NEXT
Sam awoke first.
He'd barely slept, staying up late with Dean, and then worrying for hours afterward. He was terribly anxious to meet this Gary person. He felt desperately certain he was the key to finally getting their hands on the book, and the girl who was using it so cruelly. But it was only six thirty; neither Dean nor Bobby were required to be conscious yet. He looked with sadness at his sleeping brother. At least he wouldn't have such a bad hangover after his nausea. -sleep in, Cecille- he thought bitterly, -give him a break for a while-
He figured it was safe enough to go down to the hotel coffee-shop. Dean was probably going to keep snoring for at least another hour. He sat down with a paper, waiting on his breakfast order. To his surprise, Bobby joined him.
"You're up early." Sam said.
Bobby put in his order and the waitress left to prepare them. "And you look like you never slept at all." .
Sam rubbed his gritty eyes. "Not much. She got him again, Bobby; around two this morning. He was pretty plastered, he may not even remember it. But I tell you, I'll never forget. His walls were down this time, thanks to the booze. I got a pretty clear idea of what this is doing to him."
Bobby frowned. "Damn. Poor bastard. I sure as hell hope this Dallaire guy pans out. I'm running out of ideas here."
Sam toyed with his cup, turning it slowly in circles. "Bobby...after it was over, he was pretty worn out, and upset. I mean, I know he was still pretty loaded, but he said...he said that he couldn't do this anymore... Bobby, it's scaring the shit out of me. Whatever she's doing, it's tearing him down so fast!"
Bobby looked up at him. He sighed with tension, wishing he could reassure this anxious young man now. But the truth of it was that those quiet words of defeat from the lion that was Dean Winchester screamed volumes. He rubbed his grizzled chin. "Yeah...this is working on him damned hard. I don't know what she managed to get from the others to empower the dolls, but she got more than enough from Dean. Especially his blood...that's a powerful link. But it doesn't make any difference now, Sam. We'll work as hard as we can to put an end to this, and we'll both watch him like hawks. Even if his state of mind tanks, he won't have a chance to do anything drastic, not with us right there. And we still have the advantage of knowing what we're dealing with here, and what to expect. Nobody else had that. But I tell you, Sam; I swear; I dragged Dean into this mess, and as sure as there's a god and a devil, I will haul him back out safe!"
Sam nodded wearily. He knew that Bobby meant what he said. They could always count on him. He just didn't know if it was enough now.
They quickly ate their breakfast in silence. Sam finished first. "I left him sleeping soundly, but I don't want to stay away much longer. I have his gun and knife with me, and if he finds out I took them away, I'm a dead man myself." He got up and ordered some food to go for Dean. "I'll keep calling the boyfriend. But whether I get through or not, let's head out there first thing. I'll call you when Dean's ready to go."
"Ok, I'll be in my room. And Sam...we'll get her."
Sam nodded. "Yeah…I know. Just hope he keeps believing that."
Sam carefully replaced Dean's weapons. He then arranged the take-out breakfast on the night table. The scent of coffee brought Dean to the living world, albeit reluctantly. Sam handed him the cup, along with a handful of aspirin. "How's your memory?" he asked.
"Ugh. I remember bourbon…a lotta bourbon. And, -aw crap, did I hug you?"
"A few times. Just wait 'til you see the blackmail shots."
Dean groaned and lay back down. Sam plied him with the breakfast order but he didn't feel quite up to that yet. He settled for the coffee. "Did you get through to that boyfriend guy?"
Sam shook his head, punching the number yet again. As before, there was no answer. "We'll just head out there and knock on his door, as soon as you're ready to go."
Dean groaned. "Alright, just give me fifteen minutes." He reluctantly hauled his achy self into the bathroom and went about the humanizing process.
The drive wasn't long. Sam tried several times to engage Dean in conversation but was consistently rebuffed. He finally gave up and they drove in silence. Gary Dallaire's subdivision came into view, and Sam negotiated the maze and they pulled into the driveway matching the address. He got out and said a silent prayer that this foray would be the one that led them to the book. He was at the door, knocking several times before Dean joined him.
"He's not home. Let's just go." Dean said, slouching against the bricks.
"Since when do you give up so easily?" Sam crouched, opened the letter slot and called through it. "Gary? Coroner's office, can we talk to you?"
There was still no response, but a slight odour, like stale kitchen garbage, wafted through.
Bobby drove in behind the Impala and parked. He joined them, asking, "Any luck?"
"No, he's not answering. Bobby, stick your nose in there-" Sam held the flap of the slot open again.
Bobby drew back in disgust, alarm crossing his features. "Boys, I think we'd better get in there!" He motioned to Dean, who pulled out his little kit and promptly picked the lock open.
The house hadn't been cleaned for a while. Several days of dust sat on the furniture, and there was mold forming on the few dishes still half-submerged in cold, scummy water. They exchanged glances, and Dean drew his gun, keeping it at the ready.
"Hello? Gary-? We just want to talk to you." Sam called. The only sound was the lazy buzzing of flies.
They passed from room to room with no luck. "I'm gonna check the garage." Dean said, leaving the other two to their own searches. He found the access at the end of the hall. He opened the door, switched on the light, and immediately recoiled in revulsion. "Aw Christ! Sam, Bobby! I found him!"
Gary Dallaire was there all right. He was suspended, ashen-faced, from a yellow nylon cord tied to the garage door track. He'd been there for some time; several days at least, if the smell and flies had anything to tell.
"No way..." Sam muttered in dismay. Bobby stared silently for a dismal moment and then headed back into the house.
Their one hope, their only solid lead, had hung himself.
When they had moved past shock, they went about the grim task of cutting him down and laying his body out on the garage floor.
"Poor bastard." Sam murmured.
Dean was silent. He bent down and retrieved the envelope protruding from the corpse's shirt pocket. He opened it and scanned the letter. He handed it to Sam, who read it with a sinking heart.
"So she was doing it to him too, and he couldn't deal with it. Said he missed his girlfriend too; that was Alison. Looks like he'd given up on getting any help." Sam informed Bobby, who'd rejoined them.
Bobby's mouth was a grim line. He cast an anxious, knowing look at Sam, who matched it with his own.
"Well." Dean said, dully, "Guess that's it then. Not gonna find her through him." He turned away and headed back out to the car.
Sam ran a trembling hand through his hair, feeling on the verge of tears or violence. "F~ck!"
Bobby was busy going through the house, searching for anything that could possibly be useful. An experienced detective, he searched through every drawer until he found one with a few photo albums and loose snapshots. He didn't know how long Gary and Cecille were together, but if it were for any significant amount of time, there surely would be some pictures with her, or the two of them.
"I'm gonna check on Dean." Sam said. Bobby nodded and flipped through the books.
Dean sat, staring blankly. He would never say it, but he had given up. The discovery of Gary, dead by his own hand, affected him deeply. Not only was their one link severed, but here was proof again that it was hopeless. He began to think that his own death from this thing was inevitable. Sam would have been terrified to learn that it didn't frighten Dean anymore...he was beginning to welcome the idea.
"You ok?" Sam asked.
Dean looked up at him, deciding to hide his loss of faith in everything for the moment. "Yeah, Sam...just tired. Disappointed. Same as you…" He even smiled slightly.
"Dean, I know that this is a lousy turn, but we'll just find another angle."
"Sure, Sam…I know."
"You better." Sam gave his shoulder a rough and reassuring pat and returned to help Bobby.
Sam could see that he'd collected some items. He took the armload of material from him. "Anything good here?"
"Maybe. Photos, letters...We can go through it at the hotel. Sam, we better get the hell out of here. We need to call somebody about the boyfriend out there, and I don't want to be caught in the middle, as I'm sure you don't. How's he taking this?"
Sam sighed. "I don't know, Bobby...he's doing the stiff upper lip thing. If I push, he'll just get mad. I guess he had as much hope riding on this as we did."
"Mmm. Well, let's go. I wanna go through this stuff."
They had already returned the letter to Gary's pocket. They wiped away any prints, closed the door carefully behind them and set out in the direction home. Bobby reported, anonymously, the discovery of Gary Dallaire's remains. Sam thought again of Alison Dupree's family. They were going to have to attend another funeral. He fervently hoped it would be the last one for a while.
Back at the hotel, Sam put Dean to the task of going through the photos with Bobby. He declined at first, claiming weariness, but Sam insisted. He knew he needed something to steer his mind from the blackness that ruled his current mood. In the meantime, Sam went about weeding out the Daumiers that were of no use. He called as many as he could, asking for a Cecille, and he stroked off the ones he felt were honestly denying any knowledge of her. There were one or two that he felt had hesitated, or sounded strange, and he highlighted those addresses.
Bobby and Dean had separated out several photos that showed her. The elder hunter's hunch had paid off; Dean had confirmed that Cecille was pictured in a number of shots. Most were random, nondescript settings or bar interiors-some of the Blackbird. But there were three that Bobby set aside.
"Have a look—tell me what you think." he said, handing them to Sam.
He studied them carefully. "Looks like the same place in the background…all three. Those are old live-oaks. They used to plant them in avenues in front of those big antebellum houses." Sam mused.
Dean looked closely. "Yeah, there's some huge and crappy old house back there, in that one-and a corner of it in that one there." he said, pointing to the photos. Bobby took their word for it, his eyesight wasn't nearly as reliable. The third photo showed a similar scene; the house wasn't in it but an unkempt and expansive lawn was in the background and the oaks were just visible in the corner. Three pictures; all of the same place. It was enough of a thread to be significant.
At that point, Dean begged off, he needed a nap after the nights exertions, whether he remembered them or not.
"We'll come back with you." Sam said.
Dean glared at him with annoyance. "What the hell for? I said I wanted to nap, not have a freaking pyjama party!"
"Don't be so testy! There's something wrong with the plug in my room," Bobby lied. "We're gonna need the computer, and the battery's dying-"
Dean made a sour face at his old friend. "Look, I don't need a babysitter!" he growled. "I'm just gonna lie down, and unless I brain myself on the blankets somehow, I'm pretty sure it's safe without you two hovering over me!" He didn't wait for them to answer, he shut the door roughly behind him.
"Should we go after him?" Bobby asked with a grimace.
"Not unless you have a deathwish. When he's grouchy like this, he's at least got some fight. I'm not too worried right now, and he does need to rest. C'mon, let's keep going through this stuff and then head over there. I'll check on him in a little while if this takes too long."
They continued their discussion over the material they'd gathered. In the end, the only thing that seemed significant were those three tantalizing shots.
"Well, it's not in the city; too much space around it, even for the garden district. It has to be in the outskirts." Bobby thought.
"Yeah, a lot of lawn there. You know...if I look at these Daumier addresses on Google-Earth, assuming they're in an area that has good satellite coverage, I might be able to see which ones look like they have that kind of space and trees."
Bobby looked at him like he'd just spoken to him in Swedish. "You can see that kind of detail from space?"
"Oh yeah. Some places so closely that you can make out the model of car in the driveway. Welcome to the era of Big Brother, Bobby. Nobody has secrets anymore." Except hunters…he thought.
"Well now that's something I gotta see!"
Sam obliged and began searching the addresses. One after another; clear views of the locations popped up on the screen. Bobby was truly amazed. But one by one, they discounted them. Too urban, too small, too new….until finally—one seemed to fit the parameters.
"Wait! Look there-" Bobby said. "Can you zoom in on that one at all?"
Sam tried, and sure enough, a blurry view of a large roof and double row of gnarled and broken trees showed on the screen.
"That's it, that's the place in the pictures!" Bobby nearly shouted.
Sam nodded, excited himself. At last, after the agony and disappointment of the past days, they had it. Cecille Daumier's place of residence.