Sorry for the delay, real life strung me up there for a bit….

The scene where Dean dreams about waking up after the demon battle was originally intended for "In the Pursqueeter," but because of editing or my own forgetfulness, I never got to include it in that one. I thought it would make a nice transition scene here, so I got to use it after all.

I don't own anything Supernatural. Reviews welcomed.

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Chapter 7

"Dean…I know who did it!"

"You do?" Dean slurred, "That's nice, Sammy…."

Sam smiled incredulously, "Dean... Dean?" He touched Dean's shoulder, only to find his brother sound asleep. I guess the pills finally won….

"Is he okay?" Sarah asked.

He shook his head, "Yeah…just doped up. Damn. I can't believe it…."

"Can't believe what?" Sarah replied, "Who do you think did all this?"

"The woman that cut my hair."

Sarah blinked at him for a few moments, but said nothing. Sam recognized the look on her face though.

He smiled, "No. I'm not drugged too. When you guys dropped me off at the salon yesterday, the woman, Eva, was---well, I thought she was making small-talk, but it was strange. She wanted to know why Dean and I were looking into Marie's death. She said that she'd been following it in the newspapers and she said how awful it was that Marie was pushed down the stairs like that."

"So?"

Sam held up the newspaper obituary, "So…the paper doesn't say that she was pushed, it just says that she was found at the bottom of the steps, and it specifically says that the policebelieve that she just fell. The police didn't release their report of possible foul play to the press. Dean got it from his friend!"

Sarah nodded, "So, you think this woman, Eva, is behind the ghosts and Marie's death."

"Marie's murder," Sam corrected sternly, "but I still don't get how this cross is involved…." He trailed off when he saw Sarah shaking her head.

"What?"

She smiled, "It's just…I mean, what are the odds? You stop to get a haircut at a random shop and you walk right into the woman who's behind all of this…."

Sam laughed, "Well, sometimes we have good luck. Now all I need is Eva's last name, and I can check her out."

Sarah looked thoughtful, "Hang on…where's the ledger that the Benoits gave you?" She ruffled through Sam's bag for a moment, before producing the ledger, "yeah, I thought so…here. Eva Devereaux, Room 7."

"Room 7?"

Sarah read the ledger entry, "Yeah. She rented the room on…Friday…right before Marie died."

Sam pursed his lips, "Makes sense. That's where 'Marie' attacked me; probably where Eva stayed while summoning the spirits. And what better place to hide the body…er, zombie, of the woman you killed than at the crime scene? Does it give anything else…like a phone number or address?"

Sarah scanned the entry, "Just a phone number. She paid in cash, so there was no address listed."

"Let me see," Sam motioned for the ledger, and then pulled out his phone and his wallet. He picked up the forged FBI identification he and Dean had chosen before starting this investigation. After getting the number from Dean's notes, he called 'Mandy-with-a-Y' at the police station.

"Hello, my name is Sam Gillespie, with the FBI. You were helping my partner Dean look into the Babineaux murder…"

After an obviously self-conscious pause at Dean's name, 'Mandy-with-a-Y' asked for and he confidently supplied his agent number. He didn't worry much about it. These days, getting confirmation of a government agent's ID, especially two that were supposedly undercover, took a lot longer. Homeland Security added a whole new layer of red tape to the already cumbersome process. It was one of the reasons they had chosen FBI aliases here, instead of the more readily available SBI or state police. Mandy took the number before returning to the conversation. Sam picked up where he left off.

"We were wondering if your investigation included one Eva Devereaux. She was staying in Room 7, across the hall from Ms. Babineaux."

"Let me check. Um…yes, sir. The detective assigned dismissed her as a suspect. She was working late, with about twenty witnesses, Saturday night around the time we think Babineaux was killed. Her alibi is air-tight."

Sam smiled to himself. Yeah…I'll just bet she has plenty of witnesses…don't need to be there when you have ghosts doing your dirty work. He kept his reply as professional sounding as possible, "Hmm. Well, if you don't mind, Dean and I would like to talk to her. She's not answering her phone...and we have two different addresses listed for her. Would you mind checking to see which one is her current residence?"

"Oh…um, just a moment, sir…let me look that up. Yes, Ms. Devereaux is currently living at 113 Magnolia Lane."

Sam smiled, Gotcha. "Thank you very much. You just saved us another trip back to the field office this morning."

"Uh, Agent Gillespie…is Dean going to be returning to the station house anytime soon? Uh…I mean…to follow up on the case?" Mandy asked awkwardly.

Sam barely repressed a laugh at her attempt to be subtle. He marveled at his older brother's magnetism, "Oh, I believe he is going to be over there a few more times before we head back to Washington." Was that a sigh of relief from her end?

He thanked Mandy and ended the call before she could engage in any more conversation…or any more brother worship. He turned to Sarah, who was staring at him, and smiled, "Easy enough." He began clearing the papers off Dean's bed.

"So, what do we do?"

Sam looked up sharply at her, "We don't do anything…. I'll go and check out Eva. If she is behind this, we can put a stop to it right now before anyone else gets hurt. Besides, I need you to stay with Dean."

"Should you go out there by yourself, Sam? I mean…what if you get another headache? And your arms---"

Sam shook his head, "Sarah, I can run this down. Dean's gonna be out for a few more hours at least…and it's too dangerous for you to get involved."

Sarah bristled at that, but Sam cut her off, "Sarah, please. Dean already got hurt on this case. This woman is dangerous, I'm sure of it. And I won't let you get hurt, not after I let De---," he broke off, biting his lip and suddenly unable to maintain eye contact with her; "Please…just stay here, for me, okay?"

Sarah looked upset, but nodded her head. Sam leaned over and kissed her.

"Don't worry. We do this stuff all the time," he said quietly. He stuffed his research down into Dean's duffle bag, and headed for the door. Just as he reached the door, Sarah spoke softly, causing him to turn around.

"Be careful…" she kept her eyes down for a moment, and then glanced up at him with a shrug, "Dean will kill me if I let you get hurt while he's out cold."

Sam laughed softly, "You? Just think what he'll do to me…."

Sam stepped out of the room with a smile on his face. She's starting to sound like Dean….

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Magnolia Lane, Picayune, 6:30 AM

Eva sewed the last strand of the young man's hair into the small doll. She wasn't fond of using these small, stereotypical voodoo weapons, but she wasn't keen on going to prison for murder, either.

She didn't regret killing Marie…the vile woman deserved it for the pain she'd caused the Devereaux family. She wasn't sorry for what she did, and she wasn't sorry for terrorizing those two detectives, or whoever they were, at the bed and breakfast the night before…though if she were to be honest, she hadn't expected them to get so badly injured while inside. The plan had been to scare them off. But the spirits she had summoned in the old hidden slave chamber were powerful when angered, and she'd had to anger them a great deal in the past few days in order to recover her grandfather's property.

Although she watched as the two young men fled the building late the previous night, she sensed that they were more tenacious than to simply leave the mystery of the Babineaux murder behind. Fear of their return had prompted her to create the doll sitting before her now. The young man…was it Sam? Yes that was it, Sam's hair had been meticulously stuffed into the torso of the small human-shaped doll…along with several herbs, roots, and small mystical objects she kept around just for this purpose…and then she used the few remaining strands to sew up the front of the doll.

She opened one of her older tomes, and read aloud the enchantment that would empower the doll. While she hoped she wouldn't need to use it, she knew that she would if she had to. Unlike killing Marie, this was self-defense. She couldn't…no, she wouldn't go to jail for protecting her family legacy from the likes of Marie Babineaux. If it meant harming one of those poor boys who were snooping around, then so be it.

Closing the tome, she retired to her bathroom to prepare for work. Her lack of sleep was going to make for a long day at the salon…and she still had to return to the Benoits' after darkness fell in order to release the spirits and dispose of Marie. Maybe then, when the evidence was gone, she could rest easy.

She placed the small voodoo doll she'd made for Sam in her purse, vowing to herself that when this mess was cleaned up, she would be able to dispose of it as well and put all of this behind her.

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A stop by the hotel had allowed Sam to remove his blood soaked clothes (which he'd found were alarming a few onlookers in the parking lot) and exchange them for clean ones. He had desperately wanted a shower, but his bandaged arms had prevented that, so he settled for using a wash cloth and the room's sink. Feeling marginally refreshed, he had gathered a few things and headed back for the car, two hours later than he had originally intended.

He noted the blood stains in Dean's seat, knowing that he would catch hell for that sooner or later. He hoped, though somewhat doubted, that Dean would understand that his arms simply wouldn't be persuaded to stop bleeding during the frantic drive to the hospital…but at least he hadn't let Sarah drive. That mitigated the situation a little…didn't it? He figured that Dean might let him off easy if he offered to pay for the cleaning. He would have to deal with that later, though. The drive to the address Mandy provided took only ten minutes.

So far as residential streets went, Picayune's Magnolia Lane was about as picturesque as they came. Sam scanned the sides of the street, taking in the quiet setting. Eva's house was the last on the street, situated in a cul-de-sac. Parking the car, Sam got out and scanned the sides of the street. There was no sign of Eva, or anyone else for that matter at this early hour.

He covertly adjusted the position of the 9mm pistol…the one his father had given him and Dean had trained him to use…that was at his waist; it had shifted when he'd risen from the car seat. He hoped he wouldn't have to use it. After all, they didn't hunt people. His only intention was to confront Eva, if she was here, and get to the bottom of this mess. But he wasn't stupid. She was obviously a very dangerous woman, and he wasn't about to go into a situation like this unarmed.

He approached the mid-sized house quietly, senses attuned to his surroundings, just like his father had taught him. The thoughts of his father produced a twinge of regret inside him. He brushed it off, but, not for the first time in the last few months, he wished that his father was here. The irony wasn't lost on him that a mere eighteen months earlier he would never have thought that.

Eighteen months earlier, he had been at Stanford, happily ensconced in a "normal" life, with a law career on the horizon and a beautiful woman at his side…and in his bed. But while he had left his family's life of hunting behind, it had never truly left him. Stanford, for all the experiences he would remember fondly, had ultimately been a pipedream. He knew that now. The demon that had haunted his family since before he could remember had found him. Again. Had he not been with Dean when it came, then there was no telling where he would be now…or what horrible things he might be seeing or even doing. And Jessica would still be dead. It had taken a long time for him to realize that.

He shook off his morbid thoughts and focused on the task at hand. He bounded the steps of the front porch and knocked on the front door, ignoring the throbbing ache that pulsed through his injured arms with every impact of his hand upon the wood.

"Miss Devereaux?" he called. No answer. He knocked again, taking a moment to glance over at the driveway. He had noted the lack of a car when he'd arrived, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. His knocking was again greeted by silence from the house.

He turned and made sure no one was in sight in the nearby residences. Seeing no one, he kneeled before the door and retrieved his lock pick from his pocket. Setting about opening the door, he mused to himself that his telekinesis, whether it be called a gift or a curse, might come in handy right about now. He might have been able to unlock the door without leaving any evidence of the act. Too bad his ability hadn't reared its head yet today. What a useful gift… he thought sourly.

The lock didn't take long to pick. The door clicked and he stepped back to double check that there were no apparent security devices. Pulling out his gun, he opened it and stepped into the house. It was just as quiet inside as it was outside. A quick glance confirmed that there were no alarms protecting the house. At least nothing of human origin.

He kept the gun partially concealed near his leg, and called out again, "Hello?"

With still no answer, Sam moved further into the house. The first floor contained a kitchen, dining room, a half-bath and a large, well-kept living room. He was about to look upstairs, when he noticed the well-used bookshelf sitting against the far wall of the living room. A small desk flanked it, or was it a sewing table? Furniture identification wasn't his specialty.

Moving closer, he began reading some of the titles, noticing with some dread that more than one dealt with the Occult. Several were simple guidebooks, lexicons of local plant-life that held mystical qualities or could be used in magic. One particularly old spine, he unhappily noted, was titled in old French, of which he only recognized one word: zombification. He was glad he couldn't translate the rest.

He shifted his attention to the desk. Spools of thread, a stack of some fabric that resembled burlap, and a collection of small jars lined the edge. The jars held a variety of powders, herbs, and other assorted objects known to be used by voodoo practitioners. Great…a witchdoctor.

He was about to move on when he noticed a thick, black leather book poking out from one of the desk's cubbyholes. He pulled the heavy volume out onto the desk. It had no title. He opened it and flipped through the pages. Some of it was in old English, some in Latin, and some in French. While he couldn't read all of the words, he recognized a spell-book when he saw one. He closed the book and returned it to its place.

Sam headed upstairs, wanting to completely search the house despite already knowing that Eva wasn't there, and having found some proof of what she was. But something was nagging at him…a feeling he couldn't quite place, so he continued his search. The upstairs wasn't a full floor, being significantly smaller in area than the downstairs. There were two bedrooms, one of which he assumed was for guests, and a full bathroom. The guest room was straightforward enough, with no evidence of anything out of the ordinary. It didn't appear to have been used recently.

The master bedroom, presumably Eva's, was similarly devoid of anything incriminating. He would have expected to see more evidence of her activities. He wondered if there was such a thing as a "part-time" witchdoctor. Then again…it is the twenty-first century…everyone needs a day-job….

He was about to leave the room, when he found himself staring at some old photographs hanging by the room's large window. Stepping closer, he took in the details. Several of them were of children, but one was of an octogenarian black man in coveralls, holding a small girl with long flowing hair. The picture had yellowed with age, and Sam guessed it dated from the late seventies or early eighties, judging by the color and quality. He silently thanked his photography professor at Stanford for teaching him well, and let his eyes move over the picture, wondering why he was so fascinated by it.

It took him a moment, but he realized that the man and the little girl weren't the source of his interest in the picture. Behind the man, on a crowded mantle, was a golden cross.

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Wherever he was, it was too damned cold. Dean emerged just enough from the comforting darkness of unconsciousness to reach a hand down and fish for the covers. He found the sheet and pulled it up towards his bare shoulders. The thin fabric didn't help all that much, really, but it did shield him from the draft that had been tormenting him.

He couldn't believe how soft this pillow was…it was heavenly. He idly thought to himself that they would definitely have to stay in this hotel again. The thought went no further than that as he slipped in and out of consciousness. Whenever he slipped out, he kept returning to this dream about the house they'd lived in just before he'd started high school.

He followed a ten-year old Sammy as they sneaked silently past the neighbor's window, preparing to pull "the ultimate prank" on some obnoxious kids who'd been picking on Sam. Dean had already beaten one of them up, he remembered that much…but Sam, in that all too mature for a ten year old way of his, had suggested that rather than bashing the younger two, they should pull a prank. The kids would remember that longer, he'd argued. So, together, on a hot July afternoon, they had hatched a plan that put every other prank they'd ever pulled to shame….

The weird thing was that every time he looked at Sammy, he wasn't ten…he was twenty-two at least. He couldn't see himself…but he had to assume that he wasn't a child either. In between lapses into the memory, he figured out that he was just dreaming. He kept reliving the moment right before the prank, never actually seeing the action. When he felt himself slipping back down into it, he tried to force the dream to keep going, but it wouldn't cooperate.

Without opening his eyes, he rolled over onto his back, grunting softly but not caring…it wasn't loud enough to wake Sammy anyway….

The damned dream was stuck on that moment under Mr. Hoskins' window.

Oh well…whatever….

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Sam moved back downstairs, ready to give up on finding anything else of use. As he passed back through the kitchen, he saw a handwritten list on the refrigerator door. It was Eva's work schedule.

Huh…why didn't I notice that before? He thought incredulously. According to the paper, Eva should be at work at that very moment. He headed out the front door, made sure he locked it back, and jogged out to the car.

The trip back to the salon took a little longer than he thought…mostly due to detours because of road construction. By the time he arrived at the curb…almost exactly where they'd parked the first time…he had lost some of his edge.

He hated confrontations like this…confronting someone without all the facts or at least a decent idea of their capabilities. The variables were too unpredictable…especially without his partner along. But, Dean was in the hospital because of this woman. A spark of anger at that fact nudged Sam out of the car. He checked to make sure he had his weapon, though he kept it concealed this time. He was wary of the danger, but he knew better than to draw a weapon in a crowded location like this one. Here goes….

He opened the door and stepped inside.

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Eva sat, bored, at her station, staring at her appointment book without seeing it. She had a light day scheduled, just one haircut, a coloration, and a permanent. That would have taken a few hours, sure, but after that, she was free to go and then she could focus on her other appointment, at the Benoits.' But, all three of her clients had called early and cancelled, which was uncommon, but not unheard of in her profession. That left her nothing to do.

She couldn't risk entering the bed and breakfast before nightfall. It was still a crime scene, and while the police had found her (completely true) alibi acceptable, her name was still in the Benoits' ledger and her being seen at the crime scene again might raise too many questions. That was unfortunate all around, because she much rather would have entered the hidden servant's "tomb" during the daylight hours…it was somewhat safer.

Still, she carried the old Rosary and even older crucifix that she had taken from the slaves' corpses on her person. The objects had allowed her to summon the spirits, anger them, and most importantly, prevent them from attacking her. If she were to let go of them at any time while in the area of the bed and breakfast, she would be in great danger. Occupants of the spirit world had little mercy for those who disturbed their rest…regardless of justification. Once she reversed the summoning spell, she would have to place the items back where she had found them. And she planned on beating a hasty retreat after doing just that. Better safe than sorry.

Marie was another matter. The zombification process allowed for her safety from Marie's reanimated body. No, safety wasn't the issue there. It was disposal. The only thing she could think of to do on that count was return the body to the morgue, and pay the gullible teenage medical examiner's assistant the agreed "hush money."

I…I don't know about this…a sorority prank? A little morbid isn't it?

The best prank wins, sweetie…now, $100 up front, I take the…body…and another $100 when I bring it back. Alright?

Well…I guess so…. I'm not going to get in trouble am I?

Not if you keep quiet, mon chéri … now, do we have a deal?

Eva shook off the memory with a sigh. She had a lot of work to do before all this could be put behind her. She got up and walked to where Marguerite was sitting at the front desk, absently chewing gum. Eva froze when she saw the all-too-familiar car drive up outside, with its all-too-familiar occupant.

Merde! Her hopes that the two young men would stop snooping around after the run-in with the ghosts were dashed instantly. So far as she was concerned, there were few reasons why Sam would return here today. He must have figured out my involvement somehow. She hurriedly stepped the rest of the way to Marguerite's desk.

"Marguerite," she whispered quickly, "I need your help. See that man outside in the car?"

The teenager looked out the window and grinned, "Yeah…he's cute."

Eva tried to keep the exasperation off her face as she tried to ignore the adolescent's hormones, "Yes, well, he's also trouble…look I don't have time to explain. Just…if he comes in, tell him you haven't seen me today. I need to get out of here."

Marguerite looked at her strangely, "Are you in some kind of trouble, Eva? I mean…I can just call the cops if---"

"No," Eva hissed, "it'll take to long to explain. Just…look, tell him you haven't seen me. Blow him off. Then tell Bill I had to go and will explain it all later, can you do that for me?"

Marguerite smiled sweetly, if uncertainly, "Sure. I guess. Go ahead; I'll get rid of him."

Eva hurried to the back of the salon, grabbing her purse as she jogged. She thanked whatever deity that might be listening for the blessing that she hadn't worn heels today. Reaching into her bag, she retrieved the small doll, and the coffin nail that was attached to it.

With any luck, she'd be long gone before she would need either of them.

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Sam let the tinted glass door close behind him. He scanned the room, but could find no sign of Eva near the station she'd been at the day before.

Was it really only yesterday?

He tugged his sleeves down to cover the bandages on his arms, flipped his collar up over the bruises ringing his neck, and put his most charming---and Dean-like---expression on his face and approached the nervous looking teenager at the desk. He was pretty sure she was the same one that Dean had tried flirting with when they'd been in earlier. She was popping her gum with an oddly guarded expression today.

"Hi, my name is Sam and I was in here yesterday," he opened.

She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes, "Um…oh…yeah, hi. Was something wrong?"

"I was wondering if Eva was back in today. I need to discuss something in private with her."

"Um…no."

Sam raised his eyebrows, "No she's not, or no I can't?" he asked with what he hoped was a disarming grin.

"No…she's uh, not here. She called in sick today."

In Sam's opinion, one didn't need to be psychic to tell when people were lying. Times like this only reinforced that opinion. He kept his smile on and tried to look clueless, "Oh, that's too bad. Could you tell me when she'll be back?"

"Um, I don't know. I…I think she's going to be out all week…."

The soft but easily discernable sound of a heavy door clicking shut in the back echoed through the nearly empty establishment. The nervous glance that Marguerite cast back towards it only confirmed his suspicion. He smiled again, "Thanks anyway. I'll try back."

He stepped briskly out the door and once he was out of the teenager's sight, he broke into a dead run. He raced down the alleyway beside the building. He emerged in another alley which ran behind the row of buildings that lined the street. He found Eva instantly, scurrying down the alley, heading for an adjacent side road. Not taking any chances, he drew his 9mm and raised it, calling out to the retreating woman.

"Eva! Stop!"

She did as instructed, looking back at him with an alarmed expression. He watched her reach into her handbag and he instinctively tightened his grip on the gun.

"Eva! Listen, I just want to tal---"

He was cut off when a sharp pain lanced through his right bicep, causing him to drop the gun and grip his arm with his left hand. What the--- The pain was beyond anything he had prior experience with…even worse than when a certain vampire had taken to pressing a sewing needle into his flesh a few weeks earlier. He bit back a cry, and tried to shut out the pain. He took a halting step in Eva's direction, forcing himself to concentrate on his objective: preventing her escape. He owed it to Dean to put this problem to an end.

Sam made it all of four steps when the pain in his arm disappeared…only to be replaced by an even more paralyzing pain in his abdomen. It felt like a butcher knife was being twisted in his gut. He doubled over, clutching his midsection, and lost his footing, going down hard and landing face first on the pavement. He cried out in pain; it was too intense to ignore this time.

Whatever it was tied his stomach in knots. His abdominal muscles clenching in an instinctual attempt to ward off an attack that he couldn't even see. The tightness of his own muscles squeezed his diaphragm, and in turn constricted his breathing. Stars formed in his vision and his mind reeled. He wondered how much longer he had before he passed out completely, and decided that it was probably too long for comfort.

Writhing as the agony washed over him in waves, he managed to raise his head, and realized that whatever was happening to him, Eva was the cause. He saw her holding something with both hands, but couldn't make out what exactly it was from this distance. She moved her right hand, and the pain doubled in intensity. He clutched his stomach, helpless against whatever she was doing to him.

He was so overwhelmed by the torturous assault that he almost missed the spike of pain behind his eyes. The familiar rush of sensation through his head startled him. He could only watch as Eva's hands were thrust apart, and as she lost her grip on whatever she'd been holding. The pain in his head and the agony in his midsection began to fade away at the same time. He looked up, gasping for air, and saw her look at him with an expression of total shock before bolting down the alley and disappearing behind the next building.

He pushed himself up onto his knees, panting. Dammit!

Punching the wall next to him in frustration, he hauled himself to his feet. He found his gun, and replaced it in his waistband after clicking to safety back on. The pain had disappeared as mysteriously as it had assaulted him, if not quite as suddenly. He looked down the back alley, considering pursuing for a moment, but the distant receding roar of a car changed his mind. She had gotten away. Cursing under his breath, he walked back up the alley and headed for the car. Some hunter….

He wondered if Dean was awake yet.

TBC