2. Bloody Mary
I sat in a booth towards the back of the diner. I didn't know which diner. I didn't even know what town—it was in Ohio, that much I was sure of. I wasn't paying too much attention to where I was driving too; a case would always find me if I couldn't find it. The last case had left a heavy weight. What should have been a simple salt and burn, wasn't so simple. A father had died, leaving behind his nineteen-year-old daughter. She was old enough to take care of herself and had a good, strong head on her shoulders but daddy dearest was overprotective. The father was attacking anyone that came in to contact with her: friendly or otherwise. But the daughter, Leona, didn't care. She got to see her dad again, to have him by her side. She wasn't so forgiving after I'd dealt with it. She screamed, lashed out at me; she even got a good claw at my face. It still stung like a bitch. Thankfully those sorts of cases didn't happen often. People were usually thankful to you getting rid of the mean monster.
"Here's your waffles and strawberry shake." The waitress set the plate and drink down. I was giddy like a schoolgirl. Waffles and strawberry shake always made everything better.
"… and his eyeballs just exploded."
My head snapped up at the man's voice coming from the booth behind me.
"Oh, Frank, don't be so gruesome."
"I'm telling you what he told me. His wife knows the family. He didn't die of no stroke like it says here. The daughter told her. Eyes." He made an explosion sound.
Could have been nothing. Probably was nothing. But it might have been something.
I whipped around to find a middle-aged couple behind me. I turned and leaned against the back of the booth.
"Hi. Sorry to trouble you. Can I borrow that?" Without waiting for a response, I took the paper from the man's hand and spun back around.
There was an obituary for a Steven Shoemaker. 'Loving father'… 'respected member of the community'… no mention of eyeballs.
It really was probably nothing but my Scooby-senses were tingling, nonetheless.
What would a trip down to the local morgue hurt?
Turned out there were a couple of hunters already on the case.
"Hell no, lady. Two of your buddies came in here already with that line. I'm not risking my ass anymore. Unless… you know." The morgue attendant was sat behind his desk with one hand out, fingers rubbing together in the universal sign for 'gimme some cash.'
I didn't need to waste my limited funds if someone else had already got the info they needed. What was that info, though? Call me overly invested, but I wanted to know one way or the other if some guy's eyeball went KABOOM. I could track down the hunters and ask what they'd found. Then I could walk away. Or maybe go directly to the source. What would the daughter have to say?
I looked up his address and drove about fifteen minutes before turning onto their road. I pulled up alongside their house… in front of a very familiar car.
Drive away. Drive away. Drive away.
I knew I should have listened to myself. I didn't think anything good would come out of meeting up with Dean and Sam again. Sure, everything had worked out peachy last time but something was telling me, something deep down in my gut, that I should stay away.
So why did I turn off the ignition and get out of my truck?
Like I said, I'll find out what's going on and if they've got everything in hand, I'll go.
I didn't believe myself for a second.
There was little point in going into the house, instead I headed towards the Impala. The boys had seemed somewhat competent last time; I'd trust their judgement on whether there was actually a case or not.
The Impala was in pristine condition. Could have even been brand new. Someone certainly took care of it and cared for it well. Somehow I didn't think that person was Sam. Who knew how long they'd take talking to the family? Only made sense I made myself comfortable. I lifted myself back onto the hood of the Impala and leaned back against the window. The hood was warm underneath me; they couldn't have been here long.
Ten minutes later they made an appearance. As soon as Dean looked over to his car, he started running.
"Hey! Hey! Hey! Get off! Get off!"
"Hi Dean."
He grabbed me by the arm and dragged me off the hood.
"Oh, Baby. Are you ok? Did the mean lady hurt you?" Dean ran both of his hands over the hood of the car, leaning down to speak to it in a soft, soothing voice. I knew people could get a little enthusiastic about their cars but this was something else.
"Is he ok?" I asked Sam.
"He's pretty obsessive about his car. It's good to see you again…"
He was searching for a name. He wasn't getting one. I gave him a small smile instead. "You too."
"You're a menace! There's a scuff mark on the hood." Dean opened the car door and leaned down, coming back up with a rag. He went back to the hoor and began shining it up.
I folded my arms across my chest. "No there isn't."
"You may wish to drive a hunk of junk, but my girl? She's beautiful, stunning. I'd like to keep her that way. That means not letting any pint-sized, pain-in-the-ass hunters sit on her!"
I sighed. "Are you done?"
He put the rag back in the car and closed the door. "Oh, I haven't even gotten started…"
Before Dean could 'get started' Sam asked, "You're on the case too?"
"Err, not really. Don't even know if there is a case. I overheard someone talking about exploding eyeballs and well… here I am."
"Well, we think there might be one—"
Dean put his hand up in a 'stop right there' sign. "Oh hold on, Sammy."
"Don't call me Sammy," he muttered.
Dean turned to me. "What did you say last case? Something about you being there first, not needing any help, yadda yadda yadda. So please, hellbeast," he took a bow, sweeping his hand out in an exact replica of what I'd done to him, "be on your merry way."
Yeah he had a point. Any other hunter and I probably would have walked away knowing they had a handle on the case. But I couldn't help but want to ruffle Dean's feathers. He obviously brought the worst out of me.
"Sam?" I asked without taking my eyes off Dean.
"Yeah?"
"Can I borrow your phone? I need to call pest control."
"Funny," Dean said, deadpan.
"I know." I turned to Sam. "So what do you think it is?"
"As strange as it sounds, we think it might be Bloody Mary."
"Who's Bloody Mary?" I asked.
The boys turned to each other, frowns marring their faces.
"What do you mean 'who's Bloody Mary?'" Dean asked as if I'd said I didn't know who Batman was.
"Never heard of her."
"The game kids play," Sam explained. "You know, challenging each other to say her name three times in the mirror?"
I could only stare back blankly and shrug. I hadn't had many opportunities for games and challenges with other kids my age. So much of my upbringing had been spent making sure I could protect myself from monsters and learning how to kill them. Who needed school and friends when there were things out there, lurking in the shadows? At least that's what I'd been told.
Sam took pity on me as he continued. "Bloody Mary's an old legend. If you say her name three times in a mirror then she's supposed to appear and kill you. Essentially."
"So she's what? A spirit?"
"Well that's the problem."
"How's that a problem?" Dean asked as he leaned against the car. Oh, so it's ok for him to do it. Got ya. "Say Bloody Mary really is haunting this town, there's gonna be some sort of proof—like a local woman who died nasty."
"Yeah but a legend this widespread it's hard," Sam said. "I mean, there's like fifty versions of who she actually is. One story says she's a witch, another says she's a mutilated bride, there's a lot more."
"All right so what are we supposed to be looking for?" Dean said before side-eyeing me and stepping so he was partially in front of me. I shoved him out the way.
"Every version's got a few things in common. It's always a woman named Mary, and she always dies right in front of a mirror. So we've gotta search local newspapers, public records as far back as they go. See if we can find a Mary who fits the bill."
"Well that sounds annoying," Dean muttered.
"Part of the job, Dean." I smiled.
"Yeah, alright, Virtuous Vicky."
I balled my fists up, ready to strike. Not that I was actually going to… but damn if it wasn't tempting.
Sam chuckled nervously. "It shouldn't be that bad. Another pair of eyes would definitely help." And there went the puppy dog look I'd witnessed last time round. I had to say, being on the end of it, I could say for certain that it was effective.
But I didn't work with others. I'd always had that rule. Last time just kind of happened—it certainly wasn't my choice. They were big boys; they could handle it themselves. Not that they actually knew what they were hunting yet. Would it be that bad just to help them with a bit of research, then continue on to the next case?
"Oh, come on," Dean grumbled at Sam's invitation.
That sold it for me. A couple of hours and I could head off. In the meantime, I could rattle Dean's cage. The guy could afford to be taken down a peg or two. "Sure. Why not?"
We headed to our respective vehicles, Dean gesturing wildly to his brother as he went. He didn't seem too happy. One point for me.
"I take it back. This will be very annoying."
We were stood in the library, staring at the computers that all had signs taped to them saying 'Out of order'. It looked like we'd be doing this the old way.
"So back to the records and books. Just like old times," I said with a beaming smile to Dean.
He rolled his eyes and walked over to the librarian. I hoped it wasn't going to become a regular thing—hanging out with the brothers in the library.
Turns out there were some records that couldn't be taken out of the library.
"I'm sorry, but it's the policy. The rest you can take out, but these need to stay here." The elderly librarian indicated 3 boxes worth of paper records.
I sighed. "Why don't you two go back to your motel with the books. Grab me a room while you're at it. I'll stay here with these, let you know if I catch anything."
"Deal!" Without a glance in my direction, Dean picked up the stack of books.
"Are you sure?" Sam asked. I always knew he was the nicer brother.
"Positive."
Sam and I exchanged numbers. I turned back to the lady and when she looked up at me, she said, "Oh dear, what happened to your face?"
The scratches. I'd forgotten about them.
"Oh, umm…"
Dean's face appeared next to mine, startling me.
"Oh don't mind those. She just got a little carried away at one of her naughty parties with her lady friends. If you know what I mean." With that he walked away.
The librarians mouth had dropped open. I think she'd gone a little pale. I was going to kill him.
A ringing jolted me out of a dreamless sleep. My neck ached from falling asleep at the table. An unknown number was flashing on my phone.
I pressed answer. "Hello?"
"You got anything yet?"
"Dean? Why do you have my number?"
"I got it off Sam."
"I guessed that already. I asked why?"
"How else are we supposed to have our deep and meaningful conversations when we're so far apart?" I could hear the smirk in his voice.
"You're impossible," I grumbled as I ran my hands through my dishevelled hair. "No, I've got nothing. At least nothing that even closely resembles what we're looking for."
"Me either. But we do have another dead body. Meet us here." He rattled off an address and hung up before I could get a word out. Who had died?
Sam caught me up on all the players as we stood outside Jill's room, waiting for Charlie—Donna's friend—to let us in. Apparently it was Donna's—daughter of Steven—friend who was found in a very similar state to Steven. Hopefully we'd find something to go on, otherwise we were well and truly stuck.
The window slid open and Sam went in first. I followed after and Dean threw in the bag before climbing in and closing the window behind him.
Sam spoke first, making the introductions. "Charlie, this is our friend—"
"Sarah," I jumped in before Sam could fumble over what to call me. "Nice to meet you. I'm sorry about your friend."
"Thanks."
"What did you tell Jill's mom?" Sam asked.
"Just that I needed some time alone with Jill's pictures and things. I hate lying to her."
Sam began pulling items out of the bag while Dean drew the curtains. We needed as much darkness as possible.
"Trust us," Dean said. "This is for the greater good."
Once Sam had all the equipment out of the bag, I hit the lights.
Charlie asked, "What are you guys looking for?"
"We'll let you know as soon as we find it," Dean replied before taking a digital camera from Sam. I had my own which had been stored away in the glove compartment of my truck.
"Night vision. Perfect." Sam said, aiming the camera at Dean.
"Do I look like Paris Hilton?" he asked.
"Any opportunity to make yourself look like a pig and you have to take it, don't you?" I retorted.
Dean smirked. "You knew exactly what I was talkin' about though, didn't ya? Not so virtuous after all, Vicky."
"Stop calling me Vicky."
"Oh, so that's not your name? Guess I can cross that one off then from the billions of possibilities."
"Are you two dating?" Dean and I froze at Charlie's question before talking over one another rapidly.
"No way in hell! I wouldn't even date her if she was the last woman on earth."
"No. Absolutely not. Just the thought of going anywhere near him makes me want to puke."
Without another word, or glance, we wandered off to different parts of Jill's room.
I shook off Charlie's question with a shudder.
Meanwhile, during our squabbling, Sam was examining Jill's closet door through the camera. "I don't get it. I mean, the first victim didn't summon Mary, and the second victim did. How's she choosing them?"
"Beats me," Dean responded.
There was definitely something we were missing. It wasn't adding up. "If kids all over the country play this game on the regular, shouldn't there be way more cases of this than just these two? Two that we know about at least."
Dean said, "Well I want to know why Jill said it in the first place."
"It was just a joke." Charlie's words were full of remorse.
"Yeah," Dean said. "Well somebody's gonna say it again, it's just a matter of time."
He was right. And something told me that Mary wasn't going to let the others get away with simply saying it.
"Hey," Sam called from the bathroom. "There's a black light in the trunk, right?"
While Dean went down to get the black light, Sam lifted the mirror out of the bathroom and laid it on Jill's bed.
"What did you see?" I asked Sam.
"It looked like there was something leaking out of the mirror."
Once Dean returned and threw the light to Sam, he peeled off the paper at the back of the mirror and began to wave the light over it. A handprint rested in the middle with a name beneath it.
Charlie read the name aloud. "Gary Bryman?"
"You know who that is?" Sam asked.
"No."
Sam and I headed back into the library to find out what we could while Dean waited with Charlie. Once we had what we needed, we met up with them.
So, Gary Bryman was an eight-year-old boy. Two years ago he was killed in a hit and run. The car was described as a black Toyota Camry. But nobody got the plates or saw the driver," Sam explained.
"Oh my God," Charlie said.
"What is it?" I asked.
"Jill drove that car."
Dean stood from the bench he was sitting on. "We need to get back to your friend Donna's house."
After rushing over to Donna's we found another name, again on the back of a mirror. 'Linda Shoemaker.' Donna wasn't all that forthcoming with information when we spoke to her, but we got the gist of what might have been going on.
"Why are you asking me this?" Donna had asked.
"Look, we're sorry, but it's important." Sam was so very good with his soft, gentle voice.
"Yeah. Linda's my mom okay? She overdosed on sleeping pills, it was an accident, and that's it. I think you should leave."
"Now Donna, just listen," Dean had tried to plead.
"Get out of my house!" She'd screamed before running upstairs.
"Oh my God." Charlie's voice had trembled. "Do you really think her dad could've killed her mom?"
"Maybe." Sam had responded.
"Or maybe her dad just feels guilty. Like he should have been able to stop it. Sometimes there's nothing you can do, though." I knew that all too well.
Dean was looking at me, his eyes boring into me as if he was trying to see all my secrets. Well, he'd have to look a lot harder than that.
"I think I should stick around," Charlie had said.
"All right. Whatever you do, don't—"
Charlie cut Dean off. "Believe me, I won't say it."
We were back at motel. Sam and Dean had set up a board with pictures and newspaper cuttings. The answers had to be on there somewhere. Dean was working on the laptop.
"Wait, wait, wait, you're doing a nationwide search?" Sam asked.
"Yep. The NCIC, the FBI database—at this point any Mary who died in front of a mirror is good enough for me."
"But if she's haunting the town, she should have died in the town," Sam argued.
"I'm telling you there's nothing local, I've checked. Little Miss Sunshine has checked. So unless you got a better idea—"
I still stood, staring at the board. "None of this is random. Mary is choosing her victims. There's a pattern here."
"I know, I was thinking the same thing," Dean replied."
"With mister Shoemaker and Jill's hit and run," Sam said.
I followed Sam's lead. "Both had secrets where people died."
"Right," Sam continued. "I mean there's a lot of folklore about mirrors—that they reveal all your lies, all your secrets, that they're a true reflection of your soul, which is why it's bad luck to break them."
"Right, right." Dean joined the train of thought. "So maybe if you've got a secret, I mean like a really nasty one where someone died, then Mary sees it, and punishes you for it."
"Whether you're the one that summoned her or not." Sam finished the theory. It all sounded plausible. This had to be it.
"Take a look at this." Dean handed each of us a picture he'd printed.
"Looks like the Same handprint." Sam said what I was sure we were all thinking.
"Her name was Mary Worthington—an unsolved murder in Fort Wayne, Indiana," Dean explained.
"'Tre'? What do you think that is?" I asked, focusing on the letters written on the mirror.
"Only one way to find out. We need to talk to the detective on the case."
Sam picked up his jacket. "Let's get moving then."
"Actually, I'm gonna stay back," I said. "Someone's bound to say it again. I'll keep an eye out. No pun intended."
I'd been in the car for a few hours, parked down the street from the high school. This morning Charlie had still been a scared wreck. I'd said I'd stay close by in case anything happened. Yet we still had no idea how to actually stop Mary. The boys had left early this morning to talk to the detective who still lived in Fort Wayne. They'd be back soon and hopefully with answers.
My phone rang. I put down my burger that I had only just gotten started on and picked it up.
"Mary was nineteen when she was killed. The detective couldn't prove it, but he thinks she was killed by a local surgeon called Trevor Sampson." Dean said without a 'hello'.
"That would explain the 'Tre' on the mirror."
"Right. They were having an affair and she'd threatened to tell his wife about it. He cut her up and took out her eyes."
Urgh. "What an asshole."
"We agree on that. Mary tried writing out her killer's name in her own blood but she died before she could finish. Bad news though, she was cremated."
"So no salt and burn. What about the mirror?"
"We're on the same page, Einstein. Sammy's on it now."
"Ok, well I'm—"
The doors of the school burst open. Charlie, frazzled and acting crazed, rushed down the steps and flew down the street.
"Dean, something's happened to Charlie. Get back here."
"Wait! What—"
I ended the call and dashed out of the car to chase after Charlie. I called out for her but she either didn't hear me or didn't want to stop. I caught up with her just as she darted into the road. I pulled her back, turning her to face me.
I spoke over her incoherent ramblings. "Charlie! Charlie, it's me. You need to calm down. Tell me what happened."
"She said it. She said it."
"Who said it?"
"Donna."
Crap.
"And I saw her. She's after me." Charlie was biting her lip hard enough to draw a spot of blood.
"Who? Donna?"
"No. Mary. I saw her."
Double crap.
"Ok. Ok. Come with me and keep your eyes closed. If you can't see her, she can't hurt you." At least I hoped that was the case.
I guided her back to my truck, my arms firmly around her shoulders, put her in the passenger seat, then drove back to the motel. If we were going to stop Mary in her tracks, we needed that mirror. The mirror was the key to all of this.
At the motel, I took Charlie into my room and began to cover all the reflective surfaces with whatever sheets I could find. Sam and Dean returned not too long after.
Sam took a seat on the bed next to Charlie. "Hey, hey it's ok. Hey, you can open up your eyes Charlie. It's okay, all right?"
Charlie slowly raised her head and opened her eyes at Sam's gentle reassurance.
"Now listen," he continued. "You're gonna stay right here on this bed, and you're not gonna look at glass, or anything else that has a reflection, okay? And as long as you do that, she cannot get you."
"But I can't keep that up forever. I'm gonna die, aren't I?"
"No. No. Not anytime soon."
Dean took a seat on the bed too. "All right Charlie. We need to know what happened."
"We were in the bathroom." Charlie's voice shook as she began to recount what happened. "Donna said it."
"S-Sarah, already told us that part." Dean stumbled over the name but made a good recovery. "That's not what we're talking about. Something happened, didn't it? In your life—a secret—where someone got hurt. Can you tell us about it?"
Charlie sighed before seemingly bracing herself as she opened the gates to her past. "I had this boyfriend. I loved him. But he kind of scared me too, you know? And one night, at his house, we got in this fight. Then I broke up with him, and he got upset, and he said he needed me and he loved me, and he said "Charlie, if you walk out that door right now, I'm gonna kill myself." And you know what I said? I said, "Go ahead." And I left. How could I say that? How could I leave him like that? I just...I didn't believe him, you know? I should have." She put her face back on her knees and the tears began to flow again.
My heart went out to her. Sometimes in life we'd find ourselves in situations out of our control but they still left us drowning under their weight.
Sam put his arms around Charlie's shuddering shoulders.
Dean nodded his head at me, indicating to follow him outside. It was smarter to leave Sam with Charlie; he was certainly the more sympathetic of the two.
"Sam found the mirror," he said after closing the door behind us. "It was sold by the family to Estate Antiques. They have a store in town. We figure we smash the mirror, we free Mary's spirit."
I nodded, following Dean's theory. "It would make sense. She died looking in that mirror, watching herself die, desperately writing her killer's name. It's no surprise she's been trapped in there since."
It always gave me a moment's pause, stories like this. I couldn't imagine what that must have been like for her. How scared she was, knowing these were her final moments. But still… a killer spirit was a killer spirit.
"Let's go smash some mirrors."
We were on our way to the store, the three of us in the Impala. We'd left Charlie in the motel room. She seemed like the only person in her group of friends who had their head screwed on straight. She'd keep the covers on the mirrors. She'd be safe.
"You know her boyfriend killing himself, that's not really Charlie's fault," Dean said, breaking the silence.
Another thing we could agree on.
"You know as well as I do spirits don't exactly see shades of grey, Dean," Sam commented. "Charlie had a secret, someone died, that's good enough for Mary."
"I guess."
"You know, I've been thinking," Sam continued on. "It might not be enough to just smash that mirror."
"Why not?" I asked from the backseat.
"Well Mary's hard to pin down, right? I mean she moves around from mirror to mirror so who's to say that she's not just gonna keep hiding in them forever? So maybe we should try to pin her down, you know, summon her to her mirror and then smash it."
While keeping his eyes on the dark road ahead, Dean asked, "Well, how do you know that's going to work?
"I don't, not for sure."
"Well who's gonna summon her?"
"I will. She'll come after me."
There was a moment of heavy stillness in the car at Sam's declaration. Was he nuts?
"You know what, that's it." Dean swerved the car violently to the side of the road before slamming down on the breaks. And this is why seatbelts are important, kids. Jeez, talk about whiplash. "This is about Jessica, isn't it? You think that's your dirty little secret that you killed her somehow? Sam, this has got to stop, man. I mean, the nightmares and calling her name out in the middle of the night—it's gonna kill you."
Ok, there was some serious shit going on between the brothers that I had been none-the-wiser to. "Erm, am I supposed to hear this?"
And just like earlier with Charlie, Dean either didn't want to hear me or didn't want to stop talking. "Now listen to me—it wasn't your fault. If you wanna blame something, then blame the thing that killed her. Or hell, why don't you take a swing at me? I mean I'm the one that dragged you away from her in the first place."
It was getting so awkward being stuck in the backseat, an unwilling audience to whatever the hell this argument was about. So awkward, that I was pretty sure I was starting to sweat.
"I don't blame you," Sam said.
"Well you shouldn't blame yourself, because there's nothing you could've done."
"I could've warned her."
"About what?" Dean asked. "You didn't know what was gonna happen! And besides, all of this isn't a secret, I mean I know all about it. And now even she knows about it." He nodded towards me without turning around. "It's not gonna work with Mary."
"No you don't," Sam whispered.
"I don't what?"
"You don't know all about it. I haven't told you everything."
"What are you talking about?"
"Well it wouldn't really be a secret if I told you, would it?"
Dean was stunned. He had to shake away his surprise at Sam's comment before he could speak. "No. I don't like it. It's not gonna happen. Forget it."
"Dean, that girl back there is going to die unless we do something about it. And you know what? Who knows how many more people are gonna die after that? Now we're doing this. You've got to let me do this."
The conversation had lasted only minutes, maybe even only seconds. But in that short moment, I witnessed different sides to the guys. Last case with the Hook Man, all I could see when I looked at Sam was a lost little puppy. Yeah he'd done everything he could to protect Lori. But hearing him now, it seemed as if I'd severely underestimated him. He was willing to throw himself into the fire to protect those around him.
And Dean… Dean had a heart. He wasn't all brawn and no brain or heart. He cared and he'd do whatever he could to protect others too. Hearing him now, the look in his eyes, the emotion in his voice, there were layers to him, waiting to be unravelled. Yet I highly doubted he'd let anyone actually do it.
And above it all: these brothers loved each other—even if their relationship was a little complicated.
What I would have given years ago to have something like this. Something a fraction of this. Was I really going to sit here and let Sam potentially get hurt, or worse? Could I really sit here and let a relationship like this fracture so Sam could come to the rescue? Mary went after those who carried sin, some sort of guilt over a death. Sam sounded like he had something heavy weighing on him. But he wasn't the only one.
Sam was crouched down at the door to the store, trying to pick the lock. We had all taken crow bars out of the trunk, ready for whatever mirror Mary decided to jump into.
When Sam got the door open, we walked inside, only to be faced with dozens of mirrors. "Well...that's just great," Dean said as he pulled out the crime scene photo that contained the mirror. "All right let's start looking."
We split up in search of the mirror. It was only a little confusing seeing multiple reflections of different mirrors in each one I passed.
"Maybe they've already sold it," Dean said.
Sam's voice floated from the back of the store. "I don't think so."
Dean and I went over to Sam. Dean held out the picture so we could all compare.
"Looks like a match to me," I said.
Dean took hold of Sam's flashlight. "You sure about this?"
It was now or never. It was probably one of the dumbest things I'd done, but what the heck. I pointed behind the boys, eyes wide. "Oh my god. What's that?" As they turned to look behind them, I spun to face the mirror and the words flew off my tongue. "Bloody Mary. Bloody Mary. Bloody Mary."
"What did you do?" Dean asked. Both of the boys looked stunned.
"Whoops," I said, raising my crowbar.
The growl of a car engine sounded from outside. Visitors. Just what we needed.
"I'll go check that out." Dean pointed to the two of us. "Stay here, be careful. Both of you."
"I didn't know you cared," I said as he started walking away.
"Smash anything that moves," he said, turning the corner.
Sam opened his mouth but I cut him off before he could utter a sound. "Don't. It is what it is. I said it. Let's just deal with it."
He nodded his head as he stood beside me, crowbar raised as I had mine.
"You see anything yet?" he asked.
"No."
Everything was drowned out by the sound of my heart pounding in my chest, reverberating throughout my body. There was no fear, only the rush of adrenaline and my complete lack of patience. "Come on, Mary."
Then from the corner of my eye, she appeared, but not in her mirror. Without thinking, I spun and smashed the mirror to my left. "I saw her. She's here."
There was a second's pause before Sam swung away. The glass fell like rain, littering the floor around us.
"Come on," Sam said. "Show yourself in this one."
She was taking her time, playing with us, like she knew we were here to stop her. The crowbar was still raised in my hands but my reflection… the girl in front of me was lowering hers until it clattered to the floor.
Then she—I—began to talk. "It's your fault. You killed her. You killed them both."
All of a sudden, it was like an invisible force had wrapped itself around my chest, constricting me, cutting off my air. And my head… I'd never felt such a blinding pain. I collapsed to my knees as my hands went to my head in a useless move to get rid of the agony. It hurt. I couldn't breathe. But she still kept talking.
"All because of your stupid mistake. Because you were too careless. Thinking you were above everything. Nothing could go wrong for the perfect Raelynn who's always right. And what did that mistake cost you? Nothing. Yet it cost them everything! How is that fair? Why is it you who should get to live?"
I rolled to my side, needing to reach out to Sam for help, only to find he was in the same state I was. "Sam." I don't know if I actually managed to say his name. I just wanted it to stop. For the pain to stop. For her words to stop. It was too much. The pressure was building. Lights were flashing behind my eyes. I couldn't breathe… I couldn't…
Smash. More shards of glass rained down. My chest loosened and I took in a lungful of air. Dean was stood in front of Mary's mirror that had been shattered to pieces. He threw the crowbar to the ground and leaned down next to Sam. "Sam! Sammy!"
"It's Sam," he replied as he sat up. Trails of blood marked his face.
"God, are you okay?" Dean asked.
"Uh, yeah."
"Short stack? You good?"
"I think so."
Dean came over to me. I still felt weak and was struggling to sit up when Dean came over to help me into a sitting position. He looked me over, like he was checking for other injuries. Then he focused on my face. With his thumb, he wiped away what I assumed were matching trails of blood to Sam's. He was gentle. He still had that worried look on his face when he locked eyes with me. Everything went still. Quiet. The moment felt… weird.
The crunch of broken glass broke us out of whatever that was. Sam had staggered to his feet—just about.
Dean reached down to help me to stand. "Come on."
Once we were up, he put both mine and Sam's arms over his neck, helping us to stagger out.
More crunching of broken glass. But it came from behind us. We turned around as one to see Mary out of her mirror.
The pain returned. More intense. More terrifying. The world turned red as I collapsed again.
"You killed them! All those people! You killed them!"
At once, the pain was cut off. I looked up to see Mary, standing in front of a mirror held up by Dean, chocking on her own blood. Then she started to melt, her blood crystallising on the ground as she died.
Immediately, Dean threw the mirror down, shattering it. "Hey guys?"
"Yeah?" Sam responded. I didn't have the energy.
"This has got to be like...what? Six-hundred years of bad luck?"
I just about managed a chuckle.
We'd taken Charlie back to her home and all that was left was to pack up our things and head our separate ways.
I was just putting my back in the back seat of my truck when I heard Dean's voice over my shoulder. "Why'd you do it?"
"Do what?" I asked as I closed the door and turned to him.
"You know what. Why'd you step in for Sam. Why'd you say her name before he could?"
"Just slipped out."
Dean laughed, obviously not believing me. "Of course it did, short stack."
"Maybe I just don't have enough excitement in my life."
"Well I could help with that." He wiggled his eyebrows up and down.
"Come on!" I shoved at his arm. "And you were doing so well."
"I couldn't ignore that setup. Anyway, back to the subject at hand. If you aren't going to tell my why you did it, how did you know it would work, that Mary would come for you? What secret are you carrying on those itty-bitty shoulders?"
My jaw clamped shut. The words were firmly stuck in their prison.
Dean must have read the defiance in my face. "Yeah, I thought that was a long shot. Maybe you'll tell me next time."
"Next time?"
"Well you seem to pop up like a bad rash, so I figure this won't be the last we see of each other."
I looked below his belt. "I'm sure you know all about bad rashes."
Dean laughed. "You know, one of us is going to end up killing the other."
"Probably. Don't worry, I'll say some lovely words at your funeral." I smirked and walked off. Maybe we did ruffle each other's feathers. But it was sort of fun. I'd learned in my years of hunting to grab hold of whatever opportunities you could that brought relief from the constant doom and gloom.
"You have my number now. Feel free to send me some naughty pics," Dean called back.
I spun back around. "Hey Dean?"
"Yeah, sugarplum?"
I rolled my eyes but ignored the nickname. "You were right, you know?"
"About what?"
"About how I got the scratches."
I hopped into my truck and drove off, leaving a stunned, stuttering Dean in the dust.
Point two for me.