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TWO

Bayview Lodge
Bayview, Maine
Thursday, August 3, 2006
2:13 PM

This isn't a case, Dean thought as he gazed out the crack in the thick curtains blacking out the windows, it's a distraction. Dad wants us off his scent.

Frowning, Dean turned to Sam as his brother opened another page on his Internet browser, fully engulfed in the fact-finding part of the case. Sam had been reading website after website for the past hour, trying to put pieces together about the murder in the park and what might be behind it. As he searched vigorously, making a list of possible supernatural killers on the yellow legal pad near his right hand, Dean watched his brother work, waiting for the moment that Sam abandoned the job to head off to Dad's motel room.

In the past ten months that the brothers had been hunting together, Dean had seen Sam happy, tired, and understandably furious, but he had never seen him so placid—especially when it came to dealing with Dad. After their father had walked away from their motel room and driven off down the road, Dean had crossed the room to retrieve his brother's laptop from underneath his bed, half-expecting to get into an argument about how Dean so dutifully followed Dad's orders. Instead, Sam had remained silent, as if containing his thoughts, and had instead chosen at first to sift through their father's journal before taking over the web search.

It seemed as if, had Dean not known his brother's head as well as he did, Sam had simply forgotten about what had happened outside of the police station, choosing to focus intently on the job rather than dwell on the event. However, Dean knew his brother was simply pushing through with the case to get it done and out of the way, just like Dad had asked. Unfortunately, that meant that Sammy had something up his sleeve for after the fact, something that would probably involve trailing their father to find out what he was up to, possibly even another breaking-and-entering stint.

Shaking his head, Dean pulled on his earlobe and opened his mouth to ask. In a moment of thought, he snapped it shut. If his brother had something planned, he didn't want to know what it was just yet. Arguing over what might happen once they were done with the case wasn't going to solve it any faster; it was only going to prolong the first steps of the job. And, like it or not, Dean wanted this hunt in their rearview mirror. Though he knew he shouldn't be as curious as his brother when it came to invading Dad's privacy, he couldn't help but wonder what was going on. Their father, who had called them over two months ago from a pay phone somewhere outside of Minneapolis to tell his sons to go into hiding and stay there, had just handed them a case as if the order had been revoked and the danger had subsided. Judging by Dad's appearance, the latter wasn't true in the slightest. However, what was clear was the fact that their father wanted them distracted. The why was what seemed to bother Dean more than anything else.

Suddenly, the sound of a printer knocked Dean out of his thoughts. Furrowing his brows, he shot a look at Sam as his brother reached forward to remove a sheet of paper from the out tray, trying to read the title of the reamed article over his shoulder. When he couldn't see it, Dean got to his feet to stare at the computer screen, pushing the heel of his palm into the back of his brother's chair as he leaned over to look. Various newspaper websites were up, minimized in small squares across the monitor for quicker viewing. In the top corner was the one matching the page in Sam's hand, one titled Bayview Bashing of Local Man's Brain.

"Catchy title," Dean commented, scanning the rest of the visible text. The article read just like the one Dad had handed them, outlining the brutal beating that had been dished out on Tyler Durden's melon before someone or something had taken a sharp object to his face. Unfortunately, something about the newsprint didn't sit well with Dean, who prided himself on having an eye for detail. The original article mentioned a man disappearing from sight as soon as the cops arrived. Though he knew most spirits, and sometimes projections, did the same thing and was perfectly plausible, what he didn't understand was why the thing had waited for the police to arrive instead of vanishing after it was through with its victim. Most ghosts didn't wait for the authorities before becoming thin air.

"Yeah," Sam smirked, shutting the computer down and pushing his chair back to get to his feet, stretching when he was fully standing. "The papers are full of them. Every one across the state seems to be reporting the story. It's like mass hysteria."

Frowning, Dean reached over the table for the discarded paper Sam had left beside his laptop, picking it up to read the rest of what he had missed onscreen. When he was done, he folded it into a small slip of paper to place in his coat pocket for future reference before turning to his brother—who was now crossing the room to grab a sweatshirt. "Any of them say anything different?"

"Not as far as I can tell," Sam admitted, tugging on the brown hoodie he had thrown over the dresser the night before. "From what I've seen, it's just everyone reporting the same story in different words. They all use the same quote, though, which leads me to think the girl who was there, Jaime, only talked to one paper."

"So you're thinking we should talk to her?"

"If she'll talk," Sam sighed. "Seeing your…" He trailed off for a moment to swallow hard, his eyes falling to the floor from where they met Dean's across the room. "It's not something you get over. It's not something you want to talk about first thing, either."

Dean nodded slowly, shooting his brother a reassuring smile as the two locked eyes again. "Well, it's worth a shot. It can't hurt, right?"

The drive on the way to Jaime Karnes' house was silent underneath the sounds of Zeppelin II. As "Heartbreaker" played quietly over the road noise that broke up the inverted quiet, Dean stared out at the street leading them toward Hampden, watching as the faded lines on the two-lane blacktop passed beneath the tires.

It wasn't unusual for neither Sam nor Dean to feel particularly chatty, especially after having just finished up a case the night before and now taking another. The two were tired and sore from having to fight against Emily Munroe's invisible tethers, chase her below deck on her expansive yacht, and swim their way back toward shore after being bucked overboard. They both hadn't slept well, either, with Dean only grabbing a few hours after watching a handful of reruns on television, and Sam having tossed and turned in his sleep during the evenings prior.

However, Dean knew the lack of conversation couldn't solely be attributed to exhaustion. Neither brother was wholly focused on the case at hand, and both of them knew it. While Dean knew Sam would rather be following up on Dad's weird behavior, not that Dean could blame his brother after what had gone down at the motel, their father had given them a job to do, and they only had the option of taking it. Ignoring people dying in town to track John Winchester through his daily motions was selfish and not something Dean could willfully allow—and, it seemed, neither could Sam.

As he directed the Impala past a convenience store on the corner, Dean glanced at his brother out of the corner of his eye just as the car made its way down a residential street. Sam's eyes were staring out at the houses as they passed, taking in the split-second view of the monotonous white Colonial homes that sat on both sides of the street. The emerald green scanned over each building's façade as they gleamed against the windshield, turning slightly as the structure was left behind. Something in that gaze was distant, reminding Dean of the expression he had often seen on his brother's face once he had began proposing the idea that he return to Stanford instead of continuing on the hunt. However, this seemed different, as if Sam was simply pondering options rather than wanting to act on them. Truthfully, it looked as though something had changed.

If Dean was honest with himself, he would attribute the difference in his brother's attitude to the fire the night before. In the past, Sam would have been the first to drop the case rather than stick by it, choosing to ignore Dad's orders for what Sam thought was right. But it seemed the flames licking the walls, threatening to engulf not only Sam but his older brother, had sparked something in him that caused Sam to act more protective of Dean, as if he had suddenly become the eldest. Though Sam had always been one to throw himself in front of a bullet if it meant saving someone else, it had always been Dean who would take the heat for Sam, not the other way around. He had noticed it earlier, when they had a feeling someone or something was inside their motel room, when Sam had edged himself in front of Dean in order to be the one in the first line of fire, and he was noticing it now as he watched Sam stick with the job instead of leave his brother high and dry to follow behind their father.

However, Dean couldn't help feeling as though the difference was foreboding, as though something terrible was threatening to pop up in front of them that it took both brothers to take down. He had felt it before, during the silence in cases over the past month, but had shrugged it off. Now that Dad was there, looking as horribly run-down as he did, Dean had begun to think differently. Maybe there was a reason behind the stillness, something they had missed while searching for a job to work.

Pushing the thought away, Dean pulled into the driveway of the Karnes residence. The house was exactly like all the others on the stretch of street, though a little cleaner, looking as if the clapboard siding had been painted recently. Pushing the door open, Dean waited for his brother to appear on the other side, his mop of hair blowing in the chilly wind that whipped around them. Sticking his hands in his pocket, the two nodded before rounding the grill of the car and heading for the front porch, with Dean silently hoping it wouldn't take long for anyone to let them inside.

"So, what's our cover?" Dean muttered as they neared the steps leading to the door, realizing that they hadn't established that on the drive in. In fact, his brother hadn't really given him a hint of anything, even whether or not he had called the girl ahead of time.

"Newspaper," Sam said finally, rolling his eyes at Dean's surprised look. "What?"

"I thought you said every paper around did a story on this."

Rolling his eyes again, Sam pushed his hands deeper into his pockets and glared pointedly at Dean. "They did. But I also said it looks like only one of them actually talked to her. I figured we could ask her a few questions and tell her it's for a follow-up story. I doubt she'll be looking for it in the morning."

Furrowing his brow, Dean ignored the blatant irritation. "What makes you say that?"

Instead of answering, Sam reached forward to press the doorbell with his covered hands, pulling his arms tighter toward himself to shield his thin body against the cold. Dropping the subject for now, especially if Sam was going to snap at him for forgetting a few meaningless facts, Dean instead looked up at the sky and around. The clouds were still dark and heavy with precipitation, the air biting at their skin. If he hadn't known better, he would have thought winter had snuck up on them without either of them knowing.

Fortunately, the sound of muffled feet came from the other side of the door, turning Dean's attention elsewhere just as the expanse of white before them opened up. In the darkened gap stood the limber body of a tall blonde with deep blue eyes rimmed in red. Her lean frame was wrapped with a matted green robe that looked like it had seen better days, and her hair was lying untamed around her shoulders, caught in the terrycloth's collar. Her nose was also red, and as she stood there, her eyes scanning the brothers searchingly, she reached a hand absently upward to rub the tip for what Dean was sure to be the thousandth time.

"Who are you?"

"Are you Jaime Karnes?" Sam asked with a small smile, his tone quiet and reassuring as opposed to Jaime's cracked, tense pitch. "I'm Sam Benson and this is Dean Hedges. We're from the Portland Press Herald. We were wondering if we could ask you a few questions for a story we're writing on Tyler Durden."

Returning Sam's grin half-heartedly, Jaime stared at the brothers a minute before stepping aside to let them pass. As the two entered the foyer of the boxy home, Dean noticed that the blinds were shut and the house was silent, as if Jaime had been sitting in the dark in the moments leading up to their arrival. Glimpsing into the living room off to the right, the TV was visible, its screen darkened and couch untouched. To the left was a den that held an oversized desk and an office chair, a laptop sitting closed on top of a stack of thick books.

"Are you home alone?" Dean asked suddenly, his eyes falling back on Jaime as she shut the front door behind her and leaned against it.

Nodding Jaime let out a slow breath. "My dad went to the store to pick up some supplies. We ran out of milk a few days ago and I guess he thought today would be a good day to fix that problem."

Smirking despite the hardened look on Jamie's face, Dean glanced at his shoes for a minute to subdue the smile. Turning his attention to Sam, he waited for his brother to take the floor, watching as he removed a small, palm-sized notebook from the inside of his sweatshirt pocket. Flipping it open, he poised a pen over the lined paper, looking expectantly at Jaime in his best impersonation of a reporter. Again, Dean was tempted to smirk at the expression on his brother's face, but this time held it back.

"You had questions?" Jaime asked, noticing Sam's motions.

"Yes," Dean answered after a long moment of Sam staring at Jaime, a confused look on his face.

"Did you go to Stanford?" Sam asked suddenly, causing Dean to gaze up at him. Of all the things he had expected to escape his brother's mouth, that hadn't been one of them. It seemed as though Jaime shared Dean's sentiment, furrowing her eyebrows together and appearing slightly blind-sided by the question. As if to clear up the confusion, Sam cleared his throat. "I mean, it's just that you look really familiar."

"Yeah, I did," Jaime nodded slowly. "I graduated last semester."

Picking up on her obvious hesitance to discuss the subject, Sam glanced down at the notepad in his hand, sending a furtive glance to Dean out of the corner of his eye. Shifting his weight, Dean pursed his lips and looked at Jaime.

"What happened, exactly, down at the park?"

Taking a deep breath, Jaime rolled her head back and peered up at the ceiling for a moment. Dean could tell that the event was still fresh in her mind, only happening a handful of hours beforehand, and that asking about it was doing nothing to alleviate the emotions Tyler Durden's death had caused. However, he and Sam needed to know in order to prevent the ordeal from happening to anyone else, meaning that they were going to have to wait for Jaime to divulge the story.

Thankfully, after what felt like an eternity, Jaime relaxed her shoulders and turned to Dean, exhaling through her nose as if doing so would hold back the tears that were threatening to form in her exhausted, watery eyes.

"We were running through the park," she began slowly, "running just like we do every day. It was just a stupid little thing we decided to do when we first dated. I was on the track team in college and he wasn't much more than ninety-eight pounds of nothing when we met, so I thought it would be a good thing for both of us." She stopped a moment to swallow hard. "We always ran to the same point, this statue that stands out over the ocean. Whoever got there first got the bragging rights. Most days, I would win, but this morning, he got there before me. I guess he had a little extra energy or something."

Stopping a moment to let out another deep breath, Jaime rubbed the back of her neck and glanced at the ground before looking up again. "Every morning, we stand there and cool off. Maine's always been windy and cold, but this morning it was… colder. We could see our breath in the breeze. Part of me wanted to leave and get back to the car to warm up, but before I could say anything, Tyler had spotted something in the trees."

"Did you see what it was?" Dean interrupted, noticing that Sam was scribbling notes quickly into the pad in his palm.

"I didn't see anything," Jaime frowned. "Whatever it was, it was enough to get him to leave me. Tyler's never been really outgoing or extroverted, so for him to head off was new. I guess whatever was there was interesting to him." Clearing her throat, she wiped away the trickle of tears that fell from her swelling eyes. "I wanted him to come back because I was getting cold, so I called for him. I guess he didn't hear me over all the wind. It was like everything picked up once he stepped into the trees. He heard me the second time, though. Right before he, um…"

"Was attacked?" Sam supplied.

Nodding gratefully, Jaime turned her eyes back to Dean. "This thing, this person, just appeared out of nowhere like a flickering light bulb and hit him straight across the face. Whoever it was was strong enough to knock him all the way into the woods. I was concerned so I followed. What I saw was… weird, to say the least."

Bunching his jaw, Dean asked. "What'd you see?"

"This guy, his face all cut up, holding a knife, or scalpel or something, over Tyler like his next move was to do the same to my boyfriend," Jaime answered, wiping away the heavy tears that were now flowing steadily. "I didn't see much after that. Tyler told me to get help. I wish I hadn't. Maybe if I had stayed…"

Silence fell while Dean glanced up at Sam. On his brother's face was an expression of knowing. Offering Jaime a small smile as she looked at him, Sam slumped his shoulders slightly. "You're lucky you got out of there when you did."

Furrowing his brow in surprise, Dean narrowed his eyes at Sam dubiously before turning back to Jaime. "You didn't recognize the guy? It wasn't anyone you knew?"

"No," Jaime answered with a shake of her head. "Nobody that I knew."

"Can you think of anybody who would want to hurt Tyler? Or you, for that matter?"

Biting her lip, Jaime shook her head again before rubbing her cheeks against the collar of her robe. As she cried silently, Dean frowned up at Sam while his brother locked eyes with the girl. "We're sorry for your loss."

"Thank you," Jaime swallowed. "I-Is that it? I mean, I don't—"

"Yeah, I think so," Dean nodded gently after she trailed off, shooting Jaime a grim smile. "We'll get out of your hair now."

Nodding absently, Jaime moved out of the way to free the threshold, holding onto the side of the door for support as she pulled it open. As Sam and Dean made their way out, she waited a moment for the two to pass before shutting herself off from the rest of the world. Frowning, Dean paused to think of the poor girl sitting alone in the dark and glanced at Sam, wondering if this would be how he took Jessica's death had he been left by himself the day after the fact. Remembering that Sam had acted that way, shutting off all the lights and closing all the curtains after the two of them searched the blackened remains of Sam's former apartment, Dean's heart dropped in his chest.

No one should have to go through that alone.

Pushing the thought away, he reached for the handle on the Impala and slipped behind the wheel, waiting a moment for his brother to do the same. When they were safely inside, he started the engine, feeling the pensive quiet swelling once again as the two sat staring straight ahead with the end of "Bring it on Home" providing a murmuring soundtrack.

Fortunately, the silence didn't last long, breaking as Sam flipped pages in his notebook then opened his mouth to speak.

"It sounds like a spirit," Sam said softly, causing Dean to turn off the music that had started with the car. "The way she describes the appearing out of nowhere and his strength, it sounds like the guy's been long-dead."

"Yeah, but what started up his vengeance routine?" Dean asked after a moment, pausing to back out of the driveway and direct them back toward Bayview. "I mean, spirits don't just pop up randomly to start unleashing fury. Something had to have triggered it."

"I don't know," Sam admitted, frowning.

Stillness fell again, this time without the tinny tunes to interrupt the occasional sighing and guttural road noise. There was something Dean wanted to ask, but wasn't sure of, especially since it was a subject that had been silently marked out-of-bounds. However, curiosity was getting the best of Dean, causing him to blurt of the words sharply.

"And what was with the whole Stanford bit? You seen her before?"

Slumping in his seat, Sam let his knees hit the dashboard before replying, looking as though he were a six-year-old caught in a lie and trying to ease his way out of it. "I think she was in my English class."

Pursing his lips, Dean shot a glance at his brother out of the corner of his eye, debating whether or not to say more. After a long moment, he bit it back and directed his attention onto the faded road, making a turn past the gas station he had passed on his way into Hampden. It wasn't often that Sam talked about his time away at college, mainly because he knew Dean often became irritated with the subject and the conversation seemed to stir up painful memories for both brothers, but Dean couldn't help but wonder if there was something more to the fact that somehow, in Maine of all places, Sam had run into someone he had gone to school with all the way out in California. Honestly, the chance meeting reminded him of what his brother had told him about running into Meg at the side of the road, then again at some bar in Chicago.

Of course, that bitch turned out to be a demon, Dean reminded himself.

Rolling his shoulders back, Dean relaxed into the seat and tried to quell the questions bubbling in his mind about whether or not they could trust Jaime's story. If she turned out to be anything like Meg, they could be leading themselves into a situation similar to the one that had put them on lockdown in the first place. Of course, if that were to be the problem, that would explain Dad's haggard appearance.

However, Dean had a feeling that wasn't the case. Jaime attending Stanford was probably nothing but a coincidence. The school was big enough to house more students than just Sam, and it was likely that at least some of them had traveled from the east coast to attend the precocious university. All this girl was was an innocent bystander, nothing more.

Shaking his head free of the idea, Dean reached forward to switch the tape over to side two, turning up the volume to let the music swallow the thoughtful silence.