A/N: And, next chapter of Tuesday's Child.
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As Always,
EverReader
Disclaimer: Not my sandbox
Tuesday's Child – Chapter Nine
"Traces From The Grave"
It was Missouri who ushered John into the dark world of the supernatural. She called it "pulling away the curtain". She was the one who finally gave John hope.
And a mission.
"I can sense him, your boy. But it's like...something's erased him. Blurred the edges, made it hard to see. I can't see him, John, but I can feel him. And the darkness, the thing that killed your wife."
"What was it? What killed Mary?" John said, thanking God that someone finally believed him.
He had started to believe he was going mad.
"A demon." Missouri spoke the word lowly, like a curse. "A dark one, and powerful. The most powerful evil I've ever sensed."
"And he's the one that took Sammy, that...that erased him?" John asked, heart in throat as thoughts of demons and fires danced to the soundtrack of Mary's screams.
She tilted her head, a strange look coming over her face.
She walked outside, to the tree where Dean had been standing when John had found him. In her hand she clutched Sammy's blue blanket, one corner ragged where John had cut off the section he now carried in his wallet at all times.
"I...don't think so." She said finally, shaking her head. "It doesn't feel the same. It feels like...well, to be honest, I don't know. I've never felt anything like it. It was certainly powerful, but we knew that already."
"What has that kind of power? The amount of power it would take to erase my son from everyone's minds?"
"Everyone but yours, John. I wonder why..." Missouri mused aloud.
"I don't care why I remember. I just want my child back. Why did it take him? Who took him?" John demanded.
She looked at him, clearly at a loss. "I don't know, John. But, it feels like...like he was hidden."
"Hidden?" John said in confusion. "You mean, from the demon? Was something trying to hide him from the demon? The most powerful evil you've ever encountered?"
"I...yes. I think so. I think someone was trying to help, John. They hid your son, so the darkness couldn't find him." Missouri said, eyes wide.
"So, why did it want Sammy? And how do I get him back?" John said.
She shook her head. "I don't know, John. But whatever it was that took him was stronger even than the demon, or at least as strong. It wanted your son safe."
"And it didn't think I could protect him?" John asked desperately.
She looked at him. "John, we don't even know what kind of evil was hunting your child, much less how to stop it."
"Then that's what I'll do. I'll stop it, and then, whatever it is that took Sam, maybe it will bring him back." John said desperately.
Missouri shook her head. "John, you don't understand. This evil...this demon hunting your child. I've never felt something so dark, so powerful. You've never even banished a ghost before. The most experienced hunter in the world wouldn't have a chance against this thing. And you have another child to think of."
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The boys walked into the cafe and Dean grimaced at the sight of their previous waiter coming towards them.
"Gentlemen..." The waiter said, looking as happy to see Dean as Dean was to see him. His smile warmed when he looked at Book, however.
"You look like you could use a little more orange juice." He said, with a wink as he walked them over to an available table.
Dean found himself bristling. "He's fine. He just needs to eat."
Waiter glanced over at him, one brow arched. "Hmmm. Well, do you gentlemen need menus tonight? Or would you like the special? It's brown rice with tofu and vegetables, and it comes with a complimentary order of hummus and pita chips."
"Say what?" Dean asked, and Book laughed. "Um, actually, the special sounds fine for me. I think we're gonna need a cheeseburger for this one, however."
The waiter nodded, tossing a look of pique at Dean before moving off.
"Dude, he was totally hitting on you. And what the hell is hummus?" Dean asked in consternation.
Book opened his mouth, and then closed it again. "Hummus is made of chickpeas. And our waiter is in a very happy monogamous relationship. He does think it's a pity your eyelashes are as long as they are. Thinks they're wasted on you."
This time it was Dean's turn to open his mouth and close it again, and Book laughed again. "Dean Winchester, speechless. Hunter's everywhere should mark their calendars."
Dean finally shook his head, deciding to change the subject. "What about you? Your head okay? You were standing pretty close to her. Still hearing bells?"
Book tilted his head, looking like he was taking mental inventory. "Maybe just a little, but it will fade. Something about Melinda's grave is still bugging me."
Dean looked at him. "You said it felt empty. Doesn't that just mean she moved on?"
Book sighed, looking troubled. "Maybe. But...normally graves feel like their owners, even if the spirit has moved on. It's a little like a bedroom without the occupants. Yes, it's empty, but it still feels like them, you know?"
Dean frowned. "You want to go back and dig it up again, just in case?" He offered, wondering why the hell he was offering to return to the scene of the crime (literally, if they got caught next to an already desecrated grave, it could get ugly) just to assuage the worry of a psychic he'd met twice.
Though, the kid had saved his life.
Book shook his head. "No. It's too dangerous unless we have a good reason."
Dean arched a brow. "Dude, you're psychic. Doesn't a psychic's hunch count as a good reason?"
Book laughed. "Yeah, maybe. But it's unnecessary and dangerous if we've already solved the problem."
"Well." Dean said, pausing as the waiter brought their food and departed. "No one else has died yet. That's promising, at least."
They had almost finished the meal, and Dean's stomach was starting to hurt. Not because of the food, despite the waiter's less than gracious manner, the burger was fine.
No, it was something else.
The case was finished. It was time for Dean to move on, and honestly, the thought of leaving Lily Dale didn't phase him in the least.
But that meant saying adios to the kid, as well, and that was slightly more...disquieting. And not just because Dean still didn't have all his answers.
"Book." He said, and Book looked up inquiringly at him. Dean shook off another wave of familiarity, having come to the conclusion that Book was simply one of those people who felt like an old friend as soon as you met them.
Granted, Dean had never actually met someone who made him feel that way before, but what other explanation was there?
"Yeah?" Book asked, startling Dean from his thoughts.
Dean cleared his throat. "Do you have any idea why the demon came after me in the first place? Was it just because I'm a hunter? Was it personal? Or was it because of my Dad? Do you know, is my Dad okay."
Book opened his mouth and closed it again. Finally, he said "I'm sorry. I don't know where John Winchester is."
"Could you find him?" Dean asked, leaning forward.
Book chewed his lip, shaking his head. "I don't think so. As for the demon, it might have been because of your family, or it could have been personal, or because your a hunter, or all three."
Dean opened his mouth to ask about the specifics of Book's vision, when suddenly his phone went off.
He glanced down, eyebrows drawing together in surprise when he recognized the number.
"Amanda? How can I help you?" He asked, mindful of Book's cover story.
The sobbing on the other end of the line continued for another moment before Amanda's tearful voice answered him.
"My friend, Tracy. She's dead. She was on the phone with me when it happened. She swore it was one of the Dale sisters."
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Book dug grimly, berating himself for not following his earlier instincts. They'd been forced to wait until nightfall, as their earlier digging had been discovered in their absence, and the police had taken a while to clear out.
Now they had to be even more careful, as patrol cars would periodically sweep through the cemetery, forcing both men to take cover.
"Shoulda listened to you." Dean said, voice full of self recrimination.
Book shook his head. "I didn't even know what I was feeling. It's not your fault for not acting on it. Honestly, I'm still confused, because we're nearly at the six foot mark, and this still feels wrong. It feels empty."
Dean grimaced. "Maybe that's because Melinda's still out there raising Cain." He offered, as his shovel thudded off the soft wood of Melinda's coffin. "Let's get this done before she tries a pre-game show like her sister."
Book stood back, a sinking feeling in his stomach.
When Dean flipped open the rotten wood of Melinda's coffin to reveal...nothing, he was actually relieved.
"Thank god." He muttered.
Dean looked at him strangely. "Come again? I'm not sure we should be thankful."
Book shook his head. "It's not that. It's just...this. This makes sense. This is why Melinda's grave didn't feel like a grave. This is probably what Miranda was trying to warn us about. Someone took Melinda's bones. Someone's directing her, channeling the spirit."
Dean closed his eyes in thought. "Okay, so, a few more answers, and some missing bones. Still not sure it's a fair tradeoff."
Book shrugged. "Now, at least we know. Whoever is directing her is obviously human, that's why they need a spirit to do their dirty work."
Now Dean was nodding as he climbed out of the hole, leaning down to help Book out next. "So, the question is, who has such similar tastes in revenge as Melinda? Unless they're just letting her loose for the fun of it."
Book shook his head. "I don't think so. All the murders have been well received performers, all had good spots during next week's showcase."
"So, back to professional success as a motive." Dean said.
"Sounds like." Book agreed.
Just then, Dean's phone rang again.
"It's Amanda." Dean offered, and Book felt his muscles tense up all over again.
He wasn't even surprised when Dean grimly hung up the phone.
"Let me guess. Amanda's next in line for her grandmother's showcase spot." Book said tiredly.
"Yup. And just for kicks and grins, she said she just had a vision." Dean agreed. "Fuck!"
Book startled a little when Dean suddenly yelled the word, not having experienced Dean's temper in earnest yet, at least not in this life time.
Almost immediately, Dean looked over, a contrite expression on his face.
"Sorry, Book. I just...shit. People are dying and all we have is an empty grave." Dean said, pinching the bridge of his nose, spreading more grime across his face.
Book felt a deep, instant need to soothe, to fix.
But the only thing that would make Dean feel better was resolving this case.
"Well, we do have the empty grave." He said, after a moment.
"Yeah, Book. That's pretty much what I just said. We got nothing." Dean snapped.
Book forced himself not to tense, reminding himself that if he reached, he could probably find dozens of memories of Dean in much worse moods than he was now.
Like, when old Sam had freed the devil.
Book breathed out, forcing away the less than pleasant memories.
He knelt, grasping a handful of the loose dirt from Melinda's empty grave. He looked up at Dean.
Letting the dirt shift slowly through his fingers, he said "Yeah, Dean. But we have the grave."
Understanding dawned on Dean's face. "You think you can use the dirt to track the bones?"
Book shrugged. "It's worth a try. It might at least narrow down where to look. Find the bones-"
"Find the killer." Dean finished. "Hell yes. Let's do this."