Solitary Man chpt 2
Driving through the wee hours with Metal to fuel the fire of his fear Dean forced himself with only the discipline that had been drilled into him starting at the age of four acting as his self-censor, to keep the Impala a steady ten miles an hour over the speed limit while on I80E. By the time any place was open to buy a battery for his cell, he'd made it all the way to Salt Lake City Utah and was emotionally drained. Not even his favored Metallica could drown out the ring of questions that flapped maddeningly in his head.
What I need is information… let's start with who we've been talking to. Damnit, if I had his laptop I might be able to get an idea of what he's up to! Okay, okay plan of action… first call…
He'd gotten lucky with the battery when he stopped at a local vendor, he was going to be able to make three calls without having to re-charge it. He dialed the first number and got voice mail, somehow he'd known he would.
"Sam! Sam where the hell are you? You call me as soon as you get this message! I talked to Sarah last night and she hasn't seen or heard from you so…call me man, don't make me hunt you down!...Call me damnit!" he ended the call and moved onto the next, where he also got voice mail.
OOoh shocker! he thought angrily, "Dad it's me… listen… it's Sam… I'm sure he's okay, but the thing is I put him on a plane to go see a friend, figured he needed the R&R after the last gig… if you've kept in touch with Bobby and Shep you know we were dealing with… bad… by the way, the Redbird bullets work, just fyi… well, Sam never made it to his friend's… and there was no record of him being on the plane even though we watched him walk down the jetway… call me or keep your eyes peeled, he could be anywhere… I hit a wall at the airport we dropped him at, I'm heading East on 80… I'll find him…just, thought you should know…" Dean sighed and felt a certainty in his heart, it was that same perfectly balanced, glistening silver edge his younger brother had felt as they started the Guinardi case. He knew he would find Sam. There was no doubt, it was as certain as the sun rising. What he wasn't so certain about was whether or not he'd kill him if he found him alive or resurrect, then kill him, if he found him dead. Weird thing is, I can almost feel that he's okay…yeah I got nervous belly going on here but… I believe he's alright, for the moment anyway. I just wish I knew what was going on, that's what's killing me… He took the cell battery, he had to have…that points to premeditation, which points to contrivance, which points to duplicity which points to lying to me!
He looked at the battery level and fostered a glimmer of hope that he could squeeze two more calls out of the charge. He dialed.
"Bobby!" he breathed a sigh of relief when their friend answered on the second ring, "It's Dean… am I glad to hear your voice… listen… something's up with Sam… he…well… he… ditched me… I guess you could say…" he ran down the situation quickly while Bobby listened intently, saying little, "…Well… no, I think he's alright, I mean weird as it sounds I feel like he's alright but… you don't understand… no… Salt Lake City… I'm heading toward New York, where he was supposed to be… How do I know he took off? He… well for starters someone took my cell phone battery… College boy might think of that don't cha think?" he sniped. Bobby was telling him to relax and not be paranoid, that there was bound to be a logical explanation for what would probably turn out to be little more than some Monty Python-esque comedy of errors. He was also insinuating that the intensity of their last gig might be serving to feed his fears, and though Dean admitted that might be true, there was something in his guts telling him to forge ahead. And if there's one thing I do well it's follow my instincts… uhh except when they almost get us killed by the freakishly intelligent ghost of a sadist who knew the root of more Latin than Geek Boy… "Look I'm running out of juice here, I gotta charge this thing… just keep your ears and eyes open, call your contacts and tell 'em to do the same and get back to me it if anyone sees him, that's all I'm asking okay?"
He could almost hear Bobby nod on the other line as he said, "That I can do… take care boy," and cut his end of the line before Dean could.
Okay… he looked at the power slide, Damnit! he knew he'd never get another call out so plugged the charger into the lighter until he could make the next motel. He wouldn't get a chance to kick Sam's ass if he wound up dead on the road from driving while half asleep.
--
Sam shook hands with Chief Medical Examiner Ryan Davies and smiled nodded, actively stretching his senses, trying to get a read on the man the way Dean would. He knew he wasn't as good at reading people as his big brother, but as Dean kept assuring him, "Dude, you're only gonna get to Carnegie Hall if you practice you ass off…" Sam knew it was Dean's own particular bastardization of an old joke but thinking of it still made him smile. I wish you were here with me now. I hate doing this alone… and so help me I already have a greater understanding of why you came and got me that night. You might've been working your own gig, but you knew you had dad to go back to, then you didn't…I hope… no, that's not necessary. I know you'll forgive me when all is said and done… it's your nature.
"Well Detective, like I told you over the phone, our local boys want to keep some of these details a little close to the vest, for obvious reason…" Dr. Davies reiterated.
Sam nodded and followed him down the corridor unbelievably glad that this was a small enough burg for their morgue to contain the smell. He remembered walking into Cook County Medical Examiner's office once and how the scent of rotting meat underlay everything. The techs there had told him, you bring your clothes, you bag 'em and change into your scrubs when you get there. You only take your scrubs home to wash 'em and you never wash 'em with your street clothes.
"Believe me Dr. Davies, I understand completely and considering I have no jurisdiction here at all I really appreciate, the delicacy of your position. I also appreciate your willingness to help with this matter… our own team wants to keep it quiet as well," Sam said softly, "Listen, let me give you what I'm guessing is there and if you think I'm on the right track you can help me out if you feel comfortable with it. If you don't, there's no harm, no foul on your part okay?" he bargained.
Dr. Davies stopped and looked at him incredulous, "You sure aren't like any Detective I've ever come across… You got a personal connection to the case you're working?" he asked without accusation or pretense.
Sam smiled and bowed his head, "You might say that…" he nodded.
Dr. Davies, with his country weathered and nearly leathered face met his eyes and seemed to dive in. They stood there silent for a long moment before the fifty-something man ushered him through another door.
Sam found himself in a tiny but chillingly cool office. A chair was crammed solid between the desk and a couch along the back wall. There was a small area near the back of the room where the faint odor of a cigarette remained and on the desk in the corner furthest from the door was a two cup coffee pot on is warmer.
Dr. Davies motioned him to take a seat and he did as the Dr., without assent or preamble poured them each a cup of coffee. Apparently the man either had a Dean-like appreciation for coffee or had considered a small Q & A session with Detective Samuel Rodgers a possibility. Sam smiled and sipped the steaming brew.
"Thank you."
Dr. Davies nodded, "So…let's break the ice a little bit Detective… how'd you get hurt?" he asked and watched as Sam barely contained his sputter.
"Sorry… actually I was working a case…" he said automatically and heard Dean's voice in the back of his head, Hey… sometimes the truth works.
"Ribs?" Dr. Davies asked.
"Yeah," Sam nodded, "Two broken, blood and lung chunks… very not fun…"
"I'd imagine not," Dr. Davies nodded, "You know there's a little track on the inside of the rib and a little hole… pay attention next time you eat a slab, there's a huge nerve and vein that runs along that little channel, it's called a fossa by the way, that goes into the rib itself… that's why it hurts so much when they break… and depending on the severity of the break… well let's just say you don't want that stuff severed," he smiled easily yet there was an underlying sadness there.
Sam nodded and set his coffee cup down, "Dr. Davies, the victim, Carol Guinardi was discovered with something burned into her chest and/or abdomen, post mortem. Now I don't know for certain, but I can tell you that it wouldn't surprise me if there was a sequence of numbers and perhaps even some letters involved," he handed the coroner exactly what he wanted before sitting back with his cup in hand and sipping the coffee once more.
So long as he didn't think about what he was doing, it would later strike Sam Winchester that he had been quite comfortable talking to the coroner the way he had. Investigator to Expert
Dr. Davies pulled a file from a number of them propped up against the wall and opened it to face Sam.
Sam set his cup down hoping his trembling hands hadn't betrayed him too much, but the first photo he saw was the woman he and Dean had met in the hospital, the one with the thousand mile gaze and the "I should've died decades ago," demeanor. The photos were stark, clinical and sparing nothing to modesty or humility. Her flesh was tinged blue-ish purple and there was no mistaking the cause of death. He could see the jagged tear around the neck and the white of the cervical vertebrae beneath it all. He straightened his tie hoping his own still-fading bruises had gone without notice.
"These were taken the day she was brought in," Dr. Davies said, then thumb nailed a few photos until he found the one he wanted.
This one was an almost identical shot, same angle except this time Carol Guinardi's corpse already had the "Y" incision and it had been sewn back up, but there was more.
The crotch of the "Y" met at the pinnacle of the sternum, at a small bone called the xyphoid process where the central line continued on to bisect the abdomen.
Sam winced. The top of that midline incision, or Carol Guinardi's Right side bore three numbers in the white and red raised skin of a liquid nitrogen blister, and on the opposite side were two letters. Sam swallowed hard and breathed deep before doing his best to return to the moment and meet eyes with the coroner.
"I uh…" he cleared his throat, "If the burns happened post mortem how is it that there's blood in the blisters?" he asked.
"I don't know," Dr. Davies answered softly. "There shouldn't be,"
They stared at each other for a long moment before Dr. Davies nodded and rose, "You want to see it with your own eyes don't you?"
Reluctantly, Sam nodded, "I need to."
"Do you know what any of it means?" Dr. Davies asked leading him into the refrigerator where they kept the local deceased until they were claimed or autopsied and released.
"I don't know," Sam shook his head as the coroner led him to the cart that held Carol Guinardi's body on it and folded back the sheet over her. The police had confiscated the jonnie she'd been wearing at the time of her murder in hopes of obtaining genetic information from it but they'd come up short even in that arena, so the morgue had supplied her the scant dignity of a plain white sheet.
His eyes fixed on her abdomen and he walked around the cart until the numbers were right side up as well as the letters.
Shep was right, 987 and DW carved into her abdomen…what the hell does it mean? 987 pictures… I know that one… I know the cops pulled 987 pictures off the walls at Aaron Beyers house after then found him having fermented for a few weeks… and I know Dean was there… I know he killed that son of a bitch… is this some kind of cry for vengeance from beyond the grave cause you got squat you S.O.B. what Dean did to you… he did the world a favor… 987 pictures of 61 different kids… so where's the 12 fit in? is it one, comma two or is it a twelve? And why Dean? Carol was Eddy Jay's victim, not Aaron Beyers'… where's the tie? Is there a tie? I mean beside the whole hey I'm gonna resurrect the spirit of another child molester so I can build my own little posse… kind of tie… I don't get it… We salted and burned both of them… I saw them die, so did Dean… how is this happening? he wondered and turned to face Dr. Davies.
"Thank you Doctor, I appreciate your time," he nodded tersely and shook the older mans' hand before turning on his heel and striding from the refrigerator and finding his way back out in the warm Missouri sunshine that suddenly felt no more warm than the far away pale yellow of mid-winters' sun.
Sam sat in his rental, cell phone in hand with Dean's name and number on the screen blinking '1 message' Just one so far… that's good… I just hope Bobby and Shep can keep this under their hats till I figure out what's going on… what's doing this… and why.
He wanted to press send after highlighting Dean's number, by God how he wanted to hear his brothers' voice, wanted to feel his psyche right next to his, striving without conscious effort to keep in tune with him. Dean had a gift when it came to that, Sam knew and wished sometimes for the same gift. Unfortunately he'd been blessed in ways few, including himself really understood.
I need to hear his voice, Sam thought and played Dean's voice mail message as the air conditioning sucked the humidity out of the vehicle and he rested his head on the steering wheel with the phone pressed to his ear. He pressed "repeat" more times than he cared to count and listened to that voice that always brought him peace, no matter how angry it was.
--
Should I keep going?