Chapter 24 - Nancy

Lockwood Estates

Blackridge, New Hampshire

Tuesday 11 March 2008

"I don't see any 'Caroline Walker' over here!" I shout, examining each tombstone on the east side of the cemetery.

"Same for over here!" Sam responds from the west side.

"This might be a bust," Dean says irritably, walking up to me, examining each headstone as he goes. He holds the handle of his shovel, which rests on his shoulder. "It seems like the only people buried here are Lockwoods and Lockwood relatives. No wait staff or servants."

I sigh, hands in pockets. "Oh well. It was worth a shot."

Sam lopes over to us. "What now? County records?"

Dean shrugs. "Unless you want to search every boneyard in Blackridge."

"...You're sure that it didn't say anything in the papers from Edward?" Sam asks me.

"Nothing. Didn't even say how she died. Had to get that from him. You can check if you want."

"Nah, I trust you did your part," he says, squinting out over the property. "And Edward still hasn't responded?"

"I've called him like five times," I tell him, "Nothing." I remember when Edward told me he was up until four a.m. that one time. And it is only seven in the morning. "He might just not be awake yet. He seems to be a night owl."

"Most writers are," Dean concurs irritably, turning back to the gates. "Oh well. County Records it is. We can check in on Edward later."

"How are we going to get in?" I ask, genuinely curious, and running to keep up.

Sam chuckles. "How would you get in?"

I purse my lips in thought. "Um… sneak in. Find some keys, stay out of sight. That sort of thing."

"Nancy Drew," Sam says in a fake judgmental voice, wearing a toothy grin, "Why I never."

"So what are we going to do?" I ask.

Dean smirks at me over his shoulder. "Fake IDs and lockpicks, young padawan. But if you want to come with us, we need to stop by a copy place to make you an ID."

I chew on my cheek, part of me wanting to go all-in, and part of me not wanting to get caught with that sort of thing.

"Maybe I ought to wait in the car this time," I say, "If Sheriff Reeves finds out I used a fake ID to get information…" I trail off, imagining my entire P.I. business crumbling in one fell swoop.

"Got it," Sam says.

"Next time, then," Dean says with a smile and a wink.

"Hey, Savannah," I say, "I need your help."

"I don't doubt you do. What can I help you with, Hon?"

"I…" I look out at the county records office building, in front of which we found a streetside parking spot. "I… believe."

"...What?"

"I saw one of the ghosts last night. It almost killed me, but the Winchesters saved my life."

"Is that right."

"Yes. It is." I sigh. "I didn't know who else to talk to."

"Because your friends all back home are just as big of skeptics as you were."

"Yes."

"I told you not to open that door, Nancy."

I close my eyes. I knew this was coming.

"I know," I tell her, "I didn't mean to open it. I never would have purposefully."

"...Nancy." She takes a deep breath. "The only people I know who've met spirits... are ones who were actively looking for 'em."

"I wasn't," I say honestly, "I was looking for the truth behind the killings."

"And if the truth behind the killings were to say, involve a ghost?"

"Are you saying that…" I swallow, "Are you saying that in the ghost's eyes, I was looking for… the ghost?"

"No. I'm saying that in your eyes, you were looking for the truth. And you found it."

I blink. "What do you mean by that, exactly?"

"You are a special kind of skeptic, Nancy. Or should I say, you were." She chuckles. "Nancy, most skeptics just say, 'there's no such thing,' and move on with their lives. You, however, make a living outta finding trouble. Sooner or later, you were bound to find something unexplainable."

"But you said to never open the door-"

"...Wishful thinking on my part, I'm afraid. I didn't want you to have to know. I didn't want you to have to see what I've seen, felt what I've felt, known what I've known. I…" she laughs a little, "I wanted to protect you, Nancy. I actually have wished that I could be like you. Blissfully innocent to what's behind the curtain of what people can see and understand. Perfectly solid in what they believe and why. Isn't it so much safer that way? Once you know, though, it's like… it's like you are on this… slippery slope."

"...Not knowing what is real, and what is made up," I finish.

"Exactly. See, before this, you were able to march straight into the most haunted place on the planet, and figure out that there wasn't actually a haunting, it was just someone playin' pretend. Can you honestly say that you could still do that?"

I hesitate.

"Thought so. You used to be protected by your lack of faith in the supernatural, Hon. Now, you need to figure out how to keep yourself safe from those souls looking to talk."

"How? How do you do it?"

"Well, if you're like me, you can quit your job and become a tech journalist, staying far away from anything remotely spooky."

"I can't do that."

She chuckles. "Well, you're stronger than me."

"But seriously, what do I do?"

"You said that the Winchesters saved you last night. Can you tell me what they did? D'you remember?"

"Dean shot it with a shotgun shell filled with rock salt."

"Rock salt? And the ghost just… disappeared?"

"Yeah."

"Interesting."

"Yeah. Apparently salt repels ghosts. They can't cross lines of it, and if you throw it at them, they vanish for the time being, giving you enough time to get away."

"It really works?"

"I saw it with my own eyes," I tell her.

"Well there's your answer, Hon. Carry salt around with you." She pauses, and adds in a thoughtful tone, "Maybe I should do that too."

"I got a can," I say, pulling it from my knapsack. It's full, sealed, and heavy.

"Then why are you asking me what to do? You seem to have it figured out."

"I don't know." I shrug. "I guess I… I guess I…"

"Needed someone to talk it through with?" Savannah suggests.

"Yeah."

"I get that. Having your entire worldview change overnight can't be easy."

"No," I agree.

"And also, is it perhaps that you are starting to trust these boys? These Winchesters?"

"Yeah."

Savannah snorts at my responses. "I did do some more digging. I am starting to wonder about them. They seem to be the real deal-hardcore Hunters. And not just looking around for ghosts. Other stuff too. Monsters, ghouls, vampires, demons even."

I nod, even though she can't see me.

"How did you find this out?" I ask, thinking back to Frank and Joe, and how they got their information.

"Rumors, mostly. When you come at all the stories from the perspective of a believer, things suddenly start making sense."

"Ah. So you think these guys are stand-up? I mean, relatively."

"I mean… Nancy. Yesterday, I told you to be careful around these boys. I still think you ought to be cautious, but if they saved your life… I don't know. You're the one who's there with them. Trust your gut."

The doors to the office open, and the brothers walk out, looking to be deep in a discussion. "Well," I say, sitting up a little straighter, "I'm working with them now."

"What?"

"I mean, we're working together to figure out what this ghost is bound to so we can burn it."

Savannah laughs. "Girl. You go from being the most hardcore skeptic I have ever met in my entire life... to goin' around hunting for some object the ghost is bound to so you can do some sort of salt burning ritual. Should I be concerned about mind control or brainwashing?"

I smirk. "I can't explain it, Savannah. A week ago I would have thought today-me was insane. Now? Now I might as well try and get rid of the ghost. Seems logical."

"Odd how that happens, isn't it. One day something seems ludicrous…"

"...And the next, not so much." I give a tight-lipped smile.

"Are they around right now? The Winchester boys?"

"They're walking back. I'm driving their car today, and we stopped at the county records office so we could find out where Caroline Walker's bones are so we can burn them." It seems important for Savannah to know that I am the driver, and am in charge of where we go.

"Well, when they get back in the car, put me on speaker. I want to talk to them."

"Okay…"

Sam carefully gets into the passenger seat as Dean plops in the back. "You know I kinda hate you right now, right?" Dean declares, repositioning himself and straightening his jacket. "Riding in the backseat of my own damn car..." He uncaps his flask and takes a hearty swig. "Ah…"

"Who are you talking to, Nancy?" Sam says suspiciously, catching a glimpse of my phone. He holds a hand out to stop Dean from talking any more.

"...Savannah Woodham. She's a ghost hunter I know."

Sam raises his eyebrows.

"Actually, she'd like to talk to all of us," I say with a grimace, feeling like I'm tattling on them to a mom, who's about to rip them a new one. "...Can I put it on speaker?"

The brothers share a look.

"...Go ahead," Dean says slowly, putting the lid back on the flask and pocketing it.

I tap the speaker button and hold the phone out. "Hey Savannah, you're on speaker!"

"Thank you, Hon. Hey boys. Sam and Dean, right?"

Neither of them says anything for several seconds. Finally, Sam pipes up. "...Yes. And you're Savannah?"

"That'd be me. I suppose you have realized that Nancy was quite the skeptic, correct?"

"We may have caught on to that," Dean says with a little smirk, leaning forward.

"And you have also realized that she is no longer a skeptic, correct?"

Sam grimaces. "We have."

"You listen here," Savannah snaps, "If either of y'all hurt Nancy or let her get hurt, I will personally hunt you down and whoop your asses so hard y'all ain't never going to be able to sit down again. You hear?!"

"Yes ma'am!" Sam says quickly, looking at his brother with wide eyes.

Dean clears his throat. "Yes ma'am," he repeats.

"That was it," Savannah says matter-of-factly, "Happy hunting, and do let me know if you need anything."

"Bye, Savannah," I tell her.

"Goodbye, Nancy."

We hang up, and I bite my cheek. "Sorry," I say lamely, "I, uh, she insisted I put it on speaker."

Sam laughs. "Well, you seem to have people looking out for you."

Dean rolls his eyes and settles back. "She reminds me of Ellen."

Sam lets out a loud snort.

"Anyway," I say awkwardly, "What did you guys find out?"

"Well-" Sam starts.

"Cremated," Dean interjects, leaning forward again and resting his crossed arms on the back of the front seat. "She was cremated. Nothing to burn."

"Great," I reply.

"This happens a lot," Sam says, "Now we have to look around for anything with the person's DNA. Lock of hair, a fingernail…"

I grimace. "Ew." Last night's discussion suddenly makes so much more sense. "Ghosts can really be bound to stuff like that?"

Sam nods. "For example, there was this one case we had where the body had been cremated, but this doll had the girl's hair, and that's what the ghost was bound to."

I grimace. "Creepy…"

Dean smiles at me, "So now guess what we get to do?"

"Search the mansion again?" I ask with a groan, leaning my head back dramatically. "I really, really don't want to go back in there."

"We're safe during the day," he insists. "None of the deaths have happened while the sun's out. Plus, now we all have salt."

"That's comforting," I say dryly, starting the car.

"Hey," Sam says, "On another subject, did you ever hear back from Edward?"

I hesitate, glancing at the clock. It's past ten now.

"No," I say, shifting the car into gear. "No, I haven't."