6
Sam and Dean reached their motel room shortly before 3:00 pm and the Texas sun blazed down from the sky. Fingers of heat combed at the air, stirring up the pollen and humidity as it sought to burn the flesh of mortals. The interior of the Impala had heated up to an uncomfortable degree and both brothers were sweating by the time they entered their motel room.
Sam dashed for the shower before his brother could beat him to it and Dean shook his head as the door swung shut with a resounding thud. Dean pulled out the files that Sam had gathered on all of the victims. The last one killed had been Kya's cousin Elizabeth. If the book was the culprit that meant it was still in her room or had been removed by someone that had been in the room after her death. That narrowed the list of people down to police, crime scene investigators, and family. He sighed and began scanning the police report for the list of names that would tell him which investigators had been at the scene.
He sat on the edge of the bed, balancing a notebook on one thigh and the sheet of paper on the other while writing down the names they had to check out.
He looked up as Sam walked out, a towel wrapped firmly around his waist.
"What are you doing?" Sam asked.
"We have people to go interrogate," Dean replied.
"You make us sound like Nazis," the younger Winchester snorted as he pulled clean clothes from his duffel bag.
Dean just shook his head. He applied the last name of the final officer to the paper and set his handiwork down on the dresser for Sam to review as he took his overdue turn in the shower.
Sam got dressed slowly as his thoughts turned over to their impromptu female companion. There was something about her that Sam couldn't place. She was enigmatic if nothing else but that was what threw Sam off. He considered himself a good judge of character but he couldn't get a grip on what her character was exactly. He knew that she was witty, smart, cautious, and capable in her own right. There was something she was hiding from them, a secret that she wouldn't tell, and he could see it in her eyes. He couldn't stop wondering how she had become acquainted with what lurked in the dark because most people who did turned and ran the other way. Or died.
Sam turned as Dean's cell phone trilled loudly on the dresser top. The caller ID screen registered an unknown number and he pushed the talk button with uncertainty.
"Hello?" he asked.
"Sam," the caller verified. "It's Kya."
"How did you get this number?" he wondered reflexively.
"Wouldn't you like to know," she answered, making it clear she wasn't going to tell him.
Sam sighed audibly from his end. This girl was getting more mysterious by the minute.
"I have a lead that I'm going to follow up on. I just wanted to let you boys know that I won't be around today."
"What lead?" he asked, half fearing another evasive answer.
"A contact called me. I've been informed that Colton Banks has a son. His kid might have reason to want revenge for his father. He might have stolen the book."
Sam was surprised by her honesty. "We can go with you. You know, for back up."
"Sam, I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself. But thanks anyway, Smallville."
Sam smiled slightly at her pop culture television reference. "Okay. I think we're going to try and track down the book."
"If you get it, don't open it without me. I want in on this."
"I know," he said sincerely. "We'll let you know."
"Thanks," she replied. "Be careful."
She disconnected before he could get out a response and he stood there staring at the phone as Dean came out of the bathroom wearing faded denim jeans and nothing else. His hair swept droplet of water onto his face and he swiped at it with the towel in irritation.
"Who was that?" he asked.
Sam set the phone down and began pulling on his shoes. "Kya. She's checking out a lead."
Dean finished getting dressed in a dark blue undershirt and denim over shirt before pulling on his own worn out black boots. He stood from the bed and motioned for the door.
"Really? So are we."
Kya stepped down from the bike and walked up the gravel driveway to the two story house that stood on a lonely stretch of highway about three miles outside of town. The farmland surrounding it was wrapped in the golden haze of the still beaming sun and Kya spotted a trio of horses grazing quietly under the shade of a large oak about fifty yards away from the house.
The house itself was cheery enough, painted in a canary yellow with white trim and latticework for the shutters on the windows. An archway covered in trailing vines provided the way to the house and a white fence surrounded the establishment. She stepped onto the porch and the wooden floorboards creaked under her feet, as if announcing to the owner in their loyalty that an intruder was on the premises. Kya was startled at the sound of padded feet and clicking nails ascending the steps behind her and she whirled to meet a monstrously huge black Labrador. The dog stared at her, head bowed, legs planted firmly and she stared back, showing not an ounce of fear to the guardian of the house. She knew that animals could smell fear from a mile away and eventually her resolve paid off for the dog sat down on its haunches and whined softly.
She sighed and raised her hand to knock on the screen door when it suddenly swung open with a bang. She jumped back but recovered quickly.
"What do you want?" the man at the door asked.
She found herself looking at a man in his late twenties. He was tanned from hard labor in the sun and built like a farmer with broad shoulders and a tapered waist. His hair was brown with blonde streaks running through it, spiked up from his head about an inch or so, and his narrow face was made all the more attractive by a pair of startling blue eyes. He stood about a head taller than her but his height didn't intimidate her.
"You," she said simply.
Hunter Banks pushed open the screen door and stepped onto the porch, stretching his muscled arms and staring her down. She stood her ground, even reaching hand down to the Labrador's head that rested at her hip where the dog had taken up a comfortable watch.
"You're brash," he said.
"Best way to get things done," she replied. "Hunter Banks, I presume."
"You presume correctly. What do you want me for?"
"Answers," she replied, again keeping it simple and to the point.
One eyebrow arched above one marble blue eye and he leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest.
"Unless you don't read the news, I'm sure you know about the deaths that have been occurring around here."
She backed up to lean against the porch railing and was surprised when the dog faithfully followed her. Its owner didn't seem too happy about its sudden change in loyalty either.
"You're a little young to be a detective," he answered.
"Not a detective, at least not with the police department. My cousin was killed and I've been following leads that the police are too stupid to look for."
This brought a hint of a smile to the young rancher's face. "So what leads brought you to my doorstep?"
"Your father," she said blatantly. "And the book he wrote in prison before he was put to death."
A dark cloud passed over Hunter's face and the arms across his chest got even tighter until it seemed that the muscles hidden under the skin would pop out. She remained calm outwardly but inwardly was alert and ready for anything. He wanted him to think of her as a petite, nosy, and altogether helpless young woman if he was hiding any deep dark secrets of his own.
"Who are you to come here and bring up that shit?" he demanded.
"I told you. I'm family to one of the victims. Family that wants answers."
Hunter's eyes flashed dangerously. "My father was innocent. It was my bastard uncle that did those killings and the town wanted a scapegoat. So they killed my dad. Cowards, the lot of them!"
"I'm not saying I don't believe your father was innocent. I want to know about the accusations pointed toward him that he was involved in the occult. And most of all I want to know about that book."
"Why should I even talk to you?" he growled.
"Because I'm not going to leave you alone. If your father was a good man then I'm assuming he must have raised a good son. So if you're as good as he was supposed to be, then you'll help me."
Hunter could find no scathing remark to this keen observation and well played reverse psychology. Kya tried hard to hide the triumphant smirk that threatened to explode onto her features.
Hunter sighed and sank into a wooden chair with padding on it to the left of the porch. He offered her the other seat across from his with a weary move of his arm and she accepted. She didn't relax fully into the chair as he had done; rather she sat on the edge of it ready to spring to her feet at a moment's notice. The dog followed her loyally and planted itself at her feet with a wag of its china-destructive tail and lolling tongue.
"My dog likes you," Hunter offered.
"I can see that," she replied.
She reached a hand down to pet the dog's massive head and waited patiently for his story to come out.
7
Dean slammed the door to the Impala nearly two hours later and swiped his hands through his hair in irritation. Sam got in next to his brother and slid the seat belt over his lap.
"Okay, Dean," he said quietly. "We've checked out all the leads and they're all dead ends. Maybe it's time to get our hands dirty."
Dean nodded and started up the car. "Really dirty."
He drove the Impala across town and into a quiet residential neighborhood filled with middle class homes that the rest of society dreamed about owning. He parked the black car down the street and climbed out, forgoing the usual grabbing of equipment and following Sam down the oak-shaded sidewalk. The street was quiet even this early in the afternoon but they were careful to watch for neighbor's prying eyes through curtained windows.
A wooden fence surrounded Elizabeth's property and it was to this eight foot tall wooden opponent that they went. Dean made a cup of his hands and heaved Sam up with the kind of practiced ease that only came from being brothers and getting into far too much trouble together. He waited while Sammy released the latch on the gate from within and he stepped inside with a quick glance behind him. No one had raised an alarm yet and he crossed his fingers that they had gone undetected. Sam hurried to the back door in a low crouch but found that breaking and entering wouldn't be needed. The window above the kitchen sink was open and the curtains were sucked outside it, fluttering in the breeze. The house was quiet as both its remaining occupants were at work until at least late evening. Dean nodded at Sam and Sam shook his head.
"No way," Sam said, stepping away from the window. "If anyone's busting his ass it's going to be you."
"Thanks," Dean said dryly. "Appreciate the vote of confidence."
Sam beamed a false smile his way. "Anytime."
Dean put one foot on the stone beneath the window and jumped until his right hand latched onto the ledge. He less-than-gracefully grabbed it with his other hand and propelled himself upward with his feet firmly planted on the wall. Once he had wriggled in sufficiently enough to get his underarms against the windowsill he had to struggle to bring his waist in through the window. He brought one leg in and awkwardly turned around with one foot in the sink and the other hanging out the window. He found himself thankful for the tidy housekeeping of the Mrs., as there were no dishes in the sink this afternoon. The thought left his mind as he tried to bring his other leg in, lost his balance on the slick metal of the sink, and tumbled backward to land in a heap on the kitchen floor.
"Ow!" he commented.
"Told you so," Sam said from outside.
"Shut up," Dean retorted, getting up and stretching his limbs. "Or I'll leave you out there to climb through the window. And I'll sit here with popcorn."
"Do they even have popcorn?" Sammy wondered.
Dean glanced around the spacious kitchen, saw no popcorn, shrugged and turned back to his brother's voice. "And a La-Z-Boy. Good for watching reality TV."
"Open the damn door, Dean," Sam said sharply.
Dean sighed and opened the locks on the backdoor to let Sam into the house. His brother swung the door shut behind him and both brothers turned in surprise as a low growl echoed into the kitchen. A sleek German Shepard stood at the entry hall to the kitchen, lips peeled back to reveal dangerously sharp canines, hair raised along its back, and feet planted to spring.
"Shit," Dean muttered, dodging behind the island in the center of the kitchen. "Okay, down boy, nice Cujo."
"They must have gotten a dog after Elizabeth died," Sam said. "And Cujo was a St. Bernard."
"Sam!" Dean exclaimed. "Give me useless facts later!"
"Right," Sam said. "Umm. . . .we could lock it in the downstairs bathroom!"
"And then the owners would know somebody broke in."
"We don't exactly have time to sit here and discuss it, Dean, unless you want to become kibbles," Sam pointed out.
"Okay, all right," Dean said. "Sometimes I really hate this job."
He dodged out from behind the island and the dog gave chase, nails clicking on the tile floor. Dean hung a sharp right back around the island and dashed out into the hallway that opened into the living room. He could hear both the dog and his brother hot on his heels, and he sensed the leap as he made one of his own. He climbed up the back of the sofa and launched himself airborne behind it as the dog met the space where he had been seconds ago.
"Shit!" he yelled.
He heard the dog land behind him and pick up the chase as Dean threw open the door to the downstairs bathroom and dodged inside. Instinct guided him as he clambered onto the white porcelain sink just as the German Shepard skidded into the bathroom. Sam appeared behind him at the doorway and dodged out of sight as Cujo's cousin leapt at Dean. He jumped from the sink and the dog's teeth cut into his jeans and grazed his skin as he propelled himself back out of the bathroom.
Sam slammed the door shut and they heard the dog hit the door with a crash and a yelp. Dean leaned down and put his hands on his knees, breathing laboriously.
"Remind me to bring a stick next time," he gasped.
"Why? You want to play fetch with it?"
"No, I want to play doggie PiƱata," he corrected, before standing straight.
Sam smiled and lead the way upstairs as the dog snarled and growled, throwing its weight at the unyielding door.
"How are we gonna get Cujo out of there? Without getting eaten," Dean wondered.
"Open the door and run like hell," Sam offered.
Dean shrugged and couldn't argue that tried and true logic. He pushed open the door to Elizabeth's room and stepped in. It was the same as it had been last time they had broken in to check for any supernatural leftovers. The walls were a cheerful pastel yellow and the curtains covering the double glass doors that opened up onto a white balcony were lacy, flowing and white. The bed was an oak sleigh bed with a black silk cover printed with large red roses, the pillows and sheets matching. An old rocking chair sat in the corner near a large bookshelf filled to the brim with books of all shapes and sizes. The metal of the lamp sitting on the table next to the chair had long grown cold and the beautifully crafted maple dresser seemed lonely in its corner, as if it knew it would never be opened again.
They moved simultaneously to the book shelf and began searching through it, reading titles and checking for one that seemed out of place or recently used. The only problem was, all of them seemed used and well loved.
"Man, this girl loved her books," Sam said quietly.
"Yup," Dean agreed.
He said no more. He could feel the emptiness in the room as potently as if he had known the shy, introverted, studious Elizabeth himself. He thought he felt the loss near the rocking chair especially and imagined that was where she spent most of her time, quietly rocking back and forth with a portal to another world spread open on her lap. When a search of the bookshelf came up empty they spread out around the large room, quickly checking through drawers and underneath the mattress.
"Dean," Sam said quietly, but with a voice that showed a level of panic.
Dean moved to stand beside his brother and felt his heart drop as he read the pink post-it note stuck on a wooden note board on the wall beside the deceased girl's bed. Elizabeth- Borrowed the book you were reading since you're going out of town. I'll have it back before you want to read it again. Love, Ashley
Dean turned a questioning eye on Sam.
"I don't get it. If the book was gone when she died, how was she killed?"
"Maybe we're dealing with more than just the book. Either way, we have to figure out who this Ashley girl is before she gets added to the list of the dead."
Dean nodded solemnly. "Maybe Kya will know who she is."
Sam returned the nod and walked from the bedroom.
"Let's hope so. In the meantime . . . .,"
"Let's see how fast we can run."
