"So what do you think? A ghost?" Dean asked as they walked down the steps, heading to the Impala.
"Seems so."
"One drowning, a hanging, another burned to death, one was stabbed – 40 times, I might add, another shot in the back, and this one got her throat cut. Each about a week apart. I don't get it," Dean said, loosening his tie.
"If it's a haunting, the ghost has a weird M.O," he added.
"Maybe it's not one ghost," Sam said.
Dean paused. "Six different ghosts, all becoming active one after another? All over the country?"
Sam shrugged.
"Oops!" 120 lbs. of sheer woman collided with Dean's hard frame then, hands clutching at him.
Automatically, Dean's hands went up, catching hold of the klutz. Honey blonde hair all messed up; greens eyes with flecks of brown peeking through the curtain of hair. Dean's nose caught strawberries wafting from her hair.
It was her. The pretty girl on the bench. She was taller than he expected and up close, she was absolutely stunning. Oval face, straight nose, clear eyebrows, full lips and a pert, albeit stubborn chin. And from what his hands were telling him, her body wasn't half bad, either.
"Whoa, there, sweetheart. What's your hurry?" Dean drawled, giving her a slow crooked smile. Next to him, Sam rolled his eyes.
Dick, Nathalie thought. She had felt his hands doing a bit more "holding" than required. She took a deep breath and tried to stand up, swaying slightly.
"You OK?" Dean asked, concerned.
"Yes … I mean, no," Nathalie answered breathlessly, her hands still around his waist. She lifted her ankle.
Dean's eyes went down and saw what she meant. The four-inch heel on her shoe had broken, hanging off the sole. He looked back at her. She seemed upset, looking at her shoe forlornly.
"Let me help," Dean said. He took the shoe and snapped the heel off. He handed it back to her, winking. The girl smiled.
Sam snorted. He had had enough of the foreplay.
"I'll be in the car," he said, leaving.
Dean ignored him. "Well, since I saved you, I figure you owe me," he drawled, his hands still around her. "How about you and me meet for a drink later? I'm new in town. You can show me around."
He smiled.
Nathalie looked at him, appearing to be considering the offer. She leaned close, fluttered her lashes and gave him a small sigh.
"Mmmm," she breathed, her lips close to his. Her hands moved down his trousers. Dean held his breath.
All of a sudden, she dropped her hands and stepped back, smiling brightly.
"Thanks but no thanks."
Dean was stunned. Laughing lightly, Nathalie turned and walked away.
"Better luck next time," she called out, limping slightly on uneven shoes. Her fingers clutched the motel key she had just lifted from him.
Dean was scowling when he got into the car. He tossed the broken heel to Sam, who didn't bother trying to contain his laughter.
"Shut up," he growled. The Impala came to life.
Sam snorted with laughter.
"Dude, she blue-balled you," he said, laughing.
Dean rolled his eyes. He sniffed himself as subtly as possible. Did he stink? One minute she was hot and heavy, the next zilch.
"Where to now?" he asked harshly, changing the subject. Barely containing his mirth, Sam told him.
The Impala surged forward.
Nathalie figured she had an hour or so before the two yahoos were due to return. She walked casually to Room 223, the motel key in her hand. Checking to see no one was around, she unlocked the door and stepped in, putting the Do Not Disturb sign out.
The room wasn't a total mess, considering two guys were bunking in here. But there sure were a lot of books and papers.
The first thing she did was go through the guys' luggage. Wrinkled shirts, dusty trousers, dirty underwear – her nose wrinkled at the smell – normal stuff, plus the not-so-normal stuff.
She also found quite a few guns and daggers. If the two were law enforcement, the weapons could be explained. But they weren't, so what did this mean? There were also other items, odder than most. She pulled out a rosary, some small water bottles, a silver dagger and a bunch of foul-smelling bags. And a lacy thong. Classy, she thought, tossing it onto the bed.
Her fingers touched something hard and oblong. Jackpot. It was the guys' laptop.
She opened it, hoping they had not shut it down before they left this morning. No, they hadn't.
She browsed their net history and saw Sara's case file, plus five others. The people had all died sometime in the last few weeks or so through various means. Some had been ruled accidental, others foul play and the rest, unknown.
Like Sara's case, the police in two of the cases thought they had caught the guy responsible. Both the case files reported the perpetrator saying they saw someone with the victim before disappearing. In both cases, the police thought it was a bunch of hogwash.
Curioser and curioser, she thought.
Next, Nathalie inspected the books. They weren't what she expected. The books were old and were all on the same topic: the supernatural.
One book had been left out, open to a page. She read the passage, her mind racing.
It was about ghosts.
"Mr. Gavin Keys? FBI," Dean said, displaying his fake ID. Sam did the same.
Gavin gave the badges a cursory glance.
"Is this about Sara?" he asked. His eyes were rimmed with red, as if he had been crying. He was also slurring his words a bit; his breath speaking volumes.
"We're sorry to bother you at this time, but may we come in?" Sam asked.
Gavin nodded listlessly, moving back to let the two in.
Sam took a seat, while Gavin poured himself a drink. Dean walked around the room, surreptitiously inspecting the place.
"You guys want a drink?"
Dean opened his mouth to accept; Sam glared at him and shook his head. "No thanks, we're on duty."
"Suit yourself," Gavin said, throwing back the liquid. He poured another.
Sam cleared his throat. "Mr. Keys, we'd like to ask you about your fiancée …"
"Ex-fiancée," Gavin interrupted him.
"Excuse me?"
"Ex-fiancée. We broke up a few days before she died. I was the reason she went to that bar that night, why she was out when the carjacker attacked her," he said, dully. He buried his head in his hands.
Sam shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his face sympathetic.
"I don't even know why I broke up with her. It's like I wasn't even in control of my actions. I loved Sara," Gavin said, his voice breaking.
Dean caught Sam's eye. He held up his index finger. Sulfur.
"Was there anything about Sara that was unusual?" Sam continued. "Something that was not common knowledge?"
Gavin frowned. "What does that have to do with her murder? And anyway, I thought the police caught the guy."
"Some new evidence has come to light, so if you can help us …" Dean chimed in.
Gavin sighed. "She was just a really nice and sweet girl. Never bitchy, in all the years we knew each other. Everyone loved her."
He paused. They sat there in silence.
"She never let what happened to her as a kid bother her," Gavin finally added.
Sam and Dean gave him a questioning look. Gavin saw their faces.
"Oh yeah, you're not from around here," he said. "When Sara was about 5, her father killed her mother and sisters. Slit their throats. He would have got Sara too, but she heard her mother screaming for her to run. So she ran."
"What happened to her father?" Sam asked.
"He shot himself afterwards."
Sam and Dean exchanged glances. Sam cleared his throat. "Did Sara visit their graves often?"
Gavin shook his head. "No, they were cremated."
"Any mementos, a lock of hair maybe? Nail clippings?" Dean asked.
Gavin looked puzzled and shook his head. "She said she wanted to forget about it, so she got rid of everything. There's nothing left."
"And now there's a demon? Dude, what the hell?" Dean asked as soon as they got into the car.
Sam shrugged. "I dunno, man. I got nothing." He picked up the broken hell absent-mindedly, twiddling it.
"If there is a demon, why didn't it gank the girl? It makes the fiancé break up with her and what? It leaves?" Dean continued.
Sam was silent, inspecting the broken shoe heel. Dean glared at him, exasperated.
"Feel free to chime in anytime there, Sammy," he said, pulling out of the driveway.
Sam was still looking at the heel.
"Do you know what brand this is?" Sam suddenly asked.
Dean looked at Sam, mystified. Sam looked at him seriously.
"Surprise me," Dean finally said.
"This is Gucci," Sam said. Dean gave him a blank look. Sam sighed.
"These shoes are high end. They don't break easily," he explained.
Dean gave Sam a long look.
"I've always wanted a sister," he finally said.
Sam rolled his eyes. "No, dude. You don't get it. These shoes don't just break. They 're supposed to last. This is where people get vintage fashion."
Dean frowned. "You mean –" His hands went to his trouser pockets. They were sadly key-less.
"Son of a bitch," he yelled.
"Why are you here?"
The voice was deep and gravelly, the tones even. Nathalie swore to herself. She had not heard anyone come in.
Luckily, the voice didn't sound like either of the guys, so maybe she could bluff her way out. She turned around, plastering an embarrassed smile on her face, her hand grappling for the thong she had found in the guys' luggage earlier.
"Sorry, I just came back to get something I left …" she started in a breathless, giggly voice. Then she saw him, the underwear in her hand forgotten.
He stood in the middle of the room. Wavy dark hair, chiseled face with a light stubble. He was dressed in a suit, his blue tie loose and a trench coat that looked almost too big for his slight six-foot frame. But his eyes were what stopped her dead in her tracks.
They were an intense blue. She felt she could drown in their depths.
He moved towards her, looking puzzled and … intrigued? His eyes roamed over her, his head cocked to the side.
Nathalie caught her breath. His gaze seemed to strip her bare, leaving her exposed. But she couldn't move or do anything. All she could do was stare back at him. He was … beautiful, for lack of a better word.
Cliché, her inner editor scolded.
His eyes dropped to the book on the bed. He turned back to her.
"I was just …"
His hand went to her forehead. The last thing she saw before darkness enveloped her was those blue eyes, burning with an unworldly light.