Chapter 2
Jim Murphy looked up when John Winchester grunted. Babe in arm and tyke in hand, John walked outside with his boys, leaving Jim to see to their guest who was awake if Jim had interpreted John's grunt accurately. She stumbled out of the room where he'd laid her to rest after her fainting spell. He led her to the table and spoke soft prayers while he tended to the bandages she had just noticed were on her hands. Deep scrapes. Then as he was covering her wounds once more, he addressed her. "My name is James Murphy. Known as Pastor Jim to my congregation." His hands were warm where they covered hers. "Do you remember anything?"
She shook her head. "No." Then she frowned and started to cry. "I don't remember anything. Not even my name."
"Let me help with that. When we spoke earlier, you said your name was Liz."
"Liz." She repeated and took a deep breath. Clinging to that fact.
"Liz, my friend and I found you dirty and your hands scraped. We brought you here to help you. Maybe there are people worried about you. People we can contact."
"I don't know. I don't remember." She shook her head, taking her hands back to rub her arms. "I… I feel alone."
"Where are your parents?" He pressed.
"I don't know."
"You seem so young to be without parents."
"Too young to lose my husband, too." She whispered and snapped her head up. "I don't know why I said that."
"Forgive me, Liz." He peered into her face and motioned at the window behind him for John to return to the kitchen. "You look no older than 15 or 16."
"I get that a lot. I'm 23."
"Somehow I think one or more of us are sorely mistaken."
Liz rose to look in a mirror she had seen in the foyer. She found herself to be neither 15 nor 23. She had no idea how old she truly was but she felt it, inside that she knew how old she looked. "How in the hell did this happen?" She traced her face, flawless. No pock marks, no scars, just a mole here and there. "I don't look a day over 20. How?"
"That's what we want to know." The voice boomed from behind her, the younger man, alone. His boys safely stowed somewhere. "We found you crawling out of a grave but you're not a zombie because you've got a pulse."
"I don't know." She shook her head, leaning against the wall and sliding down. "I don't know." She took a deep breath and looked up into the hazel eyes of one of the most intimidating men she could recall. That felt significant but she didn't know why. "Did the grave have a marker?"
"None that we could read." He shrugged and glanced away toward the kitchen.
"I died?"
"Seems that way."
"She could have been buried alive." Jim cut in.
"What year is it?" She asked carefully.
"1985." Jim answered. "Does that mean anything to you?" She only shook her head. "Liz, John's going to lend you some clothes until we can get yours washed or I can find something at the church for you to wear."
"Thanks for volunteering my clothes, Padre." John scoffed.
"Thank you, John. I appreciate it." Liz called his attention. "I think I smell pretty badly."
--
After she had showered, Pastor Jim had taken her to his office downstairs and explained a few things to her. The weapons on the walls and what they were for. The books on his desk. He eyed her carefully but she didn't reject his words offhand, neither did she call him crazy. She nodded as if she were simply learning something new. "My dear, I just want to make sure you understand why we're going to be watching you so carefully."
"So, your friend John knows about this too." She nodded to herself while she walked the room and examined its walls. "The boys?"
"I'm not sure what exactly they know. Obviously they're a little young for this." He laid his hands on her shoulders. "We're going to help you but first, I have a mass to give."
--
Liz watched the sky. The air far colder than she felt she was used to… even drowning in John's clothes the way she was. The smell of man and motor oil surrounded her. She could hear the little boy vrooming his toy car all over the porch behind her. Could hear the baby giving John a hard time from inside the house. Could hear Jim's voice as he gave his sermon in the chapel behind the house.
Finally, all the stillness got to her and she had to make some noise. "Hey kid. What's your name?" He didn't answer. She turned to watch him play. His vrooms were much softer than they were before. The circles he made with the car not so broad. "Where's your mom?"
She wished she hadn't said anything when she saw all the blood drop out of his little face. He went absolutely still. She scooted over. "I'm sorry. I didn't know. Just you, your brother and your dad, huh?" It seemed like the boy had just started breathing again. He didn't move though. "Looks like you've got a great dad. How old are you?"
"He's six." John's voice boomed behind her. The boy rushed to his side. A thick eyebrow shot up at her. "Dean?"
"It's my fault. I said the 'M' word."
"He was four when she died. He just started talking again." John turned his face away, cheeks coloring as if he were embarrassed to admit that information. Maybe because he had never intended to open his mouth in the first place.
"Dean, huh, that's a good name." She peered at the boy hiding behind his father's leg. "Bet you're a good big brother."
As if on cue, and not to be outdone by his big brother, Sam hiccupped. Liz rose to her feet to get a look at the baby. He was a hefty two years of age but still looked very much like a baby. John seemed uncomfortable with the attention she paid to his boys but did not speak against it, though Liz felt it was on the tip of his tongue to bark at her the way he had when she had first woken up.
"They're adorable, John. Hey, Sammy."
The baby tilted himself until John had the choice of either rushing to catch him or to relinquish his son into her arms, which turned out to be slightly comical as she struggled to hold the child half her size. Sammy babbled as he twisted her hair around in his sticky fist. Dean tugged on his father's arm, green eyes pleading with him to take Sammy back from this girl.
Liz gazed at his reddened hazel eyes that matched his father's but his hair was sandier, like his brothers. "She was blonde?"
John nodded silently, eyes gone far away, wet sheen took them over. Then Dean rushed over, stomped on her foot and took off running for the driveway. Liz bent over, her arms secure around baby Sammy but the pain. Oh good Lord the pain in her foot. John's jaw dropped for a moment then he took off after his six-year-old. Liz eased herself to the porch once more. How she wished she had been wearing shoes. Her toes screamed and Sammy laughed. Not because she was in pain but because John had skidded on the gravel drive while trying to catch his errant son who had darted between two parked cars. Then John stood up, brushed himself off and took a deep breath. "Dean Winchester! Front and center!"
Surprisingly, the boy did as ordered and crawled out from underneath the car he'd chosen for cover and stood like a little soldier before his very tall father. He said something that Liz couldn't catch. John knelt, placed his hands on the boy's shoulders, whispered something, then cupped the boy's face. Making reassurances, she assumed.
When the duo returned to the porch, Sammy held his arms up to be picked up by his father, who did so with the weary expression of many a young parent. "Thanks for holding onto him."
"You've got your hands full." She nodded to him. He rolled his eyes and nodded, guiding his boys into the house. Dean made a face at her, which earned him a light tap on the back of the head from his father. "Dean?" The boy glanced up at his father then back to her. "Girls aren't all gross. We don't carry germs."
John laughed and it made something twist in Liz's stomach. "Let's not get him started on girls too soon."
She watched them disappear inside the building before cradling her injured foot, the pain just a dull throb now inside her borrowed sock.
--
Liz examined the cut of her clothes once she was dressed in her own clothes again. Simple. Cheap. Jeans and a blouse with a loose neckline and simple heeled boots. Her hair drove her nuts. It hung too long to be manageable but she did manage to tame it down enough to be presentable. She joined the men for dinner. Jim turned out to be an excellent cook of the simple foods that made her mouth water with hunger. Dinner was a silent affair after the blessing until Dean begrudgingly left his chair to face her. Six years old and defiant to the bone. "I'm sorry I stomped your foot." Then he pulled a flower from inside his little flannel shirt. "Here."
Liz smiled at the sorry little thing. "Thank you, Dean." Then she quickly cupped his face and planted a kiss on his face. As expected, he scrambled away back to his chair, wiping his face off with his sleeve. John and Jim chuckled at his antics.
"Da!" Sammy shrieked, not seeming to like any attention off of him. John obediently turned to cut up Sammy's dinner.
Jim cleared his throat. "Liz, I did some research this morning. That grave marker is several hundred years old. Possibly the first buried in these parts who could afford a cheap stone. There was a man buried there."
Something unclenched in Liz's chest. "So, someone put me there."
"It's looking likely that way." He patted her hand. "We'll keep looking into it but I'm not going to start talk in town. I've told some folks that you're a distant relative of mine who has come on hard times. I'd like you to stay until we figure out what's going on."
There was little else that she could do. If she refused his hospitality, she would be slapping him in the face after all he'd done so far. If she refused, she had nowhere else to go. "Thank you, Pastor Jim." She took a deep breath. "I'll help where I can. I don't know what it is that I do."
"Memory's still fuzzy then?" John asked in that gruff manner of his. All arched eyebrow and steely gaze.
"Still fuzzy. Half the stuff that comes to me is pretty random. I find myself saying things that I know should mean something but… they don't." She shrugged, smearing mashed potatoes around on her plate. "I keep going over all the stuff you said I said when I woke up the first time but none of it makes any sense."
"I think it's very likely this Kevad person you spoke of attacked you and buried you. It was probably all chance that we arrived when we did and you had the strength to climb out of that grave at all." Jim was very sincere in his words and Liz wanted to believe she was safe.
"Knowing a little more about you might prove useful to finding out who did this." John clucked his tongue and pointed to Dean before the boy could slide off his chair. The boy slid right back into his chair and poked at his green beans.
"Yeah, I'd like to know a little more, too." She gave him a wan smile and tried to concentrate on eating.
"We'll pray for answers." Jim assured her.
TBC