Chapter Four: Through the Lies
Sam is here.
Sandy set the phone down and wrapped her arms around her chest. Sunlight filled the room, but everything suddenly felt cold.
It happened sometimes, in this space that had once belonged to Jessica. They had moved on as best they could. Jessica's things were gone, all but a few mementos up on a shelf. Her favorite stuffed bear. A bundle of dried flowers from her gravesite. Her senior picture and flute from marching band. Everything else was gone; donated, sold, or stored in the attic. The room was filled with toys, a play space for Jenna's children.
They had hoped that the sound of children's laughter would drive the demons from the room. Most days, it did. This had become a happy space again. Except every once in a while, when memories turned bitter and the cold seeped in. In those times, Sandy often thought she saw Jessica, a transparent form made of shadows and hope, reaching for her from the corner or drifting across the floor.
The feeling only ever lasted for a moment. It was an old ache, the regret that came with any unexpected loss. Even now, Sandy wished for a chance to see her daughter one last time, to say a proper good-bye.
Sam.
Sam had been the last person to see Jessica alive. The last person to see her smile, to hold her close and say I love you.
Sandy had left him with an invitation. She had waited and hoped. She'd even sent an email or two. But Sam had never answered, never called, never tried to reach out. Sandy had resigned herself to the fact that she had lost him in that fire as well.
"Sam." The word was barely a whisper, the voice familiar. A flicker of blonde hair, a glint of pleading blue eyes, a reaching hand. The sensation only lasted a moment, but it was unmistakable.
Sandy shivered, and moved to turn the thermostat down. She paused in the doorway, looking at the empty room. "I would have taken care of him, sweetheart, but he didn't want me to."
He'd driven off into the night with his brother, into a world of secrets that she had never fully understood. Now he was back, and Sandy knew one thing for sure.
Her husband had lied to her.
000 Lakeport 000
Dean Winchster. Private Investigator. Provide all due assistance.
Dean stared at the ID in his hand. The neat row of black letters stared back, unchanged. His name. His real name, not one he had made up. His name, his face, and a job title that fit well enough. Issued to him by a representative of the government.
John had given Dean his first ID when he was fourteen. It said he was sixteen, of course, so that if anyone caught him driving, he wouldn't get into trouble. When Dean was sixteen, he'd made his own ID, saying he was eighteen. Just in case something happened to Dad, Dean would be able to pass as an adult. It was a relief, to know that he couldn't be taken by Child Services anymore. Of course, he'd also made himself an ID that claimed he was 21. He hadn't told Dad about that one.
Dean had used more IDs that anyone he knew. But this was a first.
His first real ID. His first legal ID.
The thought stuck in him like a hook, tying him to this place. When he entered a new town, he created a new name for it. He didn't have to worry about how people saw him, because he would leave within a few weeks. He lied to most people with the first words he said to them, and there was never any need for real truth after. Even with Lisa, Dean had used a fake ID and a fake last name to get work.
Here, he couldn't pretend. He was Dean Winchester.
The idea tingled, worming through him. Here, he was real. He was a Winchester to everyone he met. Here, he was more than the hunter who would pop in for a day, spin a few lies, kill a monster, and leave again. Sam had history here, and so did he. They were connected to this place, whether Dean liked it or not.
Because this was not Sam's first real ID. Dean had never really asked, but he knew Sam had real ID when he left Stanford after the fire. He would have had to use his real Social Security number to receive his scholarship. To work for the Sheriff.
Was this how Sam had felt?
They had long ago moved past Sam's desire to leave the hunting life. In the past few years, he'd demonstrated to Dean more than ever that he wasn't going anywhere again. It was a dedication that unnerved Dean, no matter how much he had wanted exactly that from Sam years ago. It was only in the last few years that Dean had begun to acknowledge how hard the hunting life was on himself.
He hadn't been able to see it then, but he could feel it now. The warmth, the hope, that came with this place, and the idea of a home that didn't go away. He could understand why Sam would walk away from everything to get a taste of that.
Not that he would ever admit it out loud.
Dean slipped the badge back into his pocket and turned to his brother. Sam was still sitting in the car, staring out the window but not seeing a thing. Not seeing the present anyway. What was he remembering now?
"Hey, are you coming or do you want me to do this?"
Sam shook himself and looked up at Dean. "Oh. Yeah. I'm ready."
"Uh-huh." Dean didn't argue. There wasn't likely to be any danger at the morgue. Kelpies, at least, weren't known for leaving corpses that would get back up again.
A young man with pasty-pale skin and fingers calloused from playing too many video games sat at the front desk.
"Private Investigator D-"
"Oh, you guys are the investigators working for the Mayor! He called a few minutes ago. I've got the corpses all ready for you."
"I've got ID-"
"Nah, that's ok. I know you guys. You're Sam. Right? Beat up Jim Guster, I saw the viedo. Nice poster. I took some classes, until I broke my arm and Mom made me stop." The kid's eyes were wide with hero-worship.
"You really should check our ID-"
"I hoped you would be here a little sooner." The kid rattled on, ignoring Dean. He was already moving down the hall, beckoning them to follow.
Dean frowned, and shoved the ID back in his pocket, annoyed. His first real ID, and he didn't even get to use it.
"Mayor Moore said you would be by soon. But you must have stopped for lunch or something, because it's been nearly an hour since he called. And Sheriff Mann called about ten minutes ago, and he's coming to sign off on final paperwork for disposal of the bodies. So he's gonna be here soon. Do you think you'll take very long?"
"I'm sure the Sheriff can wait a few minutes if he gets here before we're done."
Sam snorted and shook his head. "Um, no, Dean, I don't think he will. You met Sheriff Mann, only he was a deputy then. I think you and Dad both tried to crash in his 'secret hideaway.'"
Just like Sam, to dance politely around the finer things in life. "Wait a minute. You mean the guy with the porn collection in the abandoned shack off the highway is Sheriff now? He was a dick."
"Yeah."
"Yeah," the receptionist agreed. "So, if you guys could get this over with before he gets here, that would be great. He didn't call until after Jane, the Mayor's secretary, went to lunch with her boyfriend, who works in dispatch at the Sheriff's office. So I'm betting he's gonna try to get here before you two. I just deal with dead bodies, we don't have the equipment here to handle crime scenes."
"That bad, huh?" Dean shivered as the entered the cold morgue.
The receptionist nodded, and pulled open three drawers. "It wasn't so bad, when Sheriff Mann won the election. He's a good guy, most of the time. But then, when Mr. Moore ran, and suddenly Mann's old boss was his new boss, and tried to give him a few pointers…it didn't go well." He flinched at the memory. "So, these are the bodies you want. It's about a gross as it gets around here. D'you need anything else?"
The kid vanished before Dean could shake his head.
"Well. Maybe we should stay. Sounds like the fireworks between Mayor and Sheriff would be-" Dean stopped under Sam's fierce glare.
Behave! Sam's warning from earlier echoed in his head. The girlfriend was dead, there was no need to impress the prospective father-in-law anymore. Still, Sam acted as if he were meeting the parents for the first time.
"Or we could get this done quick." Dean bent over the first canister. There wasn't even enough of the corpse to lay out on the table. He pulled on rubber gloves and poked at the congealed goo that had once been blood and organs. Hardly anything was left. All of the soft tissue had been eaten away, leaving just scraps. He pulled a bit of seaweed from between a set of toes.
"So, we've got to figure out where this thing's lair is. Any chance this weed only grows in one part of the lake?"
Sam turned around, holding a longer bit of seaweed. "No idea. We can take it to the forensics lab."
"The lab is processing evidence from crime scenes for my office. You'd have to wait at least a month for your results." The challenging tone in that voice was the sound of an officer willing to fight over jurisdiction. Dean knew the tone well. He sent enough disgruntled cops away from crime scenes now claimed by the 'FBI'.
Would his real badge be as effective? Private Investigator ranked a little lower then Fed. Did it out-rank a Sheriff?
Sam rolled his eyes before turning to face the khaki-clad man filling the doorway behind them. Sheriff Mann bounced on the balls of his feet, ready for a fight, a bull defending his territory. At the sight of Sam's face, he rocked back on his heels, gaping.
"Winchester."
"Hi." Sam's voice remained smooth and calm; the tone he used to persuade hysterical trauma survivors to cough up important details. "We're just here to do a bit of research for the Mayor. We don't plan to interfere in your investigation in any way. Please, let us know if we get in your way. We're working on a project to better track how people wind up in the path of dangerous animals. Hopefully, our research will reduce attacks like this in the future. Tell hikers and swimmers areas and times to day to avoid, provide safety tips, that kind of thing."
"Research." Mann paused, deflated. "Oh. That's not what I…"
"Did the Mayor give you an official statement on our purpose here?"
"Well, no."
"Gotta be careful about new that comes through the rumor mill." Dean moved past the Sheriff, patting him on the shoulder. Sam sidled past him, keeping his eyes down. Dean put out his arm to stop him walking into the man waiting in the hallway, Mayor Moore. Sam jumped back, startled.
"May-I mean Mr-Brian. Uh, hello again."
"Hello, Sam." Brain had his thumbs hooked through his belt, a curious expression on his face, as if he was really seeing Sam for the first time. "I heard the Sheirff was on his way. I thought I might need to rescue you. It seems you've handled it yourself."
Sam just shrugged.
Now it was Dean's turn to rock back on his heels. It was true. Twelve years ago, Sam would never have walked calmly away. He would have dug into the argument just because Sheriff Mann was being annoying. But today, he'd handled Mann as smoothly as any upset witness.
"We'll work on interviews next," Sam said. "But it would help to get this seaweed analyzed, see what part of the lake it grows in."
The mayor took the sample bag and nodded. "I'll see that it gets done and send you the report."
"Thank you, sir."
Sir. Sam had only called on other man 'sir' in his entire life.
Family. They were here because of family, yet Sam and Brian could only seem to talk business. They stood there for a moment in awkward silence, then Sam moved toward the door.
This hurts to watch. It was worse than being constipated, holding all that emotion in. Sooner or later, it would explode, a messy soup of words from Sam, dumped on his brother at the worst possible moment. Unless Dean could find a way to get these two to clear the air first.
000 Lakeport 000
Irony.
That seemed to be the word for everything that happened today. First, the Lakeview Motel. Then, running into Jenna and her daughter-Jessica-at the karate dojo. And now, they were at the Holiday Inn. A professional writer couldn't come up with a more ironic series of events. Especially this room. Closest to the fire escape. Best view of incoming traffic but worst angle of fire from surrounding buildings. It was second nature to pick the safest, most defensible room at any motel. Strickler had stayed here, twelve years ago, plotting to kill Sam. He would have had the same training, the same priorities for room choice.
"Hey, you think this is the room that guy was in?" Dean circled the room, marking the weakest and most defensible positions, setting out weapons in handy places. "I mean, it would make sense."
"Yeah." Sam stared out the window at the pool, the clear blue water reflective of the sky above. My thoughts exactly.
He knew there were no ghosts here. Jessica was gone, completely. Time had moved on, people had changed. Yet it still felt as if the entire town was haunting him, taunting him, with the past that he had left behind and the future that could have been.
He swallowed against a sudden lump in his throat. His stomach ached, even though they had eaten not long ago. This feeling had nothing to do with food. It was the empty space, the missing feeling he had thought he left behind long ago. Funny, how it could come back all at once, just as strong as the first time, when he'd stared at the burned-out apartment and later Jessica's grave.
Gone.
He'd tucked the idea of Lakeport and everything it represented away in his mind, as if it, too, had burned in the fire. He had seen the Moores after the funeral, but had never thought about them continuing their lives after. After Jessica died, that life ceased to exist.
Except that it was still here. He had chosen to be a hunter. He wasn't going to leave the life. But he missed this.
"Earth to Sammy!"
Sam blinked and turned to face his brother. Dean glowered, eyes attempting to bore through his skull. "Are you with me?"
"Yeah." Sam nodded. If he said anything else, Dean would threaten to pack them up and call in a different team.
Dean frowned, unconvinced. "Look, Sam, if we need to call another hunter in on this one, we can. I can't have you distracted out there. When we find this thing, I need you focused."
"I know how to hunt, Dean." It didn't matter how old he got, how capable he proved himself to be. In moments like this, Dean always went into protector-mode. It had been comforting, when Sam was small. These days, it could also be extremely annoying.
"You've got a lot of history here, Sam. You know what kind of trouble that can lead to. If you've got stuff you need to work out-"
Sam sighed and looked out the window again. "I need to do this one, Dean. I can't walk away and leave it to another hunter."
"Alright." Sam could tell by Dean's tone that he was backing off. For now. "Here."
A wad of fabric slapped Sam in the face. He caught it, and held up a pair of swim trunks covered in tropical flowers. "What the-?"
"They have a pool, Sam. When was the last time we stayed in a hotel with a pool?" Dean had his own pair of trunks and was already headed toward the bathroom to change. "We can't do anything more tonight. Might as well have fun."
Sam felt himself smiling. The hole in his chest felt smaller. When was the last time he had gone swimming? Actual swimming for fun, and not diving in after a drowning person to save them?
Twelve years ago, with his buddies at Stanford.
000 Lakeport 000
Sandy knew as soon as Brian walked in the door that he was bracing for a fight. His mouth was set in a line, and he refused to meet her eyes at first. Sandy waited in the living room, arms crossed. Brian paused when he saw her.
"Is everything alright?" he asked.
Drat. She had wanted to see if he would initiate the conversation, before he realized she was onto him. Well, if she played dumb, that would make her the liar here, wouldn't it?
"No. Is there something we need to talk about?"
Brian winced. "How did you know?"
"First tell me whatever is you're getting ready to tell me."
Brian nodded and gestured to the couch. They both settled comfortably. Sandy fixed her husband with an expectant look.
"You remember Sam Winchester?"
How is that even a question? "Yes."
"He's in town. I saw him today."
"Yes."
Brian squirmed, unnerved by her lack of surprise. "I hired him and his brother to investigate the deaths that have been occurring around the lake."
Sandy gaped. "Sam? Sam is your private investigator?"
Brian nodded. "Yes."
No! This was all wrong. "Why? He was going to be a lawyer."
"He went back to his family, and the family business."
Her stomach wrenched. The family business, where he had learned how to spot snipers, how to take a knife from an opponent in a fight. How to kill without flinching. She had never learned exactly what the 'family business' was. Sandy's eyes narrowed. Somehow, Brian had. Liar! "How long have you known?"
Brian didn't flinch from the heat in her voice. "Since he worked for me over the summer."
"Why didn't you tell me?" Sometimes, a lie had a reason. Sometimes.
"It's not a pleasant story, and he wanted it kept private. It was his information to share, not mine."
Sandy sighed. That was a good reason. But it didn't stop her asking, "So, what is the family business? Investigating grisly murders?"
"Particularly strange and bloody cases, yes. Cases that the police can't solve through normal means."
"Normal means," Sandy repeated. "Brian, did you hire a pair of private investigators to go around breaking the law for you?"
Brian blinked, as if he truly hadn't considered it in that way before. "Well, I-" he stammered. "As Mayor, I'm entitled to hire private investigators to resolve city matters."
"Yes, but the only things a private investigator would do for you that the Sheriff can't would involve illegal activity."
"It's not so much illegal as it is pursuing theories the Sheriff refuses to consider." Brian shifted uncomfortably. "I didn't ask much about their methods."
"You remember what his father was like. He was wanted by the FBI, and the ATF." What had caused Brian's logic to short-circuit? Sandy's stomach churned. "What do you think is happening, Brian? What do you think is killing those people?"
"Hopefully, we'll know soon."
Brian's lips pressed together, tighter than a steel trap. That was all the answer she would get tonight.
Sandy closed here eyes and shivered. It was all too much. Death surrounded her. The memory of her daughter's death. The deaths at the lake. The deaths that could happen in the future. Brian wrapped an arm around her.
"We will be alright. Sam is…Sam has grown up a lot. He and his brother know what they are doing. This will all be over soon."
Sam. Sandy frowned. "Where is he staying? He's in town, and you didn't invite him to dinner?"
"I didn't know if you would want to."
Sandy glared at her husband, and he smiled. "I'll invite him next time I see him. Alright? How did you find out, anyway?"
"Jenna saw him at the park. She said she barely recognized him. He's gotten bigger, apparently. I don't see how that's possible." Sam had been tall enough before, and ate more than she had seen any one person eat before. I need to go shopping. With his brother in tow, she probably didn't have enough food in the house to sate them.
"Ah, but it's true. He's huge." Brian paused, thoughtful. "It's more than that, though. He's grown up. I don't know where he's been or what he's been doing, but he's changed."
The lights flickered. Brian frowned up at the ceiling. "We just had the wiring checked last month. What could be the problem now?" Some days, it felt like the house was just in a bad mood. No matter what they tried, some things just wouldn't work right.
"I'll call the electric company in the morning. Come on." Sandy reached for her purse. "We need to get groceries, and I'm not carrying all those bags by myself."
Brian raised his eyebrows, but didn't complain, just followed her out the door.
NOTE: Dinner at the Moores, coming soon! Please Review. I love hearing your thoughts.