"So, did you already check out that apartment? The one for rent," Jo asks us, looking mostly at Dean though. "Yeah. Yes," Dean answers, shifting from foot to foot nervously. "Loved it. Heh. Great flow."
"How'd you get in?" the landlord inquires, eyeing the three of us.
"It was open," I say with a voice dripping with as much fake beneficence. Jo shrugs off my comment and purposefully puts herself back into the main focus of conversation. "Now, Ed, um, when did the last tenant move out?"
"About a month ago. Cut and run, too. Stuck me for the rent."
"Well. Her loss, our gain!" Jo says as she pulls out a wad of cash. "We'll take it."
The landlord takes the money and gives Jo the key to the apartment and the four of us return to the suite. Taking another walk through, we notice there is only one bedroom with a queen-size bed in it, but there is a nice, comfortable looking sofa and armchair in the main room.
Jo looks at Sam and says, "I'll flip you for the sofa." I am beyond thankful that it was common knowledge that Dean and I would get the bed. There isn't any way we could both fit on the couch, not with Dean's height and my frame. "Does your mother even know you're here?" Dean asks Jo. We all know that Ellen had thrown a fit when she found out that Jo had been planning on coming here to hunt this thing, alone. That's how we ended up with the case to begin with.
"Told her I was going to Vegas." Jo answers, nonchalantly. "You think she's gonna buy that?" Dean asks. "I'm not an idiot. I got Ash to lay a credit card trail all the way to the casinos."
"You know, you shouldn't lie to your mom. Shouldn't be here either," Dean says and I'm beginning to pick up on something I don't like. It sounds like Dean actually cares whether Ellen knows where her daughter is.
"Well, I am. So untwist your boxers and deal with it," Jo tells him, turning and walking away from him. "You don't worry about his damn boxers, honey," I say, anger bubbling just under the surface. "Because believe me, you have no effect whatsoever on them."
"Oh really?" Jo smirks, walking up to me. "I have to beg to differ with you there, honey. The first time you guys were at the Roadhouse, I fucking had an effect on them."
I took a step toward her ready to knock the smirk off her face. "ENOUGH, DAMMIT!" Dean yells, stopping me in my tracks. He walks over to me and puts an arm around my shoulder, grounding me. He glances over the two of us and silently begs Sam to help alleviate the tension in the room. Sam decides to try and change the subject, needling Jo for information, "Where'd you get all that money from, anyways?"
"Working, at the Roadhouse," Jo turns to answer him. "Bullshit." I say, ready to confront her for lying now. "Hunters don't tip that well."
"Well, they aren't that good at poker, either," she says, eyeing me. Dean's cell phone rings and he answers it. "Yeah." I can hear Ellen's voice since I'm standing next to him. "Is she with you?"
"Oh, hi Ellen," Dean says, the pitch of his voice a bit higher than usual to get the attention of the room. "She left a note she's in Vegas. I don't believe it for a second."
Dean holds the phone back away from his face, to talk to Jo. "I'm telling her."
Jo comes to stand toe to toe with him, whispering, begging for him to keep his mouth shut.
"Dean?" Ellen inquires, through the phone.
"I haven't seen her," he lies, and I scoff and walk into the bedroom, slamming the door closed.
Dean finishes the phone conversation and puts his phone back in his pocket. Coming to the closed door, he knocks, "Nic, baby. Can I come in?" I hadn't locked the door so as soon as he turns the knob, he opens it and enters.
"What the hell was that all about?" he asks me, confused.
"Oh, nothing, Dean," I say sarcastically. "Just one minute you're telling her to not lie to her mother and then the next minute YOU are the one lying to Ellen." I walk toward the bed, sit down and cross my arms. "It's making my head fucking spin."
Dean approaches the bed and kneels in front of me. "Listen, I know you don't like her, but she's here and you know what, it was her that gathered the information about it. No, I don't like that she's here either, but we could use the extra set of hands."
I look at him, perplexed. "You want to work with her? You want ME to work with her? Did you hear her out there? She knew that would get me riled up! She fucking knew, Dean! And she used it to get to me. She threw that shit right in my face. And you're in here asking me to work with her? Have you lost it? One too many hits to the head?" By this time, I've stood and am staring him down.
"Calm down, sweetheart. I know, I know she shouldn't've brought that up. But you know! Dammit, you know the truth of what really happened that day. The only effect she had on me was I saw her for who she really is. Baby, please, let's just put it to the side and focus on ganking this ghost, ok?"
I know Dean has a good point. I know that Jo had tricked Dean into going into the storage room at the Roadhouse with her; I know she practically threw herself at him; and I know it never went any further than that but I just cannot, in any reality or universe, trust Jo Harvelle. "You are not working with her alone. I will be there every step of the way. No teaming me up with Sam. You understand?"
"Wouldn't have it any other way, sweetheart," Dean says as he pulls me to him, his lips meeting mine.
Dean paces the room while Jo and Sam are at the table, looking over the building's blueprints. Jo is flipping a small knife around. "This place was built in 1924. It was originally a warehouse, converted into apartments a few months ago," Jo reads off the information about the complex.
"Yeah? What was here before 1924?" Dean stops his pacing to ask.
"Nothing. Empty field," Jo answers, not looking up at him. While Dean and I had been talking in the bedroom, Sam had warned Jo to leave us alone or he would call her mother and tell her Jo's actual whereabouts. And that had intimidated her enough to obey. "So, most likely scenario, someone died bloody in the building, and now he's back and raising hell," I suggested.
Jo, shaking her head, squashed that idea, "I already checked. In the past eighty two years, zero violent deaths. Unless you count a janitor who slipped on a wet floor." Jo finally looks up at Dean, who had began pacing again, "Would you sit down, please?"
Dean complies and sits at the table. "So, have you checked police reports, county death records…?"
"Obituaries, mortuary reports and seven other sources. I know what I'm doing," she tells him, belligerently.
"I think the jury's still out on that one," I mumble, but apparently Jo heard because the knife stills in her hand and she slowly turns her head to look at me, her eyes slanted. "Could you put the knife down?" Dean asks, noticing the tension arising again between us. "Okay! So, uh, it's something else, then. Maybe some kind of cursed object that brought a spirit with it," Sam throws out another suggestion.
"Well, we've got to scan the whole building, then. Everywhere we can get to, right?"
"Right. So, you and me," Dean says, looking at me "we'll take the top two floors."
"We'll move faster if we split up," Jo advises. "That's why you and Sam are taking the bottom floor." Jo starts to protest but Dean stops it quickly. "Oh, this isn't negotiable."
Dean and I roam the floor, waving our EMF readers back and forth. The machines noticeably silent. "You know, it's bad enough I lied to her mom, but I don't know if you've noticed, but she's kind of the spirit's type."
"Yeah, I know. 'T's the only reason I've decided to let bygones be bygones."
"You wanna use her as bait?" Dean asks me, shocked, but not surprised.
"It'll be the quickest way to draw whatever it is out and you know it. Besides I can't do it. The ghost don't want me."
"Yeah, but I do," Dean says as he kisses my cheek and slaps my ass. "Oh," I yelped.
"Wait," Dean says, stopping at the juncture of the hallway. "You smell that?" I sniff, a pungent odor permeates the air, then ask, "What is that, a gas leak?"
"No. Something else. I know it. I just can't put my finger on it." I crouch by the grating; my EMF reader begins to purr. "Mazel Tov. You just found our spirit," Dean smiles at me and then presses his lips to mine chastely. "It's inside the vent," I tell him.
Dean crouches down beside me, shining his flashlight into the vent and then hands it over. He pulls out a screwdriver and unscrews the grating, pulling it off the wall. "There's something in there." He reaches his arm inside, feeling around. He pulls his hand out, holding a clump of blond hair. "Somebody's keeping souvenirs," Dean says as I scrunch up my nose.
After describing what we found, the four of us decide to get a good night's rest so we can focus on understanding this spirit's protocol. Dean and I head to the bedroom to let Sam and Jo discuss their own sleeping arrangements. Laying in the bed, cuddled in Dean's embrace, my back to his chest and his arm draped over my waist, I am almost asleep when his hand starts wandering south.
"What are you doing?" I whisper. "If you don't know, then I'm doing it wrong," he answers, chuckling. "Dean, as much as I'd love to prove to Jo that you're mine, I am not having sex with you with your brother right in the next room!"
"You're no fun," he pouts as he pulls his hand back to my waist. I twist my neck enough to be able to land a quick kiss to the underside of his chin. "Go to sleep, Dean."
The next morning, Dean and I enter the kitchen area to find Jo alone, sitting at the table twirling her knife again and going over notes and the blueprints. "Morning," she says, not really paying attention to us. Dean places a bag on the table and pulls out a Bowie knife, unsnaps it from the sheath and hands it to her, hilt-first.
"Here."
"What's this for?" Jo asks, confused.
"It'll work a hell of a lot better than that little pig-sticker you're twirling around."
Jo takes the knife from him then hands him hers. He studies it, and I can see it has initials engraved on the blade: W.A.H. Dean looks up at me then to Jo, and I nod in understanding. It was her father's knife. "William Anthony Harvelle," Jo says, like it's no big deal. "I'm sorry. My mistake," Dean apologizes, taking his knife back and sheathes it.
"What do you.. what do you remember about your dad? I mean, what's the first thing that pops into your head?" Dean shakes his head, like he's not going to get into this conversation. "Come on, tell me," Jo pleads. Dean sits across from her, "I was six or seven, and uh, he took me shooting for the first time. You know, balls on a fence, that kind of thing. I bulls-eyed every one of 'em. He gave me this smile, like... I don't know." Dean smiles at the memory. "He must have been proud," Jo states.
"What about your dad?" Dean asks. I'm beginning to feel awkward because my relationship with my dad was never forced or compulsive, or practically non-existent like Sam and Dean's was with John. My dad and I had a great relationship. For almost 25 years, my dad and I had each other and that was enough.
"I was still in pigtails when my dad died, but I remember him coming home from a hunt. He'd burst through that door like, like Steve McQueen or something," Jo tells us, smiling at her own memories. "And he'd sweep me up in his arms, and I'd breathe in that old leather jacket of his. And my mom, who was sour and pissed from the minute he left, she started smiling again. And we were... we were a family. You wanna know why I want to do the job? For him. It's my way of being close to him. Now tell me what's wrong with that."
"Nothing," Dean and I say, simultaneously, although mine is weak. I realize that Sam is missing, and as I start to ask his whereabouts he bursts through the door.
Sam bursts through the door, "There are cops outside. Another girl disappeared."
It is decided that Dean and I will go ask and see what we can find out about the newest victim; if she resembles the other marks. Sam and Jo are studying the notes, a little more urgently than before when Dean and I return. "Teresa Ellis, Apartment 2F. Boyfriend reported her missing around dawn," I inform the duo. "And her apartment?" Jo asks.
"Cracks all over the plaster, walls, ceiling. There was ectoplasm, too," Dean answer her, but is looking at his brother. "Well, between that and that tuft of hair I'd say this sucker's coming from the walls," Sam confirms. "But who is it? Building's history is totally clean," Dean questions.
Jo picks up a photograph and looks at it intently. "Well, maybe we're looking in the wrong place."
"What do you mean?" Dean inquires, walking over to take a look at the picture she's holding
"Check this out."
Sam takes the photo from Jo's hand and closely examines it. "An empty field?"
"It's where this building was built. Take a look at the one next door. The windows."
"Bars," Sam acknowledges. "We're next door to a prison?" I ask, knowing the stakes of the hunt just possibly surpassed all of our expertise. If it was an inmate that had been put to death and he was still pissed, it could have huge ramifications on whether we could handle this hunt. Three hunters and a wannabe might not be able to take down a murdered criminal with a grudge.
Jo offers to call Ash and have him look up and send any information about the prison that this apartment complex was built beside. She makes the call and after letting him know that it was covert and threatened bodily harm if he told her mom about her call, Ash agreed to find out what he could and send it to us as soon as possible.
"Ok, so far all he knows is it was the Moyamensing prison. Built in 1835, torn down in 1963. And get this. They used to execute people by hanging them in the empty field next door."
"Well, then, we need a list. All the people executed there," Sam warrants.
"Ash is already on it," Jo tells him, with a smile in her face; she is proud of herself.