Dean watched his brother go, a mixture of emotions running through him.
He respected Sam's right to mourn his girlfriend—he didn't even pretend he could understand that kind of pain—but he was also damn tired of having to convince Sam that there was more to hunting than just chasing after demons and living up to Dad's expectations. There was responsibility, and commitment, too.
It's not just a ghost hunt, Sam. There's more to it than that.
He hated to let Sam go. He hated it. Especially since he'd taken his freakin' car!
But he also knew that if Sam didn't work out his personal demons, he'd be no good confronting the real things. Whatever was going on in his mind with Jessica—or whoever—wouldn't go away with a pep talk. He needed to face it. And he'd have to do it alone—the last time they'd gotten into an argument, Dean had learned that the hard way. That freakin' fugly stalker scarecrow god had almost had his head.
But Sam had come back. He's figured it out on his own, and had come back for him.
Which is why Dean knew Sam could be trusted. And with the Impala, he'd be coming back soon.
He'd better be coming back soon. I'll KILL him if anything happens to that car!
Until then, he was still on the case of the killer doll.
He made a face. Jeez…that ugly thing still gives me the heebie jeebies.
An image of Sam, smiling, floated through his mind.
"I DO NOT have a doll thing!" he shouted. A few kids on the nearby playground stopped what they were doing and turned to stare.
He frowned at them, turned, and whiffed at a few blades of grass. Until Sam came back, he'd be on his own. His best bet was to talk with Aaron Amly. Chances were Sam was right, and the fire was a coincidence. But their business was all about coincidences, wasn't it?
If anything had happened, Aaron would know about it.
He stuck his hand in his pocket. He'd drive to Aaron's, ask a few questions, and if he had time, get back to the library—
"Aw. DAMMIT!" Sam has my freakin' car!
The kids were still staring.
And the Amly house was down in one of the narrow valleys…
He glanced overhead. The sun was setting, and a few thunderheads were rolling in.
Storm's coming.
"Perfect," he muttered. He flashed a grin at the kids, who watched as he walked towards the town library, heading down the road that would take him to the Amly residence.
Thunder rumbled outside the car.
Storm's coming.
Sam tapped on the steering wheel, clicking on the Impala's lights, though it wasn't quite dark enough for them. He'd been driving for about an hour, he guessed, though he had another couple before he got to Palo Alto.
The look on Dean's face as he'd taken off still hovered in his mind. He'd never really seen his brother look like that before. It may have been anger, though he'd seen Dean angry plenty of times before.
No. It wasn't anger. He wouldn't have let me go if it was anger.
He felt betrayed.
Sam swallowed. I've never seen him look like that.
He knew how much his brother wanted him to be a part of what he and his father did. He knew Dean's intentions were, for the most part, good. But Dean didn't understand—couldn't understand—what life was like without Jessica.
But Dad could…
He shook his head. Their father had not cared what happened to his boys, just that they find a way to take care of themselves while he went hunting—while he did what he had to do. Sam was different from…
Isn't that what you're doing, though? You left Dean behind, in danger, again…
"No," he said softly. He'd come back to Dean. And there wasn't any real danger in Cariño. Just a mixed-up notion and a whisper of the past.
What he had to do was more important than an antique treasure hunt.
This is for Jess. For Mom. For me. I have to think of them; otherwise, I'm not going to have the strength to go through this time and again. To do what you do, day in and day out, Dean. But I'll come back for you…
He caught sight of something on the floor, peeking out beneath his satchel.
The Journal…
"Aw. Damn." He stretched over, carefully pulling John Winchester's crinkled journal from the floor. The page flipped open to the entry with the newspaper article stuck in as a bookmark.
Dean must have tossed it in here when they got in this afternoon. He studied it for a quick moment.
Should I call him?
He stared at his cell phone. Considering how they'd parted, he didn't know if Dean would even answer the phone. It hadn't been…angry, exactly. But uncomfortable, definitely.
I'll give him a few hours; if he really needs it, he'll call.
He shoved the book into the passenger's side, closing the cover.
Dean patted his jacket, clouds of dust puffing off it.
Damn. It was one of his favorites, too.
The Amly house had been even further from the center of Cariño than the Arnette house. It had taken him over an hour to get there. And no friendly passers-by to give him a ride. He'd actually had to hoof it. Thunder had rumbled menacingly the whole way; somehow, he'd managed to avoid getting wet.
He tapped on the screen door, trying to brush some of the dust from his hair.
There was a click of high heels on the hardwood floors.
I wonder…
She showed herself a few moments later, the case worker who'd been with the kids last night, after the fire. She eyed him suspiciously, giving him a once over with raised eyebrow.
Dean returned the favor. She was very pretty, young and slim, with large blue eyes and dark skin.
"Can I help you?" she said, irritated with his stare.
"Yes…my name is Dean. I'm a friend of the Arnettes, and I was asked by Mrs. Arnette to check up on the kids."
"Do they know you're coming?"
"Uh, no. I only spoke with June this afternoon. She asked if I'd stop by."
The woman glanced behind him. "And how did you get here?"
He followed her gaze. "Oh. I walked."
"You walked."
"Honestly…I don't have a car. I walked here" he said with a large grin. She stared at him suspiciously. "Honestly."
"I'm sorry," she repeated. "Do you have any professional identification?"
"Professional identification?"
"The only way that you can see these kids is if you have some kind of professional identification, listing you as being a part of their case file. Without it, you're not seeing them."
"I'm just a family friend. You know, checking up." He flashed her his largest, most brilliant grin.
It had no effect.
"They're doing just fine. Thanks for stopping by."
"Wait!" Dean grabbed at the screen door. "I really want to see them. Mrs. Arnette will never forgive me if I don't ask them how they're doing."
"I told you before; I can't let you see the kids without some kind of identification. Now let go of the door, before I call the cops."
"Look, I don't have any." Dean's patience was wearing thin. Sure, she was actually right, considering he really wasn't who he said he was, but still… "My brother took my car with our identification in it. He's heading to San Francisco."
"Why did you let him do that?"
"It was an emergency."
"Why don't you call him, then?"
"Tried," Dean held up his phone. "No service."
She raised an eyebrow. "No service, no deal."
"Please, lady! I walked all the way here, and now you're going to make me walk all the way back to town?"
"No…I'm only making you walk to the next house over. Maybe you'll have more luck there."
"But I was told by Mrs. Arnette to check…"
"Mrs. Arnette was not the legal guardian of these children. She was granted permission to keep them until their grandparents arrive, with supervised check-ons from the department."
"Please. Sally," he said silkily, giving her his best smile. "Let me just talk with Aaron, then. I want to make sure he's alright."
She raised an eyebrow at his knowing her name. He nodded to the security badge still hanging from around her neck. She glanced down, her expression flattening. "No."
Thunder echoed behind him.
She began to close the door.
"Wait…"
"Mrs. Lewis, do you…" Aaron strolled up behind her, glancing up at Dean, who was watching him through the screen door.
Oh great…now I'm really done for. The kid's going to wonder about why the freakin' Family Services counselor can't get past the caseworker…
"DEAN!"
Aaron pushed past Sally and swung open the door, nearly smacking Dean in the face. He wrapped his skinny arms around Dean's chest, holding him tightly, and gave him an extra squeeze—for good measure.
Dean flashed Sally another smile, gesturing down to Aaron. "They love me."
Aaron turned to her. "Dean knows Mrs. Arnette. He used to work for a police department like in Oklahoma or something, so she liked him. He's got lots of cool stories. How's Mrs. Arnette?"
"She's doing okay. I'm sure she's going to try to see you as soon as she gets out." Dean could barely get out the lie. How in the hell did the kid know?
"Cool. Can Dean come inside? It looks like it's going to rain."
Sally still looked apprehensive, but seemed a little less suspicious. "He can stay, if he remains on the porch."
Aaron rolled his eyes at her. "Fine."
"Um, I think Simon needed you for something, Mrs. Lewis," Aaron said, taking a seat on the wicker settee and flipping up his game.
"You stay on this porch, Aaron," she said harshly. "Don't go anywhere with him. I'll be watching you."
"Yes, ma'am," Aaron droned. Sally flashed Dean another suspicious glare, and marched inside.
"Geez," Dean said, flopping into the wicker chair. "Talk about your dictator case workers."
"Well, you can't blame her. I mean, you really don't have a right to be here."
"Right." Dean eyed Aaron suspiciously. "How did you figure that out, by the way? And why are you covering for me?"
Aaron shrugged. "When she didn't ask me if two grief counselors came to visit, I figured you weren't working for them. But you stuck around to talk with us, and you came back after the fire. I figured you were okay."
"You really should be more careful. I could be a, well…I could be a bad guy."
"You mean like a pedophile?"
"Okay, no, not that, but something bad. And how do you know what that is, anyway?"
"Um. I'm ten, not two. And I used to live in San Francisco. You'd probably be surprised what kids learn there."
"Probably not, but whatever. How's your brother and sister?"
"Okay. Simon's all freaked out and stuff—it'll be good for grandma and grandpa to get here. I think Anna's okay. She's a baby."
"Nothing weird's been going on with her?"
To his surprise, Aaron suddenly stiffened. "Why do you ask that?"
"Did something happen?"
"She's fine. Nothing happened."
Dean raised an eyebrow. "Aaron."
"I said nothing happened! Jeez!" He jumped up from the chair.
"Wait!" Dean grabbed him around the arm. "Stop…come on. Aaron." He turned the boy around to face him. "Aaron, calm down. There's nothing wrong if you saw something weird. Trust me."
Aaron stopped, staring at him.
"Sometimes, it's not all in your head," Dean said softly, letting him go. "What you think shouldn't be real—what you want to believe isn't real. Sometimes, it's really real, Aaron. And there's nothing wrong with that."
Sally Lewis stuck her head outside the door. "Aaron, are you okay?"
He didn't move.
"Aaron?" she repeated, her eyes jumping from him to Dean.
"Yeah," he muttered, finally moving, though still staring at Dean. "I'm fine."
"Dropped his video game," Dean laughed cautiously. "We're cool."
"I'm going to check on Anna," Sally said. "Call me if you need anything." Her tone was still cool, but she looked less apprehensive.
"Gotcha." He waited until she left, his smile fading as the door shut behind her. "Now…tell me what happened last night. Please. Aaron, if something's happening to your family it might try and hurt you again. I need to know what's going on."
"But…it was weird. It was…you won't believe me. It was too weird. Even you would think it's weird."
"Aaron, trust me. I will believe you."
"Even if it was, like, ghost stuff? I mean, that's weird, right? All that stuff's not real, right?"
"Don't I wish," Dean mumbled. "I'll believe you, Aaron. Especially if it was ghost stuff."
Aaron's eyes widened.
Dean smiled reassuringly at him. "It's not weird. You're old enough to understand it, but that doesn't mean you have to be afraid of it. I told you before—this is what I do. And I'll do everything I can to protect you. Now tell me, what happened last night."
Aaron sat down. The Gameboy trembled in his hand.
"I…I went upstairs to check on Anna. And I heard a baby laughing in the back room, where Mrs. Arnette's daughter, Amelia, used to sleep. I mean, I guess where she used to sleep. When I went in, the door shut behind me. It locked behind me."
"Then what?"
"I saw Anna."
"Anna? How did she get in that room?"
"I dunno. She was just there."
"Are you sure it was Anna?"
Aaron glanced up, shaking his head slowly. "I don't know. But it looked like Anna. But she was…she was…"
"Was what?"
"She was dead. She was dead. She screamed like that kid ghost on that Japanese movie and she was dead."
Dean reached out, laying a hand on Aaron's head. "It's okay, Aaron. It wasn't Anna."
"But…it looked like…"
"But it wasn't. It wasn't Anna. That little girl wasn't Anna. She might have looked like Anna, but it wasn't her."
"Then who was she? And why was she crying?"
"Aaron," Dean stared the little boy in the face. "Was the doll anywhere near you, last night?"
Aaron blinked. "The doll?"
"Anna's doll. Amelia's doll. The doll with the teardrop on its face. Olivia."
"Y-Yeah. I…I was holding it."
"You had it with you in the room?"
"Yeah…" Aaron got a far-off look. "It said 'mine.'"
"Who said 'mine'? The doll?"
"No…Anna…or the little girl…or whatever…it said 'mine.'"
Dean swallowed. "You're sure?"
"Yeah. 'Mine.' Just like Anna does. It was talking about the doll, wasn't it? Isn't that what you're trying to say? Do you think…is that what caused this? The doll? That ghost wanted that doll?"
"Aaron, listen to me," Dean said forcefully, putting his hands on Aaron's shoulders. "I need you to go and get me that doll. I have to destroy it. I think that whatever is causing that little girl to come and attack your family is connected to that doll. I have to get rid of it."
"You think that the doll is the reason the fire started?"
"I don't know. I think they're connected somehow—I'm not completely sure. But what happened to you proved that something is attacking your family. To be safe, we need to destroy that doll."
"The doll."
"Yes, the doll. You have to get it from Anna. You have to bring it to me now."
"Wait a minute," Aaron lifted his eyes, to stare straight at Dean. "You said it's attacking my family."
Dean swallowed. "I meant…"
"My Mom." Tears rose in Aaron's eyes. "My Mom had that doll in her car."
"Aaron."
"Do you think that little girl killed my Mom? She was coming after her doll, wasn't she? Just like she did with me. She wanted her doll back, and she killed my mom. Do you think that?"
"Aaron…"
"DoYOU?"
Dean sighed. "Maybe."
Aaron's lip began to tremble. "It killed my Mom. But it's just a doll. It's just a toy. She didn't mean to take it. She didn't mean to take it with her." He began to sob.
Dean watched awkwardly for a moment, then pulled the little boy closer, drawing him into a hug. "It's okay, Aaron. It's all right. Your Mom didn't know. Neither did you. It's not your fault."
"I wish I had known. If I'd known I could have broken it. Or something. I could have done something." He sniffled, stepping back. "I could have saved them."
"Sometimes you can't save everybody," Dean said softly. "No matter how much you want to, there are always things out of your control. You just have to do your best. That's what you've been doing—your best—and you have to keep doing it. For Simon's sake and for Anna's sake."
He rose. "You've done what you have to. You let me handle the rest. Now, let's go get that doll."
The rain was coming down harder, now. Sam had flicked on the wipers a while ago, and the road was becoming blurry in the darkness.
He still had a long way to go before Palo Alto. But he was on his way.
The journal caught his eye again, the pages fluttering carelessly open. He'd had a taut, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach since the rain started.
The pages fell apart, a sheaf of paper fluttering to the floor. Sam glanced up in front of him, then reached down to grab it.
Heaven forbid I should lose a piece of this thing. Dean really would kill me.
He studied it quickly for a moment, moving to place it back in the book.
And suddenly slammed on the brakes.
The Impala hydroplaned on the slick road.
"Whoa!" He turned into the skid, bringing the car to a gentle rest at the side of the road, and punched the hazards.
He flipped the book back open, pulling out the article he'd just yanked from the floor. It had a picture of two girls, dressed in pinafores, smiling at an old-fashioned camera. It was a supernatural occurrence John Winchester had tracked to the North Woods—the murder of a family by a crazy father. A horrific haunting, and the basis of more than one ghost story.
What caught his attention wasn't the story—it was the picture. Two girls in pinafores, smiling at the camera. Two girls of the same height, holding the same dolls, dressed in the same dresses.
Twins.
He flipped back to the pages with the doll from Cariño. The initials ARA jumped out at him. September 24th, 1902.
When they'd first looked at the journal, they'd thought it had been the name of the owner…Annabelle Rebecca Anderson, who'd been born on September 24th, 1902, who'd died in 1984, of natural causes, at the age of 82. Who'd owned the doll her entire life.
She would have been two in 1904.
1904.
Had he checked in 1904? San Francisco…
What had Mrs. Arnette said about her house?
There was two of everything in there!
The Andersons hadn't been from Cariño. They'd owned a vacation home there. They were tied to the town…but not exactly. Could it have been enough to bury a child there, but not want her to be remembered?
She was nutty…but when have you not known rich people to be nutty?
She went crazy…why? Could it be…
The two Jessicas from his dream stood out in his mind, side by side, like the twin girls from the movie.
And Anna too…she's only two years old…
The image of her clutching the doll, arguing "mine" fluttered through his mind.
Mine.
He pulled out his cell, and dialed Dean's number. The phone rang through.
Come on, Dean. Answer. Don't be angry.
He dialed again. It rang through. Come on, come on.
A third time, and it rang through. "Come on, Dean! PICK UP THE DAMN PHONE!"
He sat for a moment, letting the wipers flick quietly across the glass.
Then he dialed a number he knew by heart.
"Amos? Hey, it's Sam. Yeah, yeah, good to talk to you too. Could you do me a favor? Could you look up a birth record for me? Hospital in San Francisco. Look for children born on September 24th, 1902—twins. One of them would be named Annabelle. Get back to me as soon as you can. And do me a favor? Dial up Dean—my phone service can't reach him—and tell him I'm on my way back to Cariño."
Dean marched into the house, Aaron in tow. Sally Lewis came down the stairs at the sound of the screen door banging shut.
"What are you doing in here? I told you to stay outside. Now get out, before I call the cops."
"Ms. Lewis, where's Anna?" Aaron asked. Dean didn't say anything.
"What? Aaron, I told you…"
"WHERE'S ANNA!" he shouted.
"Lower your voice, Aaron," she said forcefully, though with a gentle tone. "She's upstairs in her room."
Aaron dashed up the steps, dropping his video game on a nearby table.
"Aaron, don't run!" Sally said. "What did you say to him?" she asked Dean accusingly.
"Look, Sally, it really is in your best interest to let me do my job."
"Excuse me?"
"You want to protect these kids? Then you have to trust me. Because that's what I'm trying to do."
"You expect me to…"
"DEAN! SHE'S NOT HERE!"
Aaron came barreling down the steps. "She's not there, she's not there!"
"What?"
"Anna! SHE'S GONE!"
Dean bolted up the steps, Sally Lewis following behind. He swung past a few doors, swinging open the one that had a pink-ribboned nameplate attached to the door.
The room was empty.
He check the closet, and under the crib. There was no sign of Anna or her doll.
"Was she here?" he asked Sally, whirling around to face her. "Did you see her here?"
"She was in here just a moment ago!" Sally cried. "I just checked on her."
"Check Simon's room," he ordered. "Aaron, where's your Mom's room?"
"Down here."
Dean pushed past the case worker, to a large door at the end of the hall. The room was dark. He strode through it quickly, flinging open the closet doors, the bathroom door, even the cabinets.
She was nowhere to be found.
Sally came from Simon's room, an arm wrapped around the little boy, who was sucking his thumb. "She's not in there."
Dean glanced around, opening a hall closet. Empty.
"Downstairs?"
Sally shrugged. "I don't know how she could have gotten past me…"
He jumped down the stairs, scrambling through the kitchen. Sally checked the living room. Aaron opened the downstairs bathroom, but there was no sign of Anna anywhere.
"I'll check the garage," Sally said, leaving Simon in the kitchen with Dean. He rubbed a hand through his hair.
Where the hell did she go? She's a freakin' toddler!
"Anna," said Simon quietly, through his thumb.
"What?" asked Aaron. Dean moved over to the window, where Simon was staring.
Anna was looking up at the house, her Olivia doll clutched in her hands. She was standing at the edge of a forested area. Just staring.
"ANNA!" screamed Aaron.
Dean flung open the door. There was a flash, and an explosion of thunder rattled the house. The windows shook, wind chimes hung over the porch clanging against the glass.
Simon screamed. Aaron threw an arm around him.
Rain started to pour down from the sky. Anna continued to stare at the house, unmoved by the water. Dean watched her for a moment, poised at the doorway.
She turned away from them, and moved into the forest.
Great…
"Aaron…stay here. Tell Sally where Anna went to. Don't go outside I'm going to go get Anna."
"Dean…"
"Don't go outside. You'll get caught in the storm. Don't worry. I promise, I'll bring her back."
Aaron swallowed. "Promise?"
"Promise."
