A/N: Howdy! So I feel I should warn you that this chapter contained sexual assault, though it's not graphic. Dean's back in the next chapter...it's about damn time, too;) As always, thanks for reading. Enjoy!

Chapter 11

Sam woke to sunlight streaming in through the gap in the chintzy motel curtains. He'd been out, too. Sleeping deeply for the first time in…well, too long. He'd dreamt about his father. John had been informing him of everything he had done wrong on this case and how his mistakes had resulted in the bartender's untimely death.

Sam rolled over with a groan, looking at the clock on the nightstand. 8:45. He was shocked MJ had let him sleep this late. He sat up, seeing her empty bed and the open bathroom door. Had she gone out to get them coffee, he wondered. His eyes swept over the nightstand and small table. No note. He rubbed a hand over his face, his growing sense of unease quickly chasing his sleepiness away. He didn't have a good feeling about this. He grabbed up the weapons bag, a quick inventory of the contents telling him it was missing an iron knife, the .12 gauge shot gun and a mess of salt rounds. It was also short an EMF meter and lighter fluid.

"Damn it, MJ." He muttered to himself as he snatched up his cell phone. He strode to the window as his call went straight to his sister's voicemail.

"I can only assume you stole a car since the rental is still sitting in the motel parking lot. What the hell MJ? Call me back or better yet get our ass back here now!" He snapped the phone shut and quickly got dressed.

Less than ten minutes later he was walking quickly toward the car, dialing his phone. He ground his teeth in frustration as he listened to Dean's voicemail message yet again.

"Hey, Dean. Just thought you'd like to know your sister stole a car and took off to go after a murderous spirit alone. You know, just an FYI on the off chance you maybe decide to check your messages while you're on your little vacation. But hey, don't worry about us. We're fine." Sam slammed the phone shut, tossing it on the passenger seat as he started the car.

MJ made her way quickly away from the locker room and toward the exit of the arena. She shook her head in frustration. She should've known they wouldn't let her anywhere near Garrett again. Everyone from his teammates to his coaches all the way up to the God damn owner had something to lose if the kid broke and told the truth. She'd been shut down almost as soon as she walked in the door. She needed him to spill, but she didn't know how else to make that happen. She'd pushed as hard as she could and all she'd accomplished was getting booted from the arena and a not so subtle threat from the owner that he was calling her superior. She scoffed as she approached the glass doors leading outside. Well, if they thought she was going to give in that easy they were in for a rude awakening. She paused suddenly, taking a couple steps backward and turning toward the bulletin board on the wall near the ticket window. There was a poster there that had caught her eye, with the picture of a girl on it who looked to be in her late teens. The picture was taken in the stands of the arena during a game and the girl was wearing a Hocks jersey. MJ read the poster, advertising that the Hocks' game tonight would be played in the girl's memory, a portion of proceeds from ticket sales to go toward suicide prevention charities. MJ read further down on the poster. The girl's name was Allison Champlagne. She was 19 and she had died a few weeks before the season started. She had been a season ticket holder, booster club president and clearly a dedicated fan of the team.

"Hey! You were asked to leave." MJ looked over her shoulder and saw the coach walking quickly toward her from down the hall. She quickly pulled out her phone and snapped a photo of the poster before turning and quickly making her way toward the door. "You can come back when you have a warrant!" The man called angrily after her.

Yeah, okay, pal. MJ thought derisively as she hopped into the old Ford Escort she'd lifted and reached down to hotwire it once more. Next stop: the library.

Sam was approaching the coach's office when a man in an expensive suit emerged, who Sam recognized as the team's owner who they'd met yesterday. The man took one look at Sam and heaved a frustrated sigh. "What now? I told your partner we weren't going to answer any more questions. If you want one of my boys, you'd better have an arrest warrant." He walked right up to Sam, a business card held in front of him between two fingers. "Short of that, you can direct all of your questions to the team attorney."

Sam took the card from the man. "You spoke to my partner this morning?"

"She's lucky we didn't press charges." He spat. "We've got a game tonight and I got a player with a broken nose."

Sam froze, thinking maybe he'd heard wrong. "She broke someone's nose?" Sam asked in disbelief.

"Look," the man started, clearly losing patience. "My boys have been more than cooperative. They're not criminals and they won't be treated as such. I don't care if you are feds, you've got rules to follow, too and I'm pretty sure beating people into talking isn't allowed."

Sam's jaw was clenched. He was beyond pissed at his sister at this point and just wanted to get out of here and track her down. "Sorry for any trouble she caused." Sam muttered, turning to leave.

"Agent." The man called after him. Sam turned back. "My boys have an important game tonight. I want your word that they won't have any more distractions."

Sam eyed him incredulously. "Sir, Trenton Hill is dead. He was killed right here, on your ice, while thousands of people watched. My partner and I are trying to find out why and keep the other players safe. So to be frank, I could really care less about a hockey game."

Sam turned and left before the man could respond. He was ten kinds of pissed now. Yes, MJ was way out of line punching one of the players, but these people really didn't seem to give a shit that three people had been brutally murdered and that any one of their teammates could be next. Sam started the car, forming a plan in his head. He didn't know where MJ would go next, but he knew that eventually she would end up back at The Patch. And he'd be there waiting for her.

There hadn't been an article in the paper concerning Allison's death. But there had been an obituary, listing a mother, father and younger brother who lived here in Ham Lake. She had looked through public records and found an address. While nothing said outright that Allison had taken her own life, it was certainly implied by the poster at the arena, advertising a suicide prevention night in her honor. MJ had printed the address and headed to the Champlagne home. After a good deal of convincing by MJ, Allison's mother had reluctantly invited her in.

MJ sat on the couch, trying not to fidget too much. The woman sitting across from her was clearly still tortured over her daughter's untimely death and not too keen on discussing it yet again. MJ set the coffee cup she'd been holding down on the table in front of her, trying to look sympathetic as she leaned forward.

"Mrs. Champlagne, did you notice any changes in your daughter's behavior before her death?" MJ asked.

The older woman twisted the tissue clutched in her hands, looking determinedly at the family photo on the end table to her right. She cleared her throat before speaking.

"Like I told the police, Alli was a good girl. She was happy. She had friends. She loved her family." She swallowed back tears. "There's no logical reason for…what she did."

"Had she seemed depressed or upset about anything?" MJ asked carefully.

Mrs. Champlagne's eyes shot toward MJ. Her hand went to the cross around her neck, holding it tightly in her fingers. "Everyone has troubles. No one is happy all the time. That's what faith is for. To get you through. There's no excuse for-" She stopped short, seeming to catch herself. She cleared her throat again, hand still on her cross. She looked back down, shaking her head. "I don't think I can be of any help to you, agent. She did what she did and we'll never know why. There's simply nothing more to tell." She stood abruptly, smoothing out her skirt. "Please excuse me." She said curtly, before turning and leaving the room.

MJ sighed, tucking her small notebook away in her suit jacket. "Well, that was a bust." She muttered as she headed toward the front door. She stepped out onto the porch where a boy around her age was leaning against the wall at the top of the steps. She walked toward him, managing a small smile. He looked back at her, but said nothing. He seemed to be contemplating something.

"I'm Sara Monroe. I'm a trainee with the Federal Bureau of Investigation." She introduced as she drew level with him. "Are you Allison's brother?" She guessed. The obituary she read at the library had mentioned a younger brother, Robbie.

He still looked unsure, but nodded.

"I'm sorry about your sister." MJ offered.

The kid made no response to that, still just looking back at her. And even though MJ had struck out with the mother and really needed something more to go on here, she couldn't bring herself to interrogate this kid. He'd lost his sister and that resonated with MJ somehow. Where she could sympathize with Mrs. Champlagne, recognize she was hurting, she could not empathize with her like she could with this kid.

MJ moved past him and made her way down the stairs before the kid spoke up.

"It was like somebody flipped a switch." He said solemnly. MJ turned and saw the tortured look in his eyes. She stood there, looking back up at him, waiting. "Like one day she was my sister and the next she was just…empty."

"When?" MJ asked softly.

"Last spring. Around the time the hockey season ended. I remember thinking she should've been stoked. Her team won the championship and she was," he paused to give a humorless laugh, "obsessed with that team. But she wasn't happy at all. She was just...nothing. She didn't leave the house. She barely ate, stopped talked to her friends. My mother ignored it. She doesn't believe in indulging that kind of thing. No shrinks, no drugs. God will save you." He rolled his eyes then looked back at MJ, clearly bitter. "Suicide is a sin, you know." He shook his head, disgusted, pacing a little on the open porch. "Something happened. Something horrible. And it ate at her for five months until she just couldn't take it anymore." He growled. He stopped in his tracks, looking back down at MJ. "I don't know what happened to her, but if someone out there is responsible for hurting her I will find out and I will make them suffer." He paused, eyes boring into her. "And I'm thinking if the FBI is coming around, that I'm right. Somebody is to blame for what happened to her."

MJ looked back at his tortured, guilt ridden face and wanted to say something to comfort him, to make it better, but really what was there? For starters the kid was most likely right. And besides, she wasn't exactly equipped to offer anything appropriate by way of grief counseling.

She settled for once again offering her condolences before turning and heading back to her stolen car.

MJ ducked under the police tape, scanning the area around the deserted bar. When she was confident that no one was watching her she bent to pick the lock, gaining entry to the building in under a minute. Part of her brain registered that she was getting better at that as she stepped inside, carefully closing the door behind her. She looked around the bar, which was cast in shadow. There were only a couple dingy windows and she didn't dare turn on a light, so even in mid-afternoon the place was dark. The body had been moved last night, but they hadn't cleaned yet. There was blood spattered across the wooden countertop. MJ made her way behind the bar where there was a pool of blood on the floor, some wooden splinters suspended in the congealed liquid. Her stomach turned when she remembered Sam had said Patch was beaten to death with a bat he kept behind the bar. Apparently his assailant had hit him hard enough to break the bat. She stood, moving away from the blood and taking a deep breath. A couple bottles had been broken, some stools overturned in the chaos. She wandered toward the back of the bar where she'd seen the players congregated the night before, wondering if they had still been here when Patch had been attacked. She slowly made her way around the pool table, looking around the room. What could have gone on here last spring? Was her hunch right that Allison Champlagne was somehow connected to this? And what had Patch done to be on her hit list? MJ had a sour feeling in her stomach just being here. She knew in her gut that she was right, that something awful had happened to Allison right here in this room and that all of the victims – and Garrett Sloan – were somehow involved. But what?

MJ took a step closer to the pool table, the uneasy feeling in her stomach becoming more pronounced. The cue ball sat on the green surface and MJ reached out slowly, picking it up. As soon as the small white ball was in her hand she was on her knees, the breath leaving her lungs in one quick swoosh as the room tilted and reality left her.

It was so clear. She was back in this room, but she wasn't alone. She was sitting on the edge of the pool table and three men were standing in front of her…sort of in a semi-circle. They were close enough to her that she could smell the alcohol on their breath. She was also vaguely aware that she was definitely drunk, too. It was noisy. There was loud music blaring, but she couldn't make out the song. Then she felt an abrupt change in the room. It went from playful flirting to forceful and panic rose inside her. She was shoved back, hard, by one of the men until she was lying flat on the pool table and then her legs were roughly spread and he was on top of her. That's when she realized who he was: Trenton Sands. He tore her shirt open and shoved her skirt up over her hips as the other two men, Mitchell Sands and Jacob Miller, stood on either side of the table, ruthlessly laughing and pinning her shoulders down as Trenton yanked off her underwear and had his way with her. She screamed, but no sound came out. The music was so loud. Tears flowed down her cheeks as she looked around frantically for a means of escape. When Trenton finished and moved off of her she pulled her head up off the table enough to look across the room. She saw that there were two other people in the bar. Garrett Sloan and the bartender, Patch were standing back a ways, not really watching, but clearly aware of what was happening. Patch was at the bar, arms crossed over his chest, looking bored. Garrett stood near the bar, eyes darting to the back room, looking nervous, but doing nothing to intervene. She could feel herself calling out to them for help, but no sound made its way past her lips. Then Mitchell was suddenly in her line of vision and it was happening all over again. Trenton had taken up Mitchell's place holding her down, but instead of pinning her shoulder he had a tight grip on her hair. She squeezed her eyes shut against the pain and just prayed for it to end. Mercifully, Mitchell was done quickly and she felt the weight of his body leave her. She opened her eyes in time to see Jacob standing before her, undoing his pants. And at the prospect of enduring it a third time she lashed out, reaching up and scratching Jacob across his face as he was climbing on top of her. She saw anger flash in his eyes as he tightly gripped her wrist and slammed her arm back down. Her wrist connected with the side pocket of the pool table painfully and Mitchell took hold of her arm, keeping it there. She stopped fighting all together when Jacob started in on her. Just lying there lifelessly, waiting for it to end. And when it finally did, when the last of them pulled away from her and the two holding her stepped back, she was left lying used and torn on the table, exposed to all of them, unable to move a muscle. The three of them left the bar along with Garret and she continued to lie there. What seemed like an hour was probably only minutes and she thought she was completely alone in the bar until Patch was suddenly looming over her, a decidedly unaffected look on his face as he gazed down at her. He nudged her leg and she saw his mouth move, saying "get up" though she couldn't hear him over the still blaring music.

MJ drew in a frantic breath, feeling as though she'd been underwater for minutes. She was still on her knees, the cue ball still clutched tightly in her right hand. She struggled to breathe looking around her at the empty bar. The horror of the vision was so fresh in her mind she could still feel Allison's pain as if it were her own. After a few moments of trying to catch her breath, MJ tossed the cue ball away from her, not wanting any connection to it and fell to the floor with exhaustion. She began sobbing uncontrollably as the room grew even darker around her. She knew she was about to pass out when she heard the door burst open and someone calling her name frantically. But she couldn't answer. She felt someone lift her into their arms, registered it was Sam by the smell of his aftershave and then let the darkness pull her under as she fainted, her head flopping onto his shoulder.