Mask of Sanity, Chap. 7
xxxx
All things considered, Luke thought he was being pretty calm.
"They're what?!" he hissed at his wife.
"They're watching BSG in the family room," Jo said again, voice pitched low. "Honey…"
"Two federal agents are sitting in the den, watching television with Sam and Dean," Luke said. "I told those boys…," he gritted.
"It's not their fault," Jo whispered vehemently. "It's my fault. I'm the one who invited them over. It was almost midnight, Luke. We had no idea they'd show up at that time of night. Dean came to the door because…" she faltered slightly, then finished, "because he was worried."
Luke sat heavily at the table. This was so not what he needed. Just when he'd thought things couldn't get any more difficult…
"I think everything's OK," Jo said uncertainly. She sat at another of the chairs, pulling it closer to him. "They don't…. I don't think they recognize them." She put a hand on his arm, smoothing the fingers of the other through the short hair at his temple.
Luke closed his eyes. "Josie…"
"Let me get you something to eat, OK?" she cajoled. "Just eat something. And then… And then we'll figure it out."
"Yeah," he capitulated, resting his head in his hands. OK."
Jo stood, kissing him quickly. Eyes still shut, Luke listened to her open the cabinet, pulling out a plate before she opened the refrigerator. He rubbed a hand exhaustedly over his face. It had been a long few days, and he'd missed this. Missed sitting in his kitchen, missed the sounds of his wife fixing dinner and his kids – he could just hear the television – in the other room.
So he deliberately put aside the thought of who else was out in the den and let himself sit, took a deep breath, felt himself settle.
"Here, sweetheart," Jo said, setting food in front of him.
Somewhat groggily, Luke raised his head, the smell of reheated lasagna filling his nostrils. "This smells great," he said roughly. Cleared his throat. "Thanks."
Jo sat again in the chair beside him, quiet while he ate.
It didn't take him long to clear his plate. He sighed as he got to his feet, taking his dish to the sink. He rinsed it off and stuck it in the dishwasher before turning and leaning back against the counter. Jo stayed where she was, turning in her chair to face him.
He shook his head. "This is so screwed up, Josie. You know that, right?" He could feel the burn of howdoIfixthishowdoIfixthis begin to churn in his belly. "I don't know what to do," he said helplessly. And he didn't. He couldn't figure out….
"I…"
"Jo?" It was Agent Prentiss, sticking her head into the kitchen with a slightly self-conscious smile. "Hi, Sheriff," she greeted Luke before turning to Jo again. "The show's over, and we just wanted to say 'thank you' for your hospitality." Over the woman's shoulder Luke saw Dr. Reid raise his hand in agreement. "We'll let you get to bed," Agent Prentiss laughed ruefully. "But thank you. Really. For letting us impose."
Jo smiled as she rose. "No imposition at all," she said. And this was one of the things Luke loved most about her. For all the fear and uncertainty the agents' presence had engendered, Jo still didn't consider them anything but welcome. "We were glad to have you."
"You're very kind," Agent Prentiss said. She looked at Luke. "I kind of feel like we've been caught slacking," she told him wryly. "I could have sworn you were right behind us on our way out."
"I was," he said. "But we got a call from San Antonio about a possible I.D. on Amelia, and I wanted to stay to see if…," he broke off. "It was a body. It wasn't her." He looked at Jo quickly, saw the mix of fear and relief he himself had felt at the news.
"Well," Emily started, then moved to the side, resting a quick hand on Jake's shoulder as the boy tried to ease past her. "Sorry," she said, shifting completely into the room as Dean and Sam followed after Jake, glasses in hand, cautious expressions on their faces as they glanced at Luke.
Luke did his best not to frown his unhappiness with the situation at them
Jake crossed to Luke, leaning against the counter next to him, not drawing away when Luke put an arm around his shoulders. "No news, kiddo," he said quietly.
Jake nodded, eyes on his feet. "K," he said. He stood for a second, pressing slightly into Luke's embrace. Then he pushed off. "Night." He left the room without meeting anyone's gaze.
When he was gone, Dr. Reid asked, tone mostly curious, "Did he know the girl?"
Past tense. Luke's throat closed around it.
"Most of the kids around here know each other on some level," Jo answered for him. "They weren't, aren't, close, but they have good friends in common."
"I'm sorry," Reid said.
"Yeah," Luke said.
There was a moment of silence.
"How's your youngest doing?" Agent Prentiss asked with a sympathetic look to Jo.
His wife cleared her throat. "He's coping. It's just… hard. For him. For all of us, I guess."
"He's a strong kid, Jo," Dean said quietly. "He'll be OK."
Luke noticed Dr. Reid watching Dean, a slight frown on the younger man's face. Calculating, almost. When Sam stepped closer to Jo, Reid's eyes shifted, narrowing in consideration when Jo rubbed a hand over Sam's shoulder, acknowledging his presence and Sam's attempt to comfort.
"Well." Luke straightened abruptly, dislodging Reid's attention from Sam. "It's late. Y'all are probably tired." He said it with a smile so fake it almost hurt. He suddenly couldn't get the FBI out of his house fast enough. Away from his family.
Prentiss startled. "Oh, you're right. I'm s-…."
"I'll walk you out," Luke said, stepping between the Winchesters and the two agents.
Looking a little taken aback, Prentiss still followed the gesture Luke made for her to precede him out of the kitchen. She gathered up Reid as she went.
"Thank you, again," she called over her shoulder to Jo. But she didn't slow.
When they got to the front door, Luke opened it for them.
"I'll see you in the morning," he said.
"Good night," they both returned.
He closed the door behind them and slid the deadbolt home with an audible click.
xxxx
"Wow," Emily said when the porch light switched off as they reached the bottom of the steps. "I guess the sheriff was really ready for bed." She was a little surprised by the sting of hurt she was feeling at their sudden dismissal. She'd thought they'd managed to build a pretty cordial relationship with the man over the last couple of days. And the evening with his family, late as it had been, had been a nice break.
"He's just tired," Reid said vaguely. "It's been a lot for them." He didn't look at her, lost in some thought he wasn't sharing. Probably distracted by what had happened in that last BSG episode.
"I know," she said with a sigh. "It's just…"
Prentiss knew better; she did. She knew from long experience that the BAU was not there to make friends. They generally entered people's lives in the most horrific of circumstances. Local law enforcement, families of the victims, the victims themselves were stretched taut, grief and anger and confusion rarely making for people who were easy to be around. She knew that. The team knew that. It was one of the reasons, she thought, their group was so close. At the end of any day on a case, they only had each other.
She shook her head at herself, deliberately putting the strange funk she'd fallen into to the side. They had a job to do and her hurt feelings were beside the point.
xxxx
"Mornin'." The sheriff approached their table just as the team was finishing breakfast.
Emily thought he was giving her an apologetic look.
"Good morning," she said as she slid out the booth with everyone else.
"Y'all headed into town?" he asked.
"We are," said Hotch, signing the check and neatly folding the receipt into his billfold.
"Would Agent Prentiss and Dr. Reid like to ride in with me?" he asked.
The two agents exchanged looks, and Emily raised an eyebrow, looking at Hotch for permission.
Hotch's own eyebrow arched slightly. "That's fine with me, if it's OK with them."
Spencer shrugged.
"That would be fine," Emily agreed. "Let me grab my stuff."
They hadn't gotten very far when the sheriff said into the awkward quiet, "I, uh, owe you both an apology for the way I hustled y'all out of the house last night. Jo pretty much chewed my head off for being rude." He grimaced, but Emily could tell he was in agreement with his wife. "I'm sorry about that." He looked first at Emily in the seat next to him, then caught Reid's eyes in the rearview mirror.
"Don't worry about it," Emily said. "It was late."
"Yeah," Reid said. "No problem."
"Thanks."
The silence was a little more comfortable now.
"So, Jo said they really enjoyed watching Battlestar with y'all. She said she thought maybe Sam had found himself a kindred spirit in Dr. Reid." He glanced in the rearview again at Spencer. "A bosom friend, even," he said with a smirk that was meant, Emily thought, just for himself.
Emily felt her mouth fall open and turned in time to catch the discomfited look on Spencer's face.
She gave the sheriff an incredulous look. It was the way he'd hit "bosom" that had given him away. "Did you just make an Anne of Green Gables reference?" she asked in amazement.
The, frankly, adorable flush that pinked the man's cheeks told the truth as he slid a glance at her. He hesitated. "Maybe," he muttered.
Emily couldn't help the bark of laughter that escaped. "Sheriff," she said seriously. "You have just risen considerably in my estimation."
Now he grinned at her unabashedly. "Chicks dig guys who watch Anne of Green Gables," he said, giving her a roguish wink.
She grinned back at him. "You got that right," she agreed.
"Wait. What?" Reid had scooted up from where he'd been slouching slightly in his seat.
"It's true," Luke told the younger man sagely. "And it's actually pretty good," he admitted.
"I can't believe you've actually seen it." She couldn't really. She was going to have to adjust her image of small-town Texas sheriffs.
"Me, either, honestly," he said ruefully. "But it's one of Jo's favorites, so we watch it every once in a while."
"Your boys, too?" she asked, surprised.
"Well, Jo started them on it before they knew shows with girls as the main character weren't appropriately masculine for their viewing pleasure."
"And you?" she inquired. "What made you watch it?"
"Me?" He smiled, looked at her and away. "I was in love."
Again, Emily couldn't help herself. "Aw," she cooed.
"Shut up," he groused with a slanting grin.
"But why do girls like guys that watch Anne of Green Gables?" Spencer asked insistently. He had insinuated himself slightly into the space between the two front seats.
Emily laughed, grinning over at her colleague. She opened her mouth to respond, but had a thought that changed what she was going to say. "What about Sam and Dean? Have they seen it?"
Luke gave her a considering look that almost made her blush. But he just shook his head. "Nah. We know those boys would die for Jo, but we haven't been willing to test the limits of their affection by suggesting they watch Anne of Green Gables." He paused. "Yet."
Emily laughed.
"No, really." Spencer again. "Why…?"
Emily's phone ringing cut Spencer off.
"Prentiss." She closed her eyes. "Yeah. No. I'll tell them." She hung up.
She took a second to rub a hand over her eyes. When she opened them, both men were looking at her.
"They found Amelia."
xxxx
The body had been left not too far off the side of the road a couple of miles from where Kathleen Gonzalez's body had been dumped. The county mowing crew had found her.
Both FBI Suburbans were there when Luke pulled up. Prentiss and Reid were out of the Bronco before it had stopped rolling. Luke followed more slowly.
By the time he reached the huddle of agents around the body, Luke had convinced himself he was prepared for what he was going to see. He'd seen Kathleen Gonzalez's body, studied the pictures of other victims. And this certainly wasn't the first time in his years on the job that he'd encountered violent death or even the death of children he knew. He could do this.
Turned out he was wrong.
He couldn't stop the strangled sound that escaped at the tableau in front of him.
Amelia's naked body was splayed spread-eagle on the hard-baked earth, slashed across the abdomen and throat. Her mouth had been taped over, but under the metallic sheen of duct tape it was clear that her mouth was open in a scream. Her eyes were open, as well, face frozen in a rictus of the agony and terror she'd died in. There was a crude 8 marked on her forehead.
Luke bent over, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. None of the agents said a word or moved.
"I'm sorry," he rasped. "Just…"
He felt a light touch on his shoulder. "Take your time," Emily said softly. Then the hand lifted and in his peripheral vision, Luke saw the team start to move around the scene.
Clenching his teeth against the bile that was threatening to rise, Luke breathed deeply through his nose. He gave himself until his stomach settled, blinking through the burn in his eyes, felt wetness slide across the bridge of his nose, watched it drip onto the grass he was staring at. He straightened.
His step forward was taken as an indication that he was back on the job. Four sets of eyes watched him, some with concern, others with a sharper assessment of his ability to participate in the investigation.
Reid was the one to address him, and the younger man did it carefully. "We need… we need you to help us with the connection to Kathleen Gonzalez," he said, surprisingly gentle. "We have the pictures of the way the body was laid out, but you actually saw her."
Luke nodded, wiping absently at the dampness on his cheeks.
"I know this is difficult," Agent Hotchner said. "But if you could help us look for similarities or inconsistencies, we'd appreciate it."
"I'll do what I can."
It was an unspeakable hour. Luke managed periods of detachment, minutes long stretches where he could focus on the case, where he didn't see the tortured body on the ground in front of him as the beautiful, vibrant little girl he'd watched grow up around town.
But he could never maintain it. And in those moments, the agents around him gave him space to collect himself before redirecting, asking another question that would, they hoped, help them find the monster that had done this.
"Preliminarily, I'd say she died last night sometime." Rob Jones had arrived not long before. He was grimfaced and pale, as shaken as Luke by the cruelty evident in Amelia's death. "I can be more precise once I've done the autopsy."
Agent Hotchner nodded. He looked at a couple of the crime scene guys. "I think we're ready to move her."
Luke watched as the two men moved up, shaking out a body bag, laying it on the ground next to Amelia. But, when they reached for her, Luke took a step forward.
"I'll do that," he said tightly, cleared his throat around the ache, but couldn't go on. It didn't seem right; that she would touched again by people who would just see her as a body, who didn't know her, who hadn't…. He looked down at Amelia. She wasn't here anymore. He knew that. But after the desecration she'd suffered at the hands of a stranger, it seemed suddenly vital to Luke that even this shell that was left should be cared for by someone who had known her.
When his head came up, the two techs had stopped and turned to Agent Hotchner for guidance. The man gave Luke an expressionless look before glancing back at the dead girl. The softening of his face was subtle, but unmistakable, and when his eyes met Luke's, they were surprisingly compassionate.
"Of course." He looked now at Rob, who had stepped up next to Luke unnoticed. "We'll be here a while longer, but if you'd like to head back with her…." He held out a hand to Luke. "You've been a big help. Thank you."
Without speaking, Luke and Rob carefully loaded Amelia Santos into the morgue vehicle. Rob slammed the tailgate shut.
"You headed to the Santoses'?" he asked softly.
Closing his eyes, Luke nodded. "Yeah."
"I'll see if I can get her… if I can find a way to… to let them see her if they want."
"Let me know if you can't. I might be able to convince them…" he trailed off.
They shook hands.
"I'll see you in a bit," Rob said.
"Yeah."
Luke watched Rob drive off and knew he needed to get on the road right behind him. Knew that as soon as Rob was spotted, word would be out. Luke let out a shaky breath before he started up the car and, hands gripping the wheel at ten and two, bumped onto the blacktop.
xxxx
All things considered, Dean thought Luke had been pretty calm when he'd returned to the kitchen after escorting the Feds out of the house. Dean had been braced for what counted as an "explosion" from the preternaturally even-keeled man.
"Can we, please," he'd asked wearily as he'd re-entered the room, "try to avoid contact with the FBI agents tomorrow? See if we can make it a day without putting you boys directly into the path of people who could lock you away for the rest of all our natural lives?" He'd given Dean a surprisingly-mock stern glance. "Maybe?"
"Man, I'm sorry. We didn't…:
But Luke had waved him off. "I know. Jo told me what happened. I just…" He'd shaken his head, sighing. And Dean had seen the exhaustion that was weighing the man down.
Dean had opened his mouth to apologize again, when Luke suddenly smiled ruefully at him.
"Dean, it's not your fault. We're a small town. It's hard to avoid people. And y'all are working the same case the Feds are. I know you're being careful – you'll be careful. I do," he'd said reassuringly. "I'm just going to be really glad when this is over."
They'd all agreed and headed to their respective beds. Dean hadn't been able to stop the smile when he'd heard Jo start to scold Luke for being rude to the FBI as the couple'd started toward the front of the house.
When he and Sam had gotten up in the morning, Luke had already been gone. After a brief discussion, they'd decided that Sam would spend the morning researching and helping Jo out around the diner and hotel, while Dean would see what he could find out about this kid with the Mustang.
Dean pulled slowly into the converted filling station that was now Mac's Motor Repair, eyes narrowing as he spotted the red Mustang parked along the side of the building. The hood was raised and he could see the jean clad backside of someone leaning far over the motor. Carefully, Dean eased up next to the car, sliding the Impala into park. He got out of the car, slamming the door smartly.
The kid turned to look without extracting himself from the car, and Dean just nodded an acknowledgment before he moved past.
"Hey!" Mac Johnson stepped out from behind the counter and held out a hand. "I heard you boys were back in town," he said with a grin.
Dean shook his head, taken aback, as always, not only by how fast word spread in the small town, but that it spread about him.
"Yeah, we figured we were due for a stop," he said. "Thought I might change my girl's oil while we were here. You mind?" Mac never had before, fine with selling him the new oil and charging a small fee for disposal of the old.
"Course not," was the reply. He stepped back behind the counter, pulling what Dean was going to need off the shelf.
"Thanks." Dean dug out his wallet. "That's a pretty sweet little Mustang over on the side. One of yours?"
"Nope." Mac rang up the sale, and Dean handed over the appropriate number of bills. "Kid's driving across country and was having problems with the acceleration; asked if he could use a space to see what was what." The guy shrugged.
Dean shook his head. "You're an easy touch," he said.
Mac grimaced. Then said dryly, "You should know."
Dean threw back his head and laughed. "Yeah, I do. Thanks, man."
When he got back to the Impala, he opened the trunk, gathering his tools. Slamming it closed, he headed to the front of the car, popping the hood on his way. Leaning in, he loosened the oil filler cap before settling in on the ground, getting ready to slide under the car.
"You need something to catch the oil?"
The voice startled Dean and when he twisted around, the kid with the Mustang had emerged from under his hood and was holding out a battered metal pan.
"Shit. Yeah, thanks." He reached out for the offering. "Nice ride," he said, with an appreciative glance at the car next to him.
"Thanks!" The boy flushed with pride. He bit his lip as his eyes scanned the Impala. "She's a '67, right? Man, she's gorgeous."
"Thanks," Dean said, giving her a pat on the rear fender. He raised the pan at the kid. "Thanks for this." And with that he got to work.
When he was finished, Dean started the car, checking for drips. When he didn't see any, he left the car running while he gathered up his stuff, turned her off and took the used oil to the disposal spot Mac had.
He'd kept an eye on the kid as he'd worked, prepared to stop and engage the boy if he'd started to leave, but trusting in the silent camaraderie of working next to a guy on a car you loved to give him an opening. As he approached the car on the way back from the station, Dean was rewarded for his patience.
"How long have you had her?" The kid was wiping his hands on a cloth, ready for a break with someone who would talk engines with him.
Dean leaned against the Impala, crossing he legs at the ankles. "My dad bought her before I was born, but he gave her to me when I turned 18."
"No kidding. That's awesome. Did you work on her the whole time you were growing up?" He breathed, "cool" at Dean's nod.
"How 'bout you? When did you get yours?"
"'bout a year ago. My uncle helped me find her and restore her."
Dean tilted his head toward his own car. "I pretty much rebuilt her not too long ago. What all did you do?"
That got the kid off and running, and Dean shifted his stance, moving forward to follow the kid – Gabe – around the Mustang as he excitedly told Dean every step of the process.
When they got to the interior of the car, Gabe paused. "There was body in the car when they found it," he said.
Dean did a double-take. "What?"
The kid grimaced. "Yeah. Weird, huh? The owner said it had been in an old junk yard. They were cleaning out the property and found this skeleton in the back seat when they uncovered the car."
"Dude, that's creepy." Holy crap.
The kid shrugged a little uneasily. "I think that's why I got her so cheap. The guy probably thought the freaks would come out of the woodwork to buy the car, right? But I guess it didn't happen. Anyway. I mean. It's too bad for the guy that died, but it's not like I believe in ghosts or anything, so…" He trailed off. Embarrassed, Dean thought. Maybe afraid of being thought less of.
"Yeah," Dean said. He paused himself. "But I'm guessing you replaced the seat?" He gave Gabe a quick smile, reaching for the handle of the driver's door and swinging it open.
"Hell, yeah, we did," the kid said with a laugh.
Dean eased into the seat, twisting around to take in the whole car. It all looked new.
Gabe had stepped up to rest one hand on the roof of the car and the other on the door. He bent over slightly. "We pretty much tore out the whole interior. Took longer to find everything, but… I don't know. Me and Uncle Pete just…."
"Makes sense to me." What would that leave for a ghost to latch onto? The frame? Any parts that hadn't been replaced? Dean turned to peer up at the boy. "What did they do with the body?"
The kid gave him a weirded out look. "How the hell would I know?"
"I dunno," Dean shrugged. "Just wondering." He swung his legs out of the car, but stayed seated. "So where'd you pick her up? Or did you luck out at place close to home?"
"Bought her at a place outside Fayetteville, Arkansas. I'm from Missouri, so it was easy enough to drive down."
Huh.
Dean scanned the door jamb next to him. There it was. Dean leaned close running a finger over the data plate. "This the original?" he asked.
"Yeah." Gabe smiled. "We used it to match the trim style and color. She was so rusted we weren't sure exactly what her original color had been."
"The red is sweet," Dean said. He squinted at the VIN. 6R07A100003. Dean took a minute, looking around like he was continuing to appreciate the car as he committed the number to memory.
"Well." Dean pushed himself up and out. "She's a beauty." He patted the roof of the car. "Good luck getting her runnin' again."
The kid grimaced. "Thanks. I think I've about got it."
Dean smiled tightly in return. We'll have to see about that.
xxxx
