Dean tried his best to get the smell of charred waffles out of the kitchen. He fanned the air with a towel, his brows pinched together in frustration. Edith had been in their care for one day and he'd already let her get hurt.
His mind jumped to that serene look on her face when he found her on the floor in here earlier. It reminded him too much of before. For a second, he'd thought he could recognize the smell of her burnt flesh. Of all the things he had done in hell, burning and branding were his least favorite. He only used it as a fallback, after his prey became desensitized to his other methods. It never failed; if he stuck to one thing for too long, the screams would become less agonized, the begging would stop. That meant it was time to crank things up.
Edith was a different ballgame. She grew accustomed to each new torture in too short a time. It irritated him. Just when he got into the swing of a new routine, she would ruin it. His blade would rip into her, blood and innards spilling everywhere, only for her to blink up at him with dull, listless eyes. She had forced him to get more creative.
Dean's phone chimed, pulling him out of his thoughts. He rubbed a hand over his face. His heart was racing from those memories of hell. It was a text from Garth. Nice timing, he thought, and made a mental note to hug Garth next time he saw the kid.
Sam was hunched over his laptop at the table in the library. He had jumped online for just a minute after he recalled the name Edith had said when she was sleepwalking. Herbie. It wasn't much. Now he was searching for two needles in a haystack, instead of just one. He'd already exhausted every federal database and state archive he could hack his way in to. Now, almost in desperation, he opened a basic search. This would never work; he shook his head. His large fingers typed in 'Edith Nolan + Herbert' and hit the button. Countless search results came up.
He frowned, and moved the cursor back to the search box. There was always a way to make the haystack smaller, he just had to think. His fingers tapped the keys, so now the search read 'Edith Nolan + Herbert + death.' Still too many choices.
Sam rubbed his hand across his jaw. He didn't know Edith's age at her time of death, so he couldn't pin down a year. It was safe to assume, based on her appearance, that she didn't pass from an illness or nature causes. His instincts kept reminding him of the haunting words she has said to him in her room. "If he finds out, we're dead." He changed the search query again. 'Edith Nolan + Herbert + murder.' The second link caught Sam's attention. It was a news article, only a few weeks old, and the partial summary looked promising.
LOCAL FAMILY SHOCKED BY POSTHUMOUS MEMOIR
February 2, 2013 ...away in November of last year [Herbert P. Anderson ...letters were written by Edith Nolan, victim of the infamous Northwood murder…
The link was a newspaper article from a town he didn't recognize. He clicked to open it, but most of the article was cut off.
Patricia Anderson had no idea she would uncover new evidence for a 70 year old homicide in the attic of…
FULL ARTICLE ONLY AVAILABLE TO OUR PAID SUBSCRIBERS.
Please login if you are a registered user. Become a member today to receive full access to the Franklin Gazette online. Click here for subscription prices.
Silently cursing the website, Sam dug out his wallet. Then he hesitated. He pulled out one of his many fake badges. Turning it over in his fingers, he considered calling the newspaper and intimidating someone into sending him a copy of the article. He tucked the badge away and pulled out a credit card instead. It wasn't like they would be getting the bill for this, and he was sure one more unauthorized charge wouldn't bother Ronald L. Snowden any more than all the accumulated gas station fill-ups and fast food runs. After all, that's what credit card insurance was for.
From the corner of his eye, he spotted Dean. "Hey," Sam nodded at his brother, shutting the laptop.
"Grub's ready," Dean muttered as he set down a tray. Steam rose from four bowls, and Dean placed one in front of Sam, along with a spoon. "It's garlic potato soup," he added with a shrug.
Taking a sip, Sam closed his eyes with satisfaction. "Dean, this is amazing." He took another spoonful. "I mean it, you are really good at this."
"Yeah, well… we gotta eat, right?" He failed to hide how pleased he was at Sam's favorable review.
Edith and Tamara soon appeared at the end of the room. "Something smells great," Tamara hinted. Dean motioned at the table, and the ladies hurried over to grab a seat. Edith was now wearing a loose flowered dress, blue with small white flowers, and a white lace collar. The hem swung around her calves as she moved.
Sam hurried around the table to pull out a chair for Edith, overly cautious of her bandages. Tamara sat next to her. Dean passed them each a bowl and spoon, then took the chair beside his brother.
Edith as she fumbled to pick up the utensil with her gaze-wrapped hands. Dean frowned. "You want some help?" She shook her head, and concentrated harder. Sam tried not to stare. Finally, she got it wedged between her middle and ring fingers. She managed to bring a spoonful to her mouth and take a sip. She looked around smugly. The guys pretended not to notice, but Tamara returned her proud smile.
For a while, the only sound in the library was the clinking of spoons. Sam finished first. He set his bowl down loudly on the tray, and reached for his laptop again. They he hesitated. He didn't want to confront Edith with any news until was absolutely sure what he had found.
Tamara pushed her empty bowl away with a sigh. "Well, if you boys don't have any plans for Edith this afternoon, I would like to begin some therapy."
Dean added his bowl to the tray. "Fine by me." He looked at Sam, who shrugged.
"Excellent. Is there a quiet room we could use, preferably with a comfortable sofa?"
Sam pushed his chair back. "Yeah, I'll show you." He offered Edith a hand up, lifting her by one arm until she was on her feet. Then he studied her, concerned. "Are you okay with that? You feel ready?" His hand lingered at her elbow.
"As much as I'll ever be."
Dean paused, holding the tray of dishes, and narrowed his eyes at the two of them. Tamara noticed. "Dean," she interrupted. "May I speak with you please?"
He pulled his gaze away. "Sure. Let me get these to the kitchen."
Tamara followed him out of the library, trying to figure out what to discuss with him once they got there.
Sam watched them go. He turned back to Edith, and put his hand on her cheek. "Don't be scared. Tamara is going to help you, I promise." Edith nodded. He let his hand drop. "You look nice, by the way."
"Thanks," she glanced down, remembering the dress. "It's a bit too modern, but what can you do?"
He chuckled, then a thought occurred to him. "Hey, maybe later, Tamara could take you out shopping, help you pick out some new clothes."
She frowned. "I won't be much good at sewing anything for a while." She held up her bandaged hands, as if he'd forgotten.
"No-" He kept forgetting how much had changed since she was alive. "They sell already-made clothes now, you don't have to sew them."
Her eyebrows shot up. "You're teasing me!" She shook her head in disbelief. "How do they know what will fit everyone?"
Sam bared his teeth. "Well… that's complicated."
In the kitchen, Tamara was rinsing and drying the bowls as Dean washed them. When the last one was stacked in the cupboard, he patted his hands with a towel and turned to her, crossing his arms. "So, what did you want to talk about?"
She swallowed hard. "Dean, I don't know what history you have with that girl…" He uncrossed his arms and looked away uncomfortably. Tamara went on "...and I'm not going to force the issue. I only came here to help her recover from whatever she's been through. But these secrets and lies between you and your brother are not going to help matters. Whatever you know, talk to Sam. Be truthful. Then maybe he'll do the same."
Dean shot an accusing glance at her. "What is that supposed to mean?"
She didn't answer, just raised an eyebrow, and crossed her arms.