Blackridge Senior Living

Blackridge, New Hampshire

Tuesday 11 March 2008

"Well," I suggest, "It stands to reason that the sword is on the property somewhere. Otherwise, Caroline wouldn't be haunting the place."

"We've searched the place like three times in the last day alone," Dean reminds me irritably. He hates the Estates, and every time we have to go back, I can tell he wants to throw a fit about it.

"But now we know what we're looking for," I remind him.

"You said that the last time we went there."

"Guys." Nancy crosses her arms. "There were a bunch of collectibles in the main room, right? Seems like the sword could have been there somewhere."

"Did you see this?" Dean says, pointing to the sword picture in my hand.

"I can't remember," she says, her tone bordering on snarky, "I was focusing more on finding hair and toenails last time we were there."

I snort.

Nancy turns her attention to me. "I'm also wondering if there's a secret passage or room somewhere on the property, allowing the human killer to be roaming around without being detected. And if the sword isn't in the main room, it's probably hidden there too."

"What makes you so sure?" I ask. Nancy today is slowly turning more and more bossy to us. It didn't bother me as much when she was doing her own thing, but now that we are working together it's annoying. Like a tinier, female Dean.

"It's a classic. The amount of times I have seen that exact thing happen is impressive, actually."

"Ah," is my only response.

"And since it's getting later in the day, and we have no idea if Edward is actually on the property or not, we should probably get my car as well and park it down the road from Lockwood, and if the killer goes all 'tire-slasher' again, we can get away."

That is actually kind of smart.

"Alright," I say, taking a seat behind the wheel, "We'll stop by the motel first and drop you off, and then troop on over to Lockwood."

As we follow Nancy's car, a mixture between rain and snow starts pelting the windshield, and thunder rumbles in the sky. The aesthetic is unnerving, between half-melted piles of snow on the road, early darkness, and the prospect of a murderous ghost.

"You know," Dean starts, slurring his words slightly as he fumbles to uncap his flask. I didn't even think he could get tipsy anymore. "Nancy kinda reminds me of a little you. Smart, stubborn, a lot annoying sometimes."

"I am not like Nancy," I gripe, swiping the flask from his hands before he can drink anymore. I need Sober Dean, not Drunk-As-A-Skunk Dean.

"Hey, man," he protests, too out of it to try and grab it back.

I stuff it in my interior coat pocket. "You're cut off," I tell him sternly. "No more booze until the job is done."

He gives a dramatic shrug and sigh. "Fine." He takes a long moment to reposition himself. I roll my eyes. "You know," he continues, "I can kind of see why you wanted to become a lawyer. Do stuff like Nancy does?"

"I wouldn't be doing what Nancy does," I remind him, "I would be working in court cases, like her dad."

"Yeah… but still. It's kind of similar. Something 'un-supernatural.' 'Super-unnatural?' No. The first one. Or just 'natural'…?" He trails off. "Eh, anyways. You get it. I shouldn't have dragged you back into this, Sammy. That's my one regret."

I blink. "Shut up," I tell him softly. What's done is done, and this is an important job. If we don't do it, who will?

Not to say that I don't wish I could go back to school sometimes, forget about the monsters lurking in the shadows.

"Bitch," Dean slurs, nodding off.

I smile a little.

"Jerk."

By the time I pull into the driveway of Lockwood Estates, Dean is out cold, even drooling a little. When was the last time he got a good night's sleep? Sure, this is inconvenient timing, but I figure I can let him sleep while Nancy and I do what needs doing.

Speaking of, she walks through the gates from wherever she did end up parking, holding her hood over her face for protection from the blowing sleet.

"What's with Dean?" she asks, nodding to the Impala.

"Fell asleep," I explain, shielding my eyes with my hand.

"Should we leave him out here or wake him up?"

"I'd say let him rest. It's been a long year for him."

She contemplates for a moment before finally saying, "Okay, sounds good." She brushes past me to run inside and out of the weather. After a moment to clear my head, I trail after her. She continues talking as soon as I reach her, "Is he okay? Dean, I mean."

"What?" I ask.

Her gaze wanders before settling on me. "I know what you guys do isn't easy, but… He drinks a lot."

Of course she's noticed that, and I can hear the original question underneath: Is he okay? I grimace. "He's, uh, he's going through a hard time."

So am I.

I'm about to lose my big brother. Forever. And he's not going somewhere nice.

"Sam?" she asks. She bites her lip, and her eyes are lit in concern.

"It's nothing," I lie. I don't want to think about it. I think she realizes that, and an uncomfortable silence stretches between us. "Let's just go look inside." To my relief, Nancy raises no objections.

Without another word, I lead the way into the main room. We have been here so many times by now that the place almost feels familiar.

A quick but hopeful scan of the objects in the room shows that there is indeed no sword. I feel my shoulders slump. This job is ridiculous.

"Quick sweep of the house, just in case we missed something?" Nancy suggests, but I can tell we both know full-well that the sword isn't going to be in plain sight. It was silly to think otherwise for even a second.

But, even so, Nancy and I wordlessly saunter through the house, scanning each room for the glint of a sword handle. As suspected, there is nothing, and we end back up in the main room about twenty minutes later, having taken our own sweet time.

We face each other, and I let out a long sigh. Nancy stares off into the distance. We are both at a loss.

"Savannah was here, once," she muses aloud after a couple minutes of nothingness, "She refused to ever talk about it, but I wonder if she'd be willing to now, if she knew Edward's life is at risk."

"Why didn't she ever talk about it?" I ask suspiciously. In my experience, if people don't share the whole truth, there is probably something sinister going on.

Like my encounters with Ruby, which spent too long hidden from Dean.

I shove away the guilt.

"Trauma," Nancy answers grimly, "Whatever happened to her here made her quit her ghost-hunting career for good."

"Oh," I say.

"I think I'll call her," Nancy says, pulling out her phone, "Even if she doesn't remember most of what happened, maybe she has something helpful for where Edward or the sword could be."

She goes to the other room to talk, and I stuff my hands in my pockets and let out a long puff of air. Who knew, when we took this job, how annoying it would be to finish it? We have been all over town multiple times, as well as in and out of this house more times than I can remember off the top of my head.

What is wrong with me today? I ask myself, crossing my arms. I definitely feel more irritable than I did yesterday.

I ponder the question for a bit.

Nancy. I'm worried about Nancy. I hate, hate, hate it when our lifestyle drags in innocent civilians. And she seems the type to take what she has learned here and do something stupid, like what we do.

I can barely hear her voice from the other room, where she is on the phone with Savannah. Suddenly, I wish that I had the ability to make her forget everything she has seen in the past three days, to give her back the chance at a normal life. My jaw hurts from how hard I am gritting my teeth. She doesn't deserve this.

While I am brooding, Dean stumbles through the door, yawning. His hair is sticking up on one side. He catches sight of me. "Jeez, dude. You alright? You look like you just got turned down for the winter prom." He chuckles a little at his quip. Bad joke aside, he thankfully seems mostly sober.

"I'm fine," I lie.

He raises his eyebrows. As far as I know, every single time one of us has used the phrase, "I'm fine," we are anything but fine. We both know it, and yet we both still use it.

"Like hell," he says, ruffling his hair back into "order." "What is it? Did Nancy find the sword before you did?"

"No, it's not here. We don't know where it is."

"Great."

There is a pause.

"Sammy."

I slowly look up. "What, Dean."

"What's wrong."

I swallow. "I just hate that we drag people into this life," I tell him, nodding towards the room Nancy is in.

"Nancy's strong. She can handle it."

"That's not the point. She can, but should she have to?"

He nods thoughtfully. I wish he would give reassurances, but what could he possibly say? Instead, he reluctantly changes the subject. "...Who is she talking to, anyway?"

"Savannah. Apparently, she was here at Lockwood once. Nancy's hoping she'll have some insight about where Edward or the sword is."

"Good." He crosses his arms. "We need all the help we can get."

I shake my head, feeling the wrongness of the case. Since when does Dean advocate getting all the help we can?

I'm looking forward to wrapping this one up and being done with it.