One micro-cliffhanger coming up... Don't worry, there's a better one coming next...!
This chapter is all a bit plot exposition-y so pay attention at the back of the class... And try to stay awake! -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"OK," Sam said, cracking his knuckles so loudly it made Dean wince. "Other five dead guys…" He slipped easily back into Research Overdrive Mode, fingers tapping rhythmically on the laptop's keys as the motel room and the big brother looking over his shoulder began to melt into mere background noise.
As Sam scrolled through various news sites, Dean's attention was drawn to the copy of the photograph of St Swithun's bone that Sam had printed off at the Bradshaws'. At least now, thanks to Professor Condescending-Asshole, they could be pretty sure the bone was genuine. Now they just needed to figure out what they were supposed to do about it.
Dean sat down heavily next to Sam, the rickety table lurching dangerously, causing his brother to frown at him over the top of the computer screen. Dean ignored the look, instead picking up the photograph and staring at it, as if that would provide the answer.
"Jeez, Grandma," he muttered. "What the hell do you want me to do with this thing?"
Sam broke in on his thoughts. "Those five other guys?" he said. "Four of them worked for NevTech – on Bradshaw's research staff."
Dean whistled. "They go with him on his little field trip?"
Sam nodded. "Oh yeah," he confirmed.
Dean frowned. "What about the fifth guy?" he asked.
Sam clicked through a few more pages of rubbish before replying, "Simon Wilson. Senior at Stillwater High School."
Dean's frown deepened. "A kid?" he sounded surprised.
Sam nodded again. "Went into the water under Churchill Bridge, washed up in some swamp downstream."
"Why would Granny Winchester drown some random kid?" Dean wondered.
Sam squinted at his screen for a second, shrugging. Then, "Huh," he said, looking back up at Dean. "Maybe not so random. Simon Wilson was the eldest son of Karen Wilson – Thomas Bradshaw's deputy."
"Eldest son?" Dean echoed, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling.
"Yeah," Sam confirmed. "Looks like the water wraith – if that's what she is – skipped right over the only female member of the team and went straight for the oldest male in her household – her husband died two years ago."
"I'm rapidly going off this whole Ninth Century misogyny thing…" Dean muttered.
Sam's brow creased as he read the news article displayed on the screen. "Odd though," he observed thoughtfully.
"What is?" Dean asked, eyes flitting unconsciously back to the photo of St Swithun's bone as the rain seemed to double its efforts to smash through the motel room window.
"Doesn't fit the pattern," Sam explained, scrolling down the page.
"How so?"
Sam finally tore his eyes from the screen to look at his brother. "The first three victims all drowned in the general vicinity of the reservoir, right?"
Dean nodded. "Yeah…"
"Then there was Bradshaw," Sam continued. "Jumped off of Churchill Bridge. Then there was this guy – " he spun the laptop so that Dean could see the photograph of a guy in his late forties displayed there. " – Ray Henriques. Found in the river just downstream of Churchill Bridge. They figure he probably jumped from one of the hills just down from where Thomas Bradshaw went in…"
"When you say 'hills'…?"
Sam coughed. "I mean 'cliffs'," he corrected, attempting to skim over that part of the story before Dean could get too freaked out and come over all over-protective big brother on him. "But then this Wilson kid," he continued, deliberately not looking up at Dean. "There were a couple of eye witnesses that said he looked like he was looking for something under the bridge, before he just waded out into the river – which was already close to bursting its banks – and got swept away by the current. They found his body in an area of swampland that had been part of Stillwater until the river changed its course a few years ago and flooded the whole place."
Dean continued to stare at the bone. "We're running out of time here, man," he said quietly, his face taut, worry gnawing at his features. "That's not the only part of Stillwater that's going to be under water if we don't figure out what the hell we're supposed to do in the next couple of hours."
Sam sighed, nodding. "I know," he agreed, looking back down at the picture of St Swithun's innocuous-looking bone. "OK, so we know it definitely has something to do with the bone: the fact that Bradshaw moved it, or that he brought it here. Maybe we just need to find the thing and burn it…"
"Not if it's the English chick's spirit causing the flood," Dean pointed out.
Sam nodded again, "Yeah, right…" he said, staring back at the photo in the hope that it would somehow bring some kind of inspiration.
Dean was also staring at the picture, chin resting heavily in the palm of his hand. He had that faraway glassy look to his eyes that Sam remembered only too well from when he couldn't quite get his head around a particular bitch of a High School math problem and was too stubborn to ask for his little brother's help.
Then, very slowly, Dean raised his head, eyes focussed and alert. "Search pattern…" he mumbled, pulling towards him a badly-printed map on which Sam had marked the locations where the Stillwater drowning victims had last been seen and where their bodies had subsequently been found. Dean looked up at Sam. "It's a search pattern," he said, jabbing the map with his finger. "Grandma doesn't know where the bone is any more than we do!"
"Huh?" Sam said, craning his neck to look at the map from the angle Dean was looking at it.
"That's what she's been doing!" Dean burst out. "She's not been deliberately trying to drown people – she's been trying to use them to find the bone!"
Sam looked up at him sceptically.
"Look," Dean traced the points Sam had drawn on the map with his finger. "Victims one through three all jumped into the reservoir, right? At almost equal points around the rim, look…"
Sam nodded. "Yeah, I noticed that," he said. "But thought it was just a coincidence."
"No, look," Dean pointed at the map. "Number four – Thomas Bradshaw. Jumps from Churchill Bridge – here. Number five – Ray Henriques – jumps from the hills – cliffs – whatever – downstream from the bridge. Then number six – Simon Wilson – wades out into the water under the bridge to wash up further downstream than any of them." He met Sam's inquisitive gaze evenly. "These guys didn't randomly jump to their deaths: She was using them to search for the bone. The first three checked out the area around the reservoir; Bradshaw around the bridge; Henriques downstream from the bridge; Wilson under the bridge and down towards the swamp…"
"Wait, wait!" Sam said, waving his hand. "If Grandma doesn't know where the bone is, how does she know it 'lies under the water'? Why's she searching the reservoir and the river – "
" – And the swamp," Dean added. He shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe she just senses the old Bishop's displeasure or something. She just knows he's not happy with where he's ended up …"
"That would kind of make sense," Sam said. "The whole myth started when St Swithun's bones were moved into the Cathedral, not outside in the churchyard where the common man could walk over his grave."
Dean nodded. "So maybe that's what she means by 'restore him'. Maybe its not Bradshaw's moving the bone here, or desecrating the Bishop's final resting place that's got her panties in a bunch, but the place where he put the bone."
Sam inclined his head thoughtfully. "And she wants something more in keeping with the Bishop's final wishes?" He trailed off, thinking.
Dean was still looking at the bone photo. "All she knows," he said slowly. "Is that the bone isn't in a place acceptable to the Bishop. Like underwater, maybe."
Sam frowned. "How'd you work that one out?" he asked.
"Because all she shows you in the dream is water," Dean explained. He met Sam's gaze levelly. "Maybe the first three guys dreamed of the reservoir; Bradshaw dreamed of Churchill Bridge; Henriques saw a cliff, like I did; Wilson saw the river. Sam, she wasn't luring them to their deaths: she was using them to find the bone, to restore St Swithun to a suitable resting place. She's not a water wraith at all."
Sam's eyes lit up suddenly. "The Wilson kid," he said. "The last victim. He was looking under the bridge… Isn't that where Alex said her Dad had a 'special place'? A cave under Churchill Bridge?"
Dean frowned. "You think that's where he hid the bone?"
"Pretty inaccessible to the common man," Sam reasoned. "Or to the rain. Now the river's burst its banks, it's sure as hell going to be underwater. And it might explain what the Wilson kid was looking for…"
Dean held up a hand, a frown lining his forehead. "Doesn't explain Bradshaw, though," he said, shoulders slumping in sudden realisation. "Why would he need to jump off of the bridge if he already knew where he'd hidden the bone? He could just have taken Grandma to it, save all the messing around."
Sam looked momentarily deflated. Just when they thought they were finally on to something…
His gaze drifted back to the photograph as he and Dean both tried to puzzle out their next move.
In fact, they were so deeply wrapped in semi-desperate concentration that the almost unnaturally loud chirruping of Sam's cellphone nearly made them jump out of their skin.
Sam picked up the phone, frowning at the caller ID displayed on the screen. "Alex?" he said into the phone, exchanging a surprised look with Dean. "Yeah, yeah I know I did," he said. "Anything we can do to help. That's why I left you my number…" The surprised look on his face slowly changed to astonishment and then finally concern as he listened intently to what Alex was telling him.
"What's she saying?" Dean asked, only able to hear the high-pitched squeak emanating from Sam's phone.
Sam held up a hand to quieten him. "OK," he said. "OK Alex. Your Mom's there with you, right? Right. Just try to keep him away from the edge. We'll be right there."
Jabbing the disconnect button, Sam jumped up from the table, grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair and pulling it on hurriedly. "We gotta go," he said urgently, making it to the door in three long strides.
Dean stood uncertainly, pulling on his own jacket as he followed Sam to the door. "What's wrong?" he asked, noting the concern flooding Sam's eyes.
"It's Nathan," Sam explained, wrenching open the door. "He's trying to jump off Churchill Bridge."
