Chapter 3 – There And Back Again
Leah dove off to the side and over the safety railing, catching on to one of the metal bars at the last moment to stop herself from falling.
The boys followed suit – she watched as Sam joined her, dangling off the side of the bridge.
"Dean!" she cried out in panic…Dean had thrown himself just a tiny bit too far and was plunging towards the river.
Above them, the sound of the Impala's engine died away.
Just as well I keep my weight down, thought Leah, grunting a little as she hoisted herself back onto the bridge. She turned to see Sam struggling to do the same and reached out to help pull him up.
"Dean!" Sam yelled, trying to find him in the darkness – "Dean!"
"What?" Dean's voice sounded strained, but very much alive. Sam and Leah both let out their breath as they saw Dean's figure dragging itself out of the water.
"Hey, are you alright?" asked Sam.
"I'm super!" he yelled back, sarcasm dripping as heavily as the sewage muck from his hair and clothes.
Leah chuckled. In the dark, she could barely make out Dean's face – it was covered in mud and god-knows-what-other-disgusting-substances – but she just managed to catch his "I'm ok" hand signal.
Beside her, a relieved Sam started laughing too.
"Car alright?" asked Sam, as he circled the Impala.
"Yeah, whatever she did to it, it seems alright now." Dean replied, examining the engine. "That Constance chick…what a BITCH!" he yelled the last word out into the night, hoping the ghost was still around to hear the insult.
"Well, she doesn't want us digging around, that's for sure," said Sam. Dean gave a loud huff and leaned heavily against the car.
"Have you ever met a ghost who willingly allows you to dig up their bones, burn them and send them away to la-la-land?" Leah asked in reply to Sam's statement.
"So where's the trail go from here, genius?" Sam looked at her, irritated.
Dean, thinking the question was addressed at him, threw up his hands, sending droplets of sewage in all directions.
"You smell like a toilet...you stink!" – Sam and Leah said at the same time, wrinkling their noses.
"Beat it" Dean growled menacingly.
By now it was dawn and the sky was beginning to lighten.
"Here," Leah pulled out a handkerchief from her pocket and offered it to Dean.
"Thanks" he accepted gruffly, rubbing at his face.
"Time for me to get going, I think." Leah walked over from where she was standing, leaning against the rails, "I'm sure I'll see you two again and much sooner than you might think. See you boys."
She left them with this cryptic farewell comment and walked away; they watched as her receding figure walked up to a car parked just where they'd parked the Impala that morning, opened the car door, slid in and drove away.
"Is it just me who feels like she's told us nothing about herself tonight other than her name?" Sam asked, turning to glance at Dean.
"Yeah. I learnt jack-shit either." Dean agreed. Then, with a devilish grin, he added, "But I don't need her to tell me that her rack's a size C – it's hard to miss."
Sam snorted, shaking his head in disbelief and punched Dean on the arm. Dean was still laughing when they hit the road.
"One room, please." Dean threw down a fake credit card onto the desk, trying to look normal through the layers of grime caked on his face.
The old man picked up the card and read the name – Hector Aframian. "You guys having a reunion or something?" he asked.
Dean cocked his head and Sam asked, "What do you mean?"
"The other guy, Bert Aframian," the old man explained, glaring at them, "He came in and bought out a room for the whole month."
Sam looked around carefully before hunching down next to the door and picking the lock, leaving Dean on lookout.
He poked his head into the room, straightened and walked in, reaching out a hand and grabbing the back of Dean's collar to pull him in as well.
The boys looked around the room, picking up the same things as Leah did yesterday – a circle of salt on the floor, papers plastered all over the walls and the smell!
Dean walked over to the bedside table and turned on the lamp. He noticed the half eaten burger sitting there, and sniffed it, recoiling as the smell of rotting meat hit him.
"I don't think he's been here for a couple days at least" said Dean, putting the burger down.
Sam squatted on the floor and ran his fingers through the salt.
"Salt? Cat's eye shells?" he ticked items off – "He was worried, trying to keep something from coming in."
Dean walked over to a wall covered in men's portraits.
"What've you got there?" Sam asked, walking over to join him.
"Centennial Highway Victims…I don't get it," Dean scanned the info on each of the men, "I mean, different men, different jobs, ages, ethnicities…There's always a connection, right?"
Sam didn't respond – he had walked over to the opposite wall, looking for clues their dad might've left them.
"What do these guys have in common?" Dean was still talking, unaware that Sam wasn't listening.
Sam scanned through the contents stuck on the wall – Mortis Danse, Devils and Demons, Sirens, Witches and possessions...
Suddenly, a piece of paper caught his eye. The writing on it was in bold black marker and stood out from the surrounding pencil scrawls.
"Woman in White."
Beneath it was the article they had found in the library yesterday, about the suicide of Constance Welch.
Sam shook his head. "Dad figured it out."
"What do you mean?" That got Dean's attention.
"He found the same article we did," Sam explained, nodding at the wall, "Constance Welch. She's a woman in white."
Dean looked back at the victims' portraits..."You sly dogs."
"Alright, so if we're dealing with a woman in white, Dad would've found the corpse and destroyed it." Dean said, hoping it was true.
"She might have another weakness." Sam suggested.
"No, dad would want to make sure. He'd dig her up. Does it say where she's buried?"
"No, not that I can tell," Sam sighed. "If I were dad though, I'd go ask her husband…if he's still alive."
"Alright, why don't you, uh, see if you can find an address? I'm gonna get cleaned up." Dean walked towards the bathroom.
"Hey, Dean," Sam said hurriedly, "What I said earlier about mom and dad…I'm sorry."
Dean held up his hand, cutting Sam off. "No chick-flick moments."
Sam snorted in disbelief – "Alright, jerk."
"Bitch." Dean countered.
Sam grinned. This was an exchange he felt comfortable with, at least.
As Dean walked into the bathroom, Sam spotted an old photo wedged into the frame of the mirror. He walked over and picked it up – it was a photo of his dad, himself and Dean, back when they were both still little kids.
He was smiling when a knock on the door broke through his reminiscing. He put the photo down carefully and walked slowly to the door, peering through the eye-hole to see who it was. For some reason, he wasn't surprised to see Leah standing outside.
"Hey, Sam" she smiled at him, as he opened the door.
"Hey!" he smiled back," Sooner than expected indeed."
"Maybe you'll just have to keep expecting me then," she teased softly.
One side of her mouth curved upward – Sam was beginning to recognize that lop-sided smile – it was similar to the one Dean wore when he was being an asshole and he knew it and he knew that you knew it too, just used in a different situation.
He realized that Leah was still looking at him expectantly and quickly recovered himself. "Come in" he invited politely, holding the door open for her.
"Thank you." She stepped inside, lugging 3 plastic bags in after her. "Hungry?"
"Yeah" he admitted, nodding shamefacedly as his stomach growled. Then he suddenly realized what she meant. "Oh no…you didn't…!" he gestured frantically to the plastic bags, shaking his head furiously. She smiled at him. "I mean, you shouldn't have! I mean…Why?" he finally settled on asking, looking at her forlornly with big puppy dog eyes.
She laughed. Naw! He's adorable!
"Don't be silly," she said as she walked over to the bed and dumped the bags down, Sam trailing behind her trying somehow to help, "We can't let two full grown men like yourself and Dean get hungry now, can we. Who's going to save the world if you starve to death?"
"Besides," she added, "You two boys are being hunted by the local sheriff for faking Fed IDs. It's probably not a good idea to go wandering around the streets right now."
"What's the racket?" Dean charged out of the bathroom wearing nothing but a towel around his waist, brandishing a bottle of shampoo. He stopped when he saw Leah standing next to Sam.
"Oh…" he lowered the shampoo sheepishly.
"Hello Dean," she said calmly, raising her eyebrows appreciatively as her eyes roamed over his body, taking in the sculpted muscles and smooth, bronze sheen of his skin, "Look at you!"
He grinned at her. His near nakedness didn't bother him much. It never did around females…or anyone for that matter. After all, he had nothing to be ashamed of. He caught the bottle of beer she tossed at him "What's this?" he asked, "Whose birthday is it?" He looked at the bottle of beer in his hand – it was El Sol, his favourite.
"No one's", she replied as she tossed a bottle to Sam and popped one open for herself, "Just a toast to Dean and his beautiful swan dive over the edge last night. Cheers!"
She tipped her bottle to Dean in a mock toast. Sam grinned at Dean and raised his bottle as well. Dean shrugged and took a large swig from his own bottle.
"Say whatever you like, sweetheart. I'll take anything for the beer." He returned Leah's salute. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna go put some clothes on." He set the bottle down on the bedside table and walked back into the bathroom.
Sam and Leah looked at each other behind his back and burst out laughing.
"You've got to admit," chuckled Leah, "For someone who just ran out of the shower more than half-naked, waving shampoo around like an Oscar, he's got poise."