"When this goes down, you stay behind me," Dean ordered Sam. They were sat across from each other in a small booth in the town's only pizza joint, an Italian mom-and-pop affair with beat-up décor and posters of Al Pacino movies set in cheap frames around the wall. Naturally, the mom in the equation took one look at Sam and sent them over a basket of free garlic bread, with instructions to yell if they needed anything else. Even when Dean had been younger than Sam, he reflected, adults never reacted to ihim/i like that. They had mostly looked vaguely wary, and then from the time he hit sixteen or so, some of the women turned frankly speculative. Well, you used what you had.
"Excuse me?" Sam gave him a scandalized look over his slice of mushroom and green pepper pizza. Mushroom and green pepper, Jesus. Good job the place did half-and-half.
"You don't have a gun," Dean reminded him. "I do,"
"No, but I have an iron blade and a brain," said Sam.
"Hey," Dean said, completely serious. "Listen to me. Don't look at the table, look at me." It was Dad's voice, and he felt like a dick for using it, felt the creepiness of the imitation in the back of his mind. "I know you're a good hunter Sam. I know you're smart. But I am older than you, more experienced than you, and this time I have the better weapon. Are you listening?"
For a second, he thought Sam was going to defy him: the thunderous look crossed his face, the one he got right before he and Dad went full-out on each other. Dean hoped 'mom' wasn't looking , or their chances of free dessert were about to evaporate. Then,
"Yeah," Sam said quietly, and the look passed from his eyes. "So the other kids," he went on. "We're assuming they're the 'friends' Melinda was talking about – James, Mary, Louise. It doesn't sound like they wanted to hurt her."
"They could have been tricking her," Dean said. "Or…."
"Or what?"
Dean didn't have much experience with child ghosts. But he'd heard more than he'd seen. "Kid ghosts…" he sighed. "They're – well, they're still kids. Even more so after they're dead. They can be cruel – hell, vicious, - but they don't iplan/i. They're like little pack animals. Instinctual. They could be asking Melinda to play with them one minute, turn on her the next."
"That's just disturbing," Sam said.
"Yeah," Dean said: "Now eat your dinner."
"Don't push it," Sam said.
Dean hid a smile behind the rim of his coke can.
They were back at St. Francis's just as the sun was starting to drop and the sky dull. Lori was at the front gates, waiting for them.
"It worked," she said as they headed inside. "I don't know how you pulled it off, but everyone has gone to the shelter. The staff who were due to come in tonight have been notified, and I just sent a few of the girls on who were out this afternoon. That accounts for them all."
"Well, that's something." Dean filled her in more thoroughly on the information they'd found.
"I had no idea," she shook her head. "It must have been hushed up as far as possible – it ought to be local legend, a tragedy like that."
"You'd be surprised what gets buried," Sam remarked.
"I suppose I would," she said.
"Speaking of buried," Dean put in: "The only way to permanently get rid of ghosts is to burn their remains. It sends them – wherever. Out of this plane, or something. The proper solution is to find out where those kids are buried and burn their bones."
"You mean – open the graves?" Lori asked. "Set fire to them?"
"Not my favourite part of the job," Dean said.
"Liar," Sam muttered.
"But for tonight, there are two things that repel them: salt, and iron. Wertheimer took Sam's gun, which was loaded with salt, but I have one. We both have iron blades. Is there anything you can use to protect yourself?"
Lori thought.
"Some of the older kitchen pans are made out of iron, I think."
"That will have to do," Dean said. "Grab some salt, too."
At that moment, footsteps from the direction of the schoolroom caused them to all turn abruptly in that direction.
"Hello?" Lori called. "You shouldn't be here. Everyone's gone on to the -"
"Is that you, Lori dear?" Wertheimer called up the corridor. "Isn't it quiet tonight?"
"Shit," said Dean, and they ran for the schoolroom. Wertheimer was near the staircase. She was bent over, and appeared to be talking to someone – she straightened up immediately upon seeing them. There was no-one there.
"You boys again," she frowned.
"Look, Ingrid," Dean said, and surprise flashed over her face momentarily. "Yes, we know who you are. And we know what you did. Are you keeping Peter here? Are you summoning him?"
The old woman's face twisted momentarily - either fear or rage.
"He isn't the only one here," Sam said. "The others are here too. James. Mary. Louise. "
"What?" she gasped. She sat down abruptly at one of the table.
"You know what night it is," Dean pressed. He felt almost cruel – the old woman was clearly distressed – but it was they needed her co-operation, for her own good. Outside the sky was darkening rapidly.
"No, no no," said Wertheimer, shaking her head. "I got rid of them. After what they did…"
"What did they do?" Sam asked.
"They killed Peter!" she shouted, suddenly, clenching her withered hands into fists. "They killed Peter, so I punished them! An eye for an eye…"
It came together in Dean's mind, pieces slotting into place. The dining table, the server. Help us, we're sick. "You…poisoned them," he said.
"We used to serve at individual tables," Wertheimer said conversationally. "Much more civilized. Those four little evil ones always kept together. I had it from a man who worked in pest control – the arsenic. I only gave it to them."
"What do you mean they killed Peter?" Lori whispered, wide eyed.
"They taunted him," she said bitterly. "Because he was different. You would know," she looked at Lori: "You of all people."
"He had learning difficulties?" Lori asked.
"Backwards," said Wertheimer frankly. "But the sweetest, most gentle child….all he wanted was a friend. But they mocked him. Taunted him. Took his things. One day they…"
"They what?" Dean leaned forwards. Dusk was settling around them now – they were running out of time.
"They took his mask," Wertheimer said. "He wore the little mask to make himself feel better. They threw it around, in the yard – I wasn't there, or I would have stopped them. It must have fallen in the pond. That, or one of them threw it in…no-one helped him."
"And he drowned trying to get it back," Lori said. "That's – that's awful."
"But that doesn't mean you can kill them!" Sam exclaimed.
"Listen," Dean cut in. "There's no time. You know what you did, and believe me, they are going to want revenge. On you, on anyone – on Peter." She was listening. "You have to tell us where the bodies are."
"No bodies," Wertheimer said. "They were cremated."
"Shit," Dean said again. "Okay, what about special objects – toys, clothes, anything that belonged to the kids that their spirits might still be attached to?"
"We didn't have much," Wertheimer said vaguely. "There wasn't much money in those days."
"Anything?" Dean pressed a little desperately.
"Each had a toy," Wertheimer said. "A dolly, or a soldier or a teddy. We gave them a toy when they first came here, to help them feel at home."
"And where might those toys be now?" Sam said.
"Why, the bedroom of course," said Wertheimer, then: "Oh." Her eyes widened. Her mouth opened slightly as she stared at something over their shoulder. All three turned around, and there in the doorway, four pale, transparent child ghosts, eyes hollow and cheeks sunken, flickered and appeared again, closer now, advancing into the room.
TBC
