Sam sat in the passenger seat of the Impala, door open and feet on the pavement. She was sorting through Deanne's box of cassette tapes-actual cassette tapes-and trying hard to ignore the Allman Brothers, playing far too loudly over the speakers of the gas station. Deanne had gone into the convenience store while the gas pumped, no doubt to acquire some of the horrible junk she and Mom had never minded living on.
"Hey, you want breakfast?" her sister said, and Sam looked up. Sure enough, Deanne's arms were loaded with chips and cheap doughnuts and candy. "No. Thanks," Sam said. Deanne shrugged and thrust the haul at her. "Hold this," she said.
Juggling bags and boxes, Sam asked idly, "So how'd you pay for all this?" Deanne, standing by the gas pump and watching it tick over, just gave her a look. "Ah, you and Mom still running credit card scams?"
"Hunting ain't exactly a pro ball career, princess," Deanne said. The pump dinged and she pulled the nozzle and hung it back on its hook. "Besides, all we do is apply. It's not our fault they send us the cards." Sam could tell that that was just a fact of life, too; there was not a hint of defensiveness in her tone. She dusted her hands off and headed back for the driver's door.
The junk food dealt with, Sam pulled her legs into the car and shut the door. "Yeah? And what names did you write on the application this time?" she asked.
Deanne opened the door and settled into the driver's seat. "Connie Aframian. And her daughter Rosa." She picked up a bag and tore it open. "Scored two cards out of that one."
"That sounds about right," Sam said. Deanne just looked at her sidelong, and she let it go. "You have got to update your music collection," she said.
"Why?" Deanne said. Sam shuffled through the box again. "Well, for one, they're cassette tapes. And two..." She plucked tapes from the box as she named them. "Black Sabbath? Motorhead? Metallica?" Deanne took the last one from her. "Come on, it's the greatest hits of mullet rock. We're not even old enough for mullet rock."
"House rules, Sammy," Deanne said, and shoved the tape into the player on the dash. "Driver picks the music-shotgun shuts her cakehole." She jabbed the tape's case back into the box and started the engine. The Impala let out a growl Sam could feel in her chest.
"You know, Sammy is a chubby twelve-year-old," Sam said, as the first riffs of "Enter Sandman" started to play. "It's Sam, okay?"
Deanne put the car in gear and flashed her a grin. "Sorry, I can't hear you, the music's too loud," she said.
Sam opened her mouth, shut it again. It was only for a day or two. Deanne pulled out of the gas station, drumming her fingers on the wheel.
*.*
By the time they were within ten miles of Jericho, the music had rolled around to AC/DC (Back in Black, always a classic) and Sam had gotten through to the hospital and the morgue. Deanne had insisted that was her job because she was the one who was good at talking to people; Sam wondered who did it when she wasn't around, then, because Mom sure wasn't the talking-to-people type. But since it gave her something to do besides listen to guys with big hair and eye makeup, she'd done it.
"All right. So, there's no one matching Mom at the hospital or the morgue," she reported. "So that's something, I guess."
"Check it out," Deanne said in reply, nodding her chin at the bridge ahead. There were police cars, and a whole herd of cops. Sam was reminded of the part of "Alice's Restaurant" where Arlo talks about the getaway and the aerial photography, except that this was probably something a little more serious than a load of trash dumped over a cliff. She traded a look with her sister and Deanne pulled over.
They spent a few seconds taking things in; then Deanne opened the glove compartment and pulled out a box full of ID cards. Sam caught glimpses of Deanne's face and Mom's, each with a different name and affiliation-FBI, DEA, CDC, and other assorted alphabet soup-before Deanne selected one. She gave Sam a grin that Sam didn't like the look of at all. "Let's go," she said, and opened her door. Sam closed her eyes and took a quick, deep breath before following. It would've been nice to at least know what kind of officer of the law she was about to be pretending to be.
As they approached, the cop who seemed to be in charge was yelling down to divers in the river, asking if they'd found anything. They answered in the negative. Another officer came up to him, and as they got into earshot Sam heard the other one say, "Amy's putting up missing posters downtown."
Deanne walked up to the officers as if she owned the place and said, "You fellas had another one like this just last month, didn't you?" The head cop-nametag read "Jaffe"-turned to face her and gave her a quick up-and-down. Sam watched him take in the leather jacket, jeans and heavy boots and come up with Dyke, or professional. Jaffe's eyes flicked to her and, since she was dressed in similar manner, didn't get anything more helpful. The cop visibly decided to play it safe. "And who are you," he asked bluntly.
Deanne flashed her badge at him and said, "Federal marshals."
Jaffe blinked. "You ladies are a little young for marshals, aren't you?" Unspoken was, And where's your minder, but these days he had to at least pretend he wasn't surprised to see women doing this kind of work. Deanne, in any case, just laughed, and Sam marveled once again at just how good she was at deflecting suspicion. "That's so sweet of you," Deanne said. She went over to the abandoned car that seemed to be the center of the activity-at least, it was the only non-police vehicle aside from the Impala. "You did have another one just like this, correct?" Deanne asked, bending to peer into the driver's window.
Jaffe glanced at Sam, back at Dee, and gave in to Deanne's air of authority. "Yeah, that's right," he said. "About a mile up the road. There've been others before that."
Sam decided it was time to hold up her end of the conversation. "So, this victim, you knew him?" she asked.
Jaffe nodded and said, "Town like this, everybody knows everybody." Deanne was circling the car. "Any connection between the victims, besides that they're all men?"
"No. Not so far as we can tell," Jaffe said. He was starting to look a little unhappy, so Sam gave him a smile as she went to join her sister. "So what's the theory?" she asked.
"Honestly, we don't know," Jaffe said. "Serial murder? Kidnapping ring?"
"Well, that is exactly the kind of crack police work I'd expect out of you guys," Deanne said, and Sam stomped on her foot hard-in her boots it was almost a symbolic gesture, but that remark had just shot any chance they had of a decent relationship with this police department right out of the water. Time for a tactical retreat.
"Thank you for your time," Sam said thinly, and started away at a quick walk. She mustered another smile for Jaffe and nodded at the other deputy. "Gentlemen," she said. Deanne caught up after a few seconds and punched her in the arm.
"Ow," she said mildly. "What was that for?"
"Why'd you have to step on my foot?" Deanne asked.
"Why do you have to talk to the police like that?" Sam asked, though she'd been familiar with Dee's...issues with authority figures since she was old enough to work out what an authority figure was. Any such figure except Mom, of course. Mom got complete and unquestioning obedience.
Deanne got in front of her and she drew up shot to avoid walking into her sister. "Come on," Deanne said. "They don't really know what's going on, we're all alone on this. If we're going to find Mom we've got to get to the bottom of it ourselves." Sam was actually inclined to agree with her, but that wasn't really an answer to the question. However, there were more cops arriving from behind Deanne's back, so she just cleared her throat and cut her eyes in their direction. Time to have the sweet-talking-the-locals discussion once they were clear. Deanne turned to face the new arrivals as the one with the sheriff's badge said, "Can I help you ladies?" The other two wore suits and ties that practically screamed Hello, we are FBI agents.
"No sir, we were just leaving," Deanne said, and started walking again. Sam sent up a silent prayer that was denied as Deanne nodded to the agents. "Agent Mulder, Agent Scully," she said, and Sam wished she could step on her foot again. She could feel the sheriff's eyes on them all the way to the Impala.
*.*
The drive into town was short, as was the discussion of why it was a bad idea to mouth off to local cops-it consisted of Sam trying to bring it up and Deanne snapping at her. Only a couple of days, she thought again, and let it drop. Once they hit the main drag, Deanne found a place to park near the movie theater. The marquee read Emergency Town Hall Meeting - Sunday 8 pm - Be safe out there. As they climbed out of the car, Sam caught sight of a young woman stapling a poster to a light pole, which had a picture of a reasonably attractive young man and the caption "Missing Troy Squire". Sam nudged Deanne and muttered, "The cops at the bridge were talking about her."
"You catch her name?" Deanne asked. "Amy," Sam said, and Dee sighed. "Not much to work with. Great."
"Yeah," Sam said. "You'll think of something."
"You're Amy, right?" Deanne asked as they came up to the young woman. She turned to them, her remaining posters clutched to her chest.
"Yeah," she said, sounding a little wary. Sam eyed her sister with mild interest, waiting to see what she'd come up with.
"Yeah, Troy told us about you," Deanne said. "We're his cousins? I'm Deanne, Dee, this is Sammy." Sam rolled her eyes in annoyance.
Amy looked them over and said, "He never mentioned you to me." She turned and headed up the sidewalk; Deanne and Sam followed.
"That's Troy, I guess," Deanne said. Sam recognized the signs of wild improvisation. "We're from Modesto, we don't see him much."
Sam decided to try a more direct tack. "We're looking for him too," she said. "Just kinda asking around." Amy betrayed her first hint of interest, but at that moment another young woman approached and put a hand on Amy's arm. "Hey, are you okay?" the newcomer asked, giving Sam and Deanne suspicious looks.
Sam tried for a reassuring smile. "Look, would it be okay if we just asked a few questions?"
Amy hesitated, but Sam kept smiling and apparently it worked; after a second she nodded. They decamped to a diner nearby and slid into a booth, Deanne and Sam on one side and Amy and her friend, introduced as Rachel, on the other. Sam ordered coffee and the other two girls lunch, and once they were settled Sam said, "Okay. So, can you tell us what you know? We've been getting bits and pieces, but it'd be helpful to hear it all at once." Deanne was sitting back, looking almost uninterested, but Sam knew she'd be keeping track; it was just that, once again, talking to people was Sam's job.
Amy said, "I was on the phone with Troy. He was driving home. He said he would call me right back, and...he never did." She looked almost apologetic, as if she wished she had more to say.
"He didn't say anything strange, or out of the ordinary?" Sam prompted her, but Amy shook her head and said, "No. I mean, nothing I remember."
Sam thought for a second and decided to try circling around on the subject. "I like your necklace," she said. It was silver, a five-pointed star in a circle. Amy touched it briefly at the mention.
"Troy gave it to me," she said, and laughed. "Mostly to scare my parents with the, you know, devil stuff."
Sam chuckled along with her. "Actually, it means just the opposite," she said. "A pentagram is protection against evil. Really powerful. I mean, if you believe in that kind of thing." Which, of course, she and Deanne perforce did, but she was well aware they were in the minority. Deanne leaned forward, and Sam stifled a sigh. Dee wasn't much for circling, as a rule.
"Okay. Thank you, Unsolved Mysteries," Deanne said. She fixed Amy with a significant stare. "Here's the deal, ladies. The way Troy disappeared, something's not right. So if you've heard anything..." Sam thought that was a little much, but Amy and Rachel swapped glances. "What is it?" Deanne asked.
"Well, it's just... I mean, with all these guys going missing, people talk," Rachel said.
"What do they talk about?" Sam asked. Deanne just sat back again, looking satisfied with herself.
"It's kind of this local legend. This one girl, she got murdered out on Centennial, like decades ago." Sam could feel Deanne's eyes on her, but she just looked at Rachel encouragingly. "Supposedly she's still out there. She hitchhikes. And whoever picks her up?" Rachel paused dramatically. "They disappear forever."
Sam felt Deanne's foot come down on hers under the table, as if she needed it.
*.*
Sam watched in growing impatience as Deanne tried search terms in the local paper's archive web site. Female murder hitchhiking got nothing; Dee changed it to female murder Centennial Highway for the same result. Finally she couldn't stand it anymore and said, "Let me try." She reached for the keyboard and Deanne smacked it away. "I got it," she insisted.
Sam looked down at her as she rested her fingers on the keyboard and tapped them, radiating I am thinking very hard for all she was worth. Finally Sam bent and shoved Deanne's wheeled library chair out of the way bodily, over Deanne's protests.
"You're such a control freak," Deanne grumbled. Sam ignored her-rather than come out with something along the lines of You should talk-and said, "So angry spirits are born out of violent death, right?"
"Yeah," Deanne agreed grudgingly.
"Nothing says violent has to equal murder." Sam made a change in the search box and clicked; one article popped up. She opened it and began to scan. It included a picture of an attractive young woman with dark hair and a tooth-achingly 80s haircut.
"OK, This was 1981," she said. "Constance Welch, twenty-four years old, jumps off Sylvania Bridge and drowns in the river."
"Does it say why she did it?"asked Deanne.
"Yeah," Sam said. It was bad, not the kind of thing that you looked at and couldn't understand.
"What?"
"An hour before they found her, she called 911," Sam said grimly. "Apparently her two little kids are in the bathtub. She leaves them alone for a minute, and when she comes back, they aren't breathing. Both die."
Deanne winced.
"'Our babies were gone, and Constance just couldn't bear it,' said husband Joseph Welch," Sam quoted.
Deanne looked over the pictures on the screen and tapped one. "That bridge look familiar to you?" It was the bridge where Troy's car had been parked that morning.
*.*
Sam made perfunctory protests to going out while it was still dark, but it actually made a fair amount of sense. They parked the Impala at one end and walked out onto the span, looking over the railings as they went.
"So this is where Constance took the swan dive," Deanne said.
"So you think Mom would have been here?" Sam asked idly. She actually rather preferred not to think of poor Constance, driven mad with grief over the deaths of her children.
"Mom's chasing this story, and we're chasing her," Deanne replied.
"Okay," Sam said slowly. "So now what?"
Deanne gave her one of those big-sister looks that she loathed. "Now we keep digging till we find her. Might, you know, take a while."
Sam stopped walking. "Dee, I told you, I've got to be back for Monday." Deanne paused and turned back to face her.
"Monday, right. The big interview," Deanne said, an edge in her voice.
"Yeah."
"Yeah, I forgot," Deanne said. She paused for a second. "You're really serious about this, aren't you? You think you're just going to become some lawyer? You think your boy's gonna ask you?"
Sam laughed a little, and said, "Maybe I'll ask him. Why not?"
Deanne fixed her with a glare. "Does Jesse even know the truth about you? I mean, does he know about the things you've done?" The question sounded a little threatening. Sam took a step closer to her sister and returned the hard look.
"No. And he's not ever going to know." Because once you find Mom, you'll be gone again, and he won't need to know, she thought furiously.
Deanne tsked at her. "Well, that's healthy. You can pretend all you want, Sammy. But sooner or later you're going to have to face up to who you really are." She turned and started walking again, her boots ringing on the pavement. Sam glared at her back for a moment, then followed.
"Who's that, Dee?" she asked, and she could hear her voice going very even.
"You're one of us," Deanne said, offhanded and over her shoulder.
Sam took a few quick steps and rounded on her sister, forcing her to stop. "No," she said, low and fierce. "I'm not like you. This is not going to be my life." Her hand made an encompassing gesture, taking in the bridge and the Impala and everything within range.
"You have a responsibility to—"
"To what?" Sam demanded. "To Mom and her crusade? If it weren't for pictures I wouldn't even know what Dad looked like. It's not like it would make any difference anyway! Even if we found the thing that killed him, he'd still be dead! And he's not coming back."
Deanne grabbed her by the front of her shirt, and Sam was forcibly reminded that her sister might be shorter but she wasn't anything like weaker. Deanne shoved her back until she fetched up against the support pillar of the bridge and spoke through gritted teeth. "Don't. Talk about him like that."
After a long second, Deanne released her grip and turned away. She took a few steps and then Sam saw her stiffen.
"Sam," she said. The anger was gone, but not the tension, and Sam looked in the direction Deanne was facing. A woman in a white, sleeveless dress stood on the railing at the side of the bridge. Sam went to stand beside Deanna as the woman glanced at them...and stepped off. They hurried to the same point and looked over, but there was no sign of a body.
"Where'd she go?" Deanne asked. Sam shook her head. And behind them, she heard the distinctive growl of the Impala's engine.
They turned in unison. The car's headlights came on. "What the hell?" Deanne said.
"Who's in your car?"
Deanne met Sam's eyes and held up her hand. The car keys dangled from it; she jingled them a bit for emphasis. Sam stared at them, then looked back at the car. The Impala's wheels screeched, burning rubber for a second before it started to move. It was coming straight for them.
For a frozen second they stared at each other, and then they turned and ran.
It was quickly clear that the car was moving faster than they were, and they were too far from the end of the bridge to make it before the Impala caught up. They angled for the railing. Sam got a blurred glimpse of Deanne throwing herself over the side as she grabbed the railing and leaped for it. Above her she heard the car roar past.