Chapter 7 - Phantom Traveller Part 1
Dean and I had been getting really close lately. Not that we hadn't been close for a longtime, but now we were getting physically close. I looked over to the other side of the bed where he lay on his back. He looked so vulnerable when we slept except for the one hand under his pillow which I knew held the knife he kept under there. I sat up and went to climb out of bed when I felt his arm slide around me and pull me back down.
"Where are you going?" he muttered, eyes still closed.
I laughed lightly. "I was going to take a walk."
He pulled me down beside him and buried his face in my hair. "Stay here." He said starting to drift back to sleep.
More sleep couldn't hurt, besides the way he was holding onto me right now felt so good. I don't know what had come over him lately, but if I didn't know Dean I would've thought he was falling for me. I listened to his breathing even out and it calmed me as I started to drift off to sleep myself when suddenly the hotel room door was quietly opened. I felt Dean's body tense as Sam stepped into view and slammed the door shut.
"I'm not interrupting anything am I?" He asked with a laugh as he set a tray of coffee's down on the table next to my bed.
"Sam Winchester, I love you." I said sitting up and grabbing one of the steaming cups.
"What time is it?" Dean grumbled finally opening his eyes before slowly sitting up.
"It's about 5:45." Sam said taking a seat on the bed opposite them and grabbing a coffee himself.
"In the morning?" Dean asked shocked.
I laughed and handed Dean a coffee. He graciously took it and took a long drink of it. "You get any sleep last night?" He asked Sam.
"Yeah, I grabbed a couple hours,." Sam answered avoiding Deans eyes.
"Liar," said Dean as he looked at Sam. "'Cause I was up at three, and you were watching' the George Foreman infomercial."
"Hey, what can I say? It's riveting TV." Sam answered pulling out a bag of donuts and throwing them on the table next to the empty coffe tray.
"When was the last time you got a good night's sleep?" I asked as the warm coffee slid down my throat.
"I don't know. A little while, I guess. It's not a big deal."
"Yeah it is," said Dean.
"Look I appreciate your concern-"Sam started.
"Oh, I'm not concerned about you. It's your job to keep my ass alive." Dean said sternly. I leaned into him and let my eyes close for a second, Sam had been having nightmares and barely got any sleep lately.
"Are you still having dreams about Jess?" I asked opening my eyes again.
"Yeah. But it's not just her. It's everything. I just forgot, you know? This job, man, it gets to you."
"Well, you can't let it. You can't bring it home like that," said Dean.
"So, what? All this, it never keeps you up at night?" Sam asked angrily and Dean shook his head. "Never? You're never afraid?"
"No, not really." Dean answered easily. I looked at him and arched an eyebrow before reaching under his pillow and pulling out the knife he kept there every night. Dean glanced at her and grabbed it back. "That's not fear, that's precaution."
"Whatever." Sam and I both said in union when Dean's cell started going off.
"Hello?" Dean answered the phone and talked to someone for a couple of minutes while Sam and bree drank their coffees in silence.
"Who was that?" I asked as he snapped his phone shut.
"Jerry Panowski; we helped him a couple years back."
I thought for a moment. "Right, the poltergeist thing back in Pennsylvania?" I asked.
"That's the one." Dean answered getting out of the bed and throwing his clothes into his duffel. "He asked us to head up there."
It took us a couple of hours to get to the warehouse Jerry had asked Dean to meet him at. "Thanks for making' the trip so quick. I ought to be doing you guys a favor, not the other way around." Jerry said as he led us into the warehouse. "They really helped me out a couple of years back." Jerry told Sam as they walked.
"Yeah, he told me. It was a poltergeist?" Sam remarked.
"Damn right, it was a poltergeist, practically tore our house apart. I'll tell you somethin', if it wasn't for the two of you and your dad, I probably wouldn't be alive." Jerry told Bree and Dean as they walked. Jerry turned around and faced Sam. "Your dad said you were off at college. Is that right?"
"Yeah, I was. I'm…takin' some time off."
"Well, he was real proud of you. I could tell. He talked about you all the time." Jerry told Sam.
"He did?" Sam asked surprised.
"Yeah, you bet he did. Oh, hey, you know, I tried to get a hold of him, but I couldn't. How's he doing, anyway?"
"He's, um…he's wrapped up in a job right now." Dean said tensely.
"I've got somethin' I want you guys to hear." Jerry said shwoing them into his office.
Jerry walked to his desk and pulled a c.d out of one of the drawers and inserted it into a c.d player on top of his desk. "I listened to this. Well, it sounded like it was up your alley. Normally, I wouldn't have access to this. It's the cockpit voice recorder for United Britannia Flight 2485. It was one of ours."
Jerry hit play and and a loud hissing started from the player before a demonic voice took over and the c.d stopped. The three of us exchanged glances. "Took off from here, crashed about two hundred miles south. Now, they're saying mechanical failure. The cabin depressurized somehow. Nobody knows why. Over a hundred people on board, only seven got out alive. The pilot was one. His name is Chuck Lambert. He's a good friend of mine. Chuck is, uh….well, he's pretty broken up about it like it was his fault."
"You don't think it was?" asked Sam.
"No I don't."
"Jerry, we're gonna need passenger manifests, a list of survivors." I told him lightly.
" Right. And any way we can take a look at the wreckage?" asked Dean.
"The other stuff is no problem, but the wreckage; the NTSB has it locked down in an evidence warehouse. No way have I got that kind of clearance." Jerry told them.
"No problem." Dean smiled.
Sam and I stood outside by the Impala waiting for Dean to come outside with the fake i.d's.
"Got them." He called walking towards us.
"You've been in there forever." I pointed out.
Dean handed us each a card, "Can't rush perfection sweetheart."
"Homeland Security? That's pretty illegal, even for us." Sam interrupted.
"Yeah, well, it's somethin' new, you know? People haven't seen it a thousand times." Dean said as we all got into the car. "All right, so, what do you got?"
"Well, there's definitely EVP on the cockpit voice recorder." I said.
"Yeah, really? Couldn't have figured that." Dean said sarcastically causing me to shoot him a dirty look through the rear view mirror.
"Listen." Sam said playing the audio on his laptop. Static and broken words flooded the car until finally a screeching voice called out 'no survivors.'
"No survivors? What's that supposed to mean? There were seven survivors." Dean pointed out.
"Maybe there wasn't supposed to be any." I added.
"So, what are you thinkin'? A haunted flight?" Dean asked.
"There's a long history of spirits and death omens on planes and ships, like phantom travelers." I answered. "Or, remember Flight 401?"
"Right—the one that crashed, then the airline salvaged some of its parts, put it in other planes, then the spirit of the pilot and co-pilot haunted those flights."
"Right. So what survivor you want to talk to first?" Sam asked.
"Third on the list—Max Jaffey." I said.
"Why him?" Dean asked.
"Well, for one, he's from around here. And two, if anyone saw anything weird, he did." I answered.
"What makes you say that?" Dean asked confused.
"Well, Sam spoke to his mother, and she told us where to find him."
We drove up to Riverfront Psychiatric Hospital to talk to Max.
He walked up to our table and sat down uneasily. "I don't understand. I already spoke with Homeland Security."
"Right. Some new information has come up. So if you could just answer a couple questions…" Dean told him calmly.
"Just before the plane went down, did you notice anything unusual?" I asked.
"Like what?" he asked.
"Strange lights, weird noises, maybe….voices?" Dean added.
Max looked at Dean like he was the crazy one here. "No, nothing."
"You checked yourself in here, right? Can I ask why?" Sam asked.
"I was a little stressed. I survived a plane crash." He said sounding irritated with all of our questions.
"And that's what terrified you? That's what you were afraid of?"
"I was delusional—seeing things."
"It's okay. Then just tell us what you thought you saw, please." Sam asked lightly, giving him a look no one could refuse.
Max hesitated for a moment before talking, "There was….this….man. And, uh, he had these black eyes. He opened the emergency exit. But that's….that's impossible, right? I mean, I looked it up. There's somethin' like two tons of pressure on that door." He said nervously.
"And what did this guy look like?" Dean asked.
Max looked confused. "Like any other normal guy. He sat in the seat behind me."
"Here we are—George Phelps, seat 20C." I said looking at the house in front of us.
"Man, I don't care how strong you are. Even yoked up on PCP or somethin', no way you can open up an emergency door during a flight." Dean remarked.
"Not if you're human. But maybe this guy, George, was somethin' else—a creature maybe, in human form?" I tried.
"That look like a creature's lair to you?" Dean asked gesturing to the house in front of us.
"Maybe it looks more threatening at night?"
Dean rolled his eyes. "Who knew blue roof tiles and white picket fences could be so threatening."
I rolled my eyes at Deans sarcasm and followed the boys up pathway to a small white house; we were greeted at the door by George's wife who showed us into the living room.
"This is your late husband?" Sam asked picking up a photo and studying it.
"Yes, that was my George," said Mrs. Phelps holding back tears.
"And you said he was a…dentist?" asked Dean
"Mhmm... He was headed to a convention in Denver. Do you know that he was petrified to fly? For him to go like that…" Mrs. Phelps started to cry; Sam grabbed a couple of tissues and handed them to her before going on.
"How long were you married?" asked Sam gently.
"Thirteen years."
"In all that time, did you ever notice anything strange about him, anything out of the ordinary?" I asked.
Mrs. Phelps pulled the tissue away from her face and stared at us. "Well…uh, he had acid reflux, if that's what you mean."
Once we were done with our questioning Mrs. Phelps showed us to the door. As we walked to the Impala Sam was the first to talk, "I mean, it goes without saying. It just doesn't make any sense."
"Yeah, a middle-aged dentist with an ulcer is not exactly evil personified. You know, what we need to do is get inside that NTSB warehouse, check out the wreckage," added Dean.
"Okay. But if we're gonna go that route, we better look the part," I said.
"What?" asked Dean stopping at the car door.
I smiled, amused, "In other words we have to play dress up."
We went over to a local shop and I waited for the boys to come out; finally they made an exit dressed in suits.
"Man, I look like one of the Blues Brothers," Dean complained tugging at his sleeve.
"No, you don't. You look more like a seventh grader at his first dance," Sam laughed straightening his tie.
"I thin you guys look pretty good." I complimented leaning against the Impala.
Dave stopped dead in his tracks when he saw me and I thought his eyes were gonna roll out of his head. "Wow," He murmured coming over to me and leaning in. "I must say, dress up isn't always bad."
I smiled and glanced at my reflection in the window of the Impala; he was right I did look pretty sexy. I had taken the chance to dress in a black skirt that hit above my eyes and a plain white shirt unbuttoned so that my chest looked nice. My long blond hair which usually fell straight was in waves that, given the right skirt, gave me the naughty school girl effect.
We made our way to the warehouse and got in with ease with the fake i.d's Dean had gotton us. I walked around examining the wreckage while Dean walked to the other side of the warehouse. I looked over and watched him walk through the warehouse, "God, he makes that suit work." I muttered to myself walking quickly to catch up to him.
"What is that?" Sam asked joining us.
Dean looked at me and rolled his eyes before looking at Sam, "It's an EMF meter, reads electromagnetic frequencies."
Sam smirked, "Yeah, I know what an EMF meter is, but why does that one look like a busted-up Walkman?"
Dean smiled and looked down proudly at the EMF meter, "'Cause that's what I made it out of. It's homemade."
"Yeah, I can see that."Sam said with a smirk.
"At least Dean can do something useful with his hands." I said with a laugh.
"Oh, you ain't seen nothing yet." He answered with a wink in my direction.
I couldn't help but smile, I really did want to see what he could do with his hands. We had one night to show that he was good at what he did, but would another be so bad?
Suddenly the EMF meter started to go off, I turned around where Dean was standing at the emergency door staring at it. "Check out the emergency door handle." I said motioning at it.
Dean touched it and made a face. "What is that?"
"One way to find out," Sam said using his knife to scrape some of it into a bag. "Alright now lets get out of here." Sam said standing up and placing the bad into his jacket pocket.
Dean and I both agreed and followed Sam to the exit. As soon as we opened the door the alarm started going off and we broke into a run.
