Chapter 29: Finding Kelly
Dawn the next morning saw the black frame of the 1967 Chevy Impala cross over from Oakland beneath the red suspension of the Golden Gate Bridge and drive into San Francisco. Beneath the bridge the most common on San Francisco weather, fog, blanketed the bay with hazy gray. The droplets of moisture brushed across the front view glass window of the Impala coating it with beads of water as the car cut through the low hanging clouds. Dean Winchester remained awake as he stared out across the visible expanse of the bay, and into the hills. He examined, with eyes bleary from nearly twelve hours of driving, the tall triangle skyscrapers peeking out of the thick gray soup threading through the inland. In the seat beside him, his brother, Sam remained asleep. So far this very early morning, Dean had tried every method imaginable to wake his brother. He occasionally jerked the car, brought it to quick stops at red lights, he'd reached over and shaken Sam, but his brother remained asleep. Even the blasting of Bon Jovi's "Shot Through the Heart" was not enough to wake Sam, and Dean had nearly given up when a sharp beam of sunlight cutting through the dismal weather that shocked the youngest Winchester into the morning.
Sam rubbed his eyes, vigorously trying to remove white spots from his vision. Stretching his neck from side to side, he popped the joints, made squirrely by a kink in his muscles from sleeping with his neck craned to the side, back into place. He rubbed the base of his neck, trying to work out one of the knots, as he rolled his shoulders. Sam's head felt like it was stuck permanently leaning to the right, and as he looked over at his brother, he half-expected Dean to bust out laughing. Which, Sam was gratified to realize, he did. "Dude, you are gonna wanna get your head checked." Dean snorted, as Sam forced his neck upright. "Don't want to meet chicks with a bobble head that looks like it's stuck on the leaning tower of pizza."
"That's Pisa Dean." Sam snapped. He popped his ears so he could hear better, and wondered how the hell Dean had made it down to San Francisco in just under twelve hours without a speeding ticket or crashing the car. When he'd fallen asleep they'd still been in the Sierra Nevada. He glanced at his brother. There were dark circles underneath Dean's eyes, but his jaw was set firmly in concentration. Even with the partially amused expression lingering on his features, Sam had no trouble believing that they'd made it here completely on caffeine, doughnuts, Twizzlers, and Dean's own willpower. Sam pulled out his cell phone, it would probably be better if he got his brother to a bed ASAP. He searched for local motels in his GPS database, it came in handy for finding something close and cheap. "We probably should crash." He said.
"I'm fine." Dean said.
"You should probably crash."
"I'm fine." This time the words came out more forcefully, but Sam Winchester wasn't convinced. He dialed Smurph's Motel, and ordered a room.
"The motel is five minutes from here." He said. The 67 Impala passed the toll booth, and they headed down the off ramp and into the cloudy hills of San Francisco.
"I'm fine, Sam."
000
Kelly woke with her arms bound to a chair. Her wrists were chafing beneath tightly knotted ropes, and there was a sallow stench in the air. She inhaled a deep breath, only to be met with the scent of rotting flesh, Kelly choked and coughed, she sneezed, her eyes welled up, and she could hear the buzzing of flies in the heavy air. Through vision blurred by tears and swollen lids she saw Beckett Cole sitting across from her, she recognized his hair and the shape of his nose out of the haze. Even in the overwhelming smells around her, she was able to identify him. Beckett had a very distinct smell. But there was something else in the air, it was strong even though the air was blanketed by the aroma of decomposing bodies. It stung at her nose, harsh, cold, biting. "Salt water." She swallowed. They were near the ocean. She glanced across the room, towards the source of the smell, and was saddened by what she saw. Two bodies hung shackled to a steel wall. One had only died recently. Kelly could tell because it was less rotted than the other. It's yellow skin had turned the color of cheese and looked soft and bloated beneath the blinking overhead light. The body was male, and still dressed in a blood soaked brown PacSun tee, and ripped jeans. His short hair was falling out of the skull, so half of the back of the head was bald, and the left ear sagged sideways. The eyes were open and the irises had paled to milky white, and stared blankly out into the room. Stitches ran from the open mouth to the hair line, and there was a large scar cut across the forehead, exposing the pale gray of brain tissue. Kelly swallowed as she watched a spider crawl out from within the brain cavity. Flies buzzed around the body, landing and walking with tiny delicate feet across the open eyes, sucking away at the dead tissue. Fighting the urge to retch, Kelly dropped her eyes, unable to turn her gaze to the second, even more decomposed body. If she'd been forced to guess, she would have said that the second body had been there for months. Kelly forced her eyes back up and looked at the body. The nose of the girl had rotted away, and her chalky skin was peeling off of bleached bone. Insects and bacteria had eaten through her cheeks, exposing a set of twisted teeth. Her half her upper lips was gone, leaving her skeletal face with a sneering expression. The eyes were eaten away, and so a pair of hollowed sockets gazed out into the darkened room. Flies swarmed around her open chest cavity, as white maggots threaded in and out of the rotting intestines. Globs of puss oozed down out of his sternum. The pussy yellow globs dripped down the papery dried skin, and dribbled down to the shriveled toes. Kelly looked away, and saw in the glint of light her plaid bag. That was one good piece of news. But it forced her to wonder why her weapons had been brought here. What does Lorna or whoever gain from it? The bodies here looked like they'd been tortured, and Kelly didn't doubt that the killer intended a similar fate for her and Beckett.
The room was made completely out of steel, as if part of an old factory had been transplanted out of the turn of the 20th century. The floor rocked back and forth beneath her feet, as the metal groaned. Overhead the chains clanked together as the tide rolled underneath her. Boat. Kelly thought. They were on a boat. On the water. Kelly shook her head, that hit to the head must have done more damage than she'd thought. If we're on a boat, then we're obviously on the water. However they were only rolling back and forth, so… We're tethered. That was good news. Better chance to escape if we're near land. Far better than if they were in the open ocean. Better chance for a rescue. That was unlikely, but she could never discount the possibility. After all, I doubt Dean's far behind me. She hoped he was at the same time she hoped he wasn't. She needed to take the chance to prove herself on her own. She clenched her fingers into fists, and felt as her nails dug into the soft flesh of her hands. Kelly leaned forward, struggling against the ropes binding her to the metal chair. "Beckett!" She hissed. "Beckett wake up!" There was a moan across from her as Beckett began to struggle with his own binds. Kelly's eyes narrowed and sharpened in the brown gloom.
"It's not a good idea to move." Came a voice from behind her. Kelly's head snapped around, and she stared at a curly headed blonde girl. It was no one she recognized.
"Who are you?" Kelly asked. I'm pretty much on my own here. And she was already knee deep in shit.
"Charity." The girl wailed. "Charity Wells!"
"Okay, Charity." Kelly tried to keep her voice calm. The other was clearly panicking, and she was having bad flashbacks to H. H. Holms iron box and Jessica's hysteria fits. "Do you know what's going on?" She watched as the girl bit her lip.
"I figured it'd be better if I ran away!" She cried. "My parents are no good, Dad's an alcoholic and Mom's a gambler! I figured I'd have to make my own way in the world, but it's my fault I ain't never finished high school! An' here I is, God musta judged me like Nana allays said 'e would! This is hell righ'? It's gotta be!"
"This isn't hell." Kelly snapped. "We're on the water in San Francisco, and you have to tell me what's going on!"
"I…I don't…"
"Crap monster, you're scaring the poor kid." Kelly's attention moved back to Beckett, as his harsh tone cut through the heavy rotting stench weighing down the air. She examined him closely for the first time since she'd woken up, and was disappointed to discover that he seemed no worse for wear.
"Yeah?" Kelly asked. Her voice was challenging. She didn't like being called monster, when Beckett said it there was a cruel edge. Worse than an insult. It felt like he was cursing her. Internally she cringed away from the word, even if the designation applied. It hurt to be reminded of her inhumanity. Between Bobby, Ellen, and the Winchesters it's easy to forget how judgmental other hunters can be. "You think so?" She shook her head, brown hair splaying around her face, bangs tickling her eyes and her nose. She longed to itch her face, and fought in her binds again. But her hands remained tight in the bonds, and the urge itch grew stronger as the tickle on her nose increased. Beckett began to nod, but Kelly cut him off. "Sorry to disappoint, but she was terrified out of her mind before I turned my freakish gaze on her."
"At least you admit you're a freak." Beckett snapped. Kelly smirked at him. "Doesn't matter anyway, cause I'm making you a top hunting priority when we get out of here." His eyes narrowed as he looked at her. "Your monster ass is going down, bitch."
"What?" Kelly asked, her eyes wide with mock shock. "When did I grow a monstrous ass?" She rotated her head as far as she could, and craned back to look at her behind. "It looks about the same size to me."
"You're an animal." Beckett snarled.
"What do you mean?" Charity whimpered. "Who's the monster?"
"She's the monster!" Beckett yelled. He hopped in his chair, and he rocked so hard that the back of legs of his chair lifted off the floor and he tipped forward. Kelly laughed.
"Oh god! Yeh mean she's gonna kill us?" Charity cried. Kelly ignored her and turned her attention back to the body. It was her luck to be surrounded by imbeciles. Her upper lip curled back to expose a canine and she growled softly. Having her weapons here was worrying. What did their kidnapper intend? She forced herself to examine the tortured decomposing bodies once again. Perhaps there was some clue buried in those terrified expressions. Kelly swallowed.
"I'm going to kill Lorna if I get my hands on her." Kelly said. Her fists clenched tighter.
"Lorna?" Charity whispered. "You mean Lorna Pimm? That sweet old lady who runs Personel and Pimm's Charity Home and Help Center for Teen Runaways?"
"Old lady?" Beckett asked. "You mean middle aged thirties and overweight?"
"No." Charity said. "I mean old, as in white hair and wrinkly, carrying a cane old, hunched over old! Oooooooooold! Why would Lorna do this?" She wailed. "I know I haven't been the best! I know I made some mistakes with Joseph! But why? What did I do wrong?" Kelly glanced at Beckett, and the eyes that met hers were just as confused.
"So? Hunter of the Big Bad?" Kelly asked. "Who's our Lorna?"
"I…" Beckett trailed off. "I don't know." He looked past her to Charity. "But I'll figure this out." He promised. Kelly appreciated the earnestness in his eyes, even if none of it was directed towards her. "We'll get you out of here." Kelly swallowed a retort. She felt that it was a bad idea to promise anyone anything, especially when they were still all tied up. Yeah. She thought. Hopefully before one of us dies.
000
Matchstick Motel
San Francisco, California
Dean Winchester woke to his cell phone going off to the head banging beat of ACDC's "Hell's Bells". Struggling against the sheets he lay tangled under, his legs kicked back and forth, as his bare feet rubbed against the scratchy fabric. Like all the motel beds he'd adjusted to sleeping in over the years, this one's bed sheets were bordering on threadbare. They were itchy and if he wasn't certain that they had been recently washed as part of a professional motel chain, Dean knew that they'd probably be flea infested. Yanking back the comforter, he managed to free his arm from the twisted sheets and grabbed his phone. He'd been distracted by the great ring-tone, and before he answered, he took the opportunity to enjoy his favorite part of the song with a decent fist shake and banging of the head as he rocked out to the beat. This was his usual routine, and in the fog of just waking up, it was the only thing his mind could manage, until, quite suddenly, as he watched the name flash on the screen of his cell, that it was Ellen. Then his sleepy brain understood. Ellen only called with information relating to Kelly, or when she wanted to hear updates about their search for Kelly, or when she was worried that they weren't doing enough to find Kelly. Either way, it was always about Kelly. Dean put the phone to his ear. "Hello?" He asked. "Ellen?" Coughing up phlegm after sharply inhaling the excess dust hiding in the comforter, Dean pounded his chest. After his throat was clear, he waited to hear a voice on the other end of the line.
"Dean honey?" It certainly was Ellen.
"Yeah." Dean answered. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Sitting up, he reached for the shirt he'd discarded at the end of the bed. He looked across the room trying to locate his jeans jacket. "Ash found something?" He saw it hanging mournfully off the back of a nearby chair, and the wide open window. Someone, probably Sam, had shut the curtains. Dean yawned. What time was it?
"Apparently." Ellen replied. "Just stuck his head out of the back, said he missed something on the first run through." Dean raised his eyebrows. It wasn't like Ash to be sloppy, but he knew that even miracle workers could make mistakes. Ash was, after all, only human. "Seems Kelly did use one of those fraudulent credit cards you boys ordered her." Dean could hear the disapproval behind Ellen's words as she said "fraudulent". He knew she didn't appreciate him corrupting Kelly or bringing her into a life of con artistry and crime. Still, Ellen knew how most hunters operated, and Dean knew she wasn't about to judge him on virtue of that alone. "She used it at a Sports Supply store."
"What was she buying?" Dean asked. "Ammo?" He hadn't realized it was legal to sell bullets in San Francisco. You'd think the hippies would have set up laws or some bullshit like that.
"And a pistol." Dean heard the shuffling of paper, and realized that Ellen was looking at Kelly's purchase report. He wasn't surprised that Ash had managed to get it, these sorts of things were cake for the hardened hacker, but Dean who never could find his way around a computer and who only used the internet for jobs and porn was still mildly impressed. Even though he'd never admit it to Ash's face. "A Walther P99." There was a pause. "Good gun." Ellen added.
"Bond's gun?" Dean hadn't been aware that Kelly was a fan of the old movies. Or the new ones, but… Who sold her the Walther P99? The damn thing had a tendency to jam, and like all compact guns it's recoil could be hard on the hands. He didn't have a problem with her using it, but there were certainly more suitable guns out there. Better matched to her size and weight. Dean paused. Wasn't she using the 17L Glock 9mm pistol like Sam? It was a good gun. He preferred the 1911 Colt for it's steady handling, but he didn't begrudge his brother using the 17L. It was a good gun. Still, he understood Kelly's need to establish her own martial identity with a distinctive handgun. But the Walther P99? He climbed out of the bed, and walked across the threadbare rug. Grabbing a pen, he cradled the phone between his shoulder and ear. Pulling the pad of hotel stationary towards him, he listened as Ellen complained.
"It's not a bad gun, Dean."
"I'm a sucker for the classics." Dean replied. "What's the address?"
"It's a small place on the corner of 43rd and Jared Road. Downtown near Haight Street." Ellen said.
"The hippie street?" What the hell was a gun store doing there? Dean shrugged. No better place to hide than in plain sight. That was what his father always said. Dean shook his head, trying to clear a painful memory. "And the Friscans haven't burned it down?" Screw what Sam called the inhabitants of San Francisco, Friscans sounded cooler.
"Apparently not." Ellen said. "Where's your brother, I don't hear him stumbling about in the background?"
"Sam went down to the local morgue." Dean pulled back the curtain and peered out into the motel parking lot. There beneath a steel gray sky and thin yellow rays of sunlight sat his baby, the 1967 Chevy Impala. Must've walked. Dean himself couldn't imagine braving the streets of San Francisco on foot for any length of time. But then, gays made him nervous. "Checkin' out the recent killings." And to decide if this really is a werewolf. He heard Ellen snort.
"It's fine if you boys want to pretend you're just working a regular job." Ellen said. Her voice sounded amused and gravelly through the receiver. "But don't expect the rest of us to buy it." Ellen, like Bobby, knew the real reason the Winchester boys were in San Francisco was impatience. She's right, what if Ash figures out that Kelly's on the other side of the country? Dean tried to clear his head of doubt, but it clung to his thoughts like sap dripped onto the Impala's hood. Unshakable. "The shop's called Morrison's Backwoods Sport Supply." She said. "Gary must've put more than a few charms on it to keep the protesters off." Dean listened as she laughed.
"Thanks for the info Ellen." Dean said. Having gotten what he needed, he was prepared to hang up the phone and move on, but the older woman on the other end of the line stopped him.
"I don't know how he stands to make a decent profit, or keep that hole in the wall running in a city that hates the NRA."
"You know the owner?" Dean asked. With a head shake, he copied down the directions she'd given him. With the Impala in the lot, he'd be able to check in on the lead right away. He was impatient to get moving, but Ellen wanted to keep talking, and Dean wasn't about to stop her. No matter how much he wanted to find Kelly.
"Old man used to be a hunter." Ellen replied. "He drifted through my place on more than a couple of occasions." She paused. "That was before he decided retire and make a living selling the arsenal he'd stockpiled. Gave me a Winchester Shotgun when he did. He worked with…" Ellen's voice trailed off and Dean knew she was remembering her husband. She'd lost him on when a mission turned bad. He'd been the bait, and John Winchester hadn't been able to save him in time. Dean knew that Ellen didn't blame their father or them for what happened. Even then, he understood that she was unwilling to talk about the past. Her desperate desire to keep Jo out of the hunters life was evidence enough, and he knew that if she had a say in the matter, she'd be keeping Kelly out of it too. "We were never close." Ellen finished brusquely. "But if I remember old Gary, he had a mind like a steel trap. If he's seen our girl, he'll remember." Dean nodded. A girl of Kelly's age, weight, and height would probably be an uncommon sight buying a gun anywhere except Texas, and she'd especially stand out in San Francisco.
Dean swallowed. "Thanks Ellen." There was another long pause, and Dean almost thought the line had been disconnected when Ellen spoke again.
"Dean?"
"Yeah?"
"We're all countin' on you to bring our Kelly home safe and sound." Dean's heart warmed a bit with her words, but he couldn't help flinching away from the extra weight of added responsibility. He wondered if Bobby had told Ellen that he'd slept with Kelly. It was likely, but somewhere inside himself Dean hoped Bobby hadn't. He didn't need to carry anymore blame for her running away. If it were anyone else, I'd just let her go. Dean thought. The way he'd done with Cassie. Just let go. But the thought of living without Kelly ate away at him, and after what the Crossroad's Demon said, Dean was half tempted to find her and secret her away someplace safe until everything had blown over. Kelly and Sam. Dean knew they were all caught up in the current, but if he had to Dean would spend his entire life fighting to keep the girl he loved and his brother from being washed down river. Still. What's dead should stay dead. There were moments when Dean wished his father had never made that deal to save him. It was something he'd only ever talked to Sam about deep in the night after their adventure with the Hellhounds, long after Kelly had fallen asleep. What's dead should stay dead. He took a deep breath. "Dean, honey?"
"Not a problem." Dean said. "I'll save her." Dean's mouth twisted wryly at the irony in his statement. Yeah, because I've done a bang up job so far.
"Yeah." Ellen paused. "Ash's sayin' we're out of peanuts so I've gotta go." Dean could still hear the left over emotion in the older woman's voice. She sounded like an old and worried aunt. "Don't want the place crumbling around me."
"Yeah." Dean said. "See ya, Ellen." Then he listened as the line went dead. He put down the silver cell and stared at it, his fingers tightening around the plastic edges. His thumb slid over the bumps of the numbers and he pressed END. Then, instead of sliding his phone back into his pocket like he usually did, Dean opened up the file on the phone labeled Contacts. He began flicking through the numbers. It took several long minutes for him to get half-way down his contact list and find what he was looking for. Dean Winchester ran his free hand through his closely cropped blonde hair, and stared down at the emblazoned white letters glimmering back at him on the screen. My girl. It read. Freely, Dean's thumb hovered over the green button on his cell, threatening to press SEND. Dean had called Kelly three times over the past week she'd been missing, and while his personal count was nothing compared to his brother's, who was prone to calling the girl each time he thought of her, it still bothered him. He was after all, Dean Winchester, playboy extraordinaire. He never gave out his cell phone number, because he never expected to be contacted the next day. He'd only ever dated one woman, and even for those few short months, Cassie had been the one who'd done all the calling. Now he found himself in the ridiculous situation of being forced to call. Of being whipped. He understood the reasoning behind her cell phone being shut off. When on, she could be tracked through the GPS chip in her phone, and it was clear that Kelly Jones didn't want to be found. He supposed that with her constant habit of running away when things got uncomfortable, he shouldn't be surprised. Still, he, like everyone else who counted her as family, hated the idea of her being out on her own. Dean wanted Kelly where he could protect her, and keep her safe. It was a strange feeling, one that was very different from the brotherly protection he felt towards Sam. The sense of duty that was brought along by being a member of the Winchester family. Dean couldn't quite get over the embarrassment of being reduced to leaving Kelly messages on her voicemail. Mostly it was a stuttering admission or an angry questioning of why she'd left him. He was angry. He was uncomfortable. The whole situation had him turned upside down, and he was still struggling to find which way was up. Even more frustrating was his forced admission that he sucked completely as a boyfriend. He didn't have Sam's gift with comforting or emotive demonstration. He couldn't fathom the sensitivity it took for the spontaneous pronouncements of adoration that Sam was capable of putting into a five minute message. Hell, Dean Winchester had trouble saying 'I love you'. The only time he'd managed it had been in a fit of sexual passion, and as Sam was always quick to remind him, no woman ever took expressions of love said during sex seriously. Dean didn't like discussing his 'feelings'. He was inclined to a wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am mentality that centered itself sinfully along the lines of lust and, on occasion, gluttony. He wasn't a settling down kind of guy. He hated any kind of forced reflection, and when he was upset he preferred to channel all his aggression into hunting. That was Dean Winchester's way. That was what he was comfortable with. But Kelly hadn't been part of that life plan. Her staying hadn't even been part of the general one, and though it had crossed his mind, he'd figured the universe, though cruel, wasn't sadistic enough to continue to force a lonely and tired girl on a path to Armageddon. He'd been wrong. Dean had simply wanted to give Kelly one incredible night, one she'd never forget, and send her home to her waiting family. He believed that if they loved her as much as he did, they were probably tearing their hair out with worry.
Dean couldn't deny that he was happy she had stayed. Even though those thoughts brought on waves of guilt. He knew he was being selfish. He didn't care. He'd discovered that the old phrase "out of sight out of mind" no longer rang true for him. If anything he thought of her more when she was away, than he did when she was riding in the back seat. Distance makes the heart grow fonder. Dean snorted at the sappiness of the saying, but he couldn't deny the truth in it. As much as he fought it. He would not be reduced to pining whipped man. He was Dean Winchester. With a growl, Dean closed his phone and jammed it back in his pocket. He would try her again another time. When he was in a better mood. Dean ripped off the piece of paper containing the address of Morrison's Backwoods Sports Supply off the pad and pulled on his black Metallica tee. Stuffing the paper into the pocket of his jeans jacket, he slid his arms through the sleeves and walked out of Room 22 and into the crisp California air. It was winter, already early December, and they were getting close to Christmas. Not that the Winchester brothers celebrated. It had never been an important holiday in their family, and normally their father was always working. Still, everywhere around him Dean could see the Christmas cheer as everyone from the Penthouse clientele to the homeless strung up twinkle lights in their windows, on their steps, and around their trashcans. Dean inhaled a deep draft of cold air, and headed down the stairs to the parking lot. The 67 Impala was parked exactly where he'd left it, when they'd driven into San Francisco that morning. Dean checked his phone. It was now three in the afternoon. Sam should be done with his investigation by now. But since he hadn't called, that gave Dean time to follow up on Ellen's lead. Stuffing memories of Kelly into the back of his mind, Dean crossed the asphalt and fished his keys out of his ride side pocket. He was keen on keeping any thoughts about his girl, other than sexual plans and fantasies of his intentions after finding her, out of his mind. If anything, Dean Winchester hated feeling sentimental, soft, or squishy. He left that up to Sam. His keys went in the lock, and heard the satisfying click as the door swung open, and he slid inside. Four days until the full moon leaves plenty of time to find Kelly and the werewolf. The monster they were hunting was only starting to get active, and if Dean was lucky he'd narrow down where Kelly was hiding out by tonight. Dean twisted his keys and listened as the engine roared to life. Journey blared out of the speakers as he shifted the car into reverse, and gently pressed down on the gas, listening as his baby rumbled backwards. Listening as the band sweetly crooned the lyrics to 'Lights'. In this city, Dean thought. It's the only acceptable soundtrack.
000
"So this body turned up in his office?" Sam asked. Next to him, he watched as Moira Kim, the morgue specialist examined the body. The older woman nodded. She'd been disgruntled when he'd asked to see it, claiming to be FBI, and told him that three other detectives were already looking into it. Still, he'd managed to convince her. Even without the clean pressed suit and tie. He was posing as an agent sent to investigate the serial killer-esque murders. Moira Kim, a stunning Chinese woman in her late thirties had been taciturn in the beginning, but after a few hours of facing off in a tete-a-tete she'd opened up to him. Even including that the local press had nicknamed the killings, the Moon Murders. The body lying on the table with heart ripped from his chest was a local business man named Jason Banks. "And they've all been like this?" He continued. "With their hearts torn from their chests?" Moira lifted a perfectly waxed black eyebrow. He could see surprise over his correct assessment flittering across her face.
"Yes." She said. Wiping her hands on her lab coat, Sam noticed her perfectly French-tipped nails. Odd for someone who works in the morgue. Still, he didn't mention it. "How did you know?"
"Lucky guess." Sam said.
Moira nodded. "Yes every time around the full moon we get a couple bodies like this, normally they've all been women. Hookers turning up in the water down by the docks." She shook her head. "Except this time it's a man."
"Curious." Sam said. He half-expected Dean to be standing next to him, ready to smack him upside the arm. Except his brother wasn't there. He's napping. That or furiously searching the city for clues about Kelly, Sam wasn't entirely certain which. "I also got some vague reports of teenage bodies turning up in the Bay? Do you think they're related?" Sam knew it was a long shot, the blotters he'd read never mentioned the teens having missing hearts.
"No." Moira Kim shook her head. "It's doubtful, those killings don't fit this guy's pattern." Sam looked down at her. Though they make a pattern of their own. He realized. Still, it sounded to him like a regular law enforcement problem, not the kind he, Dean, or Kelly specialized in. "But originally these bodies were only turning up by the docks, and in the bay. This guy's either getting bolder or he's branching out." Sam nodded. That means there could be two wolves. From what he knew about werewolves, they tended to only hunt members of the opposite sex. His father had theorized that it had something to do with the latent aspects of the sexual side of the human psyche, but Sam had never looked into it too closely.
"These victims look like they were attacked by a wild animal." Sam observed. Moira nodded.
"I just don't know of any kind of animal that would do it." She shook her head. "I'll put it in my report as a dog, but I swear I pulled wolf hairs off the body."
Bingo. Sam thought. "Can you tell me anything about the homeless teens turning up in the bay?"
"Most of the detectives don't think anything of that." Moira replied. "But it's really very sad. They believe it's the usual, homeless teen gets taken advantage of and dumped when they're no longer useful. Some of the younger officers are trying to look into it like Officer Jenkins, since there have been a few more than usual, but.." Moira trailed off and looked up at Sam helplessly. "No real circumstantial evidence to go off of."
Nothing that sounds like our kind of business anyway. Sam swallowed. He hated hearing about people killing people. It was disheartening. At least Kelly's body hasn't turned up. That had been one of the first things he'd checked when he'd come down here. Of course, he'd labeled her as a valuable witness in an ongoing murder investigation, so Moira Kim hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary. "That's unfortunate."
"Jenkins believes that the killer is pulling from the Teen runaway homes, but as I said, there's nothing solid to go off of. Just a rash of young bodies between the ages of fifteen and eighteen." Moira put her hand to her mouth. "Oh my goodness!" She exclaimed. "I shouldn't be talking about this." She glanced at Sam. "You'll have enough trouble with the Moon Murders, Agent." She said. "Our best detectives are on it, but they haven't turned up any leads."
"Who found the body?" Sam asked, shuffling the dead teenagers into the back of his mind as he looked over the dead body of Jason Bank once again.
"His secretary." Moira said promptly. "A woman named Madison Sinclair."
"Thank you for your time." Sam said. "I should get back to my investigation."
"Not a problem." Moira said. She turned the cart holding the body away, preparing to put it back into storage. She kept talking even as Sam turned to go. "I simply feel bad for Officer Jenkins. He's been worried sick about this young twenty-something brunette he met after she wandered in looking for her runaway sister." Sam paused. "He wanted to help her and I heard from Officer Gray that he even offered her a place to stay with his wife while she searched. Poor kid didn't have any money, just a plaid bag she wore hung around her shoulder. Turned him down on the spot though." Moira tapped her lip. "I wonder where she is now." Sam started to turn around. "Probably ended up in one of the homeless shelters." It was at this point that Sam Winchester realized that Moira Kim was a blabber, and he now hoped to take full advantage of the situation by asking her a few more questions.
"Did Officer Jenkins happen to catch her name?" He asked.
"I remember it was something like Caitlyn James, or was it Kasey Johnson?" Moira turned to look at him, seemingly unconcerned by his sudden intrusion into police affairs. This was something she could freely talk about. "She arrived on a Greyhound bus I know that. Officer Jenkins said she was one of the scruffiest young women he'd ever seen. Corey Jones? Connie? Kelly!" She exclaimed. "That was it. Kelly Jones." She met Sam's liquid chocolate brown eyes. "Her name was Kelly Jones."
A/N: Tell me what you think! ^_^ I have the next chapter in rough draft form so I'll get it up as soon as possible. I hope you all had a merry christmas, and maybe you'll get another chapter before the new year!
Special thanks to WinchesterxBoyz! I always love the reviews you give me.
Review, review, review. ^____^
