The Impala slowly rolled to a stop outside a rusty but still serviceable wrought iron fence surrounding the small country cemetery. The newspaper article said that Father Benjamin Clements, deceased, had been buried there among his flock but his parishioners insisted that he still walked among them searching for sinners in need of absolution. Apparently the good father thought his work on earth was not done but, instead of a couple of Our Fathers and a Hail Mary, the priest ripped out the sinner's throat.
It was a pretty harsh penance even for a sinner like himself, Dean Winchester thought, as he unlocked the trunk and pulled out a shovel, a small duffel bag and a can of gasoline. He made his way toward the graves while his brother Sam made his way across the wildly growing, weedy lawn and walked up the steps of the parish house. After the death of Father Clements, the cemetery caretaker, a refuted sinner of the first degree, had moved into the small cottage and just a few days later had died a grisly death. No one else had dared to go inside since then but when Sam knocked anyway, he was unpleasantly surprised when someone answered.
"Come in."
"What the hell?"Sam asked aloud when he heard a woman's voice. Had someone really been brave enough or stupid enough to actually take up residence in the little run down house, he wondered, as he opened the door. Out of habit he glanced down at the threshold and found it clearly marked with a fat line of salt...that had been broken purposely. The hunter looked up and saw a woman standing in the harshly lit living room and, thinking she might possible be trapped inside with Father Clements, he rushed in to rescue her…from herself?
"What took you so long?" the tall brunette asked as she walked over to the front door and closed it behind him.
Sam raised an eyebrow, shrugged and said, "What can I say? Traffic was a bitch."
"Well, it's almost dark and Father Clements should be stopping by for coffee and a slice of repentance pie. It'll take time for your brother to find his grave and dig it up so we need to lure him inside and make sure he doesn't get out."
Sam looked at her questioningly and told her, "I seem to be at a loss here but just who in the hell are you?"
"Just a hunter, same as you."
"My ass," Sam thought and asked rhetorically, "And you knew we were coming?"
"I sent you the GPS co-ords and the newspaper link."
Sam and Dean had both thought the tip had come from Bobby but what the hell. A hunt was a hunt.
"Well, since we're finally here Dean and I can give you a hand."
"You'll be a great help," she replied a touch sarcastically and winked at him, "The bad father needs a reason to come inside, say someone who's in need of absolution. Dean would have been my first choice but you'll do nicely."
Sam wasn't unduly surprised when the brunette pulled a gun from her belly pack and pointed it at him. Nope, he wasn't surprised at all, just really pissed off and, when she motioned to an old captain's chair sitting in the center of the room, he rolled his eyes and huffed.
"No need to get bitchy," she told him, "I'm just baiting the trap."
Sam looked up at the ceiling at the devil's trap and sighed. He crossed the room and obediently sat in the chair. She bound his wrists to the arms with strips of leather then patted him on the head.
"Why are you doing this?" he asked, "You might need my help."
"Not really," she said dismissing his offer, "You'll be safe as long as you stay in that chair and Dean…he'll be safe enough if Father Clements doesn't get downwind of his multitude of sins."
"Yeah, like you're an angel," Sam said petulantly and she laughed.
"Compared to you two?"
Their verbal sparring quickly came to an end when shuffling steps sounded on the porch and someone or something came a knocking. The hunter returned the concealed weapon to it's holster and checked Sam's bindings once more and, before heading toward the door, said flippantly, "Our guest is here, honey."
She was seemingly unconcerned with who or what might be on the other side and with pretty good cause. A sleek, black, 8 shot, Benelli M3 Super 90 semi-automatic shotgun with a folding butt stock, pistol grip and ghost ring sights rested against the wall easily within her reach.
The knocking grew impatient and when she finally did open the door it was wide enough for Sam to see out onto the porch and he physically drew back in the chair. The creature formerly known as Father Benjamin Clements was dressed in a blood and gore smeared black cassock. His face looked more like melted plastic than skin and Sam thought he saw the semblance of a smile as opaque, puss colored eyes stared into the room, nose sniffing the air as if he were God's own sin seeking hellhound.
Stopping in mid sniff, Father Clements turned his head toward the graveyard and dragged in a mucous laden breath and Sam's heart began to hammer in his chest. "God Damn it, Dean." Sam cursed his brother for being so damned immoral and, though much of the sinning Dean Winchester did was purely to survive, it seemed the priest wouldn't consider any extenuating circumstances as he started to turn away from the door. "Come on Dean, dig faster," Sam urged silently then, as the priest seemed to ignore him, suddenly shouted out, "In here! I'm a big time sinner."
The woman stood against the wall and thought, "I don't exactly know what you are, Sam Winchester, but I think sinner may be the least of it."
The priest seemed to know that Sam Winchester was a lightweight compared to the 'gravedigger' down the road and at that point was more interested in going to the graveyard than in coming inside the house…until the woman spoke up.
"Father Clements, have you come to hear my confession?" she asked stepping from behind the door, shotgun in hand.
The priest never hesitated. He raised his hand to point a twisted black finger at her and came to the doorway and said in a deep, cracking, guttural voice, "My child, your soul is in terrible peril. I will hear your confession." The hunter backed away and Father Clements finally entered the room.
"Bless me Father for I have sinned," she said drawing the ghoul even farther in, "It's been three years since my last confession."
Raising his face toward the heavens, slobber ran down his chin and a look of pure ecstasy shown on his face because he knew exactly what she was going to say. He already knew her sins as she started out slowly working up to the really big finish.
"I used the name of the Lord in vain more times than I can count," she confessed ever moving, the priest following along, "I caused suffering and injury to so many people that I can't remember their names or even their faces."
The priest took a few more shuffling steps toward her rubbing his hands together almost in glee while Sam sat silently, never moving a muscle hoping that Father Creepy Beyond Words wouldn't turn his attention to him afterall. If he stayed quiet he would be safe for the moment but the woman was taking a terrible risk with only the shotgun to protect her.
Sam knew the Benelli held eight shells in the under barrel tube magazine and that they could be delivered in rapid succession but would the eight rounds be enough to scatter the demon spirit to the winds and could she continue to hold it off until Dean had a chance salt and burn the bones?
For long agonizing minutes Father Clements' shuffling gate was the only noise in the room until the demon grew impatient and hissed out, "I can't absolve you of your sins unless you confess."
What more did he want from her Sam wondered? You'd think that pain, suffering and general mayhem, not to mention the cursing, would be enough to satisfy any man of the cloth but this spirit evidently wanted more and, much to his dismay, the woman delivered.
"I know Father," she assured him.
The priest drew in another noisy, ragged breath and as he passed him by, Sam noticed that he seemed to have an erection tenting his cassock. "That is so wrong on so many levels," he whispered in disgust. Father Clements turned to the sound of his voice and Sam, guessing the priest was now staring at him, tried to become as small as his six foot four frame would allow.
"I'm not finished, Father," the woman reminded the ghoul in a loud voice wondering why all demons seemed to suffer from ADD.
The priest turned to look in her direction and started to move slowly toward her again. They circled Sam, Father Clements avoiding the Devil's trap, until the two of them were back where they had started, at the doorway. The hunter stopped and pushed the salt with her boot tip to form a solid line again. He was in and not getting back out if she could help it. She brought the Benelli up to her shoulder and said, "I've committed the most heinous of all sins Father, I killed my own children."
Sam looked at the woman and her face was emotionless, her eyes unblinking as they stared at the priest and he decided that she either had the world's best poker face or she had just told the absolute unvarnished truth. Suddenly he was more afraid of her than of the priest.
But her confession was music to the bad father's ears and he screeched in maddened joy and flew at her, hands outstretched, claws ready to rip and tear, to take retribution in God's name. The shotgun exploded thunderously and Father Clements disappeared in a cloud only to return a few moments later, crouched on the floor, ready to fly at her once again.
Sam counted six reports in measured succession as rock salt and silver sprayed across the room. The smell of spent gunpowder and the shrieks of the demon filled the air time and time again until Father Clements suddenly vanished in a fountain of flames and all was quiet except for the woman's heavy breathing and the ringing in his ears.