Chapter Eleven – Voodoo and Stuff
The body of Daryl Greene, black-bagged and put onto a stretcher, was hauled into the back of an ambulance. Skies grew cloudy and gray and the neighborhood was filled with different whispers. Daryl Greene, a harmless, spiritual man, responsible for a car accident of a young woman? More cop cars seemed to show up and unfortunately for the Winchesters, they had to be forced out of the home for further investigation. Sam had a feeling that Blake was a little hesitant to believe that he and Dean were police officers, so Dean and Sam refrained from pulling out their badge to enter the home. Amy said they should still check out the place, but for some reason, Dean disinclined mysteriously and kept distance from the house.
He caused the accident? Using voodoo? For Amy, it was strange enough to believe in ghosts and demons, but voodoo? Dark-or-black magic, whatever?
She had her hands by her side as she watched the body disappear into the ambulance. Turning to Sam, who stood beside her, asked: "You really think it was voodoo?" Her voice whispered softly – her tone revealing to Sam that she couldn't believe in what Dean had explained earlier.
Sam turned his back on several officers who suddenly looked in their direction. Staring directly at his friend, Sam nodded in that it's-hard-to-believe-I-know way. "Voodoo is real. It's been practiced for ages. Starting in West Africa. The religion's grown since then."
"Religion?" Amy questioned, but the conversation ended when Dean and Blake approached.
Blake sighed and shook his head. "There seems to be no connection between Greene and your friend. He's a suspect; we can't exactly use witchcraft as a cause, so the investigation may continue."
"Voodoo," Dean corrected.
Blake, throwing an odd glance in Dean's direction, muttered, "Right…"
Amy looked from the house to Blake and asked, "You guys found nothing? No reason for him to target Isabelle in any way?"
"Did you find any more altars?" Sam asked. "Was there anything else besides the table with Isabella's pictures?"
"More weird stuff," Blake noted. "Nothing that ties in with Isabella Jamison. There's not even any papers or information about Isabella lying around. Strange…"
Dean and Sam shared the same look, stared at one another, and then turned back to look at the house.
"I have to go," Blake sighed, hearing his name being called. He turned to Amy and said, "We'll get to the bottom of this. I'll keep you updated."
"Thank you Blake."
With that, Blake left, and the trio stood closer together to discuss what was happening.
"I don't believe Daryl was alone in this," Sam blurted out.
"I know," Dean nodded. "Whoever shot him…"
"What do we do now?" Amy whispered. "Investigation is still going on and we can't go back in there…"
"Not to worry," Dean grinned slyly. He opened his leather jacket and revealed a blue leather book. He said: "It's Greene's address book. A couple of these people are starred. We'll check 'em out."
Amy widened her eyes and gasped, "You stole that? That could be useful to the police – it's evidence you know-"
"Yes," Dean mocked, "and I'm sure it'll be real helpful to them. After all, they handle voodoo rituals all the time."
She pursed her lips at him and folded her arms across her waist. Dean raised his eyebrows in a smart-alec way.
"Okay, let's get in the car and check out one of the places," Sam explained. He turned to Amy and whispered carefully, "Hey, where's Izzy?"
Amy, appearing slightly sad, muttered: "Went back to the hospital. She couldn't really handle what she saw. I told her to just report what she saw to Grammy and for the two to wait for us to return."
"Okay, let's go," Sam confirmed and the three walked back to the Chevy Impala.
O.O.O.O.O.
"Voodoo?" Amy blurted out again in disbelief. She sat in the center back of the car flipping through the pages of Daryl Greene's address book. Daryl not only wrote down his friends' names, addresses, and numbers, but included their occupations. Some of them included: Psychic, Witch Doctor, Herb Seller, and Potions Guy.
Dean, driving, explained: "Started in West Africa. Not really evil."
"See," Sam added, "people think voodoo is evil. It's not. It's a religion, actually. The basis of it is basically belief in ancestors and spirits. And the ability to conjure them."
Dean: "Vodouisants believe there is one Creator of All, called the Bondyè. People believe they can call upon spirits, saints, and/or angels for help whenever needed."
Sam: "But spirits can be good or bad. Usually called Cool or Hot spirits. Hot spirits, called Rada, are the ones that are 'more combative'…neither is evil or good, but both can be angered or pleased."
Dean: "Mostly those who practice Voodoo use it to achieve harmony or peace."
Sam: "It's origin varies, so there is actually different types of Voodoo."
"So, wait," Amy asked, drinking all of this in slowly, "so Daryl Greene called on his great grand-daddy to cause Isabella's accident? And the altar? Why not use a doll and needles?"
Dean chuckled simply and explained, "Actually, that's a misconception."
"See, the whole voodoo dolls and using needles, that was used for medical purposes," Sam explained.
"The needles were used for pressure points," Dean finished.
"Oh," Amy thought aloud. "So Daryl Greene did call upon a spirit, though, right? I mean Sam, you saw that black, cloudy-fire…"
"A spirit," Sam realized. "That's what I saw. It's what caused the crash."
"Rada, one, mean, pissed-off spirit," Dean bit the corner of his mouth. "And Daryl was using it to attack Izzy."
"But wait, that explains the crash, but not Isabella…" Sam realized suddenly. Dean and Amy joined in on the new conspiracy. Sam continued: "Voodoo caused the crash. But Isabella? Daryl's dead, so he no longer has control over the spirit, so-"
"Isabella should have returned to her body," Dean whispered.
Amy, in the back, leaned forward worriedly and asked: "What does that mean?"
Sam looked back for a moment and explained, "It means someone else is controlling the spirit."
"And that someone may possibly be the one who shot him," Dean finished.
Questions flew through all of them: Why was Daryl Greene shot? Why did he need a partner? Did Greene even want to harm Izzy?
"Get me an address, gorgeous," Dean asked, eyes focused on the road.
Amy looked down at the address book and found the one name that had two stars besides the one that others got.
O.O.O.O.O.
There were two stars colored in Sharpie by the name: Misty Rigueur. Herb Seller. The address did not lead to a house, but a small store in the boondocks of Evanston, called The Misty Lantern. Candle stores and other places for selling the most random things, from spoons to letter openers, stood out above the Misty Lantern, a tiny green-painted store with black-painted windows and a wooden door with several different colored beads glued to it. Each letter of the Misty Lantern was lit with an orange neon light.
The '67 Chevy Impala parallel parked between a moped and a blue mailbox. Dean got out slowly, carefully putting Daryl Greene's address book into his coat pocket, and closed the car door while his eyes traced over the Misty Lantern. Sam and Amy got out of the vehicle in unison, studying the small store, each closing their car door ever-so-quietly. There was not a person in sight. The stores seemed to be opened, but no one was going in and no one was coming out.
Dean led the trio to the front door, Sam following by his side, and Amy questioning whether this was a good idea or not. After all, Misty Rigueur could have been the one to shoot Daryl Greene and Misty Rigueur could have been the one to want Isabella in a coma. With her own luck, Amy was unsure of even knocking was a good idea.
Knocking three times on the door, Dean took a step back and waited. Sam's nose flared slightly as he waited impatiently for the door to open. It didn't seem like the place customers just walked on through.
But the door did open, and Amy held her breath the entire time.
A woman, in her thirties, wearing a brown dress made of burlap, appeared in the doorway. She had straight gray-colored hair with black tips that reached her center back. She wore a sterling silver headdress and several different bracelets and rings on her arms and fingers. The gray circles around her eyes were either symptoms of lack-of-sleep, not enough sun, or she was a different kind of herb seller.
"Yes?" the woman asked, having a slight French accent.
Dean and Sam each flashed their fake police IDs.
"Miss Rigueur?" Sam asked politely.
The woman in burlap nodded.
"Ma'am, we're here to speak to you about a customer you may have. His name is Daryl Greene," Dean added.
"Daryl?" Misty asked aloud, her voice was slightly raspy. She was a possible smoker. "What about him? Haven't seen the guy in a few days."
"I'm sorry," Amy apologized sweetly, understanding now that this woman was good and that she and Daryl had been friends. "But Daryl Greene was shot earlier this afternoon."
Her face had more gray to it now. Misty placed a hand on the back of her neck, taking a deep breath, and the three young people she was having a conversation was noticed the water in her eyes.
O.O.O.O.O.
The store was made of a front desk where customers paid for their things and twelve or thirteen different shelves with different viles and glasses with different herbs and plants. The walls were painted black and Misty had different symbols painted on her walls too.
The back of the store had large storage room, keeping extra viles and containers of herbs.
Misty sat in a black wooden desk with her face in her hands. Amy was kneeling against the floor, placing her hand comfortingly over the woman's wet hand.
"Oh dear," Misty gasped, looking up at Dean and Sam, who had said nothing since they came into the store. "Shot? Dead…who-why-"
"That's why we came here," Sam explained. "We have his address book. You seem to be the most important contact, from what we gather."
"Yes," Misty's voice squeaked through sobs. "He…he comes in every other day. The last week or so, he's only come in tw-twice."
"Daryl Greene was a Vodouisant?" Amy asked.
Misty nodded slowly, wiping her damp cheeks, and folding her hands in her lap. She pushed aside the gray hair that strayed to the side of her face.
"Good man," Misty explained. "I liked the term Witch Doctor better."
"Misty," Dean asked, "we have reason to believe that Daryl was involved in a voodoo ritual that may have caused a car accident. A young girl is in a coma."
Her head shot up as if bullets had been fired. Misty's eyes grew wide and she shook her head. "No no no no no…Daryl wouldn't do that. He would never do that."
"Not capable?" Amy asked.
"No!" Misty yelled, furious. She wiped her eyes and explained: "Daryl would never do anything like that. He would never hurt someone like that."
"We found an altar…" Dean added. "The girl who is in a coma…there was a picture of her on a table…blood and rose petals…a blood-circle was around the girl's face."
Misty continued to shake her head. "Daryl was a good man. He could never do something like that." Her lips and voice were trembling.
"Can you explain to us why?" Sam asked.
She nodded and forced herself to stop crying. Misty placed a hand around her neck, but then looked up at the three suspiciously. "You're cops? And you believe in this stuff?"
"We're not normal cops," Dean explained, and then motioned for Misty to continue.
The older woman nodded, again, and explained gently: "People go to Daryl for little things. The man's a genius with spirits. He mostly does the whole sending-good-luck-or-bad-luck thing…teenagers come in asking for a little help in getting better grades…women want to curse their husbands…but Daryl never goes to extremes. He knows better. He would never cause a crash to put a girl into a coma."
"Misty, listen to me," Amy begged, almost pleading desperately, "the girl who is in a coma, her spirit has jumped out of its body, the girl is walking around – she is my friend – and I can see her. She's not in her body, why?"
It was this that Dean and Sam had wished she never said anything. They were unsure if they could even trust Misty and Amy was blurting everything out.
But the strange thing was…Misty seemed to understand. She believed.
Misty nodded slowly in an odd way. Her eyes fixated on Amy.
"We're not cops," Amy whispered, her eyes went up to Dean and Sam, "they're demon hunters. And he" she looked at Sam "and I are psychics. Please. This girl, Izzy, was in a car crash. She didn't cause it. And now she's out of her body. And my friend, Sam, has seen a black, smoky figure lurking around. And now Daryl is dead. You have to explain all of this to us."
Misty's eyes darted back and forth from each person. It didn't take her long to accept everything that she had just heard.
O.O.O.O.O.
"Daryl Greene was a popular man to go to. Like I said, people went to him for little things. His curses involved pimples, slipping on a banana peel, tripping into puddles, that sort of thing. Daryl was a firm believer in the Balance – he only did enough to keep things straight. He was a good man. He would never hurt anyone…" Misty paused, thinking hard, and admitted, "But Daryl was having issues…money, mostly…he came to me for help…but I barely have anything…Daryl did mention something about a customer coming to him…offering him a lot of money…to…to do something big…
"Please," Misty choked, "trust me, Daryl didn't tell me the name of the customer or what it was that this person wanted Daryl to do…but I told Daryl that he shouldn't be thinking about the money. He has his morals. He promised he wouldn't do anything bad…but now…and with this girl…"
Misty shook her head slowly. "Daryl did something big. He had to."
"So he wasn't alone…" Dean whispered aloud. He looked at Sam and then back to Misty.
"Can you explain what it is my brother saw?" Dean asked, referring to the black figure.
The herb seller nodded. "It's a spirit. Daryl uses them to do everything. They'll do anything. Daryl's a genius with spirits, like I said before. He doesn't piss 'em off, ya know. He has excellent control…
"But the reason I think for you seeing this…is that the spirit is still being controlled…and the spirit is what is keeping this girl from going into her body."
"What?" Sam asked. "So that was the plan? Cause the accident…and force Isabella out of her body?"
"Someone wants her like that…" Amy realized slowly, eyes getting big. "But why?"
"I'm no expert, but I knew Daryl," Misty added. "The spirit is lingering around this girl. And, you said you heard it hiss?" Her voice directed to Sam, who nodded back. "Which means this spirit doesn't like being controlled. Someone, that someone who shot Daryl, doesn't know what they're doing."
"How do we stop it?" Dean asked.
"Destroy the altar or the person performing the ritual, either way or both, it'll send the spirit away and it can no longer block the girl from her body," Misty finished.
Sam nodded slowly, putting his hand underneath his chin. Someone wants Isabella out of her body…they want her in a coma…why? And who…who…who…
Was this supposed to make everything easier? Some truth had been learned – they had learned more information than they had gathered in the last twelve hours. But with the new knowledge, it still didn't help.
The altar and the person responsible had to be found. But where was the other altar?
And who was doing all of this?
O.O.O.O.O.
A/N: Another short update, getting faster with this, REVIEWS very much appreciated. Thank you all for your comments!