disclaimer: if they were mine i wouldn't have to think of ways to say they weren't
a/n: here it is-- chapter three. it's longer than the other chapters because when i wrote this, i wrote it not thinking of cutting it up into chapters, and so the best place to cut it off was at past 3000 words. anyways, this chapter has the first kindda cliffhanger, of what will be many of them. enjoy!
"Hi," Dean grinned at the beautiful lady in front of him, "My name is Dean Young and this is Sam Williams."
"Oh hi!" the lady's dark hair washed around her blue eyes as she grinned, "You two must be the researchers from the University."
"Yes Ma'am," Sam nodded.
"Please," she laughed lightly, "Call me Alisa."
"Thank you Alisa," Dean nodded, "So is your Mom home right now."
"Oh yes, she just woke up from her nap, please come in," Alisa held open the door for the brothers.
Dean eyed his brother and mouthed the word 'nap' to which Sam grabbed his jacket and shoved him through the door. Dean almost ran into the back of Alisa Rose as she stood in the foyer of the well kept house.
"I'll be just a minute," she smiled, "I'll help her downstairs. Make yourself at home; the living room is off to the right."
"Thank you," Sam spoke appreciatively.
Dean watched Alisa walk upstairs. She was an older lady; looking to be in her late forties, though she kept herself looking young with a slim, athletic looking body. Her clothing was current and simple as that day she wore a light, flowing turquoise skirt with a white camisole top. Her dark hair flowed neatly down her back in light waves and her poise as she climbed the small amount of stairs gave Dean a sense of respect towards the lady.
"Dean, come on," Sam snapped the elder out of his daze.
Dean followed Sam to the living room and looked around. It was bright and cheery, plastered with flower wallpaper, light peach carpet and beige colored furniture. A long couch sat against one wall with a puffy looking chair sitting on an angle beside it. A coffee table sat in front of the two which gave way to a small twenty inch tv which the brothers guessed was rarely ever on. A well used rocking chair sat by a bay window with lace curtains hanging down either side.
The Winchesters had no more sat down on the couch and taken out their notebooks than something small and brown bounded at them.
"What the--" Dean lifted his feet up in surprise.
Sam, on the other hand, bent down and started cooing over the fluffy haired puppy which had decided to join in on their conversation.
"Ok, nature boy," Dean frowned, "Since when have you liked dogs?"
"Since Billy Corman's one bit you in seventh grade," Sam shot back with a grin.
Dean was about to make a reply when Alisa entered the room, followed by another lady whom he assumed was Becky Rose. It startled Dean to see the older lady's grace and ease in movement. When he'd heard she was eighty-six years old his mind immediately went to an old folks home to the elders whose mind had long since left them nothing but a shell of their younger selves. This lady, however, held the same stance and dignity that her daughter held as she swept into the room in a navy blue skirt and light, white cotton blouse. Her hair was pinned up in a loose bun on the top of her head and her makeup was done with such precision that it made Dean wonder how any woman could so such a thing.
"Don't look so shocked son," Becky, obviously had noticed Dean's reflecting look, "Not all people my age are useless."
Dean shot out a sheepish grin, "Sorry Ma'am."
"Oh, that's all right," Becky pulled the rocker over to across from the coffee table and sat down so as she was facing the brothers, "And please, boys, call me Becky. Ma'am makes me sound old."
Sam caught the small wink sent their way and let out a laugh.
"Let me guess," Becky looked back and forth between Sam and Dean, "You're brothers?"
Dean shared a quick, startled look with Sam before speaking, "No Ma'am-- err… Becky. My name is Dean Young and this is my friend Sam Williams. We're history students from the local University."
Becky gave Dean a look that sent a chill up the young hunter's spine, "Very well Dean," she looked at Sam, "And Sam. What it is I can do for you boys this afternoon?"
"We were wondering what you could tell us about the Walsh House," Sam spoke, still petting the small puppy that was now curled up to his leg.
"Oh, the Walsh House," Becky nodded, "I remember that place well. I spent many summers there helping my sister with my nieces and nephews."
Sam began jotting the notes down as Dean questioned the elder lady, "How well did you know Elliot Walsh?"
"Oh I knew him quite well I assure you Dean," Becky insisted, "My sister and I were close, and she told me many things about the man that more than once caused me to want to go to the police. Only at Betty's insistence did I not go."
"Betty?" Dean furrowed his eyebrows, "Oh, Elizabeth?" Becky nodded, "What did she tell you?"
"She told me that she couldn't handle it without Elliot around," Becky explained, "Our father was mayor of Surrgate, but that didn't mean we had much money. With six boys and four girls Betty was hardly in any position to be able to raise them on her own. That Elliot treated her harshly but there was nothing my sister could do."
"Couldn't you have someone talk to him?" Sam interjected, "Maybe try and convince him that what he was doing was wrong."
"Oh honey, there was countless people that tried that," Becky laughed at the suggestion, "But that man denied his doings around every corner. Claimed he was a wonder man who never laid a finger on his wife."
"Why didn't you say something?" Dean questioned, "Maybe spoke to your Dad or to Elliot's siblings."
"Oh," Becky's voice dropped, "I could never do that."
"Why not?" Sam asked.
A long silence answered the question and filled up the room. Becky stared seemingly at nothing, lost in deep thought, and immediately Sam regretted asking the question. The silence was broken by the entrance of Alisa; carrying a try with a large jug of lemonade surrounded by three glasses.
"Mom?" Alisa noticed her mothers look, "Mom, are you ok?"
"Oh," Becky turned to her daughter and grinned, "Yes Dear, I'm fine."
Alisa stared suspiciously at her mother; obvious by her stance that she wasn't planning on moving or speaking until she got a better explanation for what she instantly picked up as a lie.
"Really Alisa," Becky insisted, glancing at Sam; the young dog still twinning its way around his legs, "Why don't you take Gold for a walk? He hasn't been out in a while."
"Are you sure?" Alisa placed a hand on her mother's shoulder.
Becky patted it reassuringly, "I'm sure."
"Come on Gold," Alisa bent down and the young Collie puppy ran to her, "Lets go for a walk boy."
Dog in hand, the daughter of the woman in question walked out of the room. The three remaining occupants waited a moment until they heard the front door closed. It was then that a thought occurred to Dean.
"Miss. Rose," he thought carefully of how he was going to word it, "Did-- did Elliot Walsh hurt you as well?"
Sam immediately shot a look at his brother, but on the contrary, Becky smiled.
"You're good Dean. Not many people that were around at the time could figure that out, and here you are nearly fifty years later."
"I'm so sorry," Sam offered what little condolences he could give.
"Oh, that's quite alright," Becky shook her head dismissively, "I like to think of it that I took away some of the hurt that Betty would have had."
Dean hated to press on, but knew he should, "So what else do you remember?"
"As I was saying," Becky continued, "I spent much of the late forties at the Walsh House, as it came to be called, and it didn't take long to figure out that Elliot wanted more than to just show Betty who was boss."
"What do you mean?" Dean asked, glancing sideways at Sam who continued to write.
"Along with the fifties, the use of drugs also came," Dean was surprised at the ease in which the elder lady was able to relay events of the past, "Elliot used many of these on Betty to try and control her more, and manipulate the way the children were raised. He had a dream, you see. Ten children and a multimillion dollar company going down the drain."
"Wait a minute," Dean interrupted, "I thought that his company was making lots of money? That he was a big shot in the whole thing."
"Oh he was," Becky nodded, "But he got careless. Lost money and used even more money that he didn't have to loose. So he figured if he could work his kids into to the company, he could save money."
"But the kids couldn't have been that old," Dean pointed out.
"By the time he got desperate in 1956 the youngest were seven year old twins. I remember going by there one day and he had them reading a manual about the way some of the machines at the factory worked," Becky smiled sadly, "That's about when Betty started to get sick. Everyone assumed it to be pneumonia but I knew otherwise. I could tell when I talked to Betty that Elliot had stripped her of everything she was and everything she could be. When she went into the hospital that winter I would visit her often. She was getting better too; being away from Elliot, but she never stopped worrying about the children, and I think that's why she decided to go back before she was fully better."
"And that's when things started getting bad," Sam's voice was soft.
"Yes," Becky agreed, "It was kept out of the public's eyes, however, and most thought just the opposite was happening; that after the heath scare with Betty, Elliot finally smartened up. But I knew otherwise. When I went there, Betty was… broken. She no longer made any decisions, or helped the children and scarcely held conversations longer than three or four minutes. It was the evening of June the first 1957 that I'll never forget."
"The night the police found them," Dean recalled.
"Yes," Becky sipped at some of the lemonade that she'd poured, "I'd been trying to get a hold of Betty for two days, and nobody had seen or heard from any of them in just as long. Even the mill was calling about the absent Elliot. I called the police when I found their door locked, and it was just a while later that I found out the news."
"I'm so sorry," again Sam spoke the words that could do so little.
Becky took a deep breath, "Yes, but that was a while ago I suppose. I found out a month later that my name was put in for the deed of the house. Quite a shock I must tell you, but I wanted nothing to do with the house and sold it almost immediately. I still have all the papers that went with it; the owners wanted nothing but the deed."
"Ma'am, do you still have those papers?" Sam asked; Dean's turn to give a glare to his brother.
"It's Becky, please," Becky spoke, getting up; Dean and Sam immediately getting up as well, to help her, "And yes, I do still have them."
The Winchester's watched as the elder lady walked over to a small desk which sat in the far corner. She opened a drawer and pulled out a folder, turned around and handed it to Dean.
"Here you are," she smiled, "You can keep it; it's just been collecting dust around this old place."
"Seriously?" Dean eyed the thick folder that looked to be older than anything he'd read.
"Yes, of course," Becky nodded, "Now, is there anything else I can do for you boys?"
"No," Sam shook his head, "I think we have enough."
Becky shook Dean and Sam's hand, "Good luck with your…paper."
Again Sam caught the small wink, and knew right away that this lady was much smarter than many people thought her to be. With the folder in hand, Dean lead the way to the front of the pristine house; his brother and Becky Rose in tow. Opening the door, he gave one last thanks to the elder lady.
"We really appreciate this," Dean's charming smile was not unnoticed, "This will really help us with our paper."
"You're very kind to say so Mr. Young," her eyes twinkled, "And let me thank you, in return. So many memories of those times which were so long ago. I remember for the years to come after the incident I took refuge from it all in my favorite band."
Sam furrowed his eyebrows, "And what was that Becky?"
Becky gave a knowing look to Dean, a small smirk pulling at the side of her aging mouth, "I believe you're familiar with AC/DC?"
Dean's mouth opened in shock, and Sam, completely clueless lead his brother out the door.
"Thank you again Miss. Rose," Sam waved to the elder lady as they made their way down the steps of the porch.
Dean stopped at the bottom and shook his head. The impact of the last words that Becky spoke gave him more respect for her story than he ever thought imaginable. He had no doubt in his mind that Sam had no idea what she meant on the comment and for that, the older brother knew, he'd have to explain.
"Ok, what was that about?" Dean was right as Sam spoke up, standing by the black 1967 Impala.
"Our names," Dean smiled, "Dean Young and Sam Williams."
"Yeah," contrary to their morning conversation, it was Sam's turn to be the completely clueless one in the conversation of choice.
"Dude, I totally haven't done my job in teaching you classic rock," Dean smirked, "Malcolm Young was the guitarist and Cliff Williams was the bassist in AC/DC. That lady knew we were playing her right from the beginning."
Sam let out a laugh as he got in the car, "Oh yes Dean, people that age can barely remember their age let alone things that happened fifty years ago."
"Shut up," Dean grinned, starting his less than quiet car up.
Wordlessly Dean decided for the two of them to stop at a small diner he'd noticed on the way in for something to eat. It was past lunch hour and still a few hours before the supper crowd would arrive, and so it was easy to find a parking space.
"Did we run into a time portal?" Dean muttered as they walked into the diner; fifties music floating through the atmosphere.
Sam grinned and shoved Dean in the side. An older couple sat off in the distance, a family with what looked like young twins girls sat in a booth near the door and three people sat at the laminated counter top on bright red cushion stools. Dean lead the way to a private booth near a large window where each brother sat on either side.
"You brought that with you?" Dean asked, eying the folder in Sam's hand.
"Yeah," Sam adjusted himself in the vinyl seat, "I thought we could look it over while we had something to eat."
"Whatever man, but by the sounds of it that place is nothing more than a giant bad luck charm," Dean shook his head dismissively, "And you promised we'd highjack our way out of here if we turned up nothing."
"I know, I know," Sam sighed, "But I just want to look at it."
Dean rolled his eyes just as a small, plump lady wearing a white dress and white and red checkered apron approached their table.
"Hi there Darlings," she gave them both a wide smile, "My name is Mary; welcome to Debbie's Diner. Here are some menus for you both; our special today is grill cheese sandwiches and tomato soup. Can I start you both off with a nice cup of coffee?"
"Please," Dean smiled gratefully, accepting both the steaming cup of coffee and the menu.
"Thank you," Sam, as well, took the coffee and menu, and waited until Mary left before taking the folder out and opening it up.
Dean looked through the menu while Sam scoured the papers. There were many of them; most documenting the building of the house, permits and other legal documents from over a century ago. The younger brother saw nothing interesting at face value, but figured, if nothing else, it would be an interesting read one night when he was bored. He was just about to put the folder away and join his brother in picking out something to eat when a smaller paper slid out from the stack.
It contained many names; the mayor of Surrgate at that time, the housing inspector, the plumbing and electrical experts and, lastly, the contractor. The man that actually designed and built the house. To each name a small few comments were written by, Sam guessed, Adam Walsh. It was at the last name; the contractor and builder that Sam froze.
"Sam?" Dean looked up and saw his brother's stunned and almost fearful look, "Yo Sam; you ok?"
"Dean, I think I found something with the Walsh House," Sam's voice came out in barely a whisper.
"What?" Dean was about to make a smart ass comment, but the look on Sam's face was anything but joke worthy.
"Here," Sam handed the small paper to Dean, "The last name."
Dean looked at it for only a moment before a small 'Oh my God' escaped his lips. Simultaneously the Winchester brothers got up from their seat at Debbie's Diner. Dean threw a twenty on the table as Sam collected the rest of the papers from the folder and, without looking back, followed his brother's quick paced trek back to the car.
Any normal person who saw the paper still clutched in Dean Winchester's hand would have thought nothing of the names or the notes written on it so long ago. They would have tossed it aside as a useless scrap piece of paper, or, perhaps, garbage. The hunters knew better. When Sam looked down and saw the name of the contractor as being one Alex Colt, he knew something familiar rung out in the name. The added notes written delicately beside the names gave way his suspicions to truths;
Alex Colt: son of Samuel Colt; former local blacksmith.
...to be continued...