The Devil You Know
Chapter Three
The door slammed with a loud, sharp thud behind Sam as he strode into the motel room. Dean glanced up guiltily, snatching his hand away from scratching at his injured arm. Sam narrowed his eyes disapprovingly, but said nothing.
'So, you haven't been arrested,' Dean commented. 'Congratulations, you must be improving.'
Sam ignored the comment, privately reflecting that he might have been arrested, if the duty cop had been paying attention. 'She doesn't remember shooting you,' he reported.
Dean nodded, as though he had expected that. 'Demon?'
Sam shook his head firmly. 'No. Last thing she remembers is talking to Lucy Henshall.'
'That's the girl that killed her boyfriend?'
'Yeah. And Lucy gave Rhiannon – that's her name, the girl who shot you - she gave her her necklace. And that's when Rhiannon lost it.'
'Her memory?'
Sam shrugged. 'And her sanity.'
Dean frowned for a second, then turned his eyes up to meet Sam's: 'I think I pulled her necklace off her when I pushed her over,' he said.
'Well, what happened to it?' Sam asked, brightening.
'I don't know, man. I didn't know it was important.'
Sam sighed. He tapped his fingers absently on the table, thinking. 'We should talk to Lucy. And we need to find the necklace, before someone else puts it on.'
Dean nodded.
'Lucy was transferred to a secure hospital yesterday, I asked the cops. But, she'll be pretty coherent now, assuming that the necklace theory is right…'
'Ok… you go back to the coffee shop, and look for the necklace. I'll talk to Lucy,' Dean suggested.
Sam nodded, oddly grateful that Dean wasn't going to return to the coffee shop.
'Just don't touch the damn thing, ok? We don't know whether you have to be wearing it…'
00000000000000000000000
'I need to see Lucy Henshall,' Dean announced, striding confidently up to the reception desk which was the only furniture in the drab hallway. A mousy haired woman in her forties looked up from her paperwork and eyed him critically, chewing her pen.
'Who are you?'
'I'm her cousin.'
Some hardness melted in her eyes. 'Sorry hun. I really don't think I can let you see her.'
'Why not?' Dean demanded, impatience lending a breathless quality to his voice which sounded uncannily like desperation.
'She's top security…'
'Look,' he said, leaning across the desk and fixing her apologetic eyes with an intense green stare. 'She's not got anyone else to talk to… the rest of the family – well, they just don't know what to say. I don't know what made her do it, but… she'll be tearing herself up right now. If I don't see her…' He left the ending hanging. An accomplished liar, he knew that what you didn't say was often as convincing as what you did. He failed to understand how Sam could be so incompetent in that department – after all, he had learned from the best.
She chewed her lip, her kind eyes reflecting his feigned anguish with such compassion that he almost felt guilty for lying. She nodded. 'Ok, I'll turn a blind eye. She's in room twenty-eight, down there, turn left. The door opens when you press the catch next to the lock… She hasn't been very responsive. I hope she'll talk to you.'
'Thank you,' he said, looking her right in the eyes to show he meant it.
Lucy Henshall was curled into a ball on her narrow bed, her back to him, and she didn't shift when he pushed the door open; she showed no sign of having noticed his arrival.
'Lucy?' he asked softly, reluctant to break the charged silence. He felt a profound state of intrusion. This girl had killed her boyfriend, and he was interrupting that unimaginable grief. He wouldn't blame her for ignoring him. He was actually surprised when she rolled over and sat up.
'Yes,' she replied flatly. Her eyes were grey and cold, and there was a heavy weariness in her movements: her face was pale, stony and dry, but something was dead behind her eyes.
Dean chewed his lip, frowning with helpless pity: he didn't know how to save her from this. 'I'm sorry,' he muttered, raw-voiced.
She met his eyes, and he tensed to prevent the shudder which tried to run up his spine. There was nothing in those eyes. After staring at him for a few seconds she seemed to come to her senses, and blinked, casting her eyes down to examine her own tangled fingers. 'What can I do for you?' she asked quietly.
'I'm…' He knew he was a good liar, but he couldn't bring himself to lie to her. 'I'm trying to work out what made you do... what you did.'
She glanced up at him sharply, and gestured for him to sit; he took the chair and faced her, perching on the bed. She waited silently for him to continue.
'Well... you're going to think I'm crazy,' he warned her. It sounded like something Sam would say.
Half a bitter laugh forced itself out through her twisted lips. She offered him a tight smile, and shook her head tautly.
'OK. You were wearing a necklace, when you… well, when you killed him.' Not saying the words didn't make it better. 'Then, according to Rhiannon West, you put it on her. And then she…lost it. Ran wild in a coffee shop with a gun.'
'I remember,' Lucy cut in suddenly. 'I don't remember killing him. I remember Paul gave me a necklace, and then I remember being in a police cell, and she attacked me.'
'Who?'
'Rhiannon West. They had to pull her away from me. I heard the other cop trying to calm her down. "I know you're upset, I understand."'
Dean frowned.
'That's what he said. And I started to wonder what I'd done.'
'Jesus.'
She nodded mutely.
'Well, I think the necklace caused it. Caused you both to go crazy. Anything you can tell me about where it came from, what it is… it might help us to make sure it doesn't happen to anyone else.'
'Where is it now?' she demanded, with sudden, surprising sharpness.
000000000000000000000000000000
Sam walked into the coffee shop, ducking under a ladder as he stepped through the doorway. It was closed for repairs, and a couple of workmen were in the act of replacing the shattered window. The owner, looking weary, was leaning against his counter dejectedly, watching. He glanced up when Sam came in.
'We're not open today, son. Sorry… There was some damage done yesterday needs clearing.'
'Yeah, I'm sorry. I just needed to ask you… My friend, um, lost a necklace, and she's, uh, she's really worried about it. It's been in her family… for generations. And she thinks she might have dropped it here, so I was wondering if you'd seen it.' He finished in a rush, his voice unnaturally high, wishing he had prepared his story before he came in.
The proprietor shrugged. 'I haven't seen anything… do you know what it looks like?'
Sam produced the scrap of paper on which Rhiannon had drawn the pendant, and the other man studied it, shaking his head.
'We had a bit of drama here yesterday... it could easily have gone unnoticed. Feel free to have a look around.'
'Thanks.'
000000000000000000000000000000000
Dean shrugged apologetically. 'My brother's looking for it. We're not going to let anyone else put it on.'
She nodded. 'Paul told me it was his mother's, when he gave it to me. I don't know anything else about it.'
'Has Paul's mother recently recovered from homicidal insanity?' Dean asked. He regretted being so flippant when her face tensed.
'You could say that. She was in a mental institution. And she's just died, maybe three weeks ago.'
A silence fell.
'Where was she buried?' Dean asked automatically.
She frowned at him. 'What?'
'Well… it's possible that her spirit is… haunting… the necklace. If we burn her -,' he wanted to say bones, but, three weeks? The thought of digging up a rotting body turned even his hardened stomach. 'Her body,' he continued, 'then she won't be able to haunt it any more. It'll just be harmless jewellery.'
Her stony face didn't twitch. She seemed to be beyond shock. He stared at her, searching in vain for a reaction. He realised it would make him feel better if she told him he was raving: this stillness was chilling.
'She refused to be buried in the churchyard; hated religion, even when she was sane. But I could show you where, Paul took me there once.'
'She's not in a graveyard?' Dean asked anxiously.
She shook her head; no.
'Shit.'
'What?'
'Well, spirits usually have some limitations – holy water, salt, iron – because they're buried in hallowed ground. If she's not… she'll be… less vulnerable.'
'Meaning?'
'I don't think we'll be able to destroy the necklace unless we destroy the spirit first.'
'I can show you where she is,' Lucy repeated, with a determined light in her eyes.
Dean gestured at the heavy door. 'You can't just tell me where?'
She shook her head firmly. 'I'll know the place when I see it, but…'
'Right.'
000000000000000000000000000
Sam studied the floor of the coffee shop inch by inch, but found nothing. The shop's proprietor helped him scour the kitchens and restrooms in the same way, in case the necklace had been kicked out of the main room in the general confusion. Nothing.
Stepping outside, he started to wander the streets surrounding the coffee shop, but hope was withering inside him. He hoped that Dean would find another way to prevent the effects of the pendant spreading any further.
00000000000000000000000000000000
Dean opened the cell door inch by inch and stuck his head out, yanking in back in when footsteps clacked around the corner.
'You must have told them some lie to get in here. Can't you claim you're transferring me or something?'
'I told them I was your cousin,' he replied shortly. The footsteps faded, and he swallowed hard as he stepped out into the corridor. Lucy followed him silently, keeping close to his back.
They edged along the corridor, trying to be utterly silent while still not looking too conspicuous. Dean wasn't entirely sure how quizzing Lucy Henshall on the origins of the necklace had become helping her escape from the secure hospital. He hated this chaotic feeling of not being in control – it was only justified when copious amounts of alcohol were involved.
At length they reach the door connecting the corridor to the grey reception area, and Dean peered carefully through the meshed window to see that the receptionist was still sitting idle behind her desk, scribbling absently on the corner of an envelope.
Dean looked back at Lucy, who waited expectantly behind him. Her cold eyes met his impatiently.
'Wait here,' he hissed. 'I'll wave at you when it's safe to make a run for it…'
She nodded indifferently.
He slipped through the door and approached the desk again; the receptionist looked up and smiled sympathetically when she saw him.
'How was she?'
He sighed, chewing his lip. 'I don't know… well, she was talking, but she wouldn't really let me in… She's sort of… retreated inside herself…' he invented frantically, drawing on the truth, because the best lies are those which are mostly true.
'Oh, honey…' replied the middle aged woman, visibly welling up. 'I just don't know what to say.'
Dean waved one arm wildly behind his back, putting on an expression of noble suffering for the benefit of the receptionist. He winced inwardly at the soft patter of footsteps behind him, and when it had disappeared he offered a brave smile.
'Well… thanks,' he said.
She nodded tearfully, and he left. Lucy was waiting stone-faced in the parking lot.
'Let's go then…'
00000000000000000000000000
Sam wandered around the building to seek the medallion in the alleyways behind the coffee shop. He had lost nearly all hope of finding it here, but something in his nature compelled him to search thoroughly before dismissing the idea. The streets were narrow and deserted.
A glint of gold at the base of a dustbin caught his attention, and his heart tensed with unexpected excitement. Striding over, he bent to investigate.
Litter crackled between his fingers, and the thrill dissolved rapidly in his chest. He half sighed, half growled, and slumped, still crouching beside the dustbin.
He jerked, and nearly lost his balance, when a voice sounded behind him.
'Is this what you're looking for, Sam?'
Stomach in his mouth, he spun round, so fast his vision blurred. And the world went white as a pale fist collided with his face.
000000000000000000000000
Forgive me the slow update…life has been crazy. It should calm down in a week or so, so I hope my update speed will improve. Thank you all for your patience.