11:00 am that morning they stood in the den of retired FBI detective Richard Jameson. The large room was was richly furnished in dark woods and masculine fabrics. Just what Rachel thought the den of a cop should look like. She felt strangely comfortable standing in that room looking at the paintings of stormy seas and nature scenes, for some reason she was reminded of her father by it all.
Not that Jameson reminded her of dad at all, the former Detecive was a black man in his late 50's with a receding hairline and a mustache. He had a kind face and an unmistakable air about him that revealed what his line of work was. The damenor that only cops had made Rachel nervous usually, She didn't like lying to a guy who'd made his life's work out picking up subtleties in body language and other such things which give away the fact that you WHERE lying. But Rachel was more comfortable with Jameson some how, he still had the aura about him, but it was less imposing and more demure. Not as if he'd lost his touch, but as if he was happy that he didn't have to be so alert anymore.
She guessed he'd been retired a long time to be at such ease, because he bought their story of being reporters that wanted to talk about Mary with out too much of a problem and invited them in to his den almost warmly. He talked about the case with a sadness that was almost personal.
"I was on the job for 35 years-detective for most of that. Now everybody packs it in with a few loose ends, but the Mary Worthington murder—that one still gets me." He answered when Sam asked about Mary Worthington.
"What exactly happened?" Dean asked.
The older man raised an eyebrow at Dean "You said you were reporters?"
THERE IT GOES. Rachel thought inwardly and almost smiled at the fact that she had misjudged his ease. He was still sharper than she'd given him credit for.
"We know a few general things." Rachel cut in. "We know Mary was 19 and lived by herself. We know she won a few local beauty contests, dreamt of getting out of Indiana, being an actress. And we know the night of March 29th someone broke into her apartment and murdered her, cut out her eyes with a knife."
"That's right." Sam took over. "See sir, when we asked you what happened, we wanted to know what YOU think happened."
Leaning on his desk the former FBI angent gave them all a scrutinizing look, thinking. Rachel was actually worried for a second that he was going to say 'Your all full of shit. Get out of my house.' But to her surprise he turned around and opened the top drawer of the filing cabinet behind his desk. When his back was turned Dean looked over at Rachel and raised his eyebrows. The look that meant 'we're on thin ice, let's take it easy with him'. Rachel appluded the fact that he'd picked up the same vibe with the cop. That they had to be careful around him.
"Technically I'm not supposed to have a copy of this." Jameson said as he turned around to face them once again, a file folder in his hands. He opened it and placed it facing them on the huge mahogany desk. Comming in closer to see, they saw before them the picture Dean had found on the computer of Mary laying on the floor in a pool of blood in front of the mirror with the handprint.
"Now see that there? T-R-E?" Jameson said as he pointed to the three letters written in blood.
"Yeah." Dean answered.
"I think Mary was trying to spell out the name of her killer." Jameson looking up at them.
"You know who it was?" Sam asked.
"Not for sure. But there was a local man, a surgeon-Trevor Sampson." Jameson pulled out a picture of a man in his fourties wearing an expensive suit and sunglasses. "And I think her cut her up good." He finished with a note of sadness in his voice.
"Now why would he do something like that?" Rachel asked
"Her diary mentioned a man that she was seeing." Jameson said looking right into Rachel's eyes. "She called him by his initial, "T". Well, her last entry, she was gonna tell "T"'s wife about their affair."
"Yeah but how do you know it was Sampson who killed her?" Dean said.
Frowning the detective looked at the floor. "It's hard to say, but the way her eyes were cut out…it was almost professional."
"But you could never prove it?" Dean asked
Jameson took a deep breath and closed the file. He answered as he turned around to replace the file. "No. No prints, no witnesses. He was meticulous."
"Is he still alive?" Rachel asked.
"Nope." Jameson said as he sat down with a sigh. "If you ask me, Mary spent her last living moments trying to expose this guy's secret. But she never could."
"Where's she buried?" Sam asked
"She wasn't. She was cremated."
The three of them glanced at eachother with subtle disappointment. Creamation meant two things. One, that the spirit couldn't be stopped by salting and buring the bones. And two, that this case just got a lot harder.
"What about that mirror?" Rachel blurted out. Her voice a little too excited at the prospect. She clamed and said more reporter like, "It's not in some evidence lockup somewhere is it?"
Jameson didn't seem to catch her slip and seemed to think for a moment befor answering. "Ah, no. It was returned to Mary's family a long time ago."
"You have the names of her family by any chance?" Sam asked.
"Oh really? Ah that's too bad Mr. Worthington. I would have paid a lot for that mirror." Sam said into his cell phone as he sat in the front seat of the Impala once again. "Okay, well maybe next time. All right, thanks."
Sam pressed them 'end' button and looked up out the window into the sunshine. It was ealy afternoon and the where back on the road headed back to Ohio once again. The day was warm and Rachel sat in the back seat with the window rolled down. She'd taken off her hoody and was comfortable on the cool leather in her jeans and green tanktop. She was enjoying the sunshine on her bare arms, the scent from the strawberry patch they drove passed whafted into the car and filled the air with the heady scent, making her mouth water slightly. The wind shwooshed her hair gently and she liked the whispy feeling of it on her shoulders.
Then a thought occured to her, interupting her thoughts about Mary and the plan that was forming in her head was the sudden jab of guilt. It was another beautiful day that her sister wasn't around to see, another day filled with life for the living and a cold grave for Kelly. Her beautiful, golden haired sister wasn't here to smell the strawberries with her. She couldn't feel the sunshine or feel the breeze.
Tears sprang to Rachel's eyes at the thought, all of sudden she no longer liked the warth of the sun on her skin. The smell of the berries became sour and she no longer wanted to feel the wind on her cheeks. She knew why instantly. She didn't want to take any pleasure in the simple pleasures of life if her sister couldn't do the same. If Kelly couldn't have the sun, Rachel didn't want it either.
She rolled up the window, shutting the warm breeze and the sweet scent of the strawberries outside. She was about to move over to the shady side of the car so she couldn't feel the heat of the sun anymore when Dean took a turn that put the sun on the otherside anyway. She was in shadows that cooled her skin instatly without having to move. She was greatful for the less pleasurable setting now.
"So?" Dean asked his brother, both where totally unaware of her neurosis, of which she was thankful.
"So that was Mary's brother." Sam answered. "The mirror was in the family for years, until he sold it one week ago to a store called Estate Antiques. A store in Toledo."
"Toledo?" Rachel asked with wide eyes.
"Yep." Sam answered. "Toledo."
"So wherever the mirror goes, that's where Mary goes?" Dean suggested.
"Her spirit's definitely tied up with it somehow." Sam aknowledged.
Rachel leaned forward from the back, resting her arms on the back of the front bench seat.
"Isn't there an old superstition that says mirrors can capture spirits?" She thought out loud. Before either of them could answer Rachel took a breath that was filled with the musky scent of Dean's leather jacket. Which he was still wearing dispite the warm day. Still keeping her position, she recoiled slightly at the realization that she was so close to him and the fact that she liked the smell a little too much.
"Yeah there is." Sam answered. "Yeah, when someone would die in a house people would cover up the mirrors so the ghost wouldn't get trapped.
"So Mary dies in front of a mirror, and it draws in her spirit." Dean said.
"Yeah but how could she move through like a hundred different mirrors?" Sam asked.
"I don't know, but if the mirror is the source, I say we find it and smash it." Dean suggested
Sam seemed to consider the thought and frowned before answering. "Yeah, I don't know, maybe."
They where silent then. Digesting all the new information, Rachel rested her chin on her hands which where folded on the seat in front of her. She looked up into the rearview mirror the same time as Dean did.
Their eyes cought one anothers and locked. Rachel's heart picked up speed at she looked into those hazel depth's and she found herself unable to look away. She wondered for a second what his eyes would look like heavy with desire and found that she didn't have to push her imagination too far. His gaze was so intense that she knew he was thinking similar things as he looked at her right now. She felt her stomach clench pleasurably at the thought of him wanting her. She was just aknowledging what a dangerous thought that was when her phone rang, pulling her from her mesmerization.
Thankful for the ring, she broke eye contact with him and leaned back in her seat. Still feeling her head swim she answered the phone.
"Hello." She said. "Charlie? Calm down, are you ok?"
Rachel listened to the histerical girl on the other end. Sam turned to look at her, a questioning look on his face. She looked back at him while she listened and found his eyes comforting.
"Ok. Ok." She said to Charlie, trying to calm her. "Where on our way back, we'll be there soon. Just try not to look at anything with a reflection."
Sam and Dean exchanged surprised looks at hearing her words.
"Soon, we'll be there soon." Rachel answered then pulled the phone away from her mouth. "How long till we get there?" She asked Dean.
She saw him glance at the speedomiter then the mile marker on the road.
"We can be there by 6 if we haul ass." He answered.
Bringing the phone back to her mouth she spoke to Charlie once again. "We'll be there at 6 ok, just hang tight. Ok?"
She listened for another moment then ended the phone call with more encouageing words that they where on the way.
"6 if we haul ass?" She asked.
"Just about." He answered.
"Then haul ass. Mary's after Charlie."
Rachel felt the car pick up speed befor she even finished her sentance.