"So, are you finally ready to accept the fact that we're hunting the ghost of Monica Brooks? That you and Dad missed something?" Sam asked.
Dean's knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel. The thoughts swirling around in his head were spinning as fast as the tires on the black car. He knew Sam was waiting for an answer, but the truth was, for once Dean was at a loss for words. So, like any good Winchester does when he's stuck in a conversation not to his liking, he changed the subject.
"The only thing missing is the damn library. I know it's around here somewhere. Check the map again." To Dean's relief the next sound he heard was the rustling of paper as Sam pinpointed their location.
"We're only about five blocks away. Make a left twostreets down." After a brief pause, he continued. "What exactly are you planning on researching when we get there?"
Dean wanted to say the words, but they just wouldn't come. Maybe it was because he didn't want to admit that he was wrong. More likely it was because he didn't want his little brother to be right. Again. No, deep down he knew the real reason he was loathe to say the woman's name. If he accepted the fact that they were chasing the spirit of Monica Brooks, he was also going to have to recognize that he and his father had screwed up. Dean's pride was barely able to accept it when he was wrong, but this time the consequences were grim. Three innocent people had been attacked, one badly injured, all because they had missed something. But what?
Sam's voice cut through his thoughts, and he took his eyes off the road long enough to glance over. "What?"
Sam narrowed his eyes skeptically. "You ok?"
Dean worked to relax his posture as he answered. "Yeah, yeah, I'm good."
As he pulled into the Harborview Public Library parking lot he became aware of slightly agitated movements coming from Sam, who had one hand on his seatbelt, the other drumming impatiently on his thigh. Shaking his head, Dean couldn't help but laugh. "Dude, you are such an incredible dork." Knowing Sam was itching to get inside, Dean slowly drove around the lot looking for a parking space.
"Dean, you just passed two spots. What're you doing?"
"They were a little too tight. She needs room to breathe, Sammy." Ah yes, nothing calms the ol' nerves like screwing with one's baby brother, Dean laughed to himself as his face bore a mask of concentration.
" 'She' is just a car, Dean." Sam said, a hint of exasperation in his tone.
"Hey! Do I have to go into this with you again?" Dean pointed to a small red four door sedan, "That is 'just a car,' okay? This is--"
Sam buried his face in his hands. "Oh please, not again."
Dean kept his face stoic as he made another lap around the parking lot. "Hey, show some respect or your ass is walking."
Sam's head shot up. "Oh please! You haven't given me more than two minutes to myself since we left Minnesota. Now park the damn car so we can get inside and get to work!"
Dean slowed down and turned on the turn signal,seeming readyto pull into an open spot. "Finally!" Sam exclaimed in relief.
In the SUV behind the black Chevy Impala, a young woman and her son sat waiting for the car to turn into the parking space. But after a few seconds, the car began to inch forward as the turn signal stopped blinking.Mother and sonboth jumped, startled as a loud voice cut through the windows of both cars. "DEAN!"
An hour and a half later, Dean pushed his chair back from the library table with a growl. "This is the same crap I looked at last time. If there was something here, I would have found it already."
Sam sighed and nodded. They had pored over every newspaper article, every local history book, but had come up with nothing. Sam closed the book with a loud thump and turned to Dean. "Ok, so let's start at the beginning. Did Monica have any children, any relatives?"
"Nope. Only child, both parents dead, never married, no kids." Dean answered shortly.
"Ok." Sam chewed his lower lip thoughtfully. "What about the guy who killed her? The burglar?"
"Nope". Dean shook his head. "Turned himself in two days after, died in prison eight years later."
Sam consulted his notes. "So, Monica died in 1987. It sits abandoned until the town turns it into a historical site in 1996, and Bill Morgan is appointed head of operations. Reports of activity begin in 1998 when the mansion is opened to the public."
"Just the usual stuff." Dean chimed in. "Doors opening and closing on their own, unexplained lights and noises. Nothing harmful. In fact, Bill said tourism began to rise as news of the haunted mansion began to circulate."
Sam brow furrowed in confusion. "So why bring you and Dad in? Did the haunting turn violent?"
Dean got up from the table and began pacing. "Actually, it was because of his daughter. The older Ashley got, the more obsessed she became with the ghost. Bill said she spent nearly every waking moment in the mansion, searching for the ghost and trying to communicate with it. She had lost most of her friends, and her grades were slipping. He said it seemed to dominate her life."
"She and Dad must have had a lot to talk about." Sam muttered under his breath.
Dean ignored the comment and continued. "He went so far as to forbid her from going there, but she kept sneaking in. He was one step away from packing up and moving as far from Harborview as possible. He'd been talking with Pastor Jim for advice; Pastor Jim gave him Dad's number."
Sam turned his attention to the newspaper clippings spread out on the table. Scanning the lengthy obituary, Sam asked, "Monica was a psychic, right? Was she into anything supernatural? Black arts, anything like that?"
Dean sat back down and grabbed an article about the break-in. "Actually, just the opposite. It seems like everything she did was to fit in, to be normal. She went to church every Sunday, helped with bake sales, that kind of stuff. She did give readings to the locals, but that was about it. I'm telling you, Sam, I have no idea why she's still here."
After glancing over the article for what seemed like the hundredth time, he let it flutter back onto the table.
Sam felt Dean's words float past him as the smiling face of Monica stared up at him from the newspaper. Although in black and white, her eyes still seemed to pierce right through him, holding him in place. Sam was oblivious to Dean's hand waving in front of his face as he sat fixated on the picture. Sam gasped in surprise as a sharp pain burst on his upper arm. Finally able to drag his gaze away from the newspaper, he looked up at Dean's concerned face.
"Dude, what's wrong with you?" Dean exclaimed, giving his brother a good once over. He felt a little guilty about the jab he'd leveled on his brother's arm, but luckily it had seemed to bring Sam out of his trance.
Sam swallowed hard, hoping he looked better than he felt. "Nothing, I'm fine."
"Did you just have a, uh, you know…a vision?" Dean said the word as if it were too painful to even say.
"No, of course not. Why would you think that?" But even as Sam spoke the words, he felt a growing sense of trepidation, almost a feeling of being trapped.
"Oh, I don't know, Sam. Maybe it's because you just zoned out for almost three minutes, and your cheeks are flushed. You sure you're ok?" The sarcasm Dean tried injecting in his voice did not mask the obvious concern that was present.
Sam raised a hand to his cheek and was surprised at the warmth he felt. "We should go back to the mansion." He didn't know where the words came from, but as they echoed through his thoughts, his world constricted to that one idea.
Dean sat back in his chair, taken aback by the sudden change in the conversation. "Yeah, we will, once we find out how to get rid of this thing. Of Monica." he finally permitted himself to say the words.
But Sam didn't seem to notice the acknowledgment. "No, I mean now. We need to go back there now."
Dean took a moment to study Sam before answering. His brother sat rigidly in his chair, his muscles so tense he was almost trembling. His eyes had a glassy look to them, and his cheeks were still bright red. "Sam." No response. "Sam!"
Sam snapped his head around, his fists clenched. He stood up so suddenly that the chair nearly tipped over. Without another word, he began walking towards the front entrance.
Dean leapt up and got in front of Sam, momentarily blocking his path. "Whoa, where are you running off to, Rain Man?"
Even as Sam began to give the answer Dean knew was coming, Dean grabbed hisshoulders and forced him to look into his face. "Ok, Sammy, we'll go to the mansion. But first we need to stop and grab some food. We can't go ghostbusting on an empty stomach now, can we?"
Sam didn't respond to Dean's weak attempt at humor; just nodded his head slowly and allowed himself to be led out of the library.
The irony of his last statement wasn't lost on Dean as he steered Sam towards the car. The lure of food seemed to have deterred Sam for the moment, although Dean's stomach was so unsettled that he doubted he could eat anything. But his ruse had bought him time. Time to figure out what the hell was wrong with his little brother.
