sorry this took so long to post...hope everyone enjoys!! bambers;)
Chapter Four
Sam slunk down in the front seat of the Impala with eyes closed, exhausted from his first night at work. Dean on the other hand was wide-eyed, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel to Back in Black playing on the radio, and it was really starting to grate on Sam's nerves.
"You mind, Dean? Some of us are trying to unwind a bit."
"What are you still pissed cause I was better than you?" Dean chuckled as he lowered the music.
Sitting up in his seat, Sam cast a sidelong glance at his brother. "You're kiddin' right?"
"Nope."
"Who made more money, Dean?"
"Who got more phone numbers?"
Sam shook his aching head in disbelief, and rubbed his tired eyes. "Dude, I made like fifty bucks more than you, and fake phone numbers don't count."
"They so count, Sammy, and you only made like twenty more than me."
Staring at him for a moment, Sam burst out laughing. "You just can't stand it that I was better than you."
"You weren't better than me, dude." Dean turned to look at him for a moment, and arched a brow. "And what the hell was that music you were dancing to anyway?"
Sam squirmed uncomfortably in his seat, and turned to look out the side window, slightly embarrassed by the song Karen had chosen for him to dance to. "You should talk, Dean. Only you could make stripping into a mullet rock event."
"No one seemed to be complaining."
"Maybe you couldn't hear them cause you were too busy jumping off tables and writhing around on the floor." Sam chuckled. "But if you had to dance to a slow song like I did, you would so totally make a fool of yourself."
"Wanna bet?" They both turned to look at each other, and a smile slid across Dean's features. "I'll dance to a slow song if I can pick a song for you to dance to, and we'll see who the girls like better."
"Fine by me, Dean, but only if I get to pick the song you dance to."
"Bring it on, Sammy." Dean's grin deepened as he thought of the perfect song for Sam to dance to. "I get to pick your costume out."
"Whatever, dude, as long as I get to pick yours too."
XxXxXxXxXxXxX
Sam awoke to find Dean already awake, sipping coffee at the small table in their motel room.
Already dressed, Dean looked as if he'd been up for quite a while. Sam glanced at the clock and saw it was only going on seven o'clock in the morning. Sitting up in bed, Sam raked his fingers through his hair, brushing his shaggy bangs out of his eyes, and yawned, gaining Dean's attention.
"Get any sleep, Dean."
"Yeah, some. Was thinkin' about Agnes and what caused her to kill those men," he said, and gestured to a cup of coffee on the table. Sam got out of bed, strode to a chair next to Dean and took a seat.
"So, what were you thinkin'?"
Dean gulped down some of his drink, and then pointed to several photos that were scattered on the table. "Took these last night."
"Why?" Sam said, picking up the picture of Johnny, and quickly looked it over.
"Notice anything strange about it?"
"Not really."
"Look closer."
San studied it more carefully, and noticed a light gray shadow surrounding Johnny. He then picked up the other two and saw the same thing. "What is that? A trick of the light?"
"I'm thinking that's Agnes."
"Huh, caught on film. Almost like she wanted them to know she was watching."
"Kinda looks that way." Dean slid another picture toward Sam. "This guy here is the only other one I could find who had the same gray shadow in his photo. Name's Keith Rivers, and he's been working at the club for about two months."
Sam picked it up, noticing how the shadow seemed to enshroud the man who was probably only about a year or two younger than Dean. "So, three men dead, one missing, and this guy." Throwing the picture back in the pile with the others, Sam scrubbed his hand across his face. "What do they have in common besides working at the bar, and looking similar in appearance?"
"Dunno, Sam." He gestured toward Sam. "Why don't you go an' get dressed and we'll head over to the club, an' take a look around."
Sam yawned again, clasping his hands and stretching them high above his head, working out the kinks in his back. "Yeah, okay. Maybe we'll get lucky an' no one will be there this early."
"Never know."
XxXxXxXxXxXxX
A little over an hour later, Sam and Dean pulled up in front of the Hot Spot, noticed two police cars, along with a blue pickup truck, already in the parking lot, and quickly drove further down the street. Parking on a side street that bordered the land belonging to Karen, they both got out.
Sam leaned against the car, and in a few moments Dean came around to his side, and did the same. They were both quiet for a few seconds, and then Sam asked the question he knew was on both their minds. "So you think Agnes killed Keith?"
"Either that, or those officers are there for a private show, and I'm glad I'm not working." Dean pretended to shudder, and then cracked a toothy grin.
"So not funny, dude." Sam glanced in the direction of the club, just making out the faint outline of the building through the trees. "So what do we do now? Come back later?"
"Naw, lets take a look around the property. See if we can find Agnes' grave."
Together, they entered the wooded area, trampling over weeds, overgrown brush, fallen limbs, and wild flowers, searching for any signs of a grave or footprints left behind by anyone who worked at the club. Not finding any, they widened their search, heading northeastward toward the furthest niches of the property certain that there had to be something hidden in the overgrown forest.
Scarcely a hundred yards from the edge of the property, nestled in and amongst the trees, Dean spotted the outline of an old abandon house, and inclined his head toward it. "So Agnes did have a house here at one time."
"Yeah, but it's kinda far back, don't ya think? Not a place anyone would just happen to stumble upon."
"It would make it a good place to hide a body then."
As they drew closer to the rundown old home, graying with age and decay, the air around them turned bitterly cold, a stiff breeze rustling through the bowing branches.
"Think that could be Agnes?" Dean asked as he headed up the front steps.
"Could be."
"Watch your step, Sammy." He pointed toward the sagging, rotted wood on the first two steps. Cautiously stepping over them, he pressed his foot onto the third one to make sure it was safe, and finding that it seemed fairly secure, he grabbed the wooden handrail and leapt up onto it. It sagged under his weight, but held and he quicky took the last two steps to the landing and waited for Sam.
As Sam stepped up on the third step, they both heard a loud crack, and before he had a chance to move the stair gave way beneath him, his foot lodging in the splintered wood.
"Sonuva — "
"Told you to watch your step, dude." Dean chuckled as Sam continued to let out a string of curse words under his breath. His laughter faded as Sam yanked out his foot and grimaced in pain. "You okay?" he asked, grabbing hold of Sam's arm and helped him onto the landing.
"Yeah, just twisted my ankle."
Sam limped to the door that was hanging on its hinges and pushed it open, and stood there peering into the darkened room. Dusty red velvet curtains hung in thick folds on black wrought iron rods, effectively blocking out any sunlight in what once might have been considered the great room of the two story dwelling. Cobwebs filled the archways leading from room to room, and a mantle of dust at least a half inch thick covered the old broken down furniture that remained.
Yanking the flashlight out of his pocket, Sam turned it on and aimed it toward the ground, and gestured at all the footprints along the hardwood floors. "Guess you were right. Looks like a lot of people have been here."
"So, they came here, disturbed her final resting place, and she came after them?" Dean headed further into the house, stopping at a desk that sat in the furthest corner of the room. Old pamphlets and papers, torn and yellowed with age were scattered across the scarred wooden surface, and he curiously began leafing through them. "I don't know, Sam, seems like there would be more to it than that. After all, her victims looked a helluva lot alike."
"Dean." Sam bobbed his head toward the fireplace, and sitting on the ledge above it, they both noticed several picture frames. Hobbling to it, Sam picked one up, dusted it off on his jacket, and then directed the narrow beam of light from his flashlight on it. "Hey, dude, come take a look at this."
Dean's long strides carried him across the creaking floor in a matter of seconds, and he took the picture from Sam. "Huh, looks like our boy, Jerry, has a lot in common with all the dead guys."
"That's what I thought." Sam nodded in agreement. "Same dark hair, same build and hazel eyes. She must be killing off people who remind her of her brother."
Dean set the picture back on the mantlepiece, scrubbed his hand across his face, and turned to look at Sam. "So brother dearest killed Agnes and now she's seeking revenge."
"Yep."
"And we have to find her remains and salt and burn them."
"Uh huh."
"Which could be pretty much anywhere."
"True." Sam agreed with a single nod of his head.
"Any suggestions where to start?"
"Nope, was planning on following your lead on this one."
"Well, I ain't got any. So unless you want to be stripping until you're like forty, I suggest you start using that geekboy brain of yours to figure out where Jerry would bury Agnes."
Sam blanched considerably hearing that, and hastily considered all the possibilities. "Think she has to be somewhere around here. Why don't you take a look around in here, and I'll check out back?"
Dean hesitated for a moment, and Sam was sure he knew why, and his suspicions were confirmed with Dean's next words.
"Alright, but be careful. You look too much like Jerry for her not to want to come after you."
"I will."
XxXxXxXxXxXxX
Sam waded through the waist deep grass, veering around small overgrown bushes and pine trees, searching for any signs of a grave. After only a few minutes, he quickly determined it would be extremely difficult if not impossible to find an unmarked grave if it was indeed somewhere in the backyard of Agnes' home.
He was about to turn back and go inside to find Dean when out of the corner of his eye, he spotted an old stone structure nearly buried by grass and weeds. Figuring he might as well check it out while he was there, Sam trudged his way over to it, and discovered it was an old well.
A flat circular stone covered the surface of the crumbling structure. In places, stones had broken away and lay on the ground. Sam squat in front of one of the holes and flashed his light inside, but couldn't see anything beside the side of the wall. A stiff cool breeze coming from inside the well, ruffled his hair and sent a chill down his spine.
At nearly the same time, he heard the sound of stone scrapping and stone, and by the time he glanced up the heavy cover had slid halfway across the opening of the well. Sam quickly stood and bent over to look inside, the beam of his flashlight reflecting on a swirl of white rising from deep below.
In a rush of frigid air, the spirit burst through the circular opening, nearly knocking Sam off his feet. Sam swung to find Agnes directly behind him, arms outstretched. Her dark hollowed out eye sockets stood in bold contrast to her bloodless, rotting flesh. A trail of dried blood stained her thin gaunt face.
"Must die," she whispered, and it carried on the breeze growing louder as the wind increased. "Your sins show clearly in your eyes, Jerry."
Before Sam knew what was happening, he was being flung backward through the air by an unnaturally strong force, and landed precariously atop of the well. Groping for a better hold on the sides of the structure, Sam felt something pushing him downward, and his fingers began to slip.
Sudden pressure built behind his eyes, and he squinched them closed, feeling as if someone was clawing at them from the insides. "Dean," he hollered, as he slipped further into the opening of the deep well, hoping his brother would hear him, and praying he wasn't too far away to reach him in time.
Another burst of pain exploded behind his closed eyelids, sparks of white-hot light burning at his eyes. Tears slid down his cheeks as he squeezed his eyelids closed even tighter. "Dean! Help me!"
Without opening his eyes, Sam knew she was hovering over him, her hot rancid breath in his ear. His fingers bent and cracked as they were one by one pried free from the stone wall he was holding onto.
"No one can help you, Jerry. This time you will die."
