Chapter 2

I watched my brother closely over the next two days, during the course of the several-hour drive to Jericho, CA, the interactions with the police and interviews with family members, the investigation of the crime scene and research at the library. He put up a good front—joking, teasing, bossing me around, questioning the witnesses, snarking off at the cops. To anyone else, he presented an almost flawless image of the charming rogue, the devil-may-care hunter.

But I knew Dean better than anyone, even after two years apart, and I could see the cracks in the façade. Like how despite all his jests, his smiles and laughs never reached his sad, sad eyes. Or how the formerly inveterate ladies' man didn't flirt once with a cute witness or attractive waitress and barely seemed to notice their charms. Or how this normally very tactile guy held himself stiffly away from everyone and almost painstakingly avoided any contact with me. Or how when he thought no one was paying attention, his cocky swagger collapsed into a pained slump, his shoulders drooping and spine bowing under the weight of his hidden misery.

Being around him again was a challenge. I had to work to hold onto my hard-won independence and not fall back into the role of hero-worshipping little brother. His proximity also brought the real reasons why I'd run away to college and turned away from my family flooding back, and I no longer had the excuse of teenage awkwardness to mask my reactions. Fortunately, focusing on his problems made it easier to subsume mine. And despite the emotional undercurrents, we worked well together, uncovering the spirit's identity and finding Dad's motel room and research.

I stood in the middle of the room and stared at the heavy lines of salt in front of the door and windows, the cat's eye shells scattered on the tabletops, and the sigils scrawled in chalk on the walls. "Something had Dad seriously spooked, man. Looks like he was trying to keep something from coming in—something more than an angry spirit."

Dean was studying the papers taped to one wall. "He's got all the Centennial Highway victims here. I don't get it though. They're different jobs, ages, ethnicities, everything. So why pick these dudes? What's their connection?"

I looked over the pictures and notes hung on the other walls. My eye was caught by the article we'd found earlier at the library, with the note "Woman in White" stuck above it. "Dad figured it out. He found the same article we did. Constance Welch—she's a Woman in White."

"You sly dogs!" He glanced at the pictures of the victims once more before turning back to me. "Okay, if he identified what we're dealing with, he woulda found her damn corpse and torched it first thing."

"But Troy was killed after Dad left here. So either he didn't get a chance to burn her remains, or she's got another weakness," I said.

"Well, we need to dig her up to be sure. Does the article say where her grave is?"

"No, but if I were Dad, I'd have asked the husband." I peered at the article again. "He was thirty back in '81, which would make him fifty-four now. So he's likely still alive and hopefully still lives in the area."

"Alright, then why don't you try to find an address for him? I'm gonna get cleaned up, and then we'll talk to him after lunch." He started to walk toward the bathroom. "Can you get my bag out of the car?"

"Sure. And Dean? What I said last night about Mom—I'm sorry."

The hurt look in his eyes that he'd been wearing since we found this room deepened, and he flinched momentarily again. He then hurriedly donned a cocky smirk and held up a hand. "No chick-flick moments, dude."

After returning to the room with my brother's duffle bag, I went through it to pull out a clean change of clothes. Clean was relative, as nearly all his things seemed ripped, shabby, and in need of a trip to the laundromat. I once again wondered what had happened as I knocked on the bathroom door and left the clothing on the counter, pulling my eyes away from the shrouded shape behind the shower curtain.

Back in the bedroom, I wandered around and examined the various bits of lore up on the walls. I paused in front of the dresser, where a large rosary hung in front of the mirror. Below it was a picture that had to be over fifteen years old, showing Dad sitting on the Impala's hood with me in his lap, Dean in a baseball cap standing next to us. I smiled sadly as I picked it up, wishing we could be as innocent and carefree now.

Things started to go sideways after we were separated. The authorities often misunderstood our involvement in a case, and I had to trust that Dean knew how to handle himself while in police custody. I continued on with the plan to interview Constance's widower and confirmed that she was indeed a Woman in White. After placing a timely 911 call, I conferred with my brother to exchange our discoveries, planning to meet up with him so we could track down her remains together.

Just as he was telling me about Dad's journal, a figure appeared on the road in front of me. As I slammed on the brakes, I recognized Constance Welch from our encounter on the bridge the night before. The Impala wasn't able to stop in time and drove right through her.

Once the car came to a halt, I turned to look in the backseat, hearing Dean's voice calling my name from where my phone had fallen into the foot well. I wasn't surprised to see Constance gazing back at me with a mournful expression.

"Take me home," she sighed.

I wasn't very concerned, despite knowing what had happened to every other man who found her in his car. She couldn't harm me, because I'd never even flirted with another girl after starting to date Jess. And my unfortunate feelings towards my older brother couldn't count as infidelity, as I had no intention of ever acting on them. My plans to return to my girlfriend and my normal, safe life with her hadn't changed.

"No. Get out—there's nothing for you here," I told her.

She glared at that, and the car doors suddenly locked. I tried tugging on the lock to the driver door, then futilely pulled at the steering wheel after the Impala starting driving on its own. My worry did increase somewhat when I realized she was driving us to the old house on Breckenridge Road. But I still knew she couldn't hurt me, and the house was our ultimate destination tonight. I just had to hope than Dean would figure out what had happened and meet me here.

The car pulled up in front of the dilapidated house, and the engine and lights shut off. I glanced towards the backseat again. "You don't have to do this, Constance."

Her shape wavered. "I can never go home."

I recognized the change in her expression. "You're scared to go home!"

She disappeared from view, and I peered around to find her, then recoiled as she rematerialized in the passenger seat. Before I could stop her, she climbed onto my lap and shoved me back hard enough to make the seat recline.

"Hold me? I'm so cold," she moaned, placing a hand on my chest.

"Get off of me! You can't kill me, you know. I'm not unfaithful—I've never been!" I shouted angrily.

Constance stared down at me. "You will be. Now just hold me!"

I struggled to push her away as she bent down to kiss me. She flickered again, revealing the horrid, skull-like visage hiding beneath her pretty features, and vanished. I looked around wildly and then yelled at a sharp pain in my chest. I yanked my hoodie open, revealing five holes burning through the fabric of my t-shirt. She blinked into view above me, her fingers buried in the holes in my chest.

A gunshot rang out, and the window beside me shattered. She pulled back in surprise and scowled in Dean's direction as he approached the car, still firing rapidly. She disappeared and reappeared almost immediately, then vanished one more time under the onslaught of bullets.

I groaned as I sat up and started the engine. There had to be a reason why the spirit was afraid to go in the house, and I needed to take advantage of her presumed presence still inside the car. Before I could second-guess myself, I revved the engine and informed her, "I'm taking you home!" I then rammed the Impala through the side of the house, coming to an abrupt stop in the middle of the living room.

Dean picked his way through the building wreckage. "Sammy! Are you okay? You scared the shit outta me!"

I lifted my head from the steering wheel. "I think . . . I think I'm alright. Help me out of here?"

He extended a hand and helped me squeeze out of the car window, then patted me down, looking for injuries. I gazed over to where Constance was looking down at a family photo. She noticed us and glowered, and a bureau quickly slid across the room and pinned us against the car.

Before she could attack us further, the lights in the house sputtered, and water began to trickle down the stairs. She glanced around with a terrified look on her face, then cautiously moved to the foot of the stairs.

"You've come home to us, Mommy!" two children's voices called from the top of the stairs.

Constance gazed up, looking distraught. Two children, the boy and girl from the photo, suddenly appeared behind her and wrapped their arms around her. She screamed as the three of them flickered and then melted into a puddle in the floor.

Dean and I stood in the abrupt silence for a moment, then we pushed the bureau away from our legs. We walked over and stared at the wet spot in the worn carpeting.

"Huh! Guess this is where she offed her poor kids," he commented. "Good job for figuring out her weak spot, Sammy!"

I nodded. "She was too afraid to face them—the guilt was too much. I didn't know exactly what would happen, but I thought anything that terrified her that much could work in our favor. What the hell were you thinking though—shooting Casper in the face with regular bullets, you freak?"

"Hey, I had to improvise, seeing as how you had most of my fucking gear. And I still managed to save your ass, didn't I?" He looked me over again. "Are you alright? Did she try to do anything to you? Things between you and uh, Jess—there ain't any—"

"No! There's nothing the Woman in White could've used against me!" I interrupted hastily.

"That's what I figured." He started to walk over to the Impala. "I'll tell you another thing, man. If you screwed up my Baby, I'm gonna kill you!"

My satisfaction at solving the case was overshadowed by confusion over the spirit's last statement, and I barely heard Dean bitching about the damage to the car as I mused over the cryptic words, "You will be." She couldn't have been going on some blanket assumption that all men will cheat eventually, or else she would've attacked far more victims over the years. So did she somehow know something that I didn't?