Chapter 4
Sam made quick work of the safe door, pulling it open with a groan as the rusted hinges finally gave way. Inside were scattered papers, yellowed with age, but still legible. A quick scan showed them to be nothing more than rail schedules left behind when the station was closed more than thirty years ago.
Back against the far wall of the safe, Sam's light flashed against what looked like a worn leather bound book. Reaching into the iron safe, Sam grabbed the book, pulling it out and carefully untying the string holding it closed.
Bingo!
It appeared to be a journal of the station master. Sam quickly paged back to the beginning, noting the date; September, 1927. Hopefully there was something inside about the accident.
A groan from the wooden structure made Sam look around him nervously. Not trusting the building to stay upright against the rain and wind, he shoved the journal into his coat and gathering his shotgun and flashlight, quickly made his way back to the doorway.
He stopped abruptly as he noticed the thick fog that had settled over the area. Squinting in the direction they had left the car, Sam tried to make out the outline of the big black car, but couldn't see anything through the swirling mist.
"What the hell?" he muttered.
Hands in front of him, Sam cautiously made his way through the now think mud pacing off the steps to the car. A shrill whistle pierced the air, making him jump. His eyes were drawn to a faint light cutting through the fog in the distance. Sam could feel a slight vibration… as if a train was bearing down on the station.
With the aid of the light, he was able to make out the faint outline of the Impala, at least twenty yards from where they had originally parked. He quickly crossed the distance, wondering why Dean would move the car, especially through this sludge that was quickly beginning to become hazardous.
Coming up to the passenger side of the car, Sam could see his brother, his head leaned back against the seat, his eyes closed. Pulling on the door handle, Sam was surprised to find the door locked. He glanced up, noting the light was closer and taking the shape of a small circle growing as it raced toward them.
Sam pounded on the window. "Dean! Dean, wake up!" There was no response. His brother remained motionless.
Another shrill whistle cut the silence, this time much closer. Sam could make out the unmistakable sounds of a train, barreling down the tracks, the whistle announcing it's eminent arrival at the station.
Shit!
Slipping in the mud, Sam made his way to the driver's side of the Impala and tried the other door to no avail. The light was bright enough to illuminate the entire area and he searched the muddy ground, his eyes finally finding a small rock, Grabbing the stone, Sam hefted it in his hand, testing it's weight. Another whistle split the air and Sam gave a silent apology to his brother before covering his eyes and smashing the stone into the Impala's window.
The shattering of the glass was drowned in the rush of the oncoming train. Sam quickly leaned in, throwing the car into neutral and slithered around to the front of the vehicle. With every ounce of strength he possessed, the young hunter pushed against the heavy car. Aided by the slight downhill slope, the big Chevy slowly rolled backwards. Sam grunted as he turned, trying to find a purchase for his feet and he pushed with all his might.
Suddenly, the car rolled free of the tracks, causing Sam to loose his balance and drop into the thick mud. With a quick glance at the now blinding light that completely filled his vision, he pushed himself to his feet and dove from the tracks, feeling the tug of the train pull at his clothing as it sped by.
And just like that, it was gone.
The fog disappeared, and the silence returned to the old railyard.
Taking a moment to get his breathing and heart rate under control, Sam craned his neck to look down the dilapidated tracks, his eyes wide as he found no evidence of the train that had nearly flattened them.
"Dean!"
Clambering to his feet, Sam made his way to the Impala and pulled at the handle of the passenger door, surprised when it opened as normal.
"Dean!" He shook his brother, breathing a sigh of relief when the familiar green eyes fluttered open. Dean frowned at his brother as Sam dropped to a crouch outside the door, his hand on the older man's knee, his head leaning against his arm. "Welcome back, man."
Dean shook his head, wincing as the ache there flared. "Where'd I go?" He raised a hand to the gash on his temple, his eyes watching his brother with slight confusion.
Sam lifted his head and graced his brother with a relieved smile. "I have no idea, dude. You were completely unconscious."
"That sucks."
"Tell me about it," Sam agreed, swallowing hard. "Are you okay?"
Dean sat up, wincing at the bruises he could feel along his shoulder and back. "Think so." He twisted his neck slowly from side to side, a frown appearing on his face as he noticed the glass strewn across the front seat. "Sam, why is there glass in my car?" His eyes slowly rose to the remains of the window on the driver's side and he blinked a few times, trying to ascertain what he was seeing. "Where's my window? What the hell did you do? You hurt my car!" He held up a few shards of glass to his brother accusingly.
Sam simply shrugged, ignoring Dean's indignation. "I think the speeding ghost train was gonna hurt it – and you – a little more."
"I can't believe you broke –" Dean stopped as his brother's words sunk in. "Wait. Did you say 'ghost train'?"
Sam just nodded. "I'm thinking that's probably what killed Kyle Truman."
"I thought we were looking for a spirit who lost his head."
"Apparently, our spirit is a little more pissed off than we thought."
"Terrific," Dean growled. He placed the napkin bandage back against his head. "I can't believe you hurt my car."
Sam chuckled and shook his head fondly. "Like I said, dude. You have extremely screwed up priorities."
………………………………………………
Best Value Inn
By the time they made it back to the motel, Dean had forgiven his brother for busting out the window, although he continued to grouse about it even as they pulled into the motel parking lot.
"Look," Sam pulled the Impala into the space in font of their door and cut the engine. "I'll get some plastic and tape it up for the night. Then I'll get the window replaced tomorrow, okay?"
"Fine." Dean pulled himself from the car, leaning against the top in an attempt to hide his dizziness from his brother. "Just be careful not to get any of the duct tape on the paint job, dude, or else –"
"I know, I know. You'll kick my ass." Sam slammed the driver's door, cringing at the tinkling of broken glass as it shook free from the broken window. "Can we focuse on the real problem right now?"
Dean glared at him for a moment before turning and striding toward the room. Once inside, he went straight for the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.
Sam, sighed and followed his brother into the room. He heard the shower turn on and rolled his eyes at his brother's antics. He knew that Dean wasn't really angry with him – well, of course he was angry, he tended to overreact whenever something happened to his precious car – but he wasn't really angry with Sam.
Despite the image he presented, Dean wasn't stupid, nor was he as self absorbed as he allowed people to believe he was. Dean understood that sometimes things happened that were beyond their control and one of them – or the Impala – might pay the price. He was upset that it had to be the car, but he'd get over it. At least they were all in one piece.
Sam grabbed the plastic trash bag from the garbage can under the desk and rummaged through the weapons bag until he came up with a half used roll of duct tape. Within minutes, he had the bag taped into place over the broken window, effectively forming a barrier against the rain. It wouldn't stop anyone from breaking into the car, but there was only so much they could do at two o'clock in the morning.
A few minutes after Sam returned to the room, he heard the shower cut off. Tossing his jacket across the foot of a bed, he rummaged through the pocket, extricating the journal he had found inside the safe. Making himself comfortable against the headboard, he began to rifle through the old, yellowed pages. The bathroom door opened, and Dean emerged, drops of water glistening against his skin, a thin motel towel wrapped around his hips.
"Holy crayola, Batman," Sam commented as he glanced up, his eyes catching the colorful array of bruises already beginning to appear along his brothers torso. "That's gotta hurt."
"You're freakin' hilarious."
"That's gotta hurt."
Dean shrugged as he pulled on a clean pair of jeans and carefully lowered himself to the other bed. "Not as much as seeing my baby's window smashed." Dean turned his head on the pillow. "You did take care of her, right?"
Sam chuckled and shook his head. "Yeah, yeah. Unless there's a hurricane, I think she'll be okay."
Satisfied, Dean nodded, his eyes squinting as he noticed the old journal in his brother's hands. "New Nancy Drew novel, Samantha?"
"I found it in the safe inside the station. It's a journal written by the station master, goes back a pretty long way."
Dean turned his head and relaxed against the pillow. "Anything about our ghost?"
"Not much," Sam answered as his eyes traveled quickly across the pages. "It seems our friend Carlisle wasn't the only person to go missing that night." He turned a few pages before continuing. "According to this, the engineer of the train that apparently hit Carlisle in the fog disappeared that night, too. "
Dean responded without bothering to open his eyes. "Maybe the poor guy panicked and ran. Figured he'd be blamed for Carlisle's death or something."
"Maybe," Sam agreed. "But…"
"But what?"
"I don't know," Sam reached up and scratched the back of his neck. "Something's just not making sense."
Dean pushed himself up against the backboard, mirroring his brother's position. "We're dealing with vengeful spirits of a guy who was decapitated by a train, Sam. What could possibly not make sense?"
Ignoring his brother's sarcasm, Sam shook his head. "Think about it Dean. They found a body the next morning, right? Back then there was no fingerprint database, no DNA tests. The only way they could positively identify a body was to have the head."
"Which they never found." Dean followed along. "So you're saying the body they found might not have even been Carlisle? It could have been the engineer?"
Sam shrugged. "The ghost train would make more sense."
Dean pursed his lips and dipped his head in acknowledgement. "Maybe. But we got no proof that this engineer guy even died, Sam. No way of knowing who he even was."
Sam turned to the first page of the journal. "Then I guess we'll just have to start at he beginning."
Dean moaned and slid down until he was prone on the mattress. He folded his arms across his chest and closed his eyes, burrowing into the pillow. "Have at it, geek boy. Wake me when you get to the good part."
TBC
