Chapter 3

'Tallie, do you know who it is?' Dean asked, pulling her to her feet without taking his eyes off the flickering figure in front of them.

She turned round and looked into his eyes, her dark orbs wide and full of fear. 'Yes,' she breathed. 'It's her.'

'Your… dad's wife?' he asked, remembering how she hated to be associated with the woman, and stopping himself from saying 'stepmother'.

She nodded earnestly, still clinging onto his jacket tightly. Dean pulled out a shotgun loaded with rock salt and aimed it carefully at the figure in front of them, who was smirking cruelly down at Tallie. Before he could pull the trigger, something lifted him up and threw him forcefully across the room, with Tallie still in his arms. They collided heavily with the doors, and Dean curled his body protectively around Tallie to keep her from the main force of the impact. He felt his shoulder crack; as a penalty for protecting Tallie, he had made himself vulnerable.

Sam glanced over to check on his brother before firing a rock salt shell at the spook, which dodged it skilfully and reappeared atop the balcony, out of range. Sam sprinted over the stone floor and started up the stairs, two at a time. As he neared the top, the figure moved around the corner into the corridor.

'Sam, stay off the balcony!' Dean yelled, scrambling to his feet, using his good arm to lift Tallie.

Near the top of the stairs, Sam stopped and turned. 'I can't get it, it's round there,' he called, moving up another step.

'Stay off the balcony!' Dean repeated urgently.

Sam spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness, frowning at his brother. Well, what do you suggest? Shaking his head, he tried to compromise by stepping out onto the balcony with his back right up to the wall, as far from the edge as he could get, edging out slowly so that he could see into the corridor. For a split second, he had a view of the passage, apparently empty, and then all at once his vision was filled with the pale light of the spirit.

'Get down!' someone screamed at him, and he flung himself instinctively onto the floor, coming close to sliding down the opposite staircase, as the ghost rushed over his head, took a swan dive off the balcony and disappeared.

'Idiot, what did I tell you?' Dean reproached him when he reached the bottom of the stairs, breathing heavily. 'If she could throw me across the room, she could throw you over that balcony.'

Tallie frowned at him disapprovingly, clearly taking Dean's side. She plucked at Dean's jacket with small fingers. 'Is it gone?' she asked anxiously.

The brothers exchanged a look, and it was Sam who answered. 'Yes, she's gone. For now, she's gone.'

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In the morning, they would have to come back and ask some more questions, like where the late Mrs Ovington was buried. And the truth about how she had died. But for now, it could wait: Tallie was in danger of falling asleep on her feet.

'What about your father, Tallie?' Dean asked her softly as he led her up to her room, walking quickly past the dangerous area at the top of the stairs. 'He must have heard what was happening.'

'He'll be cross about the big lamp,' Tallie mumbled sleepily. 'He's in his room. I told him there was a ghost, but he didn't want to come.' Her voice trailed off, and Dean settled her into her bed. She was fast asleep by the time he left the room.

He met Sam in the hallway. 'You ok?' asked the younger brother, noting Dean's pale face, and the way he supported one arm by holding it at the elbow with the other hand.

'My shoulder's out, you can push it back when we get to the motel room.'

Sam nodded, and held out his hand for the keys. Dean hesitated, making a face. Sam raised his eyebrows, extending his outstretched palm pointedly.

'Oh, all right then,' Dean grumbled, fishing the car keys out of his pocket and throwing them at Sam's chest.

Back in their room, Sam took a firm hold of Dean's upper arm with one hand, bracing his back with the other. Grimacing, he jerked the arm back mercilessly, hearing it settle back into place with a resounding crack. Dean released a string of curses under his breath, turning a vivid shade of white, so that his eyes stood out in sharp dark contrast against his white skin.

'Tylenol?'

'Yes, please,' he croaked.

'So the ghost is Mrs Ovington… they're not two victims of the same thing…' Sam reflected, as he rummaged in his bag for the painkillers. 'That's a pretty quick manifestation, she only died last week,' he added.

'And it suggests that she was pushed. Or jumped.'

'Probably she was pushed, the way she's taking it out on other people… I guess maybe Mrs King pushed her,' Sam suggested, shrugging.

'If Mrs King had pushed her, the ghost'd be gone by now. Job done. But she's still about. More likely she blames it on the entire household.'

'Did you hear Tallie, when the ghost appeared?' Sam asked hesitantly. '"He might be sorry but I'm not." What do you make of that?'

Dean frowned. He was reluctant to believe that the kid had had anything to do with her stepmother's death, but she had made it clear that they didn't get on. Still, the ghost had asked 'Is he sorry?' suggesting that her killer was male, or at least the person she blamed for her death. He looked up at Sam and shrugged, then immediately wished he hadn't when his shoulder screamed in protest.

'I think we need to ask some people some questions,' he said, lying back on his bed with a sigh, then adding, 'In the morning.'

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Roberts opened the door and made a face when he saw that the Winchesters were back. Dean could see the cogs turning behind his eyes, searching for a reason to send them away.

'Let them in, please, Mr Roberts,' said a small voice, with surprising authority from a little throat. Roberts scowled and stepped back, allowing the brothers to step inside, where they were met by Tallie, who looked tired but still seemed bouncy.

'Tallie, can you take us to see your father?' Dean asked, softly, and she nodded, taking his hand in both of hers, and leading him up the stairs and back through the house to the office that they had visited the previous day. Ovington was seated in the same position, behind his desk, but if anything his face looked even more exhausted and sunken than it had the last time. He looked up in mild surprise when his daughter entered with the two Winchester brothers.

'Daddy, we need to talk to you,' Tallie announced, in the same authoritative voice that she had inflicted on Roberts. 'Our house is haunted. By her.'

Dean was expecting the man to laugh, to tell Tallie not to be so excitable, to look confused or even to react with fear to this idea. But his expression was a strange mixture of resignation and delight when he turned his face towards them.

'I know.'

A silence followed. Dean blinked, digesting this new development with some difficulty. Tallie glared at her father with narrowed eyes, suspiciously. Sam scratched absently at his temple, frowning in confusion. Ovington stared openly up at the three of them, a barely visible smile playing on his lips. He broke the silence after along moment.

'Please sit down.'

The Winchesters did as they were told, silently waiting for everything to become clear.

'I'd like to thank you for what you did last night. Yes, I knew you were here. My wife, Ellen, died, sadly, last week, and she has returned, because she believes that I didn't show her enough affection and that it is in some way my fault that she died. She is quite right, and she is entitled to be angry. I'm very sorry about what happened to Mrs King… it was Ellen's way of making me pay. I have succeeded in communicating with Ellen, and I can reconcile with her so that she will no longer cause harm. I assure you, you don't need to worry about any more deaths.'

Sam nodded slowly, taking in what the man said. Tallie sat between the brothers, her small face looking rebellious.

'We can help you, sir,' Sam offered politely. 'We just need to know where Ellen is buried, and we can put her to rest, so she won't hurt anyone else.'

Ovington looked up again from his paperwork with hard eyes. 'That won't be necessary. I can work out my problems with my wife. Thank you, but we don't need your help.' His voice was polite, but stubbornly final.

Dean leaned forward, trying to engage the man's eye and make him see sense. 'Look, Mr Ovington… Ghosts… they just see in black and white, if they think you're guilty, they don't change their minds. I think you and Tallie would really be safer if -,'

'I think I know my wife better than a stranger,' Ovington cut it, anger seeping into his voice. 'I have succeeded in communicating with Ellen. She hears and understands what I say.'

'It doesn't mean she'll change her mind, she could still hurt you…'

'Thank you, Mr Winchester. For your advice. Shall I get Roberts to show you out?' he asked, using the same abrupt dismissal as he had the previous day.

Dean sighed heavily. 'No, thanks.'

The brothers left the house dejectedly, without much more information than they had had before.

'You know we've still got to burn the damn thing,' Dean stated as they trudged down the steps in front of the house.

'Yup.'

'Well, she was only buried last week. Can't be too hard to find.'

'And now we know her full name. Ellen Ovington.'

Curiosity made Dean long to know how she had really died, and why she really wanted to take revenge on Ovington's household. His excuse was too vague to be believable. But either way, it didn't make much difference. If they could find the body, salt it and burn it, the ghost would be gone.

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As predicted, the grave wasn't hard to find. The town had a couple of cemeteries, but they only had to scan the names on the newest stones to check for Ellen Ovington's tomb. In the second cemetery, they found it. A large bouquet of roses was propped against the stone, wilting, the petals going brown and curving inwards at the edges. The effect was sadder than that of the graves with no flowers at all.

They started digging.

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Tallie stayed close to the phone, knowing that Ellen would be back that night, and distrusting her father's assurances that she wouldn't hurt her. The house was quiet again. She crept out of her room and down the empty corridor to the very last door, then slipped inside. It was the room that her parents had shared when her mother had been alive. Daddy had moved, after she died, and he never came in here any more; at least, Tallie had never seen him in here. Really it was her mother's room more than it had ever been his. She had never come in this room either. In all the house, this was the place where she could be safest from her.

The carpet was dusky green, thick and warm under Tallie's bare feet. The room was smaller than most in the house: her mother used to say that it was a cottage inside the castle. The decoration was simple, but delicate and pretty, unlike the grand, ornate style of the rest of the house: the vast mahogany desk in the study, the swords and shields on the wall in the hall.

Tallie curled up in a little cream-coloured armchair, breathing in the lingering scent of spicy perfume. It was a subtle aroma, but interesting, and Tallie savoured it, comparing it scornfully to the sickly, flowery potion Ellen used to spray on herself. Tallie remembered the smell of Ellen remaining on her cheek after her stepmother had slapped her with an open hand, the time she had tried to tell Daddy what a nasty woman he had married.

Ellen had gotten worse and worse after those first few blows. In front of Ovington, they would only bicker, and then he would tell Tallie off for being rude to her stepmother. When Ellen was out, Tallie crept into her father's room and said she didn't like Ellen. He had been sympathetic. He loved his daughter; she was all that was left of his beautiful first wife, and she was full of a bubbling energy which was entirely her mother's gift. He lived for his daughter. But he loved his new wife, too.

He had told Tallie to try harder, try to be nice to her, and then maybe they could get to know each other better and they would learn to love each other. He had a quiet conversation with his wife, imploring her to make an effort; he really wanted her to get on with his daughter. Ellen had taken out her anger on Tallie.

After that, Tallie had come to hate and fear her stepmother more than anything else. More than spiders, and snakes, and Darth Vader. Daddy had never known. Until one day he came home earlier than expected, to see Tallie struggling to get away from her stepmother, who held her by the throat on the balcony at the top of the stairs. Ovington had been seized by a blinding rage, so that he could see nothing than a blurry figure with its hands around his daughter's neck. He had run up the stairs and pulled the hands roughly from Tallie's throat, pushing the attacker away from his daughter as hard as he possibly could. When the rage cleared, it was just in time for him to see his wife's shocked face disappear over the edge.

George Ovington loved his wife. And he was sorry.

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A spade struck something hard beneath the loose dirt. Finally.

The brothers cleared the rest of the black earth away from the top of the coffin, which was still so new that the wood was bright with varnish. The lid lifted easily.

The body was old enough to be a hideous grey colour, the face slack and eyes half open. It wasn't old enough to feel like burning bones, rather than a person. There was still enough humanity in the face that Sam tried to avoid looking at it as he scattered salt and lighter fluid over her.

Dean rummaged through his duffle bag, and produced a lighter. He began to straighten up, but stopped abruptly, feeling something cold, metallic and sharp graze the side of his throat.

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Lol, I always complain when people leave cliffhangers, and now I'm doing it to you. Sorry! ; )