I looked through a lot of online sources for the type of undead creature we're about to get into, and tried to form a balanced, non-pop culture version for the purposes of this tale. Anything I've left out or forgotten is either my choice or my mistake, but I tried to keep it logical and basic.

I don't own anything Supernatural. Reviews welcomed.

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Chapter 4

"What do you mean, he's dead?"

"Just what I said, Sammy…we got here and the cops were all over the place. I asked around a bit and someone told me what happened."

Sam shook his head. This case is turning into a bloodbath. He hadn't realized that he said it out loud until Dean spoke again, "Yeah, you're telling me."

"You said he was strangled…do you know if it was a robbery? I mean…was this cross involved?"

"Nah, don't think so from what I've been hearing here. But I think we need to follow this up," Dean answered, "which means I need to make another trip to the police station."

Sam smiled despite the grim news, "You think 'Mandy-with-a-Y' will help you again? I mean, you haven't paid her for the Babineaux file yet…."

Even without seeing it, Sam knew the expression that would be on his brother's face just then, "Hey, it just means I have to make time for two dates before we leave town. But that works, you'll probably want some 'quiet' time with Sarah before we head back anyway…." Sam chuckled at the muffled sound of protest he heard from Sarah through the line.

"So…what now?" Sam asked.

"Well, I'll head over and work the police station again…you think you can make it to the local library? Check out the bed and breakfast and see if you can dig up anything on this cross?"

Sam checked his wallet, "Yeah, I think I can make it…meet me there in, what two hours?"

He could hear Dean smirking, as odd as that was, "Better make it three, Mandy's all about the flirting."

"Well, I wouldn't want to interfere with your R&R, Dean."

"You're a good brother. I ever tell you that, Sammy?" Dean laughed, then added, "How's the headache? You sound better than you did when I left."

Sam suddenly felt awkward as his thoughts went back to the events of the last few minutes, "Gone. I…uh…I moved something else."

Dean's voice went serious, "Such as?"

"A mugger. Some guy took off with this lady's purse…I went to help her, but…well, my head acted faster and…the guy went flying into a window," Sam explained, glancing around the coffee house to be sure no one was listening.

Dean whistled, "Really? Wow. Taking on the criminal element there, Boy Wonder? Did, um, did anyone see you?"

Sam sighed, "No. Everyone was looking at the broken window."

He didn't like this…the uncontrollable power in his mind. It worried him more than he would ever tell Dean. What if he never learned to control it? What if he spent the rest of his life experiencing these psychic accidents? What if he ended up hurting Dean? Or Sarah?

Dean must have detected something in his tone of voice, "We'll figure it out, Sam. We'll get a handle on this. Don't worry about it."

Sam absently traced a pattern on the tabletop with his hand, "How can you be so sure?"

Dean didn't hesitate with his reply, "'Cause I'm the oldest."

Sam laughed at their running joke. Dean could always make him laugh, even when he didn't feel like it. He glanced at his watch. They needed to get to work. There was a lot of ground to cover before they headed back to Marie's room that night.

"Whatever, Dean…meet me at the library, I'll see what I can find, alright?"

"Will do, bro…be careful."

Sam clicked the phone off and headed to the counter. He had neglected the coffee when he first came in, but would more than likely need it if he had three hours of researching to do. He pushed aside his concerns over his telekinesis for the time being. Maybe Dean's right. Maybe we can get control of it somehow….

He hoped that was true.

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"How's he doing?" Sarah asked when Dean closed his phone.

Dean glanced at her, his expression serious, "Tossed a guy through a window," he said quietly, "some mugger that was stealing from a lady."

Sarah looked concerned, "Is he okay?"

Does it sound like he's okay? He's moving things with his freakin' mind! Dean thought testily, but he kept his face neutral. Sarah didn't deserve to be the brunt of his personal frustration. He didn't like what was happening to his brother. He couldn't really fault Sarah for being worried, too.

"He's fine. He's gonna look into the history of the bed and breakfast while we hit the police station."

Dean started the car and pulled away from the crowd that had gathered around Legiere's shop. He drove in silence, but noticed Sarah staring at him. He glanced over after a moment, "What?"

She smiled a little and ducked her head, "You're worried about him, aren't you?"

Dean deliberately mistook her meaning, "He'll be okay; he loves libraries. Practically had to tear him away from books just to get him to play outside when we were kids." Not like me….

"That's not what I meant," she said, her head cocked to the side.

I really don't want to talk about this…. "Look, Sarah---"

She laughed suddenly, and held up her hand, "I know…no chick-flick moments."

He looked at her, genuinely surprised to hear her saying that...for a moment she sounded just like Sam. He couldn't help the laugh that escaped his lips. He felt himself relax. He was a little surprised at himself, too, for feeling so comfortable with the young woman. Despite spending nearly a month in Sarah's house, Dean had spent little time alone with her. What little time they had been alone had mostly been focused on Sam, as they helped him through the darkest periods of his recovery.

Sarah had been invaluable to Sam---and Dean---during the aftermath of their vampire troubles in Ohio. Sam's nightmares and flashbacks during the weeks following had taken a toll on both boys…Sam directly, and Dean by extension. Dean was fairly certain that they would have been much worse off without Sarah and the shelter she provided them. Sam in particular.

On top of it all, Sam seemed genuinely happy with Sarah…the first time Dean had seen him that way since Jessica's death. He figured that she in some way satisfied that feeling of 'normalcy' that Sam had craved for so long. Whatever her effect on Sam, it worked. His brother was happy. That alone indebted Dean to Sarah.

He felt a now familiar pang of jealousy deep down. He couldn't quite place it…it wasn't an emotion he normally experienced.

They rode in silence for a few more minutes before Dean surprised himself again by speaking.

"I don't like what this psychic crap is doing to him," he murmured.

Sarah simply looked at him, apparently knowing when to keep quiet. He pressed on, "After everything…Mom, Dad, Jessica, his abduction…he can't seem to catch a break…and I haven't been able to protect him from any of it."

The bitterness in his tone surprised him again.

Sarah smiled at him, "It's that last part that really bothers you isn't it?" There was no reproach in her tone, just statement of fact. He stared at her for a moment, then shook his head and turned back to the road. The police station was coming up on the left.

She was right. That was his problem. He didn't expect anyone else to understand that Sammy was his responsibility…he always had been. Especially now that their Dad was gone. With a silent sigh at the morbid turns his thoughts were taking, he turned into the lot beside the police station. He switched off the car and looked at Sarah.

"I just don't want anything to happen to him. He deserves better."

Sarah smiled again, "That's really very sweet, Dean."

"Yeah, yeah…," he grumbled, "just don't tell Sam. He lives for these Lifetime movie moments." With a smirk, he got out and headed for the building. He glanced back when he heard Sarah call out.

"What am I supposed to do while you're…you know…on the inside?"

He grinned…. That sounded mildly dirty.

"Call your dad. See if he knows anything else that could help us."

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Sam awoke to find himself…somewhere that wasn't the library in which he'd been sitting. That much was certain. The smell of stale air and mold assaulted his nostrils. He looked around, trying to place where he'd seen this room before. The walls were made of wood…and blackened with some sort of fire damage.

The room we found behind Marie's….

He smelled blood…and a loud cracking sound startled him. He moved forward in the darkness, pushing towards the sounds. He groped through the dark until he entered a larger room beyond the narrow passageway he and Dean had found. The room was lit by old fashioned oil lanterns. In the dim light he saw a figure hanging from chains that looped down from the ceiling. He shuddered at the sight, reminded all too viscerally of his own recent captivity and mistreatment. Oddly the feeling wasn't as overpowering as it had been earlier.

Holding his breath without knowing why, he circled around the figure that hung helplessly before him. Before he could find the person's face, he heard the sound again. When the body writhed silently in pain, he realized that it was the sound of a whip. He looked for the attacker, but saw no one. He finished moving around the victim, wanting to help but unsure what was happening or even if he should intervene. He finally saw a face.

It was Dean.

Horrified, he rushed forward to help his brother, but it was like the floor was made of quicksand. The more he struggled forward, the harder it was to move. He cried out to Dean, but couldn't hear the answer.

He felt hands closing in around his neck….

Sam awoke with a start and jumped out of his chair. The chair hit the floor with a bang that echoed through the mostly empty library. He looked around wildly, trying to get his bearings.

"Sam? You okay? Oh, God, I didn't mean to scare you," a voice soothed from behind him.

He spun to find himself face to face with Sarah. He panted, trying to catch his breath, "S-Sarah? What are you--- What time is it?" He looked down at his watch.

5:15 PM.

He must have dozed off. He looked down at the table and found the old newspaper records he'd been going over…the last time he remembered seeing on the clock was 4:35.

"I…uh…I fell asleep," he said somewhat sheepishly.

Sarah chuckled, "I can see that. Come on, Dean's outside."

He closed up the books, gathered his small notebook and followed her out to the car. Dean was drumming his fingers on the steering wheel; he looked up impatiently as Sam neared the car.

"I should know better than to leave you alone with books…."

Sam didn't answer the barb as he sank into the front seat; he was still trying to shake the images from his nightmare. Was it a vision? Is Dean going to get hurt?

Dean was staring at him with a familiar look of suspicion in his eyes. Damn him for always picking up on when I have these things….

"So…what took so long in there?" Dean asked.

Sam fumbled for an answer, but Sarah saved him from having to admit to having a nightmare, "Sleeping Beauty here was trying to research through osmosis."

Sam shot her a glare, but there was no heat behind it. He was glad that she was throwing Dean off the trail long enough for him to try and piece together what the dream meant. He needed to warn Dean, but also needed to know what he was warning him against, otherwise, he might lead Dean into the very danger he was trying to avoid. God I hate these visions…they're so fucking confusing….

They grabbed some Chinese take-out and headed back to the hotel to eat and discuss what they'd found. Dean poured over the police reports Mandy had copied for him…all the while stuffing General Tso's chicken in his mouth as fast as he could chew. Sarah was poking around some soup and egg rolls. Sam, on the other hand, didn't feel like eating after what he'd seen. He wasn't sure if his lack of appetite stemmed from having a vision, or from what he'd seen in it. Either way, he made a show of eating some rice. He'd learned the hard way over the past month that not eating in front of Sarah and Dean when they were together was a one-way ticket to Lecture-ville.

His ears perked up at Dean's mention of Richard Legiere's murderer.

"Marie? It says Marie killed Legiere?"

"Mm-hmm. Security cameras caught her entering the art shop and strangling him. Problem is," Dean produced another page with a dramatic flourish, "that Marie was already dead. They found her at the Benoits' Sunday morning, about the time we were leaving New York. Her body was on its way to the medical examiner by noon. Legiere was killed…by Marie…about five in the afternoon."

Sam was perplexed, "Shape-shifter? Some kind of doppelganger, maybe?"

Dean smirked, "I think it's a little creepier than that…Marie's body disappeared from the morgue sometime after she was dropped off."

Sam cocked his head, comprehension dawning, "Oh man. Zombie?"

"Looks like it," Dean got off the bad and popped a video tape he'd gotten from Mandy into the player under the television. It clearly showed Marie Babineaux up and walking around hours after she was found dead. Sam noticed, though, that her body movements were…off. Dean picked up on it too.

"See the way she's walking," he said, pointing to the screen, "and that weird way that her neck looks out of alignment?"

"Like it had been broken, and straightened back out later…." Sam confirmed with a look of revulsion on his face.

"Um…eww," Sarah chimed in, "Who or what would do that?"

Sam turned to her, remembering suddenly that she wasn't as used to these things as he and his brother were, "Oh. Well, zombies are usually created. Certain voodoo sorcerers can use powders and potions to reanimate dead bodies and use them as slaves…"

Dean took up the description, "Most of the stuff in movies is crap. But the way you kill them is the same, shoot or cut off the head, killing the brain. Fire wards them off, well, sometimes it does...it depends. They don't usually eat people unless whoever's controlling them wants them to…and it's not contagious."

"And Marie was turned into one of these things?" Sarah asked slowly.

Sam looked over at her, "Yeah…sounds like it. Probably by the same person that killed her. Which still leaves the question of who killed her and why?"

"Still number one on our list…." Dean answered wryly.

"Did they find Marie's body?" Sarah asked. Dean shook his head.

"Nope. She…it left the store after Legiere died, and no one's found anything yet."

"Great…a dead body's wandering the streets," Sarah said, looking more than a little freaked out.

"With any luck, whoever did this only wanted her to kill Legiere. But why?" Sam said, and then looked at Dean, "Did the police know anything about the cross?"

Dean shook his head, "They inventoried everything in the shop. A handful of paintings, some jewelry, a sculpture…no crosses or gold of any kind," He looked at Sam, "You find anything on the Benoits' place?"

"Heh, yeah. It has a pretty dark history. It was originally a mansion, built here in the early 1800s by a Doctor Benjamin LaSalle. That's the guy I saw in the picture. He was a doctor by trade but also dabbled in imports and even some plantation farming. He owned about a dozen slaves, mostly from the Caribbean."

"Sounds normal enough for that time period, so far…." Sarah said.

Sam let out a humorless laugh, "It would, except he apparently liked to dabble in other things too…'scientific experiments' and taxidermy, to be exact."

Dean grimaced, "Why don't I like where this is going?"

Sam continued, "One day in the 1820s, the mansion caught on fire. LaSalle wasn't home. Firefighters doused the blaze, but when they went in they discovered that LaSalle's servants and slaves had died upstairs from the fire and smoke inhalation. But some of them were dead already…before the fire started. Seems our doctor performed his experiments on live subjects. Lobotomies; removal of eyes and sections of flesh; mouths and eyes sewn shut…all kinds of demented stuff."

Sarah looked ill, "That's a great after dinner story, Sam," she quipped…though she actually looked sick. Sam reached out and placed his hand on her arm to comfort her.

Dean shook his head, "Well, I think we've found our angry spirit. What happened to the doctor?"

"Locals ran him out of town. He ended up moving to one of his summer homes in New England and even managed to avoid prosecution. He died in the 1840s and was buried outside Providence," Sam sighed. "The thing is, Dean, there's been no hauntings or ghost sightings in the mansion. Nothing. It was rebuilt into a hotel around 1900, changed owners a few dozen times over the years, and wound up being converted into the bed and breakfast it is now during the 1960s."

"And no one ever reported anything?"

"Not a thing. The fire damage was painted over and the slave quarters were walled up, split into separate rooms and apparently forgotten. From the blueprints I found archived, it looks like the entrance to the old slave rooms that we found in the closet was the only one that wasn't boarded up."

Dean frowned, "Any ideas on why it took so long for the ghosts to appear? And why would a ghost be banging around in there now if not before?"

Sam shook his head, his frustration weighing down on him. "I don't know. The fire should have prevented it. The human remains left in there were already burned…and the others were given religious burials in a predominantly Haitian church that used to be located near here. As to why now…." He could only manage a shrug as a response to Dean's second question.

Sarah broke the silence suddenly, "Wait a minute, guys…back up. You said someone brought Marie back as a zombie, right? God, that sounds too weird when I say it…."

Sam looked at her quizzically, "Yeah."

Sarah smiled a little, "Well, okay…we've got a relic hunter who is apparently murdered, a missing cross, and a dead art dealer. The only connection between the two…as far as we know…is the cross, right?"

Sam looked at Dean, who shrugged and turned back to Sarah, "Sounds about right."

Sarah continued, "Is it possible that whoever brought Marie back from the dead…also brought this ghost back? Maybe they used the ghost to kill Marie. Is that…I mean, can someone do that?"

Sam looked at Dean, who looked thoughtful.

"Revenge killing…Marie probably took the cross, and someone wanted it back bad enough to kill her. They knew about this house…and that Marie was there, and summoned a spirit to kill for 'em. It's possible," Dean said.

Sam nodded, "Okay, but they still leaves who? I checked out the Benoits…they moved here from Mississippi about thirty years ago, and bought the place about ten years after that. They've never been in trouble with the authorities, and haven't been involved in anything that would warrant our attention."

Dean shook his head, "Well, we can figure out the 'who' later. First thing we should do is get rid of this spirit before anyone else gets hurt. That means we go in tonight, before the Benoits come back and the cops let the place reopen."

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They arrived around midnight. Dean took a moment to glance at his brother as he parked near the bed and breakfast. He had chosen a secluded side road where the car would be obscured by bushes and shadows.Sam appeared calm and alert, as he always did on hunts. But, it was obviously a front. On the ride over, Dean had noticed the thin film of sweat and the paleness that had crept onto Sam's skin…tell-tale signs that another psychic incident was imminent.

When he couldn't delay the discussion any longer, he turned and spoke for the first time since they got in the car, "Sammy…you wanna wait?"

Sam looked both startled and confused by the sudden words, "What?"

"You're about to…I don't even know what to call these things!" Dean blurted, overcome by his frustration. When Sam cringed, Dean's frustration was replaced by guilt.

"I'm sorry, I just…are you okay, Sam? We can put this off if something's about to happen."

Sam looked down for a moment before answering, "No."

Dean's brow creased, "No? No what?"

Sam smirked, "No, I'm not okay. And no, I don't want to wait," when Dean started to answer, Sam cut him off, "Look, I've been thinking about this all day. I can't do this job if…I can't watch your back if I get sidelined every time one of these headaches hits me. I won't get sidelined."

Dean did protest this time, "I don't need you to watch my back Sam---"

"But I need to be able to, Dean. I need to. What would you say if our positions were reversed? Would you let me go into something alone if you were the one with this fucking crap in his head?"

The venom in Sam's tone stopped Dean short. He'd only been concerned with what these psychic abilities were doing to Sam. He knew that Sam worried about the visions, and deep down still worried about becoming something like Max, but he never really considered the fact that Sam might resent them so much. And Sam was right, if Dean was the one in pain, he'd never let it get in the way of watching out for Sam.

"Alright," he replied grudgingly, "but if it starts to get bad, tell me and we're getting out of there. I don't want you going out of commission when we confront this thing."

Sam nodded, "Fair enough."

They got out and, checking to make sure they were alone, circled to the trunk to gather their weapons. Dean loaded one of the backpacks with salt cartridges and two of the sawed-off shotguns. He packed the lighter fluid too, just in case, but he knew it would be difficult to burn anything inside without bringing the old building down on top of them. He reached down and retrieved two handguns, offering the .45 to his brother, along with a load of normal bullets. Sam looked at him curiously.

"Someone or something summoned this ghost…we need 'em in case we find whoever it is inside," he explained.

Sam nodded grimly, and took the offered weapon. Dean pocketed his final choice, the EMF, and closed the trunk. He led the way up the stone walk in front of the building. The small courtyard was even more ominous looking at night. He kept alert for danger as they approached, but stopped when he realized that Sam had stopped a few feet back. Turning, he found Sam staring up at one of the tall angel statues that flanked the walkway.

"Dean…."

Dean slowly moved back to Sam's side and followed the younger man's gaze upwards. He stiffened when he saw what had caught Sam's attention. He tentatively moved his hand out and slowly waved it towards the house. The eyes of the stone angel followed his movements. When he dropped his hand, the inhuman eyes met theirs. A quick glance around confirmed that the other angel statues were watching them as well.

He glanced at Sam with a look of disgust, "Man, I hate that creepy shit!"

Sam nodded in agreement, "Looks like the haunting is getting more powerful."

Dean held Sam's gaze for a moment, then turned and continued on towards the house. Sam followed this time. He didn't like the implications of the statues watching them…what if they were expected.

Can't dwell on it.

They approached the side door cautiously, drawing the salt-loaded shotguns. Dean tested it, finding it locked. He nodded to Sam, who set to work picking the lock. He felt oddly relieved. At least, with the door locked as it should be, it wasn't an obvious trap. But, on the other hand, they'd been tricked before. He squashed his emotions, letting his hunting instincts take over. As much as this hunt was beginning to worry him, and as he noticed every pained breath and grunt he was hearing from Sam, he couldn't let it interfere. He had a job to do. They had a job to do.

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Eva dared to poke her head out from the row of bushes near the road. She had barely made it out of sight when the two men she'd discovered looking into Marie's death drove by. She had intended to come here and finally remove the evidence of what had happened to Marie. She hadn't counted on the two strangers showing up in the middle of the night.

As she watched them disappear into the bed and breakfast, she opened her tome and began reciting the spell she had used to anger the spirit of the dead servants. Her hands began to sweat as she clutched the old Rosary that she had recovered from the slave's remains. She was walking a dangerous line. She needed the old beaded object in order to focus the rage of the spirits inside…but if she lost control of the spell, she was placing herself in mortal danger.

She didn't want to kill anyone else, but these two detectives…or whoever they were…needed to stop poking around this incident. Maybe a brush with the vengeful residents inside would convince them to flee. Maybe then this could all be over.

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Sam's head was killing him. The throbbing behind his eyes had grown many times worse when they had entered the old building. He struggled to hold in the shallow breaths, though, knowing that Dean would be on the lookout for any sign that he was in trouble. He meant what he had said; he refused to let these headaches and psychic events from controlling him. And he sure as hell wasn't going to let them endanger his brother by keeping him out of the fight.

He had to place his free hand on a wall to stave off a wave of vertigo, but managed to make it look nonchalant when Dean glanced over. Or so he thought.

"It's getting worse?" Dean asked, matching Sam's nonchalant appearance.

Sam's mouth dropped open slightly, surprised by Dean's prescience, as he always was. He just nodded, then pushed off the wall and pointedly walked further towards the stairs. He heard Dean following quietly.

They were halfway up the stairs when Dean began quietly ranting, "You know, you're one stubborn bastard…you know that? I got the looks, the charm, the hair…you got Dad's mule streak…."

Sam rolled his eyes, but instantly regretted the motion, since it made the pain in his head spike. He grunted and grabbed onto the railing. Dean was at his side immediately, concern radiating off of him. Sam raised his head and shot Dean a look.

"You shouldn't make…fun of people when they're in pain," he stated, then added with a smile, "Jerk."

Dean shook his head and sighed, "Let's get this over with so I can get you out of here. Bitch."

They made it up to the third floor without incident. Moving silently into the hallway, they crept forward, guns drawn, and moved towards Marie's room. As they walked, Sam noted that the EMF in Dean's shirt pocket, its sound muted, was flashing wildly…a far cry from the intermittent blips of that morning.

Just as they arrived at Room 8, they heard noises inside the room. It sounded like something bumping into the furniture…and the walls. Dean reached for the doorknob, but froze when more noise was heard from the room across the hall. Sam looked over…Room 7. It was a lighter sound…not as substantial as the first. With a frown, he glanced back at Dean, who was looking at the same door with apprehension. Sam was about to suggest that they ignore it and check out the first room, but another sound emanated from the new room, and he stopped.

"Let's…split up. Maybe we can catch this thing by surprise…you know, on two fronts…." Sam whispered. Dean shook his head.

"Dude…I don't know about that…."

Sam frowned, suddenly feeling exasperated with Dean's overprotective nature. It wasn't like they didn't split up on hunts all the time. Nothing was different now. It's just a fucking headache Dean!

"Dean, I'm fine. We can split up and maybe flush this thing out."

Dean looked like he was going to protest, but clamped his mouth shut with an audible noise. His face took on a look that was half-resigned, half-annoyed.

"Fine. Go. But if you get in trouble I'm not saving your ass!" Dean whispered harshly.

Sam grimaced, but moved to the opposite door. He stopped and turned when Dean tapped his shoulder.

"Sam…" he trailed off. Be careful.

Sam smiled back at the unspoken advice, "You too."

Sam turned the door handle and silently entered Room 7. A quick glance confirmed that Dean had done the same and entered Marie's room. He went back to scanning the new room for anything unusual.

The room had clearly been occupied recently. A few used towels were draped over the dresser, and the wastebasket had not yet been emptied. Otherwise the room was clear. He stepped further inside, and noticed that the window was open. A light breeze was causing the curtain to billow out and move a clothes hanger that was hanging on the closet door. The motion was causing the hanger to hit the wood, obviously causing the noise that they had heard in the hall.

Sam let out a sigh of relief. This room was clear. He rubbed his eyes, trying to will away the growing pain in his skull. He blinked a few times to clear his vision, and then turned to leave. He ran smack into Marie Babineaux.

He gasped and started to step back, alarmed at her proximity, but before he got even one step, Marie's hands shot forward with amazing speed and locked around his neck.

He tried to call out to Dean, but found his air passages completely choked off. He clawed frantically at her hands and arms, but she was unnaturally strong. The shotgun clattered to the floor. Dean! Help!

Darkness began to creep into Sam's vision.

TBC