Even before Dean made the turn onto Breckenridge, Mildred was tense and alert in the backseat. Dad had spoken to Joseph Welch days ago. Three or four days ago according to the man. And while he clearly wanted to lie, to not completely own up to a certain past mistake, he had been a truthful man in all of his answers. Dad's voice mail had been on Sunday. With this being Tuesday, Joseph's timeline of a few days fit. Knowing where to find the burial site, Dad would have been here sometime this past weekend to put Constance to rest.
Sunday. Mildred thought firmly.
At some point Sunday, Dad had interviewed Joseph Welch. He wouldn't have waited and let a night pass by knowing where Constance was buried. And also some point Sunday, Dad read the newspaper, sometime before he came to the Welch's old place. Therefore, the background EVP. He'd been here. But his mind had been worried about a possible demon connection to Mom's death. A possible demon omen near Sam.
In the middle of taking care of Constance, he had called Dean, alerting him to there being something.
Had Dad meant to send Dean to collect Mildred and Sam? Meant for them to all be together there at Stanford? Stronger together? Had he not realized Dean might take it as go to Jericho? With the EVP behind his main message? Had Dad thought it was done and over with, driving up to Palo Alto?
Had Dad managed to leave Jericho? Had his mind been unfocused, not on the task at hand but of what could be in Palo Alto? And made some grave mistake because of it?
She really hoped not. Bile threatened to roil up her throat. Her last voice message to him. The last time she had seen him, spoken to him. What he had ordered, what she had said, what his reaction had been. The…conversation had between Bobby and him.
The sight of the sun sinking low on the horizon had Mildred gripping at her calves. There had been another man missing after Dad's message. And here they were. The place Constance lived while alive. And the place Constance had been buried. Mildred's hand gripped at her necklace, reassuring herself of it still resting around her neck.
"Old place is right," she commented out loud as the Impala slowed to a stop.
Maybe she should give the necklace to Sam.
The house had been let go of, that much was clear. Windows busted and halfheartedly boarded up, white fence in disrepair, wooden siding warped and threatening to collapse, and the wrap around porch left Mildred wishing she could have seen it before time had its way with it.
"Husband said it was around back. Grab shovels and crowbars, both of you."
"I know, Dean." Snippy, Sam rolled his eyes, shovel and crowbar already in his hands from the trunk.
Mildred quickened her pace to keep up as he split off from them, heading around the old house. Careful not to catch up completely so Dean could still spot her. With an incensed curse, the trunk banged shut, Dean's footsteps loud and hurried, light from the flashlight bouncing along the ground between Sam and her. She smiled as he caught up with her. Then she quickened her pace to catch up with Sam, who had just disappeared around the corner.
"That kid, I swear," he grumbled. Mildred wasn't sure if it was meant to be to himself or an undertone complaint to her. Either way, she didn't respond to it. Up ahead, Sam's large shadowed form was easily seen in the dim of nightlight. Not moving. Dean's pace stuttered, then picked up. "Sam? Sammy!"
Shovel used as an overlarge pointer, Sam aimed it at the darkened space before him on the ground. Dirt. Fresh dirt. "Looks like Dad already took care of Constance."
"A man went missing last night," Mildred pointed out. "Troy Squire."
Striding forward, Dean poked at the burial site marked with a solid wooden cross, eyed the smaller two on either side, and then shrugged. "Huh. Guess that Troy guy took advantage of local legend to ditch his chick. Or leave this town. Wouldn't exactly be the first time we've had that happen. Dad isn't here."
"Great," Sam grouched. "Dad's probably on a completely different hunt. What the hell kind of hunt did he go on after this to leave that message? You dragging me all this way for nothing."
Unblinking, Dean stared at the upturned dirt, ignoring Sam's complaining. Mildred watched him, wondering if he was thinking back to what they had jumped to off Dad's message. On a completely different hunt. Something big. Like the thing that took Mom.
Dean swallowed hard and then lifted up his head. Decision made. The order spilling out easily, before he had time to think over it.
"Check around and see if we can find any of the missing men. And… Stick close. Just in case."
"No. Dean, think about it." Sam strode out from under the shadows of the line of trees behind the house, into the yard and under the moonlight, face glowing with certainty. "There's no activity here. You poked at her grave. Constance has been put to rest. Dad's not here. There's no reason to stay and linger. Look. We can do a quick search, ask Amy again about Troy, make sure he really skipped town. Locate the guy. But that's probably all there is to it. If it makes you feel better, we can make a quick bridge check as we leave town. Since, after all, Constance jumped off the bridge. That's where she died, not here."
Dean frowned.
Mildred did as well. For the image of early this morning popped to mind. Several cars and police officers searching both on and below bridge. And the pictures she'd taken there. Then, on their way to town, pictures from where Andrew's abandoned car had been.
"None of the officers noticed anything. And there wasn't anything I noticed in my pictures of where Troy and Andrew went missing. Nothing matching or sticking out. Gives a little bit in the way of Troy possibly just skipping town."
And besides, did Dean remember the details about these kinds of ghosts? Men who were disappeared by a woman in white, they disappeared. No trace of where they went or any remains behind.
Dad.
A sudden chill zipped up her back. Mildred drew her arms inward. The crowbar in her right hand slipped slightly, seemingly five pounds heavier. She tightened her grip and shook her upper body, attempting to shake the feeling off.
The urge to call him, the urge to run back to Palo Alto, struck through Mildred. The need to make sure he was okay. The want of shaking her head at, of course Dad acted rashly and got caught up in possibilities of Mom's killer. It'd be so very Dad. She needed that. She needed that for the current uncertainty.
But for now, what they had was in checking things through here first.
"We'll do both," Dean instructed. He was already moving, to head back around to the front of the dilapidated house. Flashlight directing them like a beacon, calling them in that direction and to follow him. "Check over the old Welch place here, then bridge."
Mildred blinked, surprised. A wave of sadness swept through her. Dean had put the idea of Mom's murderer out of his head. It had been twenty-two years after all. But that left him thinking something bad may have happened to Dad here. Which meant he thought Dad was either still caught up in this case or that Dad had fallen victim. Entirely possible. But it was not the only possibility.
Sam's taller form inched closer to Mildred and she shuffled close to him. The notion of her necklace crossed her mind again as she eyed him over. Only the shovel and crowbar. Crowbar being useful if Constance was still hanging around, with it being iron.
"Hey, Red." Sam licked his lips, real concern beginning to crinkle around his eyes, fingers tapping a nervous pattern on the shovel handle. "Dean does remember this is one of the ghosts that their victims, uh, don't… Dad's always been bad at communication. The grave has been dug. And covered. Done. Dad… He's got to be on some other hunt, right? Even left a note behind for Dean, since you guys mentioned Dad and Dean have been splitting up for cases. Wait."
A shovel thumped onto the ground. Sam's large hand wrapped around her upper arm. Tight. Mildred's head snapped over, immediate upset rolling through her. Her eyes meet his, his eyes wide. And she was forcibly reminded Sam would not grab her without reason. "That stuff you snuck in from the motel. Red. What was in there?"
Her eyes quickly scanned up ahead. Dean was far enough that he probably wouldn't hear. Mildred turned her focus back onto Sam, eyebrows drawn down and mouth pursed up, and hesitatingly answered him. Keeping her voice low. Sam's neck bent to hear better, the two of them huddled close, standing rather than following after Dean.
"His things. It was a mess."
Sam's sudden paleness shone like a beacon in the dark. Washed out, stark. His grip on her arm trembled. "No…"
Mildred nearly knocked heads with Sam when she shook her head. "Messier than normal. Salt lines were intact. It was a hurried mess of leaving. And leaving quite a bit behind. Gone for a couple days at least by the looks of the burger. He either never came back or he never planned on coming back. And…it could be both."
"What do you mean?"
She licked her lips, eyes staying connected with Sam's intense gaze. "There was research on the wall. Not about Constance," she said to cut off his response before he could voice it. "Something…something he believes is elsewhere. Something big. It doesn't match up, I very much doubt it is what he thinks it is, but it looked like he believed there to be something big elsewhere. He could be there."
Eyes open from listening to every word she said, rounded wide in the need to know, grew wider. Sam's mouth opened, the single word a croaking hush. "Where?"
Mildred's mouth tightened. She'd so hoped Sam wouldn't pick up on that. But of course her brother did. Of course Sam did.
"Red." His voice pleaded with her. "Where do you think Dad is? Not back up in… Palo Alto? At Stanford?"
"Don't worry," she hurried to reassure him. Absolute horror drained his face completely of any color. "Remember? Your place has things up for this. And off with us, going off on a hunt, I made sure of it, playing it all off as su—"
"You knew." Betrayal soaked Sam's voice and entire demeanor. His grip tightened on her arm, shaking with anger. "Or suspected. Before we even left! Red, Jess is back there! Alone! I've been gone all day and I'm a four hour drive away from her!"
"Sam," Mildred toned meaningfully. Eyebrow raised. Sam's grip lessened, but did not leave her arm. "Sam, I've been helping Bobby enough. I've gone to the Roadhouse enough. I've got a whole set of supernatural creature information and lore and means to handle them nearly ready to travel to the Roadhouse, where, hopefully, other hunters can and will add information and tidbits into it. Oh, I so can't wait for Garth to write his down."
At the non-relevant remark tossed in, Sam's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "What?"
"Nothing. Point is, this something big Dad thinks he's going after up there, it doesn't match up in what there is about them. If he had called Bobby or the Roadhouse or someone about it, then he would have known. Not recklessly running up to Palo Alto and scaring the shit out of Dean about it. At least…"
Mildred paused, the worry of the other option behind Dad not being spotted in Jericho rising up in her. Tried to tap down on it. Sam was right. Dad had clearly dug out, salted and burned Constance Welch, then filled her grave back in. Which meant, Stanford. Dad had hurried up to Stanford. For what he believed killed Mom. For what he believed to be where Sam had been.
She glanced back, reassuring herself of the freshly turned dirt, the sign of a ghost job complete.
"At least I hope that's what happened. And not—"
A strangled shout pierced through the dark and their huddled conversation. Like the world wished to prove her hopes wrong. Dash them right out the car window that was her life.
"Dean," she breathed out.
Mildred and Sam tore off, racing around to the front of the house, storming over the wrap around porch and in through the front door. Their heads swiveled, eyes squinting to see in the darkened inside rather than by twilight night sky, cursing in their heads about neither of them having a flashlight.
"Dean!"
"Dean, where are you?"
His voice answered them. Their fear fading at the sound. Very, very quickly faded.
For Dean's reply to their frantic panic was a single dry word. "Boo."
Irritated, they glared at him as Dean poked his head into the front room. Entered with the flashlight angled underneath his chin for dramatic effect. He shot them a dirty look in response, shadows exaggerating the look.
"Did you want me to search this place alone? A man, your older brother, who has been more than blessed in the department of lovin', searching through a place where we all know a ghost once lived and has a thing about guys who've taken more than one lover in their lifetime?"
"Are you trying to make me feel guilty or just shoving your many one-night-stands in my face as though it makes you a better man?"
Mock thoughtful, Dean looked off to the side. Then grinned over at Sam. "You bet'cha ass I'm a better lover, Sammy boy."
Sam groaned. And gave Dean a stink eye, irritation even more clear with a brow twitching. "I. Am with. Jess. Happily so. A real relationship, Dean."
To which Dean rolled his eyes.
"And I actually grabbed an EMF reader, unlike you two rushing off in a hurry." He gave a tap of something hard in his back pocket. "There's nothing here. Slight increase upstairs in the bathroom, which, concerning. But there's wiring sticking out in there. I think someone, the husband, may have gone overboard with being upset about his kids' deaths up in that room. It's got holes in the wall, pieces of porcelain and broken mirror scattered everywhere. There is a chunk taken out of that sink. It's… It's kind of impressive."
It was growing quite clear to Mildred that Dad had put Constance to rest, leaving town for other things. That something big. The demon that wasn't. The things left behind put a scratch right through any passing notion of Dad wanting them to hunt together. Left, prepared to tackle the demon alone, expecting to die doing it and that Dean would just keep on keeping on.
"So, to the bridge?" Mildred asked to refocus Dean. For she had no idea how to tell Dean what she'd found without it hurting him.
Sobering, amazement flitting from his face, he nodded once. Sharp. "Let's go."
And yet, equally, not knowing the other possibility of what could have happened to Dad was hurting Dean in an entirely different way.
Halfway:
According to how this got sectioned, chapters are halfway to the end now. Man! I am looking forward to those last few chapters lined up, let me tell you.
Another thank you. For all who've clicked and viewed and read this thing. Seriously, thanks.
Onward to the next nine!