Buried Answers

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Lisa swivelled in her seat, so she faced Dean as he drove.

"What do you mean he's a liar? You don't believe the demon's after him?"

"Oh no, that part I believe," said Dean, "I just don't think it was as much of a surprise as he let on."

"Why?"

"A few things…" said Dean, "His first two kids aren't there."

"What are you talking about?"

"You saw that house. He said he sent the wife and kids upstairs when we pulled up. But I've never seen a house with kids that age that looked that neat."

"That's not much to go on," said Lisa.

"There's more," said Dean, "The timing of his first wife's death… the demon showing up now… I dunno, it's just… it's all starting to sound just a little bit familiar."

"What are you talking about?"

"Why didn't he want us to speak to his wife? We're cops. He should trust us. I'm not buying that story about putting her under stress. Shouldn't the fact that the police are involved relieve stress?"

"We're not the police," Lisa pointed out.

"Yeah, but he doesn't know that!"

Dean roared down the road leading back to the centre of town. They shot past Pop's diner again, and Dean made a left turn, heading for a big, Greco-styled building across from the small park that formed the town square.

"Where are we going?" asked Lisa.

"Town hall," said Dean, "There's some things I need to check."

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Half an hour later, Dean had what he wanted. His State Police badge was sufficient to convince the clerk working the registrar's desk to cough up the info he needed. Lisa was waiting for him at a desk in the back of the dusty office and Dean spread the documents he'd acquired in front of her.

"Okay, what am I looking at?" asked Lisa.

"Here," said Dean, "The death certificate for Tina Clayton."

"Okay… that just confirms what he told us."

"Right," said Dean, "But there's one thing missing, if we're gonna believe his story."

"What's that?"

"There's no marriage license for John and Margaret Clayton," said Dean, "Maggie is short for Margaret, right?"

"Yeah," said Lisa, "So… he's not married?"

"No, he is," said Dean.

"You're confusing me," said Lisa.

Dean grinned, "And here…" he pulled another sheet closer, "Birth certificate for Elizabeth Anne Clayton. Look at the date."

Lisa peered at the form, "13th of April?"

"And what date did he give?"

"The second."

"Exactly."

"You keep saying stuff like that!" said Lisa, growing more than a little annoyed, "But what does this all mean?"

"Not much right now," said Dean, "It's just… a hunch I have, okay? You're gonna have to trust me."

"I do trust you," said Lisa, "But I'd trust you even more if you told me what the hell was going on."

"Remember the pictures in his living room?"

"Yeah," said Lisa, "They were… normal. Family portraits."

"All the regular photos regular families take, right? Shots of them on vacation… Mom, dad and the kids?"

"So?"

"So, what did you notice about them?"

"Nothing. Like I said… they were normal."

"How old would you say the daughter was? She was the youngest, so…?"

"I dunno… eight, nine?" said Lisa.

"But Tina Clayton died ten years ago. Never heard of a dead woman having a kid."

Lisa frowned. She picked up the death certificate, studying the date. Then she picked up the birth certificates of all three of the Clayton kids.

There wasn't any doubt. All three of them had been born in the last ten years.

"Why would he lie about that?" asked Lisa.

"I have an idea," said Dean, "But there's only one way to find out."

"How?"

"You're not gonna like it."

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"You were right," said Lisa, "I don't like this. In fact, I hate this! This is sick!"

"Part of the job," said Dean, wiping his face with the back of his hand.

Lisa was edgy. She kept looking around, hoping nobody would spot them. The sun had set, and the clouds were gathering for another storm. That obscured the moon, at least, cloaking them in darkness.

"Could you stop moving the flashlight, please?" said Dean.

"Sorry."

Lisa bent down, aiming the beam of light into the hole. Dean was standing in the churned out remains of a grave. Only his head was above ground level. Lisa glanced at the headstone, and shivered.

"Tina Clayton…

Beloved Wife…"

"If you're in there, forgive us…" Lisa muttered.

She heard the loud thunk of metal hitting wood, and a second later, Dean's voice from the recesses of the pit.

"Got it!"

Lisa leaned over further, so she was staring straight down. Dean scraped the edge of the shovel's blade on the surface of the casket, clearing it of sand.

"Okay, here goes," he said, leaning the shovel against the side of the hole.

He bent down, and got a good grip on the edge of the lid.

"I don't think we should do this…" said Lisa.

"Too late now," said Dean, "I've been digging for an hour. "

He lifted his head and peered up at her, squinting in the light of the torch.

"You know, you could have helped with that," he said.

"I draw the line at grave desecration," she replied.

"You said you wanted to help!"

"But Dean…" she whined, putting on a little girl voice, "I'm just a frail woman. You're the big strapping man."

Dean pulled a face, and tightened his grip on the lid. Bracing himself, he heaved backwards, and the lid swung open with a creak.

"Damn..." Lisa muttered, shining the light into the casket's interior. It was lined with soft, white velvet… and it was empty.

"Man," said Dean, "I was really hoping I was wrong about this."

"So, she didn't die?"

"Oh, she died alright," said Dean, planting his hands on the top of the hole and levering himself back out, "I just think John made a deal. He brought her back."

"How is that even possible?"

"There are legends about these kinds of things," said Dean, "Demons and spirits that can raise the dead."

"So… she's like… a zombie?"

"I don't think so," said Dean, "A zombie wouldn't be able to have kids. She's the same woman she was… just with… a little more time."

"That's so sad."

"No, the sad part is… her time's running out."

"Just like yours."

Dean and Lisa swung round at the sound of the voice. A man had managed to sneak up on them. He was old, and frail, wearing an overall, with Cicero Parks Service stencilled over the breast pocket.

The old man smiled at them, and his eyes flashed yellow.

"You son of a–"

Dean tried to surge to his feet, but a flick of the man's hand sent him spinning backwards, back into the hole. He landed face down, with his head inside the open lid of the casket. His sternum hit the edge, punching all the air from his lungs.

"Dean!"

Lisa managed to get to her feet, but the man waved his hand, almost contemptuously, and she was hurled fifteen feet, until she cracked her head on a tombstone. Stars exploded behind her eyes, and the world went black.

The man stood over the open grave and raised his arms. Then, like an orchestra conductor, he swooped them back down, and the mounds of dirt on either side of the hole rushed forward, pouring in on top of Dean.

It took mere seconds for the full six-foot gouge to be filled in, until it looked like a normal, freshly turned grave – with Dean buried inside.

Chuckling to himself, the Yellow-Eyed Demon turned to the crumpled body of Lisa.

She was curled up, moaning with pain.

Just the way he wanted her.

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