9:32 PM

~13~ Aid

Garth was kicked out of the library at nine thirty. Head hung low, feet dragging, it was almost as though the overloaded book bag was dragging him down. But it was not. It was the guilt. The burden of failure.

Nothing, absolutely nothing had been of any help in there. Possession was too broad a topic, and he found zilch on anything related to fresh wounds appearing on corpses. He'd called the hospital, but they said George Fernandez, the man Dean expelled the spirit from, had died soon after his "seizure." Garth couldn't ask a dead man any questions. Or he could, but he couldn't expect any answers.

Desperate for help, he'd called at least a dozen hunters, all of whom offered nothing.

"Tennessee? Ooh, boy, I'm in Connecticut..."

"Sorry, man, can't help ya. Up to my eyeballs in vamps..."

"Winchesters? Dead? Better run, boy. Anything that can take out those two punks is way above your pay grade..."

Garth had nearly thrown away his phone, all his phones, in an exceptionally rare fit of anger. But after a five minute session of tai chi between the bookshelves, he'd regained his composure.

Now, however, he felt frustration bubbling up again.

He opened the door of his pickup and swung the book bag inside, onto the passenger seat. Clambering up behind the wheel, he'd just turned the ignition when he heard Van McCoy's The Hustle tittering from one of his cell phones.

"Where is it...? Gaaah... Too many pockets... There." He found the right phone and hit the answer button. "Talk to me."

"Um... Ranger Hank?"

"Dr Corrigan, I presume."

"Yes, you...presume correctly, um... I found something else. I... Can you get back here? Now? I'll unlock a back door."

"On my way." Pulling on a seat belt (safety first), Garth hung up and threw the shift into drive, hitting the gas and pealing out of the parking lot.

He did not notice the ghost cruiser nose its way onto the road in silent pursuit.

"Look at this. Both of them."

Dr Corrigan led Garth to Dean first, exposing his right arm from beneath the shroud. Garth's eyebrows flew up his forehead.

"How did that get there?" A clean cut sliced open Dean's arm. Blood spattered the sheet and gurney, but like his fist, it hadn't bled profusely.

"And him as well." The medical examiner shuffled over to Sam, turning the sheet off his head. Garth squinted, looking at the fine scratches on the man's ashen cheeks.

"Those...aren't from—?"

"Fingernails," she said, shaking her head. "I swear these two had been in their coolers since you were last here. Security footage revealed no one coming in and tampering with them."

"Well they couldn't have done it to themselves," said Garth absently. Someone, or rather, something, was profaning the Winchesters' bodies. But why like this? Why not rip them to shreds and hang their spines up by their entrails like Christmas ornaments?

Garth shook his head. He didn't want to go to bed with that image on his mind.

"You're sure no one came in?"

"No, not a soul." A line creased her brow. "Although...there was one woman who called asking about one of them. A woman named Lilly. Lilly...Andersen."

Garth perked. "Andersen?"

Dr Corrigan nodded, birdlike. "Do you know her?"

"Not personally, no. One of my..." He gestured at Sam. His hand was shaking and he put it behind his back. "Companions spoke to her earlier. Before..." He nodded at the two corpses.

"Oh. Well, I told her I couldn't let her see them, not without permission from Detective Roberts or yourself. She gave me her contact information, if you want it."

"If you would be so kind, ma'am."

It was late, but Lilly Andersen was a night owl, it seemed. She answered on the third ring, an obvious hue of curiosity in her voice.

"Hello? Can I help you?"

"Miss Andersen," said Garth pleasantly. "I'm Ranger Hank. Sorry for calling so late, but I wanted to ask—"

"I told him not to go. I told him to stay away from that house."

A long pause. "I'm sorry?"

"That lawyer, 'Mr Sheppard.' I told him to stay away from Corvus Manor. And now he's dead, isn't he?"

Garth gripped the motel phone tightly. "Yes, ma'am. I'm afraid they are."

"They?"

"S— Mr Sheppard and his...associate. They went to take a look at the place. Just to look. Their firm—"

"They went there to find out what killed those other kids, ranger. You know this as well as I."

Garth swallowed. She was sharp for an old woman. "I suppose there's no sense in denying it."

"Damn straight, young man."

"...Why did you call the morgue today, Miss Andersen?"

"Please. Lilly."

"Right. Lilly. How did you know about their deaths?"

"I knew Mr Sheppard was going to go there despite my protests. It was only a matter of time before his body was found."

"Why didn't you warn him?"

"I did. I told him not to go. But I couldn't tell him why because I didn't know myself."

Garth frowned. "Then what made you say—?"

"Can we talk, ranger? In person?"

He glanced at the clock. "Um, sure. But can I get into your residence at this hour?"

"No need. I'll meet you. Tell that tight-assed medical examiner to keep the morgue open."

Lilly might be old and shake like a leaf, but she had all of her marbles, despite what the caretakers thought. Her "hallucinations," which only began to bother her in her twilight years, were not the signs of failing mental health. When they put her on the second floor of the retirement home, she took it on the chin, knowing that, sooner or later, she would get the opportunity to acquire one of the special keys needed to get off that floor. And she did.

The night shift didn't expect to see crazy old Lilly Andersen wandering out of the building, so they didn't. She reached the taxi she'd told to wait on the next block and it took her to the morgue. The extra large tip ensured no questions asked, and then she waddled around to the back, where the door had been left unlocked.

Ranger Hank was there to guide her to the room the two "lawyers" were kept in. He let her examine them, saying nothing, and within seconds she confirmed her own suspicions. These weren't legal beagles. They weren't pen-pushers of any kind. They were soldiers. But for whose army did they fight, that was the question.

"These injuries look fresh," said Lilly, pointing to Dean's punctured hand and sliced arm.

Garth shifted uncomfortably. "They are. They occurred postmortem. After they died."

"I know what postmortem means." She turned to Sam, brushing the fingernail scratches on his cheeks, and sighed.

"So young. What a burden they bear."

"Excuse me?" Garth stared at her.

"Stop pretending. I know what they are. What you are."

"I'm...a Texas r—"

Lilly turned to him, almond eyes blazing. "No, you're not. My entire family was killed either by the supernatural or those who hunt the supernatural. I know what it is when I see it."

He shuffled again. "Then let's start over. My name's Garth."

"And them?"

"Sam and Dean Winchester. Hunters. Best of the best."

She raised an eyebrow and looked down at them. "Not anymore." Her shakes were making her weary, and she sat down in the nearest chair, fiddling with her silver charm bracelet. "I take it you weren't with them when they died."

"No. I was going to meet them there. At the manor. I don't know what killed them."

"What makes you so sure they're dead?"

Garth froze. "I'm...sorry?"

"The other three who died, are they like this?"

"You mean dead? Yes, they're still dead too."

"Don't get snarky with me, boy. I mean almost unharmed at death, but getting new wounds later on."

"Can't say I've checked," Garth admitted. "The first part, yes. Dr Corrigan probably knows about the second. I'll call her."

Lilly studied him, his scrawny frame and quirky demeanour. He probably smiled all the time. But he wasn't smiling now.

"Don't look so sad, young man. Hope may be fragile, but it's very hard to kill."

He looked at her, and a look of understanding came over his face. "Then I hope you are right."