Disclaimer: Don't own them, but boy if I did!
A/N: Sorry once again for the delay in posting, RL has been kinda hectic. This is also a shorter chapter than before, makes it easier to work on them if they're not too long :)
OoOoO
Keeping his expression carefully blank, Sam stared as the small pink bubble slowly distended for the fifth time then popped, instantly sucked back into the girl's mouth, who began chewing with a renewed vigour. Suppressing a sigh of impatience, he glanced at his fellow patron, an older man five stools down buried in a newspaper. Other than the two of them and the bored, bubble-popping waitress, the place was starkly empty.
Elbows propped on the counter, Danielle Stevens gave him a sudden sunny smile, gum tucked behind her teeth, fingering a strand of hair that had escaped her blonde bunches. "So what paper did you say you were from?" she said at last.
Sam sighed, placed his notebook and pen next to his sluggish, untouched black coffee. He'd ordered it with cream. "The Sunday Herald," he answered, folding his hands. "We're investigating whether the social degradation of the big cities is beginning to corrupt our smaller towns."
She nodded, disinterested. "So do I get like paid or something?"
"Well, no," he replied, honestly, caught off guard. At her imminent frown, he hastily added, "But you'll get your name in the paper."
Danielle brightened. "And my picture?"
"Sure. Absolutely." He flashed her a stunningly false smile.
"Well, there's not much I didn't tell the cops," she began, then fished her gum out of her mouth, placing it in a napkin. "Amber was ok, you know. Family was kinda poor for around here." She glanced at the other patron, then shrugged, "Her mom was crazy."
"Yeah I heard about that." Shifting on his stool, Sam leaned forward, keeping his voice purposely low. "Did Amber ever mention anyone who might have wanted to hurt her?"
"Not to me. And she was a sweet kid and all. Besides, anyone tried, the guy she was seeing wouldn't have like it. He was real possessive."
Mrs Rubins had said Amber was pregnant at the time of her murder, but no one seemed to know who her mysterious lover was. Trying not to let his eagerness show, Sam picked up his pen, "So she talked about him?"
Danielle snorted and shook her head, disappointing him. "No, she was real closed mouthed about it all, he was old though. Old enough to be her pa. I think half the town was afraid they'd find a diary and it would name one of those hypocritical bunch of perverts."
It wasn't unheard of, poor girl hooks older man as a free meal ticket. Sam could easily understand the town's fear, places like Deighton thrived on their respectability, keeping their dirty laundry firmly hidden behind closed doors. "So this guy, you think she was seeing him for the money?"
"That's what most people say," Danielle replied, "that she was doing him for the size of his wallet. But she never got one red cent out of him. No clothes or jewellery, no fancy restaurants. I'd have taken him for everything he had."
"Was she in love with him?" he asked, ignoring her last comment.
Danielle snorted derisively. "She hated him. Hated what he did to her. Told me as soon as she got enough money she was leaving, as far and fast as she could go."
Brow furrowed in thought, Sam stared at his pad. If Amber hadn't been in it for the money or the romance, it left one other possibility. The man had been coercing her somehow. Blackmail, threats against her and her family. Or maybe making future promises.
"He beat her, once," Danielle said, quietly, and she looked down at her fingernails. "Over some stupid little thing. I tried to get her to report it to the cops but she said she couldn't. Guess he finally went too far. And the cops aren't looking too hard, saying it was someone from out of town that did it." She shrugged, fell silent.
God. Trying hard not to think on what the nineteen year old had gone through before her death, Sam asked as gently as he could, "Did she say why he beat her?"
Danielle didn't reply, instead bent down, began searching under the counter before emerging with a handful of photographs which she silently placed before him. The other patron coughed meaningfully and she moved off to refill his cup.
Shuffling carefully, curiously through pictures of people dancing, partying, Sam recognised Danielle, her cheeks flushed and eyes both glazed and bright by whatever she had drinking. The next was one of a dark haired Amber Collins, the flash on the camera making her smile brighter, her eyes gleaming. Unlike the newspaper picture Sam had seen two days before, she looked happy, vibrant...alive.
"It was just some fun," Danielle was saying as she returned. "A friend's party. But he didn't like it."
"And he beat her for it. Man." Grimacing, Sam tried to get a handle on his anger as he stared at the dead girl's photo. "Did you tell the police this?"
"Like I said, cops are blaming an out of towner. No one cares."
Closing his notebook, Sam placed a couple of bucks on the counter. "I do," he told her, with sincere determination. Then hesitated, picking up the photographs. There was something about the dead girl's smile, something illusive he couldn't quite put his finger on. "Hey, you mind if I keep these?"
"You mean for my picture? Sure go ahead."
"Thanks."
As he strode out into the wind swept parking lot, his cell rang. "Yeah Dean, I'm here." Wedging the phone between his ear and shoulder, he fumbled for the keys to the impala. "I'm on my way now so you can stop climbing the walls."
"Yeah well the ones I'm about to climb are padded," came the acerbic reply. "Seems like Officer Rubins decided to have me committed."
Pocketing the keys, Sam grabbed the phone. "What! Are you serious?"
"Do I sound like I'm joking around here?" Actually Dean sounded kinda desperate and kinda pissed, definitely not kidding around. "Just get your butt down here and bust me loose."
"Look, just...hold on a second." Yanking open the car door, Sam dropped into the driver's seat, rubbing a hand across his forehead as he thought furiously. Breaking his brother out of a hospital room or even a small town police station was one thing, but a psychiatric ward? "Dean, I'm not sure there's anything I can do, security is pretty tight in those places."
"Come on man, you studied law. There's gotta be something."
"Pre-law and this is way out of my league," Sam replied, exasperated. "Look, it's seventy-two hour commitment. Maybe you could just stay out of trouble for the next three days and try to convince them you're not insane. You're good at making stuff up so..."
"Funny." Dean didn't sound amused in the least. "Well let me ask you this little brother. Who do you think convinced Rubins to drop the charges and sign that form instead?"
There was a beat before Sam caught the underlying accusation. "You can't be serious." The silence gave him the all too obvious answer. "No, no way Dean, they wouldn't." Shaking his head, refused to believe their grandparents would try anything so…so malicious.
But then there had been those little glances, the brief, silent exchanges...the dropped charges and Theo's talk in the car about helping Sam 'bear the burden'. Of a possibly homicidal sibling?
His brother must have sensed his uncertainty. "Sam, they tried the same shit with Dad." Dean's voice sounded weary, disgusted now and Sam's hand tightened on the phone.
This was the last thing they needed, especially with Dean's recent injuries, his utter exhaustion. Deighton had meant to be a solution, a way for both brothers to relax, spend some time with family away from the road. Instead it had thrown at them one crisis after another.
He still couldn't believe Theo or Molly were responsible for committing one of their own grandchildren, despite their concern over Dean's lifestyle and Sam's welfare. But he attempted to reassure Dean regardless. "I'll talk to them," he promised. "I'll get this straightened out, I swear."
"Yeah well some time before they bring on the thorazine and five point restraints would be nice," came the dry retort.
"Dean…"
"Yeah, look did you get anything from the diner?"
Sam hesitated at the abrupt change of subject, but let it go. "Maybe, I'm not sure yet. You?"
"Nothing." His brother's voice had dropped, suggesting he wasn't alone while he made the call. "Listen Sam, don't go chasing any leads without me ok?"
"Didn't we have this conversation last night?" Sam demanded wryly, struck by his brother's double standards. "And if you'd listened to me then you wouldn't be calling me from a psychiatric ward's payphone."
"I'm serious, it's not safe," Dean shot back, and there was a tinge of fierce worry that made Sam almost ashamed by his baiting.
Dean had always looked out for him, had always always put his brother's safety before his own. Sam could only imagine how hard it was for him to suddenly be unable to protect his family, locked away while knowing a killer was out there on the loose.
"I won't go it alone," he reassured his brother and he could almost sense Dean's cautious relief. "Once I get you out of that place we'll finish this together, I promise."
There was a moment's pause in which he anticipated a biting comeback, but surprisingly Dean refrained. "Just watch your back." There was another pause, some muffled talking, before his brother returned. "Guess my call to my hotshot lawyer is up," he said, sounding cocky and dauntless, no doubt for the benefit of whoever was nearby.
It was so typically Dean when he felt under scrutiny or threat, throwing up walls of sarcasm and smart-aleck retorts to deflect any attention, preventing any unwelcome incursions into what was really underneath all that swagger. Sam actually felt sorry for whoever ended up on the end of his brother's quick, sly tongue or foul temper.
The call ended before he could reply, before he could extract a promise from Dean to behave and at least try to get himself declared sane, something Sam wasn't sure any half-way decent psychiatrist would actually do. Hunting full-time wasn't a job for those who wanted normal. It was a crazy, insane gig and Sam believed the hunters themselves had to be a little bit crazy to survive the dangers.
Throwing the Chevy into gear, he pulled out of the gravel lot headed purposefully towards town. Amber's killer was still out there and the town ghost needed to be put to rest, but he was determined he wasn't going to do it alone. He'd get Dean out of the hospital and that meant getting some answers.
END OF CHAPTER SEVEN