Chapter 10 The Victims
"Agents Murtaugh and Riggs, huh?" The young deputy sounded vaguely amused, but he immediately sobered when he glanced at Sam and Dean's stoic faces. "I'll tell the Sheriff you're here, then." As soon as he had walked through the double doors into the inner recesses of the office, Dean grinned.
"Oh man…that one gets them every time," he laughed, and Sam had to smile, too. The rotating FBI aliases were one of those little things that made the rest of the job bearable. It was always amusing to see if local law enforcement would recognize the references, and if they would acknowledge them in any way. The best ones were the guys who clearly picked up on the names but were determined not to blink an eye.
The young deputy came back to the reception area to announce that Sheriff Kincaid would see them now. Dean and Sam immediately sobered as they heard the doors begin to open. They both nodded curtly at the somewhat cowed deputy as they passed him.
"And how may I help the Feds?" Sheriff Kincaid asked as he motioned them into seats in front of his desk. He was a large, military-type man who didn't look like he would fluster easily, and his voice was commanding. There was an underlying edge to it, though, that said Sheriff Kincaid was having a bit of a morning. Unlike the quiet reception area, the inner offices were bustling with activity and chatter. Something had definitely stirred up the sheriff's office.
"We're here to investigate the mysterious death," Dean said, and was rewarded with a stunned expression from Sheriff Kincaid – so there was another death, just like Julie said. And he doesn't think anyone knows about it yet – "Four mysterious deaths, to be exact," Dean continued, consulting his notepad as though this was an assignment that he had had very little time to review.
"Well…uh…make that five mysterious deaths now," Sheriff Kincaid said, his voice gruff with the seriousness of the news but laced with just a touch of relief that the FBI did not, in fact, already know what had happened last night.
"Five?" Sam asked, his eyebrows raised.
"Yes sir," Sheriff Kincaid replied. "Last night, 3:00 am, Janna McCall goes to check on her husband who hasn't come to bed, finds him dead in his chair. Lee McCall: healthy thirty-five year-old, no signs of heart attack, no signs of stroke, no apparent cause of death. Indications that he died between 12:30 and 2:30 am. Coroner is just finishing up now." The sheriff laid out all of the pertinent information concisely.
"So just like the other four deaths then?" Dean said.
"Afraid so," Sheriff Kincaid responded. "I suppose you'll want to see the files?" He closed a folder that had been sitting open on his desktop, replaced it on a stack and pushed the entire stack across the desk.
"Thank you," Sam said. "Sheriff, do you have any idea what's causing these deaths?"
"We have absolutely no clue." Sheriff Kincaid was again concise. "The only thing we seem to be able to determine is what's not causing them."
"This isn't the first time the town's had deaths like this is it, Sheriff?" Dean asked, again consulting his notepad.
"We did have some deaths back in '86 that were never explained. There's no proof that these are related though," Sheriff Kincaid answered a bit testily.
"And what about the Bledsoe curse, Sheriff. Do you have any knowledge of that?" Dean continued. The sheriff's eyebrows drew sharply together.
"You aren't serious. The FBI is asking me about some cock-and-bull story the old folks tell around here? You can't honestly believe…"
"We believe stories like that sometimes have origins in fact," Sam interrupted him. "We also believe that some nut jobs out there enjoy copycat crimes. If you have any knowledge surrounding the Bledsoe curse stories, you need to share that with us." Sheriff Kincaid looked for a moment as though he might refuse. He was clearly already having to deal with too much talk about a fictitious curse. After a moment, though, he sighed deeply and began recounting what he knew.
"The only thing the 'Bledsoe curse' has to do with these deaths is that some people are dumber than a bag of hammers," he said. "They know people have died, that's it. They don't know why or how or what it has to do with a curse. They can't tell you who the curse is supposed to be on or who started the curse. Hell, they don't even know why it's called the Bledsoe curse."
"And the Bledsoe homestead…?" Dean prompted.
"Nothing. Nobody's died there. Nobody that has died had been there. Not now, not in '86," Sheriff Kincaid replied, throwing his hands up in disgust. "These deaths have nothing to do with a curse. And they can't be copycat crimes because it doesn't seem like any crime has been committed."
No one spoke for a while as the Sheriff regained his composure and Dean and Sam waited. Finally, Sheriff Kincaid took a deep breath and continued.
"Now, I've got a lot of stuff going on, and a lot of phone calls to field. About half of them are people yammering about a curse that they're afraid might get them next," he said with a scowl. "Is there anything else I can do for you all right now?"
"We'd like to speak to the coroner," Sam said, wisely choosing to forego any more questions for the sheriff.
"Yes sir – Dr. Devaraux. His office is in the morgue – take a right in the hallway, go through the double doors at the end," the sheriff instructed, rising from his chair. Sam and Dean rose also. "I'm going to have to get back to work now, agents. You can use my office to review the files if you'd like. Ask Deputy Daniels out front for copies if you need them. And he can find me if you have any more questions." Sheriff Kincaid shook hands and left the room. Dean and Sam both picked up a file from the stack and sat back down. For several minutes they looked through the case files, exchanging them as each was perused. Dean finally broke the silence.
"Ages all similar. Males and females. And they have every known connection possible, apparently. Just like the deaths the Ogles were talking about from the 80's – everyone is someone's double second third cousin." He rolled his eyes.
"Did you notice cause of death?" Sam asked.
"Oh yeah, and that too. Everyone is listed as 'pulmonary edema'. What does that even mean? Water in the lungs?"
"Fluid in the lungs, actually," Sam corrected. "And it can mean a lot of different things. I think we ought to go visit Dr. Devaraux."
They walked through the double doors at the end of the hall and found themselves immediately in the morgue. In the far right-hand corner of the room they could see a glass-enclosed office area. Dr. Devaraux was at his desk busily entering notes into his computer. He was a large, jovial looking man, and he rose as soon as he spotted Dean and Sam standing there. One body, they assumed it was Lee McCall, was still on the examining table.
"I'm Dr. Devaraux, nice to meet you," the coroner said, thrusting his hand out to shake Dean's and then Sam's hand in a firm grip. "I heard the Feds were here. What can I do for you boys?"
Sam led the coroner through a quick review of the now five mysterious deaths – how the victims presented when they were brought in, what observations Dr. Devaraux had made. The coroner used a great deal of technical jargon, from which physician's seemed incapable of stopping themselves, but the bottom line was eventually reached. Dr. Devaraux had no idea why the five people in question had suddenly died.
"I hate not knowing what killed them," he finally said with a resigned shrug. "But I'm stumped. I've tried contacting some specialists, but nobody's been able to help me so far. And, honestly, nobody is real interested. Five people is just a blip to most of those big research hospitals and whatnot."
"The listed cause of death for each of the victims is pulmonary edema, Dr. Devaraux," Dean said. "What does that mean?"
"It means they all had fluid in their lungs – enough to have killed them," the coroner answered. "The problem is, there's a thousand and one things that cause fluid in the lungs. But none of them just happen to an otherwise healthy person sitting in their living room."
"I'm still not sure…" Sam started, hoping to draw out more information.
"Well, for instance, lung diseases like pneumonia cause fluid in the lungs. The flu can cause fluid in the lungs. Heart failure can cause it. Actually, the end-stage of a lot of diseases cause pulmonary edema." Dr. Devaraux paused. "But the key word there is end-stage – usually the person has been declining for a long time. It takes a while for lungs to fill up like that."
"Unless you drown," Dean said with a chuckle. "I guess that fills them up pretty fast."
The fleeting look that passed over Dr. Devaraux's face before he quickly turned away – was it confusion? fear? – did not go unnoticed by the brothers. Dean's comment had apparently hit a little too close to something that the coroner did not want to address, or something that frightened him.
"Drowning would cause fluid in the lungs, wouldn't it Dr. Devaraux?" Sam's question was more of a statement.
"Well, of course, but…"
"Was there any indication that the victims had drowned?" Dean pressed.
"No – no one presented at all like a drowning…"
"Did any of the victims appear like they had recently been in water?" Sam continued the line of rapid fire questioning, a technique the brothers sometimes employed to get information out of a reluctant witness. Keep the person slightly off kilter, and eventually they might let slip whatever they were trying to hide.
"No – all of them were fully clothed and completely dry…"
"Could their heads have been held in water?" Dean asked.
"No – no signs of struggle at all. And this water…"
"Was there something distinctive about the water in their lungs, Dr. Devaraux?" Sam honed in on the last comment. Bingo – this time the confusion and fear were obvious on the coroner's face. "There was something about the water, wasn't there?"
"It doesn't make any sense…I just can't see how…" Dr. Devaraux stumbled over his words.
"Why don't you just tell us what it is, and let us decide if it makes sense or not," Dean said firmly.
The coroner haltingly began to tell them what he had discovered, his voice growing a little stronger as he continued on and neither Sam nor Dean flinched. After the third victim had been brought in and tested for every possible physical anomaly or drug combination that Dr. Devaraux could come up with, he had, in desperation, decided to take a closer look at the fluid from the lungs. To his great surprise he had found sediment in the fluid, evidence of algae and other organic materials. In short, the victim had lake water in her lungs.
"I went back and checked then. The first two victims had the same fluid in their lungs, and the next one, and now the latest victim has the same thing," Dr. Devaraux waved his arm towards the examining table to indicate the body of the latest victim. "But it just isn't possible. It's like they all drowned in a lake without ever being near a lake."
"Have you ever heard of the Bledsoe curse, Dr. Devaraux?" Dean asked. The coroner looked slightly taken aback at the abrupt change in the conversation.
"Most everyone around here has heard of the Bledsoe curse, agents," he replied, cautiously. "They'll say it's what's causing these deaths. People enjoy a little superstition in their life, I suppose."
"You don't believe these deaths have anything to do with the curse, then?" Sam asked. Dr. Devaraux's expression became more guarded as Sam and Dean both continued to look at him steadily. "Well...well, no…" the coroner finally answered.
"There were several unsolved deaths in this county in 1986, Dr. Devaraux. Were they also caused by pulmonary edema?" Dean asked.
"I actually did check on that, agents," he admitted. "Not because I believe the stories or anything, I was just curious. The cause of death listed for those victims was in fact pulmonary edema, although I can't verify what type of fluid was found in the lungs."
Dr. Devaraux paused, obviously wanting to say more so Sam and Dean waited.
"Did you agents realize there were also deaths in 1959 that were never explained?" he eventually continued.
"We did realize that, Dr. Devaraux," Dean said, both he and Sam maintaining looks of benign interest. "Let me guess, pulmonary edema?"
"Yep, same listed cause of death," Dr. Devaraux said. "Nothing about it makes much sense. I'm not a superstitious person myself, but something odd is definitely happening."
"Thank you for your time, Dr. Devaraux. Call us immediately if you find anything new." Sam made the request in a polite but firm tone that suggested Dr. Devaraux should jump to whatever the FBI requested. He handed the coroner his business card. "And also call if you have any additional victims fitting the pattern."
He and Dean left the station without speaking to the sheriff again, nodding curtly at Deputy Daniels as they walked out.
"Dry land drowning, huh?" Sam said when they were back in the Impala. "You think it has to do with White Pine being intended for flooding?"
"I think that's exactly what it's about," Dean answered. "I think we're dealing with a spell that was supposed to save the community from the government dams. And I guess these lives are the cost."
"I don't know. Pretty steep price to save a community that turned into a ghost town anyway."
"Well, Sammy, no one ever accused witches of being too bright."