam was normally reluctant to discuss his dreams, and Dean had learned a long time ago that the younger man would not be pushed into revealing whatever it was that had spooked him before he was ready.
It was kind of a family trait.
Sam gave a snort of laughter and seemed to relax. "Nope. Not an umbrella drink in sight."
Dean shrugged. "You really need to have better dreams, dude."
Sam nodded in agreement. He pushed himself up to sit on the edge of the bed and ran a hand across his face. "You find anything in Dad's journal?"
Knowing his brother was playing a game of escape and evade about his dream, Dean decided to humor him and pushed himself up from the bed, crossing to the table where he'd left the journal. "There was nothing I could find that fit the specifics, but from what I could find, I'm pretty sure we're dealing with a water witch." He turned back to Sam, glad to see the younger man had shaken off his earlier stupor and was now completely focused on the information being presented.
"A water witch is a type of siren, but it doesn't use the typical siren song to draw its victims out to sea."
"Then what does it use?"
Dean shrugged. "Dad wasn't really sure. Apparently it can sort of 'infect' someone, which always involves water somehow. Once the victim is infected, the witch can call to them and they can't resist."
Sam's brow furrowed as he remembered their first trip to the cemetery. "The fountain?" he questioned.
"That would make sense," Dean agreed with a slow nod. "People visiting the cemetery, somehow touch the water from the fountain. Sure would explain why some of these well adjusted people would suddenly commit suicide."
Sam pushed himself up and shuffled toward the bathroom. "So, we need to go back and check out the fountain." He turned at the door and grinned at his brother. "Just try and stay away from that cliff this time, dude. I don't want to have to start putting a leash on you."
Dean laughed at the thought. "Kinky, Sammy. You really need to have better dreams."
TBC
