Sam and Dean had just settled into the Impala – Dean apparently suffering a bit more than his brother had realized, because he had actually tossed the car keys to Sam – when Sam's phone rang.
"Speak of the devil, it's the sheriff," Sam said as he answered. He listened intently for a while, asked a few questions and listened again. From the end of the conversation that Dean could hear, he suspected that additional victims were now involved.
"So, what's up?" he asked as soon as Sam ended the phone call. "More bodies show up?"
"No, a missing person's report." Sam steered Baby back towards town as he explained Sheriff Clintlock's call about missing teenage siblings. "Twins, apparently, and they were supposed to be back from some wilderness retreat last night. The sheriff said he wouldn't normally put much stock in a couple of teens who didn't come home, but he thought we might be interested."
"Are we?" Dean replied. "Interested?"
"Afraid we are. This one fits our victim profile."
Dean, who had gingerly leaned back against the car seat, his eyes almost shut, sat up and looked sharply at his brother.
"Okay, I get the whole family theme, but what could freaking high school twins have done to each other?"
"Well, sadly enough…" Sam explained what Sheriff Clintlock had relayed to him about the brother and sister, Devon and Lyssa, and the car accident they had been involved in the previous year. "And get this, they were on this very secluded retreat because their therapist, Dr. Stanwyck, suggested they should spend some time together with no distractions, to work through their issues."
"Hold up a second…" Dean remembered something Larry Tipton's widow had told them. Larry and Susie Tipton had also had a counselor who agreed with the idea of the victims spending some time away from other people. "So, you think this therapist, or counselor, or whatever, is the same one Larry Tipton was getting advice from?"
"Exactly," Sam agreed. "I'm thinking this Stanwyck may be our guy. There's definitely a pattern of victims being sent away, out of contact with everyone. It would keep anyone from realizing that they'd been abducted until it was too late."
"Plus," Dean added, "posing as a therapist would be a great way to troll for vics if you get off on sucky family dynamics."
He lay back once again and closed his eyes wearily.
"I guess we ought to check back in with the Rock Creek police chief," he said.
"Yeah, I guess so. But there's that diner on the way in. I thought we might…"
Dean sat back up immediately. "Oh, hell yeah."
Chief Parnell looked at them with unmistakable suspicion. It didn't help that they were both obviously unshowered and unshaven, or that their suits, hanging as they had been in a room where a smoke bomb had been recently discharged, smelled as if the two agents had been setting off bottle rockets all night. Agent Moreve's face was the thing that was really giving him pause, though. Four long, thin scratches started just below his jawline and traveled up and across his cheek. They had definitely not been there yesterday when the FBI visited.
"Rough night?" he asked, staring directly at Dean.
Sam could almost hear Dean's jaw clenching.
"There was a disturbance at our motel last night," Sam jumped in with the explanation he and Dean had agreed over breakfast was the least ridiculous. "Two women – my partner was just trying to defuse the situation."
"Uh-huh…" Chief Parnell just continued to stare at the red, angry marks.
"Fake nails," Dean added, with a tight smile, holding his curled fingers up to his face and miming a clawing motion. "I'm sure you've been there yourself."
"Mmm-hmm…" the police chief gave both Winchesters another long, skeptical look, and then finally turned his attention back to his desk. "Now what were you needing to know about the Tipton case?"
"We need to know if you have any information on a counselor that Larry and Susie Tipton were seeing together," Sam responded, relieved to be past the discussion of Dean's face.
"Yep," the police chief said. Nothing else followed.
"…and…?" Sam prompted.
"We talked to him. Nothing to learn."
"You talked to him?" Sam replied. "I don't remember seeing anything in the report about a suspect interview, Chief."
"He wasn't a suspect, Agent Kay," the chief snapped, annoyed. "He was someone we talked to."
"I thought you categorized these deaths as accidental?" Dean said, incredulously. "Why were you talking to the therapist of a man who accidently got himself beheaded?"
Chief Parnell looked as though his head might just explode.
"I don't expect federal agents to understand this," he ground the words out through tightly clenched teeth, "but we don't always advertise the whole truth right up front. Citizens tend to get less upset about 'accidental deaths' than they do about homicidal maniacs who drain people's blood and chop their heads off."
The chief placed his hands on his desk and half rose from his seat, leaning aggressively forward. "And I would appreciate it if you two would just leave my department alone and let us do our job."
Dean placed his hands on the other side of the desk, rising and leaning in also. "And exactly which job would that be, Chief? The one you haven't been able to do for over six weeks now? Face it, you don't have the first clue what you're dealing with."
"Then you two talk to Dr. Stanwyck all you want, for all the good it'll do you!" the chief snarled. "Talk 'til you're blue in the face for all I care. Just get the hell out of my office!"
He pointed at the door, but Dean didn't look as though he had any intention of budging. Sam sighed deeply, stood up, and grabbed his brother by the arm.
"Thank you for your time, Chief Parnell," Sam nodded to the police chief who was still standing at his desk, glowering at Dean. Dean was glowering right back as Sam steered him out of the building.
"Alright, alright, get off me!" Dean jerked his arm out of Sam's grip as they crossed the parking lot.
"Dude, what the hell was that?" his brother spat back. "What is wrong with you?"
Looking a little deflated now, Dean surreptitiously tucked his arm against his injured side. He'd be damned if he'd admit to the pain. "Okay, yeah, I overreacted a little…" he mumbled sheepishly. Sam rolled his eyes in exasperation.
"If you'd just taken the meds like I told you to…" Sam knew him too well. "Fine, I'm taking you to the motel room."
"Well, what are you going to do?" Dean asked, like a petulant child.
"What do you think? Chief Parnell said the Tiptons' counselor was Dr. Stanwyck, just like with the missing twins. I'm going to check out our suspect."
"The hell you are, not by yourself," Dean's former belligerence flared up instantly.
"Calm down," Sam said. "I'll make sure he's in his office, and then I'll check his house, alright? I'm not going to confront him or anything."
"Okay," Dean agreed, not entirely mollified. "just be careful."
"Absolutely, mom."
Dean woke groggily, his eyelids heavy and slow. He sat up and swung his legs off the bed, but found that he was not yet ready to actually stand up. The pain in his side had definitely toned down, but it was still aching unpleasantly. Dean wondered how long it would be before he could reasonably take more of the happy pills that Sam had forced on him. He reached blindly for the water sitting on the bedside table and took a long drink. Then he opened his eyes and blinked at the clock. He'd been out for about three hours. Where was Sam? Wait, where the hell is Sam?
Dean snatched up his phone and listened impatiently to the ringtones.
"Hey, you awake? How you feeling?" the sound of Sam's voice answering the call sent a wave of relief through Dean.
"Where are you?"
"Almost back to the motel," Sam answered. "I'm bringing you lunch. Do you feel like eating?"
Dean did, in fact, feel like eating, and Sam reported what he had found while his brother scarfed down a cheeseburger and fries.
"Nothing – house was totally clean."
"You think he keeps everything in his office?" Dean suggested.
"It's got to be that. Or else, he's got some other location entirely," Sam mused.
"Tell you what," Dean said. "let's check out the office tonight. If the house was that clean, there's got to be something at the office."
For the next few hours, Sam looked for any information he could find on Dr. Stanwyck, while Dean slept off and on, finally rousing to go to the restroom.
"So, Dr. Stanwyck has been in town about eight months," Sam began talking as soon as Dean came out of the bathroom, seeming to be awake for good this time. "That would fit our theory of getting clients and locating his preferred victims."
"Has he got any other property? Anywhere he could hold people or stash bodies?" Dean stood in front of the mirror examining the bandages on his torso, trying to decide if he should take them off and attempt a real shower. He cautiously attempted to peel off one corner of the adhesive.
"No…not that I can find…" Sam answered, looking at the notes he had taken. "But he does own the building where his office is located, and there's an unoccupied basement." He looked up to see Dean concentrating on a corner of his bandage. "Hey, leave that alone. You need to keep that on for a couple of days, at least."
"I hate not being able to take a shower," Dean said, grumpily.
"Yeah, well you can still wash up," Sam pointed out. "And, believe me, I'd appreciate it if you did."
They returned to the diner to eat, waiting for dusk to ease into heavy night, then drove to the office building and circled the block. When they were certain no one was in the building, they parked along an empty alley and made their way to the back door. Sam picked the lock, and they entered the building, did a swift check of the ground floor, and then immediately searched out the door to the basement. Both drew their guns as Dean did a silent three-count and then swung the door open. There was nothing but silence and pitch-black below.
Dean led the way as they eased down the steps. Their eyes were adjusting to the darkness, and they were about halfway down when they realized that the staircase ended at another closed door. Again, the three-count, and again Dean swung the door open. It screeched loudly, and both Winchesters stepped into the basement, guns held at the ready.
Only to find nothing. The basement was completely open and completely empty. Sam reached back into the stairwell and flicked a light switch, and the basement flooded with harsh fluorescent light. They could see that it was carpeted and painted, but nothing else had been done to the space – no office walls, no cubicles. There were two bathroom doors at the far end of the building, but that was it.
For the sake of thoroughness, Sam went over and opened each bathroom door and looked into each tiny room. He turned to Dean and shrugged.
"Nothing."
"Awesome," Dean responded. "Okay, let's check out the upstairs."
The upstairs was just as devoid of anything sinister as the basement had been – waiting room, bathrooms, patient rooms, kitchenette – all were completely benign.
"Let me get into his records and see if I can dig anything up," Sam said as they entered Dr. Stanwyck's office. He sat down behind the desk and turned on the computer. Dean sat in one of the office chairs, shifting around noisily for a bit, looking for a relaxing way to sit that didn't put any pressure on his left side. Finally, he settled back and closed his eyes.
"Did you find a comfy spot, princess?" Sam asked with absent-minded snark as he tugged on desk drawers looking for an open one.
"I did, thanks for your concern." Dean replied, without opening his eyes. "What are you doing over there?"
"Looking for passwords. Most people keep them on a super safe sticky note in their desk," Sam said. "But apparently the good doctor is a little more clever than that. Let's hope the receptionist is less conscientious…" He stood and walked out to the waiting room.
"Let me know when you've got something," Dean said with a yawn. He could hear Sam in the reception area tugging on desk drawers and shuffling papers around.
When the noises fell silent, Dean opened his eyes. Maybe Sam had found something, or logged onto the receptionist's computer? Dean's glance fell on the clock on Dr. Stanwyck's office wall.
"Son of a bitch!" He had been asleep for a half-hour. Dean jumped up and ran to the waiting room, a sick feeling bubbling in his gut. The waiting room was empty. Sam's phone, and his backup phone, both lay on the reception counter.
"Sam! Sammy!" Dean hurried from room to room. Sam was nowhere upstairs. Dean charged down to the basement again. It was just as empty as before. He ran back up the stairs. "Sammy!"
Dean had just entered the reception area again when the front door of the office building swung suddenly open and a man stepped inside.
"Stop right there! Let me see your hands!" Dean demanded. "Let me see them!" He had pulled the gun from his waistband the instant he heard the door, and he held it firmly in both hands, pointed at head level. The response was not what Dean expected.
His aggressive approach had backed the man against the wall, his arms in the air, and the poor guy looked as if that wall was the only thing that was holding him upright at the moment. Dean stared at him – either this vamp is the best actor ever, or this is just some dumb shmuck about to have a heart attack –
"Who are you?" Dean asked, waving his gun to emphasize the question.
"Robert…Robert…uh…Stanwyck…Dr. Stanwyck…" the man finally managed to stammer out. "I…this is my office. I don't have anything here…any money…anything valuable at all…"
Dean's heart fell when he heard the name. This was their suspect, and it was highly unlikely that he was any kind of monster. Reaching into his jacket pocket, Dean brought out his fake FBI badge.
"Agent Moreve, FBI…" he announced, flashing the badge quickly at the doctor. "We're investigating the recent murders, and you've got a connection to a couple of them." The man, already pale and terrified looking, blanched even whiter at the accusatory tone in Dean's voice.
"Yes, yes…I worked with Larry Tipton and his wife. I didn't actually work with Dan…" the doctor started to explain, but Dean cut him off.
"Did you know Lyssa and Devon Cate were missing?"
The doctor looked stunned. The news seemed to come as a genuine shock.
"No…I had no idea…they had an appointment…"
Again, Dean interrupted him – time to brass tack this thing –
"Show me your gums."
"Show you my…my gums?"
"Show me your gums," Dean repeated, waving the gun impatiently. "Pull your lip up, show me your gums."
Looking bewildered, Dr. Stanwyck slowly lowered one arm. He pinched his lip in his fingers and pulled up.
Dean leaned in close and examined the exposed gums. No fangs – nothing. He tucked his gun back in his waistband.
"Did you see anyone at all outside?" Dean asked. The doctor just shook his head mutely. Clearly, the oral cavity exam had been just a little too much to process. "Yeah, well, sorry to bother you…"
Then, knowing the futility of any attempt to explain his actions, Dean simply pushed past the dumbfounded man and exited the building.
There was no trace of Sam, or anyone else, in the parking lot. There was no trace of his brother anywhere.
Sam was just gone, and Dean had no suspect at all.