Chapter Two: Our Kind of Job
"I think we might be too late," Sam said, taking a large swig of coffee.
"We're not too late. There's gotta be something. Even if the demon's left town, there has to be some kind of trail or something," Dean insisted. "I'll get us a room, you put that college-learning to work and hit the books."
"Fine." Sam got out of the car where Dean had pulled over near the center of town. He shook his head slightly in disgust at the "Bewitched" statue that stood in a small square. Salem. It was one of the few towns in the country that was usually supernaturally quiet due to the fact that most people and creatures that lived life on the other side tended to view the spot as somewhat cliché. It would be like aliens going to Roswell. It was just way too predictable. But Ash had been adamant over the phone. Two weeks ago the right kind of activity had cropped up in this town and the area surrounding it. A year since their dad had died and it seemed like they were always one step behind. Not that they would know what to do if they happened to catch up. Dean always seemed confident that if they followed it for long enough, a weakness would become apparent. Sam felt like they were both going through the motions at this point, and if something didn't happen soon, there wouldn't be much of them left to fight the damn demon. He sighed, and climbed the steps to the library.
Dean took his time scoping out the few motels in town. He knew that there probably wouldn't be much for them to check out, but also knew that he and Sammy needed a few days to just bum around and recover from the daily grind of spirit-hunting. He had been intentionally dragging his feet because as much as he wanted to find the demon and kill it, the reality of that happening was slim with the information they had currently, and although he was willing to risk his own life, he wasn't willing to risk Sam's. So he followed Ash's information, always making sure they stayed one step behind, stretching out jobs, stretching out drives. As far as he could tell Sam hadn't noticed. He stared out the window as he drove, scoping out where there was a bar, where there was a liquor store. Some days were harder than others, and today he felt he was gonna need something to get through. He had just registered at a small motel by the highway under the name John Fogerty when he felt his phone buzz in his jacket pocket.
"Yeah?" he answered. Ever since his father had died, it was a fair assumption that the only person calling was Sam.
"I've got something," was all Sam said. They didn't say hello or goodbye anymore. There was no point. "Pick me up." Dean pocketed the room key and got back into the Impala.
"Where to?" he asked as Sam jumped into the car. He flipped off a car that honked as it swerved around where he'd pulled over.
"The hospital. Might be nothing, but I've got a feeling, seems like our kind of thing." Sam seemed in a better mood now that he had something to figure out.
"Your call, Psychic Wonder. So, what's this something you mentioned?"
"A Jane Doe admitted to the hospital two weeks ago, just around the time all the activity was going on. Apparently she was found on some rocks about half a mile away from the shoreline up at a place called Halibut Point just north of here. She was found unconscious by a lobster trapper and has been in a coma ever since. Also found that day was a local man, James Lee, 22, who apparently fell to his death from a nearby cliff. His body has since disappeared from the town's funeral home." Sam looked over at his brother with an eager look.
"Well," Dean conceded. "It's a start."
It took them ten minutes and two wrong turns to find the hospital, and it was six by the time they made it to the ICU. A matronly nurse headed towards them purposefully, and Dean quickly shoved his little brother in her way. If anyone could get them in past visiting hours, it was Sam and his sad puppy-dog eyes. Sure enough, a minute later the woman was putting her hand on Sam's shoulder, and Dean was slipping past down the hall, peering into rooms to find the girl in question. She was in the last room at the end of the hall. He entered slowly.
She was young, probably around Sam's age, which was admittedly not much younger than Dean, although sometimes he felt as though there were decades between them. The girl had chin length black hair and smooth pale skin. If Sam were asked, he wouldn't have pegged her as Dean's type, since even in unconsciousness she looked a little too sensible, a little too intelligent, a classic beauty, not a Barbie-beauty. Dean, however, found himself sitting down once he'd snagged her charts, tracing the lines of her face with his gaze. There was nothing visibly wrong with her, although the charts noted that she'd been treated for abrasions to her arms, legs and feet, and a severe blow to the back of her head, most likely received when her skull had struck the large rock she'd been found on. Although scans had revealed no lasting trauma, it was decided that she suffered from a severe brain edema, resulting in a chronic vegetative state. They didn't expect her to wake up. Dean sighed. She had probably been partying with her boyfriend. Skinny-dipping while drunk wasn't exactly the safest of activities. Still, he paused on his way out the door, he had a strange feeling of déjà vu, and he wondered if maybe Sammy was right about this being part of something larger.
"So what did you find out?" he asked once they were back in the car.
"Well, Nurse Jones was good enough to tell me about our mysterious Jane Doe. Apparently the girl has been living in town for the past six months, working at a local pub. It turned out she was living under a fake name, and was getting paid under the table. The cops didn't want to get the pub's owners in trouble, so they registered her as a Jane Doe. She'd been friends with the guy who died, apparently he met her in the mid-west while visiting friends, and he brought her back with him. Well-liked by everyone, nobody really was close to her except, conveniently the dead man. Now they're trying to figure out what to do with her, long-term. They're viewing it as an accident. She said that tests came back negative for drugs or alcohol, although the cops seem pretty leery of that."
"So did you get this fake name she was going under?" Dean pulled into a parallel parking spot near the pub.
"Tessa. Apparently everyone knew her as Tessa."
