Author's Chapter Notes:
Okay so here we go again. Just wanted to mention that though this is not a sequel to my story "Fall River" it may be mentioned a time or two. I kinda think of this as more of a companion piece to Fall but it is completely not neccessary that you read it.
Also I'd like to thank Fredo as always for putting up with my blather and for being my sounding board. She always gets the roughest drafts and yet is always supportive. Another thanks goes out to Laura for beta'ing this...I've been sending it to her in bits and pieces all week and she just ran through it for me so I could post on time. - kel ;)
Chapter 2
Chapter End Notes:
Well, hopefully you're diggin it so far. I will be posting next Wednesday and I'd love to hear what you're thinking so far. Reviews really are like gold - Kel ;)
As the door swung open, Julie took an involuntary step back. Only Christine's death grip prevented her from bolting altogether.
Every instinct she possessed cried out that knocking on a stranger's door in the middle of the night was a bad idea. Maybe even the worst idea ever. Problem was she couldn't see that they had many other options. At least any that didn't suck out loud as well.
As the man who'd opened the door stepped into the glow of the porch light, Julie felt her anxiety lessen slightly.
The man was smiling congenially; however, there seemed to be a bit of hesitation in his eyes. Obviously, he wasn't used to receiving late night visitors.
"Well, now," he said in a deep slightly accented voice, "You two are a bit old to be selling Girl Scout cookies."
A slight smile tugged at Julie's full lips at his words.
"You often get Girl Scouts after midnight?" Christine teased.
The gentleman, and really with his thick silver hair and velvet robe covering a pair of striped pajamas he could be called nothing else, smiled even wider and quipped, "Too true, I'm sure such behavior would be heavily frowned upon by even the most over-zealous of troop leaders."
Julie's smile turned full-fledged at his words and Christine laughed outright.
"I'm sure," Christine agreed.
Julie could see her friend was rapidly losing focus. The two of them had been awake since they'd left Tennessee at five o'clock this morning and fatigue was seriously beginning to drag them down. The tiny brunette was starting to flag, even as Julie watched her begin her explanation for their sudden appearance.
"We're lost," Christine said with a wry smile. "We were looking for this town called, Lovely, but..."
"You're driveway was the first sign of civilization we've seen all night," Julie piped up.
The man's slightly curious expression turned to one of pity and he nodded. "You're right, there's not much to be found out here. You are a bit off track, Lovely's nearly 20 miles from here. You must have missed the turn onto Rt. 292."
"Figures," Christine muttered. Shaking it off, the petite girl smiled her best smile at the man before them and asked, "We were wondering if we could spend the night in your driveway? We'll just catch a couple Z's and be off in the morning."
Julie relaxed at her friend's suggestion. It was the best of both worlds. They'd be well off the roadway, and yet safe behind the locked doors of the car. She was confident by the light of day they'd manage to find their way out of the mountains.
The stranger, however, seemed slightly reluctant. Julie really couldn't blame the guy. After all, who in their right mind would willingly invite strangers to squat on their property, even if it was only a couple of lost twenty-year-olds?
"We won't be a bother," Christine insisted.
The silver-haired man drew his already tall frame up and huffed out an indignant noise. "Of course you'd be no bother. You both look like nice girls, the last thing I would believe is that you would do me any harm. I just do not like the idea of you spending what's left of the night cramped into the front seat of your automobile."
Needing to put the man at ease, Julie insisted, "You'd be doing us a huge favor, really."
With a decisive nod, the gentleman said, "Of course you can stay here. I suppose I can't talk you two into staying in the spare room, can I?"
At that moment, as a welcoming heat poured from the interior of the house making the chilly night air seem even cooler, Julie actually considered his offer. Then there was the smell, a mixture of cinnamon and something slightly tangy. If Julie had to put a name to it she'd guess apples. Whatever it was, the combination was making her stomach clench in hunger.
Christine gave a firm shake of her head and said, "We appreciate the offer, but no thanks. We'll be fine."
With a nod, the man moved to close the door slightly. "Well, feel free to knock if you need anything."
"Actually," Christine said, before he could fully shut the door, "if we could just use your bathroom for a moment."
The man beamed, as he opened the door wide and gestured for them to enter. "Of course, how silly of me, bathroom's straight through the kitchen."
888
The house was as neatly kept on the inside as it was on the out. The entry was painted a welcoming pumpkin color. In the muted light, coming from a brass overhead fixture the color of the walls lent it a warmth that was tangible. Flooring made of a rich dark colored wood lacked the high gloss that was so coveted, instead the wood held a patina that was more suitable given its surroundings.
Picture frames of different shapes, sizes and materials lined the short hall at regular intervals. The smiling faces that stared down upon her begged to be studied, but Julie ignored the urge and kept moving.
Now that they'd done the unthinkable and entered the stranger's home it seemed wisest to get in and out as quickly as possible.
Her friend, however, seemed to share none of her qualms as she openly studied the pictures they passed.
"Are these of family?" She asked as she pointed toward a, yellowed with age, daguerreotype.
"Not family, no. I've picked them up here and there. I'm something of a collector of faces."
The stranger's smooth voice came from just behind Julie, startling her. She hadn't realized he was quite so close.
"Cool," Christine replied as she stopped completely to study yet another picture.
"Excuse me," the man asked as he slid past. "Well, I wouldn't know about cool. Some find my little hobby a bit weird."
Julie could imagine they did at that. To live under the watchful eyes of the photographs would creep her out.
Now in the lead their host turned and ushered them into the larger room with a bit of a flourish and a slight bow. "Ladies, welcome."
Christine giggled slightly at the blue-eyed man's courtly manners. She made a slight curtsy and drawled, "Why thank you kind, sir."
"Sir?" he said with a deep chuckle. "Sir won't do at all. You may call me Smith."
Julie found the common name to be a bit of a surprise. If asked she would have assumed he'd have a more exotic handle.
"Smith? With that accent?" Christine asked, her pixyish face alight with good humor.
"Yes, well, when I left my homeland, I decided to start fresh, to begin anew. John Smith was about as American as you could get."
"Where are you from originally?" Julie asked.
"I'm from Greece, but it's been many years since I left. Now, who do I have here?" He asked, gesturing toward them both.
"My name's Christine and this is Julie."
Julie flipped her hand up in a little wave as she took in the room they now stood in. It was a combination of kitchen and dining area.
Hundreds more photos hung on the walls, some even adorned the large hutch that stood sentry against the far wall. Though the appliances looked to be original, they were in pristine shape. The bright white of the antique refrigerator and stove stood out against the chocolate brown walls.
"What a beautiful home," Christine murmured as she carefully trailed one finger over the nearest wall. "You could teach Martha Stewart a thing or two on how to sponge paint," she said as she indicated the faux finish.
She had to agree with her friend, she couldn't imagine how long it had taken to achieve the textured look.
With a small laugh, Smith waved a hand and demurred, "It's all Martha. I just love her magazine. She really is a fascinating woman."
Julie carefully controlled her amusement as she met Christine's sly wink. She found she had little trouble imaging this man, dressed in overalls as he studied Martha's helpful hints to rag painting.
"The bathroom?" Julie asked, more than ready for some shuteye.
"Certainly, it's that door right there."
Julie nodded her thanks as she moved toward the white four-paneled door he indicated. Just before she ducked inside, she caught Christine's gaze. She wasn't sure what the protocol was for leaving a friend behind while peeing in a stranger's house. Chris's reassuring nod made it clear the petite brunette was confident everything would be okay.
"I'll be out in a sec," she called as she darted inside.
888
Christine placed a hand over her mouth as she felt another jaw-popping yawn coming on. She really was exhausted. "Sorry," she said with a wave of her hand, once she was able to speak.
"No need to apologize, It's late and you two have obviously been on the road for a while."
"Yeah, nearly two months now," she affirmed as she continued proudly, "we've seen the entire lower 48."
"Well, now, that is truly something," Smith replied grandly as he clapped his hands together.
Pride straightened Christine's tired spine and she smiled. "Yeah, well it's been an adventure that's for sure. We're on our way home now."
"And home is where?" Smith's smile seemed genuine as he urged her to continue.
"Actually, home for the moment is Delaware. We go to Wesley."
"Really, now if asked I would have bet you were sisters."
Christine frowned slightly at the statement. She couldn't imagine how anyone could ever mistake them for sisters. At four foot eleven, Christine made petite people seem tall. Julie on the other hand normally towered over most of their girlfriends. At five foot ten, she made willowy an art form.
Then there was their coloring. Christine's hair was naturally dark, nearly black in all but the brightest of lights. Along with her dark hair, she'd inherited her Italian mother's olive complexion. Julie on the other hand had the slivery blond hair of her Scandinavian ancestors.
"Really? We don't look anything alike."
Smith waved toward the door where Julie had disappeared and said, "No of course not, there's just something about your mannerisms."
With a burst of laughter, Christine admitted, "Well, I guess when you spend two months in each other's pockets you start to act alike."
"I'm sure," he agreed with an easy laugh as he walked toward the fridge. "Can I interest you in a drink?
Christine was tempted, they'd run through their provisions earlier in the day and she was near to starving. However, regardless of how nice this guy seemed, accepting food or drinks from him screamed stupidity. "Naw, We're-"
She cut off her words, as Smith produced a bottle of Evian from the depths of his fridge. The offer of a cold bottle of water was more than she could refuse. Plus, as an added bonus, she would easily be able to tell if the bottle had been tampered with. With a nod, she stepped forward and accepted the drink. "Thanks," she breathed as she tried to eye the seal without being obvious.
"Good I'll just leave one here for Julie," he said as he set the bottle on the countertop. "I'm just going to run upstairs for a few blankets. You two'll sleep easier if you're warm."
"Please, don't go to any trouble."
Smith held up one hand and smiled gently. "Trust me, its no trouble at all. I'll be right back."
Christine nodded her thanks and cracked open the lid of her water.
"What are you doing?"
Christine had drained nearly the entire bottle when Julie's sharp tone caused her to gasp and choke. Gasping for breath, she at last rasped, "Drinking, what does it look like I'm doing?"
"It looks like you're trying to get yourself poisoned," Julie hissed as she crossed the long room.
"The bottle's sealed," Christine snapped back with an annoyed huff. "I double checked."
Julie's expression remained sour as she gestured, "Yeah, cause it's not possible to poison something without taking off the lid. He probably stuck a syringe through the plastic and dosed it with some kind of paralyzing drug."
Chris rolled her eyes and flipped her friend off as she said, "See, not paralyzed. You watch too much Dateline. This guy is perfectly harmless."
"That's what they all say," Julie ground out, "Just before they grind you up and you're made into burgers."
"I promise I have no intention of eating either of you. I'm a vegetarian," Smith said as he re-entered the kitchen.
This time Christine's mouthful of water went out instead of in, spraying a fine mist all over her friend. With an embarrassed laugh, she played along. "That's just as well, I'm sure we'd be tough as nails to chew."
"Right," Smith said with a grin that lit up his blue eyes "And you'd taste just like chicken."
Even Julie cracked a smile at Smith's teasing words. "I'm sorry, I just..."
"Worry," he finished, as he set an armful of blankets on the kitchen table. "I would be suspicious if you weren't. Now-a-days, a person can't be too careful."
"Right," Julie replied with a smug glance toward Christine.
Christine knew that look; it was the blonde's told-you-so look. She'd seen it often enough over the life of their friendship to recognize it easily. Determined to ignore it this time, Christine set her water onto the cabinet and made her way to the bathroom. Closing the door with a flourish, she consoled herself with the idea that this time tomorrow, when they were once more on the right track, she could give Julie a big old 'I told you so".
888
"I am whipped." Christine yawned and drew her blanket up around her shoulders.
Julie, who'd already pushed back her seat as far as it would go to accommodate her long legs, grunted her agreement. It had been a long day topped by an even longer night.
They had left their host in his cozy house over ten minutes ago armed with two thick woolen blankets. Given the cold night air, the lavender scented covers were a blessing. Despite her earlier reservations about the stranger, he'd more than proved himself to be one of the few 'good guys'.
Confident that not even the discomfort of sleeping behind the wheel would keep her awake, Julie snuggled into the vinyl seat and let out a sigh of contentment.
"We should bake Smith a cake and mail it to him," Christine mumbled just as Julie was drifting off.
Julie snickered and replied, "We'll do one of Martha's."
Christine agreed with a chuckle, "Perfect."
Julie's last conscious thought as she drifted off to sleep was one of warmth and contentment.
888
John Smith parted the lace curtains and glanced out the window. From here, he could clearly make out the tiny car that was parked in his driveway. He could even make out Julie fast asleep, her face pressed against the driver's side window. Given her height the leggy blonde had to be uncomfortable stuffed behind the wheel of her Ford Focus.
Christine on the other hand was probably snug as a bug in the tiny car. He had admired the girl's spunk, and he had a feeling if not for the caution of her friend, she would have gladly taken refuge in the house for the night.
As he turned from the window and cast an eye over the room, he couldn't help but compare his two new acquaintances. While they were both as physically dissimilar as two people could be, he honestly thought them sisters. There was something about their mannerisms that clearly echoed each other.
The single twin bed that sat dead center in the room was ready to go. Handcuffs, so much easier to maneuver than chains, hung from each of the posts, and the drop cloth was positioned perfectly under the bed. Instead of a mattress, strips of canvas provided the bedding. Stained from years of use, the materials were still in excellent condition, he periodically removed any pieces that were showing signs of wear of fraying.
Satisfied the bed was in order, he turned his attention to another set of handcuffs bolted to the floor by the closet. Though he could only lavish his attention on one person at a time, he'd found his guests often arrived in pairs. That had made the addition of the handcuffs a necessity.
Plus, he had to admit, he found greater satisfaction when there were two people to ply his trade on. Especially if they were related, or if, like the girls sleeping so peacefully below, they shared a connection.
Prepared and eager to begin, Smith left the room and started up the stairs. It had been three months since his last traveler had wandered up the long drive and months of abstaining had left him hungering all the more. Now to have two such perfect specimens dropped in his lap had to be divine providence. Well, he amended with a chuckle as he headed toward the front door, maybe not divine.
888
Dean tapped a rhythm on the steering wheel as he negotiated another difficult turn. He wasn't sure how it had happened, but after forty minutes of driving and no sign of the town of Lovely he knew he was lost.
Well, he amended to himself, not lost. He never got lost. He was merely off track for the moment. The dark night and twisting mountain roads weren't helping either. Navigating and driving was never an easy thing, especially, when you were leery of taking your eyes off the dark strip of macadam for even a moment.
"Damn," he griped as he thumped the wheel a bit harder.
He'd gone from late to meeting his father to worried he wasn't going to make it at all. The worst thing was he knew that if he were late to show, John would head out without him. His dad would be unable to live with himself if another child was hurt while he sat around waiting for backup.
Worry for his father had Dean regretting his decision to let Sammy off the hook. If the teen had been sitting in the passenger seat, with a map spread across his lap like he was supposed to, then Dean would never have ended up lost.
With a snort of amusement, he slowed even more. He couldn't believe that he was actually wishing his mule of a brother was sitting in the car with him. Then again, even a pissed off Sam was better than being lost in the mountains.
He was half-tempted to give his new cell phone a go. John had picked it up nearly two weeks ago and had given it to Dean once he had promised to keep it on hand and charged at all times. It now rested in the glove compartment ready to go, but Dean still hesitated. To call his father was to admit he was lost. He wasn't quite ready to go that route yet.
However, the idea of waking his baby brother up from a peaceful nights sleep held a lot more appeal.
Decision made, Dean leaned sideways and groped for the release on the glove box. Once the door dropped open, he reached inside and began rooting around for the phone. He had to admit, as wary as he'd been when first presented with the wireless phone, it had already come in handy a couple of times.
Cell in hand he recalled the house number and began dialing. With his left hand on the wheel, Dean shuffled the phone, and hit send with his thumb. As he drove, he counted the rings with glee as he imagined each one was a tiny little boot kicking his brother's ass out of la-la land.
At the fourth ring, the phone in his hand suddenly cut off. Unsure of what was wrong, Dean glanced at the screen only to see the call had been dropped
He was beginning to re-dial when a flash of movement caught his peripheral vision. Hoping it was an animal, he dropped the phone, brought both hands up to the wheel, and his boot down on the brake.
Despite his quick reaction and the car's response time, Dean couldn't stop himself from sliding into the flash of white that had first drawn his attention. With a thud that made him want to vomit, the Impala came to a final shuddering halt. Taking only enough time to put the car in gear and cut the engine, he was out of his seat and racing toward the front of the car.
The sight of a body curled up just under the grill left him cursing long and fluently. He'd had hit a woman. The beams of the headlights highlighted her long silvery hair and Dean was just able to make out her battered face.
"Hey, you okay?" he asked lamely as he took a knee next to the shuddering victim.
At the sound of his voice, the woman screamed. The bloodcurdling sound was enough to make him jump back. Now up on her knees, she was trying to wedge herself under the car as she cried out repeatedly.
"No...no...don't touch me," she cried over and over again.
Suspicions on overdrive, Dean pulled his handgun from the waistband of his jeans and scanned the area. Being hit by a car had to be traumatic; however, the girl was above and beyond any rational upset. Now that he's over his initial surprise, he can't help but wondered where she came from given the rural setting and the fact that he'd passed no cars in the last hour.
The girl was now under the car. Her rasping breath as it sawed in and out of her chest was the only sound she made. If Dean had to guess, he'd assume that in her mind she was now hiding.
Carefully, he eased himself down to the pavement and stretched out. He hated leaving himself exposed to whatever might be roaming the woods, but he had little choice, he couldn't leave the girl to follow her back trail.
Feeling out of his depth, he squeezed himself under the front of the car and spoke softly. "You're safe. I can help you."
He had been wrong about the girl, now that he was closer, he could clearly hear that she was emitting a low whining sound. It reminded him of the noise his brother would make when as a kid he was trapped in a nightmare.
With Sam it had been a simple matter of touch that brought the kid back to awareness. Dean needed to do little more than to wrap an arm around the five year olds shoulder and he would quiet.
However, the idea of touching the obviously terrified woman didn't seem like a good idea. Instead, he settled for talking her out from under the car. After all, it wasn't for nothing that his father claimed no one was better at the con than Dean.
"If you come out, I can help you," Dean murmured, keeping his voice soft and even. "I'm an off duty cop," he continued with a silent plea that he had some form of identification in the car to back up this claim. His father had warned him against keeping false id's in the car since his record was clean. Nothing made a cop more suspicious than a glove box full of false credentials.
"I promise you, I'll help you. You just have to come out. I need to make sure you're okay."
Dean was careful not to move a muscle as he talked. Again, he reiterated, "Listen, I'm a policemen, I can help you, you just have to let me. Just come out. I'm going to slid out and you can follow. I won't try and touch you."
As good as his word, Dean slid out from under the car, and pushed himself up to standing. Another handful of steps backward and he waited. Sure enough just when he was about to go crazy with impatience he saw the girl begin to slid her way out.
She stood wavering in the beam of the headlight. Her left arm was wrapped around her right, the left knee of her pants was ripped out, and there were stains covering her jeans and shirt. The silver blond hair he'd noticed from the first was snarled and tangled with debris. Long scrapes cut across her right cheek and had trailed blood down to the neckline of her long sleeve tee-shirt. One of her shoes was missing. She stood with her left foot just barely brushing the cold blacktop.
Overall, she was a wreck, and the damage hadn't been caused by his run-in with her.
"You're a cop?" she questioned with no inflection at all in her voice.
She could have just as easily been asking him if he were a baker. Obviously she wasn't willing to put any faith in him yet.
Careful to move nothing other than his head, Dean nodded and said, "I can show you my badge, but it's in the car."
The girl took a moment to process his words, before she began to carefully back away from the car. Dean was uncomfortable with the fact that she was edging closer to the woods that lay thick on the side of the road, but he didn't want to scare her more by trying to stop her.
At last when she'd obviously decided she was outside his reach she gestured toward the car and said, "Let me see it."
Erring on the side of caution, Dean kept his eyes and ears open as he slowly crossed to the passenger side of the car. He didn't want the girl to feel anymore threatened than she already did. Keeping his motions slow and obvious he tugged open the heavy steel door and reached in and under the seat.
Four months ago, he'd done a job with his dad in which he'd posed as a Massachusetts's state policeman. His father had made the badge and it would hold up well to nearly any examination. As he pulled out the cigar box he kept hidden under the seat, he rifled through his father's ID's hoping that the badge was still in the mix.
He nearly crowed in relief when he came across the credentials. At this point, if the girl noticed that he was out of his 'jurisdiction', he doubted she'd really care. After all, a cop was a cop when you needed one.
With the badge in hand, he straightened up and held it out so she could see it. Given the dim light he doubted she was able to make out much than his picture, but it seemed good enough for her.
"Thank god," she whispered just before she dropped to the ground in a heap.
Dean, unable to catch her in time, rushed to her side with a wince as he heard her head hit the ground with a thump.
"Damn," he exclaimed as he carefully rolled her onto her back. With one last fleeting thought to his father waiting for him, he began to assess her injuries.
888
John Winchester glanced down at his watch once more and then paced to the plate glass window that lined the front of his motel room. With the flick of his wrist, he twitched aside the heavy double-paned drapes and glared out at the motel parking lot. Not much had changed in the past ten minutes; his black pick-up was still the only vehicle sitting under the bright halogen lights of the parking lots.
The problem with John's view was that the Impala wasn't sitting next to the truck like it was supposed to be. With a growl, he released the curtain and headed back to the small round table draped with paperwork. His journal sat in the center of the mess, flipped open to a fresh page.
As he settled at the table, he began to troll through the research he'd found and comparing it to the information he'd gotten from Bobby. The older hunter had proved time and again to be an invaluable source. John wasn't above going to him for help, but he always erred on the side of caution and confirmed the information.
Confident that his boys would show up soon, John dipped his head and began to write.
TBC