Chapter 11
There's No Blood, There's No Alibi
See Jane. See Jane run. See Jane bleed. Bleed, Jane, bleed. She couldn't help but utter a choked gasp of laughter as blood spilled from her body and stained her couch. Not that the couch was what mattered. Her mind was wandering as she took her last breaths, and she knew it. No one was coming to save her.
She wished she had been more suspicious when the police officer had come to question her about a recent incident in her neighborhood. After all, the only incident she had known of had happened months before she'd gotten that knock at the door.
She also wished that she hadn't pulled the knife out of her chest. The officer had only stabbed her once, but once had been enough. The knife had missed her heart, sure, but that didn't change the fact that it had hit something else.
See Jane, she thought randomly, her life flashing before her eyes, taking her back to the days when her mother had taught her to read, see Jane run. Run, Jane, run.
Die, Jane. Die.
o0o0o0o0o0o
If Dean had thought that the security features in Bela Talbot's apartment had been easy to get past the first time, they were even easier the second. He had snuck up behind the pretty Brit before she even felt the breeze that had accompanied him. "Boo."
She jumped and spun, backing quickly toward the drawer where she kept her only gun. She pulled the drawer open and stuck her hand inside, feeling for the weapon.
"Looking for this?" Dean asked, smiling as he held up the item she was searching for.
"How'd you get in here?" she demanded, slamming the drawer and leaning back against it, "what do you want. I haven't done anything to you."
"Not lately. But in the past, you shot my brother, took advantage of us, and sicced a psychotic, vampiric killer on us."
"He wasn't a vampire when I called you."
Dean cocked an eyebrow. "That's the best you can come up with? Seriously?"
"What do you want, Dean?"
"I want to know why you did it," he responded, taking a step toward her, smirking as she flinched away.
"Did what?" she asked.
"You know what. You killed those people."
"What people?" Bela demanded, leaning farther away from the intruder, the look in her eyes giving away her fear. It seemed that Dean had finally snapped. And with only a few months left to go, too. Pity.
"All of those people in Black Rock," the hunter clarified, "you killed three and kidnapped another."
"A kidnapping? Are you talking about Nitham?" She smiled at the shock written plainly across his face, enjoying the turn of the tables. "The antique dealer?"
"So… you do know what I'm talking about," Dean said, attempting to gain the upper hand once again. Unfortunately, Bela wasn't the type to let that happen.
"I know about what happened to Eric. He was a client of mine. He was getting ready to pay big for something that only I could give him."
"Let me guess. Cursed?"
"Now, Dean," she scolded, "the word 'cursed' can be used so loosely nowadays. It wouldn't have been a curse for him or whoever he had planned on selling it to. Maybe for someone else."
"What is it?"
She snorted. "Like I'm telling you. Besides, it's not really your thing. More Hollywood than back alley."
Dean narrowed his eyes. "What. Is. It."
"A prop," she stated, "from an old-time TV show."
"Superman?"
She stepped away from the drawer, walking toward him until she was standing directly in front of him, looking up at him and smiling. "You've heard of it, haven't you?"
"A cape? Yeah, I've heard some stories."
"Any idea where it might be?"
"If I did, do you really think I'd tell you?"
Bela sighed, slipping her hands into his, her grin widening as he squirmed under her touch. "I've got people scouring the old Hollywood lots and a couple of studios up in Vancouver. They're going to call as soon as they find something."
"Got anything yet?" he asked, slipping out of her grasp and backing across the room.
"Nothing promising. Are you sure you don't know where it is?"
"Are you sure you don't know anything about those murders?"
"Why the sudden suspicion, Dean? Don't trust me?"
He narrowed his eyes. "Just a hunch."
"Well, I haven't heard anything, and I certainly haven't done anything. So, if you'll just leave-"
"Not so fast, Hermione."
She let out a stray chuckle that sounded particularly condescending. "Was that a Harry Potter reference? Are you seriously that childish?"
"I know you had something to do with those deaths," Dean said, stepping toward her, towering over her small form, practically growling, "you knew the man that disappeared. You knew the first victim!"
"They're victims now?" Bela asked, backing away until her back hit the drawers, her usually confident voice wavering, "like, of the same killer?"
"Tell me why," the hunter demanded, slamming his hands down onto the counter on either side of her. The marble chipped and cracked under his fingerss, spilling dust onto her designer jeans. She glanced down at her pants before looking back up at him, a sly smile worming its way across her face.
"You," she whispered, that confident tone back in her voice, "you know where the cape is." She looked back down at his hands. "You found it and you put it on, and you think your little curse hit me." She straightened up, placing a hand on his chest and pushing him backwards across the room. He stumbled away from the woman who was now bearing down on him.
"You don't know what you're talking about-"
"You put it on and now you can't face the consequences. But you're wasting your time here. I'm not your villain."
"Just a fake posh British bitch, then?"
She smiled wryly. "Funny. Tell you what. Because your little villain took my client, I think we can work something out. You give me the cape, and I'll help you find your villain. I'm sure I can find another buyer if Nitham has expired."
"You're kidding, right? How stupid do you think I am?" He thought about the statement. "Don't answer that. Look, there might have been a time when you could manipulate me, but those days are over. I'm on to you."
Bela crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm so scared."
"How about you help me find my villain, and then I might tell you where the cape is. Or I might not. I'm tricky like that."
"Or how about we call it a draw and both move on with our lives?"
Dean smirked. "A long time ago, I might have let you get away with that, but," her eyes went wide as he reached out and grabbed her, wrapping his arms tightly around her thin frame and taking off down the stairs, the scenery blurring around them. When he finally stopped and Bela's stomach caught up to her, they were standing on a dreary street corner in the rain. "Then you shot my brother," Dean finished.
"Where are we?"
"That's for me to know, and you to find out," he replied, zipping away and leaving her standing alone in the rain.
Shivering, Bela wrapped her arms around herself and turned to take in her surroundings. Her mouth drew down into a frown as the imposing clock tower caught her eye. "Deeeean," she growled as she stared up at the familiar sight of Big Ben.