Chapter VII - Poltergeist

"I don't like this," Dad admitted, after ringing the doorbell.

Ever since the incident in St. Louis, I have been forced to mostly stay away from the dangers of the family business. Research stuff is okay, but he's been trying to keep me away from the actual battle with the nasties.

Missouri agreed to come with us to check out the house, on one condition.

That I am there with her.

"Your daughter, here, handled herself a shifter—"

"Barely," Uncle Dean muttered.

"—just a few weeks ago. I don't think a preliminary search of the house is going to kill her. Just think of this as a…learning opportunity." Missouri snorted. "Lord knows this one needs to get away from that game she's been playing instead of her schoolwork."

Just when I started liking her, she rats me out.

Thankfully, Dad was going to have to wait to hark on me about how important school is blah-blah-blah, because Jenny opened the door. She was holding her son, Ritchie, both of whom look like they were scared nearly to death.

"Sam…Dean," she said, slightly breathless. "What are you doing here?"

"Hey, Jenny," Dad said, "this is our friend, Missouri, and my daughter, Liz."

I didn't know what to do or what to say, so I just smiled sweetly at her (at least, I hope it was sweetly). Although, Missouri seemed to do the same.

"If it isn't too much trouble," Uncle Dean said, "we'd like to show them the house…for ole time's sake."

Something wavered in Jenny's demeanor. "You know, this is not a good time." She turned to close the door, "I'm kinda busy."

"Listen, Jenny, it's kind of impo-ow!"

Missouri slapped Uncle Dean upside the head, cutting him off mid-sentence.

"Give the poor girl a break! Can't you see that she's upset?" Well, she just might be redeeming herself if she keeps up how she is picking on Uncle Dean. To Jenny, Missouri added, "Boy means well, he's just not the sharpest tool in the shed. But hear me out."

"About what?" Jenny asked, obviously confused by Missouri's words.

"About the house."

"What are you talking about?"

"I think you know what I'm talking about." In a more serious tone, Missouri continued. "You think there is something in this house. Something that wants to hurt your family. Am I mistaken?"

Jenny looked like she was either on the verge of tears and a laughing fit. "Who are you?"

"We're people who can help—who can stop this thing. But, you are going to have to trust us, just a little."

Reluctantly, Jenny allowed us inside. Missouri took the lead as she began heading through the house. She made her way around the living room and kitchen and headed up the stairs. "If there's a dark energy around here," she said, walking into one of the bedrooms, "this room should be the center of it."

"Why?" Dad asked.

"This used to be your nursery, Sam," Missouri explained. "This is where it all happened."

My head automatically looked up towards the ceiling, as if expecting to see Mom or Grandma up there burning to death. Of course, the only thing that greeted me was the stark white ceiling.

It seemed too surreal, being here. In a way, I'm glad that Missouri insisted that I came along. In another, I kind of wished Dad would have won that battle and that I would be safe in the car right now. I'd even do my schoolwork.

The others immediately went to work. Uncle Dean pulled out his EMF while Missouri did her psychic thing. She walked around a bit, but stopped mid-step when she noticed Uncle Dean. "That an EMF?"

"Yeah."

Missouri rolled her eyes. "Amateur."

Uncle Dean glared at her, looking like he was about to say something. However, he just clapped his mouth shut and focused on the EMF.

I stuck close to Dad. I had a bad feeling about this—this being confirmed by the EMF suddenly going haywire.

"I don't know if you boys should be disappointed or relieved, but this isn't the thing that took your mom."

"Are you sure?" I asked.

Missouri nodded.

"How do you know?" Dad demanded, sounding pretty annoyed.

"It isn't the same energy I felt the last time I was here. It's something different…"

"What is it?" Uncle Dean asked.

Missouri ignored his question as she walked across the room and opened the closet door. She walked into the closet, studying every nook and cranny.

"Not it—them. There is more than one spirit in this place."

"What are they doing here?" Uncle Dean asked, not missing a beat.

"They are here because of what happened to your family," she said, walking out of the closet. She stopped in front of the three of us. "You see, all those years ago, real evil came to you. It walked this house. That kind of evil leaves wounds. And, sometimes, wounds get infected."

Wait, how did you go from talking about evil SOBs to infectious wounds? Did I miss something here?

"I don't understand," I said.

"This place," Missouri explained, "is a magnet for paranormal energy." She quickly turned to look behind, as if whatever is haunting this place will suddenly pop-out behind her. "It has attracted a poltergeist." She shook her head. "A nasty one and it won't rest until Jenny and her babies are dead."

"You said there was more than one spirit," Dad quickly added.

"There is," Missouri cried, walking back into the closet. "I just can't quite make out the second one."

Silence filled the room as Missouri continued to walk around. I looked between Dad and Uncle Dean, trying to get some sense of what was going on, but they both remained impassive.

"Well," Uncle Dean said, finally breaking the silence, "one thing's for damn sure. Nobody's dying in this house ever again." He took a steadying breath before continuing. "How do we stop it?"

-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-

"What is all this stuff, anyway?" Uncle Dean inquired, pointing to the pile of "stuff" in the middle of the table. There really wasn't another word to describe it. Just…stuff.

"Angelica root, crossroads dirt, and a few other odds and ends," Missouri explained, continuing to bustle about to get more items.

"What are we supposed to do with it?" Uncle Dean asked.

"We are going to put it inside the walls in the north, south, east and west corners on each floor of the house."

Uncle Dean snorted. "Holes in the drywall. Jenny's gonna love that."

Missouri gave Uncle Dean yet another glare, the umpteenth simply today. "She'll live," was Missouri's only comment on that.

"And this will destroy the spirits?" Dad asked.

"It should," Missouri said. "It should purify the house completely. We'll each take a floor, but we need to work fast. Once the spirits realize what we're up to, things are gonna get bad."

-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-

And boy did they get bad.

Once night had fallen, Missouri ushered Jenny and her two kids out of the house, giving them sweet words of comfort that we'll have everything handled.

"Okay," Missouri said, "Sam, you take the upstairs. Dean, the ground floor. That'll leave me and Liz to the basement."

I figured Dad would object since he doesn't like the fact that I am here at all. Ever since the run-in with the shape shifter, he has been cutting me out of all things danger related. I still have to do the research and the training and all that boring crap, but there was no way in hell I was going near any sort of monster. I don't know what Missouri said to get Dad to allow me to come, but she must have threatened him with a wooden spoon, much like she had Uncle Dean.

But, his instincts must have told him that I would be safer with a psychic that had a broader sense for the supernatural than he did because I found myself going down towards the basement with Missouri.

"Be careful," Missouri warned, as we slowly descended the stairs. "Your daddy will have my head on a platter if a hair on your pretty little head is harmed."

I snorted. That actually wasn't too far from the truth.

The smell of dust and mold grew strong, making my allergies go haywire. My vision began to cloud because of the tears and it took a lot of willpower not to sneeze.

Once Missouri found the best location for the purification bag, she walked towards it with me right on her heels.

"Why don't you go find a place to put this on that wall," she whispered. She handed a bag off to me before adding, "And try not to sneeze. It would help."

I nodded. I took the bag and headed over towards the wall she pointed to. Thanks to a lack of compass and generally sense of direction, I had no clue if this wall was north, south, east or west. To me, it was just a wall.

With difficulty, I found a crack in the wall just big enough for me to stuff the bag into it. By the time I was done, Missouri had place two of them and was working on the third.

I slowly walked over to her, my head going haywire thanks to my allergies. Maybe I should invest in some over-the-counter stuff after this is all done.

Missouri bent down and placed the last bag. As she stood up, something caught her eye.

"Please, don't—" but her words were cut off by a sneeze that I couldn't hold back.

We were pinned to the wall by an old trunk. Missouri and I were trapped between the cement wall and the trunk, no doubt by the poltergeist's work.

"Dammit," I swore, fighting my way out of the trunk, but it was no dice. The poltergeist's invisible force kept me and Missouri in place.

The trunk seemed to be pushing harder towards us. Soon it was difficult to breathe and it felt like my ribs were about to break.

"Relax," Missouri said, through gritted teeth. "I have a feeling Sam and Dean are almost finished with their floors."

God I hope so. I blanked out for a second. I don't think I can hold on much longer.

As if someone cut a cord, the force on the trunk slackened. Missouri and I went tumbling to the floor, gasping for air.

"It's gone?" I asked, once I had my breathing in order.

"Yes, it should be," Missouri said.

I wasn't so sure, but I didn't voice my opinion. We slowly made our way to the ground floor. Each step was like fire to my ribs. I don't think any of them are broken, but one or two might be cracked, but I wasn't sure.

Once we made it to the ground floor, everything was a mess. The table in the kitchen was upturned and there were knives protruding from it and random bits of debris were strewn everywhere. It looked like one of those pictures of a house after a natural disaster hit.

And, technically, there was one here.

Dad and Uncle Dean were leaned against the counters, both looking utterly exhausted. Dad had a bright red line along his neck like something tried to choke him. But, for all intents and purposes, he looked fine.

"It's over," Missouri said, leaning against the table.

As if her word wasn't good enough, Dad and Uncle Dean did a once over. There were no more flying objects. There were no more crazy flickering lights or scratching at the walls. Other than the mess and holey walls, no one would suspect that something freaky went down here.

"Are you sure it is over?" Dad asked, after Uncle Dean knocked over some glass.

"I'm sure," Missouri said, probably double-checking her "sixth sense." "Why do you ask?"

That is, in all honesty, a stupid question. Of course he would ask if everything was okay. He was, after all, a trained hunter. I even had doubts that this thing wasn't completely gone.

"Never mind," Dad whispered, obviously disliking the question. "It's nothing, I guess."

I wasn't so sure.

The lights flashed on in the hallway. A hesitant, "Hello," greeted us as Jenny and her two kids walked in. "We're home."

I bit my lip. Once she sees the mess in the kitchen and in the other rooms, she'll probably be hysterical.

At least, I would be if two men, a teenage girl and a psychic tell me that they are going to fix my house and, in reality, it is a total pigsty.

She looked at the food protruding from the fridge and the knives in the table. "What happened?" she asked, breathless.

Well, this was awkward.

"Hi—sorry—um…" Dad said, obviously trying to come up with something. "We'll pay for all of this." Uncle Dean gave Dad a "what-the-hell-did-you-just-say" face that would be, during any other given situation, priceless.

"Don't you worry," Missouri chimed in. "Dean's gonna clean up this mess."

You know all is right with the world when Dean is, yet again, in the blunt end of Missouri's never-ending quips.

When Uncle Dean didn't move, Missouri turned to him. "What are you waiting for, boy?" Uncle Dean looked like he was a deer caught in headlights. "Get the mop. AND DON'T CUSS AT ME!"

I didn't hear him say anything, so it must have been part of his internal monologue. He gave one more look to Missouri before turning and getting to work.

-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-

After we dropped Missouri off back at her place, I was happy to settle for another smelly cot in some nameless motel. However, it seemed that Dad had other plans.

As always.

"Go back," he ordered Uncle Dean.

"Why?" Uncle Dean asked, staying on course to the nearest motel.

"Because, I have this…feeling."

"You always have a feeling," Uncle Dean said.

"Dad," I said, shifting closer to the front of the seat, "you heard Missouri. She said that the place passed inspection. What more of a reassurance could you want?" Yeah, I had this inkling feeling that something isn't right, but sleep sounds a lot better than staying up all night watching nothing happen.

"Hey, watch your attitude," Dad barked. "And I can't shake this feeling."

"This should be over." Uncle Dean said.

"I just want to make sure."

But, in the end, Dad won. Uncle Dean turned back towards the house. We sat there in complete silence as we watched the house for any signs of paranormal activity.

"To think I could be in a bed right now," I muttered, leaning against the cool glass. It was almost inviting—a comforting voice that said, "Yes, Liz, fall asleep. You know you want to…"

But I felt the panic tear through me. I immediately sat up, any lingering signs of sleep gone. I looked at Uncle Dean and Dad, waiting for orders. But none immediately came.

Where had that feeling coming from? Dad and Uncle Dean were oddly calm, despite whatever was making my senses go haywire.

At least, I didn't know until Dad looked up at the house.

"DEAN!"

The two of them were flying out of the car so fast, I could barely keep up. I barely understood why we were running into the house.

"Grab the kids, I'll get Jenny," Dean ordered as we set off into the house, any lingering signs of sleep gone.

We pushed our way inside and raced up the stairs.

"Get Ritchie, Liz," Dad ordered as the three of us went our separate ways to save the family.

Ritchie's room was farthest from the stairs, but I understood why Dad made me get him. He was focused on getting Sairie, who was in his old room.

With the poltergeist, of course.

I pushed the door open to Ritchie's room. He stood up in his crib, crying his little eyes out. I immediately grabbed him, whispering sweet words to get him to calm down.

I ran down the stairs with Dad hot on my heels with Sairie.

Once we got to the bottom, Dad stopped suddenly. I turned just in time for him to hand me Sairie.

"Liz, take them," he ordered.

I was about to question why when something jerked at his ankles and dragged him towards the kitchen.

It was hard to tell who screamed: me or Sairie.

After realization settled in, I put them both down. "Sairie, take your brother outside and don't look back!" I ordered. There was no way in hell that I was going to let Dad take on this thing without back-up.

As if some invisible fist grabbed me, I was thrown into the kitchen and crashed into the counter. I rolled onto the ground with a groan.

I struggled to stand, not completely ready for another wave of attack. I heard a crash behind me and I turned to see Dad crash into the spice rack above the oven.

"DAD!" I shouted again, limping towards him. I attempted to help him stand up, but another force sent him flying into the door while I was sent soaring through the window.

I rolled onto the dewy grass. My face and hands were cut up, but the rest of me was protected by my jeans and jacket. I knew for a fact that at least two of my ribs were broken and I twisted my ankle pretty badly. Of course, the worst thing was probably all the blood that was clouding my vision from a forehead wound.

The last thing I wanted to do was get up, especially with my head injury. But, my Winchester stubbornness prevailed and I found myself standing up like a fawn during its first steps.

Somehow, I wobbled back to the window I just crashed through. I shimmied my way past the broken shards of glass and fell into a heap on the floor. I groan passed my lips when I landed on my leg awkwardly.

A fiery being rounded the corner. It was heading towards Dad, who was still pinned to the door. "Sam! Liz!" I heard Uncle Dean call as he made his way towards the kitchen.

Uncle Dean turned towards the fiery being and pointed a gun right at it. I struggled to stand up, to stop him. I had a theory on what the fiery being was, and it sure wasn't a poltergeist.

"No! No! Don't!" Dad warned.

"What?" Uncle Dean shouted, gun still pointed at the fiery being.

"Because I know who it is," Dad admitted. "I can see her now."

In the wake of the fire was a beautiful blonde woman, whom I have only seen in old photos of Dad's.

Uncle Dean slowly lowered the gun when he realized who it was, a look of disbelief written on his face.

"Mom…"

She beamed at him. I gave up on my struggle to stand, not wanting to ruin this perfect mother/son-and-son moment by, well, being the confused granddaughter.

She slowly walked towards him.

"Dean…"

It was hard to understand the onslaught of emotions that I felt, only to realize that they might not be entirely my own. There was confusion, hurt, sadness and, most importantly, happiness.

Grandma walked passed Uncle Dean and stopped in front of Dad.

"Sam…"

Dad struggled against his tears and his silent sobbing. There was hardly any happiness, just sadness and…relief?—relief to finally meet his mom—relief that there is help—relief that maybe not all hope is lost in the world.

I didn't understand it.

But I felt tears well up in my eyes just the same.

"I'm sorry…"

"For what?" Dad struggled to ask her.

She never answered him. She just turned away from the two of them, looking at the ceiling the entire time.

"You get out of my house," she commanded. She was yelling or didn't even sound angry. I have a feeling that she was one of those people that if they give an order, you couldn't help but obey. "And let go of my son."

She suddenly burst into flames, making me cringe from piercing brightness. Her flame intensified as it shot up into the ceiling and disappeared almost as quickly as she appeared.

Dad settled onto the ground, breathing heavily. We all looked up at the ceiling. I slowly got to my feet, with help from the windowsill.

I looked around, grasping what just went down. The emotions just stopped completely. I couldn't even identify my own—if I could comprehend anything in that moment.

I hobbled over towards Dad and Uncle Dean. They both looked at me with concern before Dad pulled me closer to him in a too-tight bear hug.

"Now it's over," Dad said, barely above a whisper.

-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-

The day was oddly calm after a strenuous night—physically and emotionally. There were, of course, no discussions on what went down, only a silent agreement to get Missouri to double-check the house after failing the first prognosis.

"Well, there are no spirits in there—this time for sure," Missouri announced, sitting next to me and Dad on the porch steps.

"Not even my mom?" Dad asked, his face unreadable.

She shook her head. "No."

"What happened?" he asked.

"Your mom's spirit and the poltergeists energy canceled each other out," Missouri answered, solemn. "Your mom destroyed herself going after the thing."

"Why would she do something like that?" Dad asked.

Really, was he really that blind?

"To protect us," I said, not even sure that was the right answer in Missouri's mind. It probably was. "She loved us, which is why she sacrificed herself so we could get out of there alive."

Dad was taken aback. "When did you become so philosophical?"

I shrugged. "It's what either one of us would have done."

Dad pulled me into a hug. "I know."

I felt like I just de-aged about seven years. I felt like the five-year-old who was reluctant to go to kindergarten because Dad couldn't be there with me. In the moment, I wasn't a teenager who grew up too fast in such a short time. I was Liz—Sam's baby girl.

Tears began to pool my eyes. I wasn't a crier, unless it was because of sappy movies that only a soulless person wouldn't cry during. These tears, however, were my sadness and my joy.

"Sam, Liz, I'm sorry."

I completely forgot Missouri was there. I was lost in this chick-flick father-daughter moment. It's a good thing Uncle Dean wasn't around since he would probably be calling us sissies and asking whether we wanted cream or sugar in our tea.

"For what?" Dad asked.

"You both sensed it was here, didn't you—even when I couldn't?"

Well, the moment was over—plagued by the mystery that is me and Dad's freaky psychic thing.

"What do you mean we both sensed it?" Dad asked. "I thought I was the only freak."

"You aren't a freak, Sam," Missouri said, bluntly. "But I have a feeling that Liz felt it to, but was just ignoring the warning signs."

"Is this true, Liz?" Dad asked.

For having a love of the stage, I hate being the center of attention—especially negative attention.

"I might have felt something," I admitted. "I guess I just didn't understand it."

Not a total lie.

But even if Dad believed it, there was still Missouri since she could spot a lie over a mile away.

"What's wrong with us?" Dad asked.

Missouri hesitated in answering. "I know I should have all the answers..." She shook her head. "I dunno."

"Sam, Liz, you ready?" Uncle Dean called, as if on cue. It was a curse and a blessing at the same time.

Wordlessly, Dad and I stood up. Missouri, however, stopped me halfway up.

"If you don't mind, I'd like to talk with Liz for a second."

Dad nodded and headed towards the Impala.

I sat back down next to Missouri, confused as to what she could possibly say to me.

"You need to tell them," she said.

"Tell them what?" I asked, faking innocence. I knew there was no point, but it was easier to act innocent then to admit being guilty.

"You know perfectly what," Missouri said, giving me her famous stink-eye. "You are worried about what happened with the shifter when you entered your daddy's head on accident and how you keep having the same nightmare over and over again. And just last night when you felt the poltergeist's presence and, even when your daddy admitted to feeling it, you didn't say anything. Why? What do you possibly have to gain from keeping all this a secret?"

I didn't have an answer for her. I didn't have an answer for myself, to tell the honest truth. I might avoid thinking about it at all costs, but it is still there. It's looming over me and, no matter how hard I try, it doesn't go away.

"I don't know," I finally croaked. Earlier, I felt younger. Now, I feel older than Dad. "I just don't know how to explain it to them without it sounding so…screwed up."

Missouri sighed. "Listen, Liz, and listen good. I was about your age when my psychic powers started to settle in. Now, the psychic gene tends to skip a generation, so it went from my Grammy to me, skipping my daddy. Every now and then, Grammy would ask me if there was something different going on with me. For a few years, I answered honestly: no. It wasn't until I was about your age when my psychic abilities began to settle in."

"I began to be able to read people's thoughts and sense other energies, and it is a lot for a teenage girl to handle, mind you. Of course, the next time Grammy asked me that, I said 'no', because I was afraid that, even in her eyes, I would be labeled a freak."

"But, that makes no sense," I said. "Your Grammy was a psychic and you're a psychic, so that wouldn't make you a freak."

Missouri smiled down at me. She remained silent for a while. At least, until I realized what she was getting at.

"You're saying it would be better for me to tell Dad because he is going through the same thing and he can help."

"You're a smart kid, Liz," Missouri said. "Just don't let that smarts get you into too much trouble." Uncle Dean honked the horn to get our attention. He was obviously growing impatient. "And tell that boy that patience is a virtue and maybe he should get some."

"I will."

"Also," Missouri said, handing me a white card—her business card, "call me anytime—day or night—if you ever need someone to talk to. I know that living on the road with two quote-unquote men is hard on a teenage girl, but you can call me whether it is about your abilities or whether the boy at the coffee house has a crush on you."

I laughed. "Thanks Missouri," I said. I tried to walk away, but it seems that she wasn't going to let me leave without a hug.

"Things will get better, Liz," Missouri said. "Now that I can promise."

I smiled and nodded. "Thank you."

For such a short distance, it certainly felt like miles before I made it back to the infamous metallicar. I climbed into my usual spot in the back and sat down.

"Now you don't be strangers," Missouri called.

"We won't," Uncle Dean said somberly.

"See you around."

Uncle Dean started the car and we wordlessly began heading down the street. I looked back at Missouri until I could no longer see her.

"What did she want to talk to you about?" Dad asked.

I sighed, trying to formulate the right answer. I know that I should follow Missouri's advice and tell him everything that happened, but I didn't know how to. How did I even explain my odd power to enter people's mind unwillingly. I didn't even know the full extent of it, since it only happened once and the other person he was dealing with when he thought it was me was a shifter.

"She just wanted to let me know that everything will be okay," I said—again, not a total lie. "And she told me to keep Uncle Dean in line."

He snorted. "Yeah, like that'll ever happen."

"You know, Liz," Dad said. "You can tell us anything." He turned around in his seat to face me. "I know Dean and I aren't quite up-to-date on what you are going through."

"Nor do we want to," Uncle Dean commented, which got him a slap in the arm by Dad.

"What Uncle Dean was trying say was that we are here for you. I don't know what is up with us, but we just need to be honest with each other about this. It's going to be the only way we are going to get some answers."

Again, between Missouri's heavy words and Dad's devotion to figure this shit out, I considered telling him. But I just…couldn't.

"Don't worry Dad," I said. "I will."