PART TWO: Amo, Amas, Amat
Chesterville, Indiana was the kind of small town one could describe as a "sleepy little hamlet." It hadn't changed much since the first settlers staked claims in the area. It did, however, have a really nice library, possibly due to the fact it also boasted a highly accredited private college. Sam hit the library and it hit him back by producing a wave of homesickness so strong he nearly turned around and bolted back to the hotel.
There were very few students hovering around in the research department given the season, but there were some. A young couple sat side by side at one of the tables, heads bowed together over a book. Sam watched them as he waited for a librarian to come assist him. He watched as the girl leaned over to whisper something in her partner's ear, saw him laugh, and was reminded strongly of Jessica. She had been sweet, and flirty, and fun. She had made him laugh all the time. Just the sight of her could bring a smile to his face.
He was smiling now, thinking about how he had once banned her from going to the library with him during finals week. She was too much of a distraction, especially after he'd told her she was a distraction. Sam tended to keep his mind on track most of the time, but when a girl as beautiful as Jessica teased him with whispered innuendo under the eagle eye of the head librarian, he found himself unable to concentrate. Sex beat out Latin declensions every time.
Amo, amas, amat...
I love. You love. He loves.
Loved.
And lost.
"Can I help you?"
"Uh...yeah." Sam cleared his throat, swallowing down the lump that had formed there. "I'm a student over at St. Stephen's and I'm working on a paper about the history of Chesterville..."
The librarian was all too happy to show Sam to the door - the door to the basement.
"We had plans to form a Chesterville Historical Society a while back," she said, pushing open the door and switching on a light. "But it fell through. All the old archives from City Hall and our own files were stored down here in preparation for the project. Haven't been touched since. They're shelved in boxes, last aisle, turn right."
"Great, thanks."
Sam descended the wooden stairs, ducking his head to avoid braining himself on the ceiling once he reached the bottom. The exceptionally low ceiling, hanging not two inches above the top of his head, gave the dark, dusty room a claustrophobic air. It was not a full basement, but rather part of the whole, sectioned off into storage by some administrator from a bygone era. Given the dust and cobwebs that seemed to cling to every surface, it appeared as if nobody at all had been down there for years.
Dusty, moldering books, and boxes were piled up everywhere, even on the floor, in a haphazard mess. To his right was a desk, likewise littered with papers and books and things, and to his left was a narrow aisle flanked by four sets of shelving units crammed with more books and boxes labeled with dates scrawled out in faded black marker. Sam turned down the aisle and when he reached the cold cement wall, he turned right down an aisle. At the very end were at least a dozen boxes labeled "C.Hall" and a few more that said "Hist. Soc."
"Shh..." Sam groaned. "This is going to take forever."
He stood there contemplating a course of action. His first impulse was to call Dean and get him over to the library to help. When his cell failed to pick up a signal through the thick concrete walls of the basement, he paused to give that idea a second thought. Did he really want to listen to Dean bitch for several hours? Besides, with his phone out he'd have to go back upstairs, exit the building, find a signal, and spend several minutes trying to lure his brother out of the relative luxury of their hotel room back out into the heat. Not only that, but Sam, having the car, would have to go back and get him, which would waste even more time.
Casting another glance at the boxes, Sam rested his palm on the wall. If one didn't mind the dust and the mildewy smell - and Sam didn't - it was a nice little haven. Being underground, the air in the basement was cool and comfortable. Upstairs in the main library it was rather warm, the air conditioner being kept low to save money.
Sam let the laptop bag slide from his shoulder. There was no rhyme nor reason to the boxes, so it didn't matter which one he picked first. Choosing one at random, he took it, and himself to the floor, where he sat crosslegged with the box resting upon one knee. It was stuffed full of papers, some of which had been protected in clear plastic sheaths. Others were yellowed and crumbling. With utmost care, Sam began going through them one at a time. Soon he was in a zone.
When Sam Winchester had hauled his ass off to college, he immediately found himself faced with a decision to make. He had to pick a course of study. Truth be told Sam hadn't really thought about it. Up until he actually got there, college had just been an escape, a vacation destination far, far away from his father's twisted life agenda. Stanford was the gateway to a whole new world but Sam had to decide what path he wanted to take before he stepped through.
Ultimately he'd narrowed it down to pre-med or pre-law. For a while he'd toyed with the idea of going into forensic medicine. He'd certainly seen his fair share of dead bodies thanks to a few Hunting trips with his father, and likewise had an exceptionally well tuned eye for detail. Forensics would be a cakewalk.
In the end he'd rejected the idea. Sam had seen too much, and he knew too many things that were outside the realm of ordinary. He knew inevitably there would be a time when a case would come his way with signs of something supernatural being involved. How would he handle it? Sam really didn't want to find out.
A career in forensics would have been too close to the family business for comfort, so Sam turned to another one of his strong points instead: his love of the obscure and the unknown. He never failed to feel a little bit of a thrill when he found references to things generally long forgotten in the annals of history. He loved doing research. Let his father and brother go out into the field and play cowboy, Sam would stay inside hunting down facts, taking notes, and plotting strategy.
Just like an attorney.
Here in this little forgotten corner of the Chesterville library Sam found home. He was in his element. He could put all his own cares and worries aside and focus solely upon his task without interruption. Time ceased to matter. In the dusty basement where the only sounds were the quiet rustling of paper and his own breathing, Sam retreated into his own little world and there he stayed for several hours.
He managed to get through three boxes before he finally took a break. Since there was no real filing system in place for the papers, he'd simply went through and pulled anything that might remotely hold any information regarding Dead Man's Curve; from deeds, to land surveys, to various newspaper articles. He'd study these things more carefully later.
It was when he raised his arms over his head to stretch the knots out of his back that he saw her. Her presence standing at the end of the aisle startled him at first. Sam had too much experience with ghosts not to wonder if he'd stirred up more than dust in the forgotten room. Her smile at his surprised expression, however, put him at ease.
"Sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to startle you."
"Uh, no..." Hastily, Sam rose to his feet. "I...uh...can I help you?"
"I think I'm supposed to be asking you that question."
"Oh. Oh! You work here? You work here." Sam laughed slightly. "Sorry, I just wasn't expecting anyone else down in this section."
"That's okay. Usually there isn't, and I'm just a volunteer."
The young woman smiled again - she had a pleasant smile - and Sam relaxed even more. She was about his age or a couple years older and aside from her smile, there wasn't anything spectacular about her. Her appearance was farm-girl plain from her shoulder-length brown hair to her jeans and unadorned blue t-shirt. A faint spattering of freckles adorned her cheeks and her nose, upon which a pair of wire-rimmed glasses perched. She was the epitome of the girl next door. Even her slightly hippy build could have been considered average.
Jessica had knocked him off his feet and sucker punched him with her beauty.
This girl just smiled at him. The attraction was stealthy, and snuck up on him from behind.
"Sam," he managed, and held out a hand. Almost immediately he withdrew it as a) he noticed it was filthy from going through the old, dusty boxes and b) she was making no effort to return the gesture.
"Ellen," she replied, and moved past him down the aisle. She crouched beside the pile of papers he'd gathered together and leafed through them. After a moment she looked up at him. "You're researching Dead Man's Curve."
"Uh...yeah.
"Why?"
Sam weighed his options, and then finally shrugged and told the truth. "I think it might be haunted."
Ellen stared at him, and Sam felt something pass between them, something only kindred spirits could possibly understand. She didn't look at him as if he were a nut, nor laugh or otherwise discredit his theory as others might have done. Instead her eyes seemed to brighten with a look akin to desire. Her voice was soft, and almost pleading.
"Do you need some help?"
It wasn't that Sam really needed help, but if this girl was offering, he definitely wanted help. Something about her made him want to get to know her better. He was drawn to her in a way that was both unnerving and pleasant, like the fright-tinged thrill one got from riding a roller coaster.
"Sh...sure. Yeah. I could definitely use some help." Grinning, he returned to his seat in the corner, folding his legs beneath him as he sank back down to the floor. "Oh, wait."
Rising once more, Sam retrieved another box from the shelves. He put it down beside Ellen, who had made herself comfortable against the wall. The boxes sat between them, separating them like dusty cardboard chaperones. Ellen smiled shyly and removed the lid of her box. Sam grinned back before turning his attention to his own and the papers it held. Thus with a quickly established and comfortable camaraderie, the two of them went to work.
It wasn't long before small talk crept in to break up the silence. Do you go to school at St. Stephen's? What are you studying? Are you originally from Chesterville, or Indiana in general? Do you have any hobbies?
Sam gave her as much as he was able, and truth be told, maybe a little bit more than he should have. It was refreshing to talk to someone with a love of learning similar to his own and the way she seemed to look right through him made it nearly impossible for him to lie to her. One glance into her large grey eyes and he told her whatever she wanted to know. As it turned out, they had a lot in common.
"I've always been interested in the paranormal." Ellen said quietly, as they sorted through the last box together. "And I've lived here all my life, but I think you'll find more in here about Dead Man's Curve than I could ever tell you."
Drawing his knees up to his chest, Sam rested his arms across them. Ellen carefully put the lid back on the box and tidied up the papers they'd gathered that Sam wanted to review a second time.
"What can you tell me?" he asked quietly.
"Only things I've heard. Nobody likes to talk about it, but it's so obvious there is something wrong out there. People have seen things, heard things..."
"Like what?"
Ellen sighed and tucked her hair behind her ears. "Lights, voices." Raising her head, she met Sam's gaze. "Maybe you and your brother should go out there tonight."
Before Sam could ask, "Why?" he heard the buzz of an intercom and a muffled voice speaking from the vicinity of the stairs. Sam cursed softly. The library was closing, and he still had things to do. He stood, and contemplated tucking the books and papers they'd sorted into his bag. Before he could act Ellen interrupted his thoughts of thievery.
"You know, I'll be here a few minutes longer, Sam. I can photocopy these for you - even take down some notes."
Sam stopped in the act of swinging the laptop up over his shoulder. "Could you? That would be great but..."
Ellen stood, the papers clutched to her chest. "But what?"
"I thought that maybe we could...you know...go out for coffee or..." Sam finished lamely. "Something?"
"You're sweet," she said softly. There was no mistaking the hint of disappointment in her voice. "But I'll have to take a raincheck."
"Oh," Sam nodded. "Yeah. Sure."
"And besides, aren't you going out to the Curve tonight?"
Sam knit his brow. "I don't..."
Another announcement came wafting down the stairs, cutting him off. Ellen nodded toward the exit.
"You'd better go."
