For those of you who were wondering when in the season this is set – it's just after "The Magnificent Seven."
At least they've got enough light in here, he thought, following the detective into the autopsy room. I've seen worse.
The place was plainly unaccustomed to handling the volume of bodies it now found itself holding. Medical equipment was shoved against the walls to make room for the four narrowly spaced examining tables, the three bodies covered by sheets of varying age. Three of the autopsies had already been completed, the detective had told him on the way over, and though Ross McLaughlin hadn't arrived yet, the medical examiner expected no surprises after the first three.
Finch, Dean reminded himself. Detective Aaron Finch. Sam's father-son advice had been uncalled for and patronizing, but he was right; locals were touchy about federal authorities, and they would get a lot farther a lot faster if they showed professional respect.
The detective – Finch – pulled back the sheets one by one, squeezing between the tables with obvious effort.
"Well," he said, releasing the breath he'd been holding, "here they are. Not a thing wrong with them, apart from being dead, and all. And their faces…" He shook his head. "Well, you know all about that."
Dean took a closer look at the man nearest him.
"This the brother?"
"Yeah, that's Edmund. He was the second vic. Geoff MacGregor there was the first, and Jennifer Tierney was third, just before Ross."
Dean quit looking at Edmund's face; chuck steak would never be as appetizing again. "The timing might be important, but my partner's working that side of the investigation right now. We should focus on the stiffs."
Finch nodded. "You been partners a long time, huh?"
Dean chuckled. "Our whole lives, seems like."
"Bet you boys see all kinds of stuff in your line of work."
"Pretty out there," he said. "We get called all over the place, and most of the time it's run-of-the-mill horror, blood, guts, et cetera, but we get these days…" Dean paused before continuing. What the hell. Who's he gonna tell? "It's like all hell breaks loose, you know?" He shook his head. "Tests your limits, I'll tell you that much."
Finch smiled sadly. "I had a partner. Ten years, then he died in a bank robbery."
"That's rough." Dean frowned. "No replacement?"
"Corrina's too small, they said. Couldn't justify the cost of hiring another detective."
"Just you then, huh? How long?"
"Just a year." He sighed. "He was younger by a few years. Had a family and all. Doesn't seem fair, you know? If I could have taken his place…"
He trailed off.
"I know the feeling," Dean said quietly.
"This is getting depressing," Finch said after a moment. "C'mon. I'll show you the claws."
Sam closed the last of the books in the pile and shoved them aside, yawning. He flipped his phone open, surprised to find that it was already after five; he had an interview with Jennifer Tierney's mother, and only living relative, at six.
He smiled, thinking of the woman who he'd spent most of the day with. They'd had brunch at a sandwich shop in the town square, and she'd fed him more juicy details about the residents of Platsworth. Most of it was irrelevant nonsense, but she lit up like a hundred-watt bulb as she shared them with him, and he couldn't help but indulge her, watching her move animatedly as she described the mayor's affair with his stepsister and the septic cleaner's drug trafficking conviction. When she'd started in on the high school principal's copy room rendezvous with a visiting veterinarian from St. Cloud, he'd openly expressed his disbelief.
"There's no way that's true, Merida," he said, taking pleasure in saying her name.
"I'd swear it on a stack of bibles," she said indignantly. "Her name was Candace Vikmar. She taught at the state university out there! My mother was the one who called her; one of our horses was having trouble throwin' a colt, and Dr. Clarence – he's the vet here in Plats – was on vacation!"
He hadn't been able to keep from laughing. "But…how did she meet the principal?"
"Oh, it wasn't the first time they met," she said coyly. She bit her bottom lip and leaned in closer. "There was a high school education conference not too long ago at the university, and Henriksen – that's the principal – went to represent our county."
"And how do you know they met there?"
"He talked about her quite a bit when he got back. My mother's the only one around here who can tend to the animals they keep for the kids in the 4H club, so she and Henriksen are good friends."
Sam shook his head. "And what was a vet doing at an education conference?"
"I don't know, but my mother said she taught Henricksen a thing or two. She's the one who caught 'em! He doesn't know that, of course, so don't go mentioning it if you meet him."
Sam laughed again, relishing the feeling. "Remind me never to tell you anything private."
"Oh, I'm not that bad. I just like a good story, that's all."
"Yeah," he said. "Right."
"This place gets boring, Caleb," she said. His heart sank a little when she used the alias.
He nodded. "Sounds pretty boring."
"Compared to your life? I'm sure this place seems plain as a daisy in a field of roses."
Sam cocked his head. "Not lately. Else we wouldn't be here, would we?"
She grinned. "Touché," she said. "It is terrible, though. I just don't know who could do such a thing. And in Plats? It's just got to be someone from out of town."
"You never know," he said sadly. "It could be anyone. That's why they called us in."
She took a long drink from her mug, then caught sight of the clock in the shop window.
"Mmm!" She set her mug down and frowned at him. "Why didn't you tell me how much time had passed? It's almost one!"
"Is it?"
"Oh," she said, slipping her coat on. "Now I've gone and kept you from your work with all my jabbering."
"It was good to take a break," he said. "I enjoyed myself. Really."
She smiled, zipping her jacket. "Aren't you sweet. Here." She took his phone from the table and stored her number. "I know you won't be in town too long, but you should call me anyway. You know, if you want to…get together." She set it down in front of him and bit her lip again, then pranced out of the store, looking very satisfied with herself. The waiter – an older man – had given her a reproachful look. Sam had sat in the restaurant for a while longer, finishing his coffee, before heading back to the library.
He sighed, re-shelving the books he's pulled. Hope this isn't about family history, he grumbled to himself. I'll be in here for the next week and a half if I have to read in depth about these people. Won't see Merida again unless she creeps into the motel room.
But she wasn't wrong about the McLaughlins, he gave the librarian a two fingered wave as he walked past. Not modest people. They had five family histories and eight biographies in the library, and Sam knew he'd find countless interviews they'd given in articles when he came back tomorrow. Every one of the McLaughlin boys had done well for themselves, and from what little was written about them, the girls hadn't done so badly themselves. If they hadn't married someone wealthy, they'd become relatively popular actresses or singers, and one had even become a renowned sheriff upstate in the sixties.
He gasped as he stepped out into the cold. The wind had picked up considerably since the sun had set, and he tightened his scarf around him, covering his mouth. I hope Dean doesn't have to go back to Corrina tomorrow. This cold is un-fucking-believable.
Erin Tierney lived only four blocks from the library, but it seemed like a mile to Sam. He finally stepped onto her porch at ten till six, ringing the doorbell.
She answered promptly, opening the door as far as the chain allowed and peeking through with one eye. A mess of brown hair was piled haphazardly on her head, and from what Sam could see of her, she looked about fifty.
"Are you the Fed?"
"Yes, ma'am. I just need to ask you a few questions about Jennifer. Shouldn't take long."
She peered at him for a second longer before closing the door and opening it again, this time without the chain. She opened the door as wide as it would go.
"C'mon in," she said. "Before you catch your death."
He stepped inside and she slammed the door immediately behind him, sliding what seemed to be a million locks into place before turning to face him. She gestured awkwardly at a plastic covered chair near the window, and Sam sat in it, careful not to knock over any of the numerous figurines that covered nearly every surface of the room. She sat down across from him and folded her arms.
"Well don't just sit there twiddling your thumbs," she said. "Ask your questions and get gone."
Sam smiled, nodding. "Fair enough." He took out a small notepad. "When was the last time you saw Jennifer?"
"Three days ago." She sipped something from a large, cumbersome looking cup. Her small and slightly stooped frame was draped in a heavy knit sweater that reached her knees, and she was wearing at least a dozen necklaces, mostly crucifixes. "She came by to visit, and bring me another Mary."
"Another Mary?"
She picked up one of statuettes and held it out to him. He took it, looking it over. It was a small statue of the Virgin Mary, made of what looked like pewter. Sam looked around the room and realized that all of the figurines were of the same person.
"So you're a collector."
"Family's been doing it for generations now." She touched three or four of the Marys on the table closest to her. "Some of these are over a hundred years old, you know. They're supposed protect us from evil, watch over us. Course, they didn't work for Jennifer, did they?" Mrs. Tierney rolled her eyes, which were by now full of tears. "I told her to keep a few nearby. But she was a stubborn girl, Jennifer. Didn't want to hear it."
Sam gave her a moment to collect herself. So much for an open and shut monster case, he thought bitterly. These wouldn't protect anyone from a monster, and there's no way this Mary stuff and Jennifer's death are unrelated. They were looking for a spirit, or at least something non-corporeal.
Like demons. The though crept in against his will.
He didn't know how the claws they'd found at the scene fit into it, but maybe Dean had some new information about that; he'd been in Corrina all day.
"So everything was normal," he said gently. "She seemed fine when she left, wasn't worried or stressed or…different?"
"No." She set her massive cup down and set about fondling her necklaces. "She was her typical self. Bubbly, sweet, a little naïve. She stopped by here after work around six, and headed home about nine. She called me when she got there. Said she was tired; hadn't been getting much sleep, apparently. That was the last time I talked to her."
Sam picked up a picture of Jennifer from one of the end tables, careful not to knock anything over. "She was a beautiful girl."
"Yeah, don't I know it. The girl had to beat the boys off with a stick in high school. Thought I was going to end up like those mothers on those awful television shows. You know, the ones about young ladies with child?" She shook her head. "She made it through, though. She was a simple enough girl, but she had her wits about her on that score, praise god."
Sam laughed. "So she was popular?"
"Oh, I can't even tell you. Girl knew everyone in six counties. She was the chair of about a hundred social clubs, mostly book clubs. And it seems like she's been on fire, as far as her work goes – she was a medical assistant at the hospital over in Corrina, you know – and she got three promotions in the last two months alone. She's been there for a few years now, at the same level, but now she's the floor lead or whatever they call it. Said they told her they'd pay for her nursing school, if she wanted to go, and that she might someday be charge nurse, or even the director, they liked her so much. She's so excited about the whole thing, and…well," Mrs. Tierney said, "she was, anyway."
"I'm so sorry," Sam said.
"Yeah," she mumbled. "Everyone's sorry. I don't want sorrow. I want results. How close are you to finding out who killed my baby?"
A lot closer now than I was. "We're working several leads," he said. "My partner's down in Corrina now, examining the b…forensic evidence. We'll keep you abreast of what's happening. I promise you we'll get to the bottom of this."
"You'd just better," she snapped. She picked up her cup again, taking a quick, angry sip. "Was that all you wanted?"
He wouldn't be getting any more out of her, Sam knew. "For now," he said, standing. "Thank you for your time, Mrs. Tierney."
"Yes, yes," she said, walking around him to the door. She unlocked it – it took a few minutes – and held it open.
He sighed inwardly when he felt the chill of the air.
Dean didn't arrive until eight, pulling into the gas station where Sam was waiting and honking.
"What the hell, man," Sam griped as he sat down, slamming the passenger door. "Where have been? You were supposed to be here like an hour ago."
"Quit your whining," Dean said. "I'm here now."
"You get anything good?"
Dean smirked. "If you'd call a DNA match on the acrylics of doom and more clues from the bodies good, then I'm fucking great, because I also have a possible monster ID."
"A DNA match? I thought the detective said they weren't human."
"They didn't look human, that's for sure. But when the M.E. tested them this afternoon, they came back Homo sapiens."
"So who's DNA was it?"
"How the hell should I know? They weren't in the database."
"You said you had a DNA match."
"We did. It matches humans."
"Then that's not a match, Dean. And there're two sapiens."
"What?"
"It's Homo sapiens, sapiens."
Dean stared at him.
"Anyway," he said, "the nails were human, at least at the bottom. But these things, they look like fucking talons. There aren't any diseases that that make them look like that, either; The Finch even checked with the CDC in Atlanta."
"The finch? What's that?"
"You know, Aaron Finch, he's the detective. Everyone down at the station calls him "The Finch." Like "The Fonz," I guess. Kelly, the records keeper – the ass on that girl – says his partner's last name was Bluejay. Can you imagine that? Bluejay and Finch, on the case-"
"What else did you learn about the bodies?"
"Jeez, what jumped up your ass?" Sam's less-than-amused expression was enough of an answer that Dean continued, looking pleased with himself. "They gave the vics another once over, and get this – their eardrums were blown to hell and back."
"What?"
"Yep. And when they took one of them over to the hospital for a brain scan – it was the MacGregor guy, I think – it turns out that even the parts of their brains that process sound were damaged beyond repair. M. E. thinks it might actually be what killed them."
"Holy shit," Sam said. "How did they miss that?"
"It's not something you can see without the scan, according to The Finch. There was a waiting list at the hospital – the living get first dibs on the machine – and they hadn't had a chance to get over there."
"So, what kind of monster blows people's eardrums to death?"
"A banshee." Dean reached into the back seat and handed a file to Sam, who opened it. "Bobby said it's the only thing it could be. Once upon a time in Scot-Ireland, these things would scream to alert people about some poor sap's impending death. They're death omens, like black dogs. What the people didn't know was that Banshees were actually killing them – the vics' deaths always looked natural, since they didn't have handy-dandy CAT scans back then."
"So they're flesh and blood monsters?"
"Yes and no," Dean continued. "I guess they're kinda like pagan gods or tolpas – they get their mojo from believers. Bobby's not sure what form they take, but the lore says they're more like spirits than physical monsters."
Sam nodded. "That fits."
"How does that fit? What about the raptor claws?"
"Well, Jennifer Tierney's mother has a house full of protective statues and charms to ward off evil spirits. According to her, they've been in her family for generations. Tierney's an Irish name, Dean."
"But the claws – they don't mesh with this Banshee theory. And the human DNA?"
"I don't know. What I do know is that Jennifer wasn't big on the protective statues, and didn't have any in her house. And she'd been "having trouble sleeping" in the days before her death. How much do you want to bet that banshee screams were keeping her up at night?"
Dean raised his eyebrows. "What about the other vics? Any of this sound familiar to them?"
"We talk to the MacGregors tomorrow, but I couldn't get anyone to answer me directly about seeing the McLaughlins. They're like celebrities around here – the whole family is loaded, and has been since the turn of the century."
"Which century?"
Sam grinned, thinking of Merida. "The twentieth. Every single one of them was kissed by god or something – seems like they were successful without even trying."
"Looks like the luck of the Irish finally ran out."
"You think that might be why this thing is after them? A lot of the immigrant families here are originally from Sweden, but there are still a few Irish. They might still have legends about banshees, maybe tell them to the kids at night. It's weak, but it could be enough to draw one here. They might be in danger."
"Until we find something else to connect the vics, we have to assume they are-"
Someone behind them honked angrily.
"So much for Minnesota nice," Dean muttered, starting the car. They pulled into the road and headed toward the motel. "So, we thinking a were-panther came by and clawed the vics' faces after they died, or what? Cause banshees don't have human nails shaped like knives."
"Who knows? Maybe after we get done with the families, we can talk to some of the other townspeople. Merida's mother seems pretty in the know about the goings-on around here. Maybe she knows who the friendly neighborhood skinwalker is."
"Merida's mother? Who's Merida?"
Shit. He feigned nonchalance. "Nobody, just someone I talked to today."
Dean didn't buy it. "Sammy, Sammy, Sammy," he said, grinning. "You naughty little thing. Nice to see you still got some blood in those veins."
"It's not a big deal."
Dean was quiet for a moment as they turned into the motel parking lot.
"She hot?"
"Drop it."
"She light enough to lift real high?"
"I don't know."
"Limber?"
"Dean."
"Think she can wrap her legs around her neck? I knew this one chick, a yoga instructor from Indiana – Lisa, I think –"
"I'm going inside," Sam said, a dry smile on his face. "After you cool off, maybe you could go get us some real food. All these Hot Pockets are giving me diarrhea."
"Whoa, whoa, TMI, man," Dean said, making a face. "I was gonna get chili tonight."
Sam grinned, getting out.
Thanks for reading. Let me know what you think.