Chapter 9: They're After Sam

People say that Time is like a wheel. Others say that it's a river. I think either way, the force that brings us life and eventually kills us, is always moving away from us while man struggles after it, trying to stop it, grasp it, hold onto it, if only for a brief moment.

Yeah, sorry. Didn't mean to get all philosophical on your ass.

But it's true, you know. Once Time slips away, it's gone for good. That second of your life, it's gone. You'll never have it again. And that's the way life works. Sometimes you beg God just to give you back a little bit of Time, just give me back that day, that month, that year... And that's what memories are for. Bittersweet and overripe, memories are just the lost fruits of Time, the ones that have fallen from the tree and rolled our way and we put them in our eternal gathering basket to save for later. Hey, that was pretty poetic, wasn't it? Not bad, either.

Yeah, life's a bitch. An old lover that's served the whim of man for far too long and has decided to take revenge, it seems. Hehe, at least that's how I feel sometimes. But life's too short to complain. Or maybe that's worth complaining over, I don't know. Man, Sam would laugh at me if he heard me talking like this...

Look, my point is, live while you can. Don't worry about regret, you'll probably be dead before you even think to regret anything. But I guess that's not true... There are things I regret. Let's just hope there isn't any more.
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Dean silently studied the picture in his hand as Sam drove them back to the hotel. His mind wasn't exactly on the picture, though. He was thinking about... Well, actually, he wasn't really thinking about anything. He could put clues together. Clues? What clues? As far as he was concerned, this was the most random job they had ever done. Sometimes it was best just to go back from the beginning to sort things out.

Emily was killed five years ago and her twin claimed that spirits had done it and was admitted to an asylum. Emily's ghost contacted us, told us Jessica's room number, led us to the train station and the church. The station was clean except for a room with necromancy symbols painted all over the place. Man, we should have swept the place with an EMF to check for recent activity. There's another kick to give myself for not thinking about it. Then we go to the church where Sam and I are almost shoved into a well by a ghost. Now Emily is sending Jessica pictures of me.

Try as he might, though, Dean could not piece everything together. Who would be summoning spirits. He had to admit. Sam was right. There was no motive.

"You look stressed."

"I'm not stressed," Dean replied from the passenger seat.

"We'll figure this out."

"I didn't even say anything," Dean snapped in reply.

"I could tell you were thinking it," Sam answered.

"Okay, Missouri," Dean replied, sitting up straighter in his seat.

Sam laughed at that comment, but let it slide. "Where are we headed?"

"What time is it?"

"A little past two."

"Well, do you think that Mr. and Mrs. Hoffkins are home?" Dean asked with a twinkle in his eye.
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"Thank you for coming, Doctors," Mrs. Hoffkins said, "Please, sit down. Can I get you anything? Coffee, tea?"

"We're not planning on staying long," Sam replied.

Dean studied the woman before him. She was tall with graying black hair and brown eyes. She could only have been in her late fifties at most, but it seemed that Time had not been kind to her. Maybe it was the grief of loosing both daughters that had caused her to age so quickly.

The father, on the other hand, seemed much younger in contrast, though he was obviously the same age. His brown hair had been saved from any silver thus far and his eyes, green like his girls', were bright and vibrant.

The parents both sat down on the love seat while Dean and Sam took the couch.

"Thanks again for seeing us," Sam told them, "We wanted to ask you a few questions about Jessica, and Emily, too, if you're willing."

When the parents made no reply, only nodded in consent, Dean took that as a sign to continue.

"Okay, then," he said, "We wanted to know how long Jessica's claimed to see spirits." No point in beating around the bush.

"Since her sister died," Mrs. Hoffkins replied automatically... A little too quickly, Dean noted.

"If your daughters were seeing things, Mrs. Hoffkins, we need to know," Sam urged, "Now we don't think her condition was brought on by trauma, so it may have manifested when she was much younger. Is it possible that you never knew?"

"Now see here," Mr. Hoffkins huffed, "Our daughter was not crazy! When Emily died... Well, you know how twins are! It destroyed her, and she couldn't handle it!"

"Mr. Hoffkins, we're just trying to understand all this," Dean replied, "and we need to know. That's why we ask."

Dean understood these parents' need to hold onto the memory of their lost children, but he could tell that they were hiding something. He looked up and his eyes happened to glimpse a picture on the wall of the twins when they were about five years old.

"That picture," Dean said, indicating it with his head, "Do you see anything unusual in it?"

"No," the mother snapped, barely glancing at the photo.

Dean stood and took the frame from the mantle, handing it to the father.

"Mr. Hoffkins?"

The man seemed to glance at his wife, then hesitate. He nodded almost reluctantly.

"The lights," he said quietly.

"It was a foggy day!" Mrs. Hoffkins snapped.

"They're in all the pictures of the girls," the father admitted, handing the picture back to Dean, who put in back on the mantle.

"So this didn't just start when Emily died?" Sam asked.

The father shook his head, but the mother was staring at her clasped hands, unmoving.

"Why'd you admit her if you knew she wasn't crazy?" Dean all but growled.

"When didn't know what else to do!" the father replied desperately, "We didn't want the same thing that had happened to Emily to happen to Jess, so we had her admitted."

"You think a straight jacket and some padded walls are going to protect her?" Dean snapped.

"Dean," Sam said softly, noticing that his brother seemed very upset that the girl's own parents had admitted her. When Dean stayed quiet, Sam continued. "Do you know exactly what happened to Emily?"

"Look, if you're doctors," Mrs. Hoffkins snapped, "then shouldn't you be able to just accesss her files and see for yourselves? Why do you have to come here and bother us? Get out! Now!"

"Does Free Hope Church mean anything to you?" Dean asked, "Or the old train station?"

Mrs. Hoffkins' eyes shot up and she gave Dean a very dark look that caused a chill to course up the older brother's spine, but he stood his ground and stared her in the eye. He had to know and she was the only one who could tell him. But it seemed she would not answer, only glare at Dean instead.

"She was buried in the cemetery at Free Hope Church," Mr. Hoffkins offered.

"Did the girls used to go there?" Sam asked, remember the picture of the two girls in front of the church.

"All the time," the older man answered, "They said..." He hesitated.

"Go on," Dean urged softly, turning away from Mrs. Hoffkins, but still feeling her eyes on him.

"They said that there was a gateway there."

"A gateway? To what?" Sam asked.

Mr. Hoffkins' eyes met Sam's and there were tears glistening in them.

"To the spirits," he whispered, "They said they went there to talk to them, to try and help them. We didn't know. We thought they were just being kids. We never knew."

"She fell into the well, didn't she?" Dean asked. But it's more than just a well.

"She didn't fall into the well!" Mrs. Hoffkins suddenly snapped, standing and yelling directly at Dean. "She was pushed! She wouldn't stop meddling with ghosts and the like and she was pulled in there!! Something pulled her in there, and it wasn't human!"

Mrs. Hoffkins suddenly collapsed into sobs and Dean had to catch her before she hit the floor. Mr. Hoffkins ran over and helped lower his wife to the couch.

"Your brother is the same as my baby girls!" she sobbed, pointing at Sam, "I can See it!"

Dean glanced at Sam, but turned back to the woman.

"Mrs. Hoff-"

The elder lady surprised Dean by grasping his shirt and pulling him closer. Her hands were like ice, her grip like steel, as he tried to pull away.

"Don't let him go back to the well," she whispered in his ear, "They'll take him, too, just like they did my Emily!"

Suddenly the mother's hands went slack and she fainted. Dean pulled away from her, visibly shaken by what she had told him. He glanced at his brother. Yeah, Sam seemed shaken, too. Okay, he didn't feel like such a wuss now.

Mr. Hoffkins turned to the two Winchester.

"I'm sorry about this," he said, "I really am." His eyes kept straying to Sam as he spoke, but then he would pull them back to Dean, as if he didn't want the boys to notice.

"It's alright," Sam replied. "Is your wife...?" he couldn't finish the sentence.

"She's very sensitive to... things," the man replied, "See, her mother died when she was 6 months old in a fire..."

Dean and Sam's eyes widened and they both turned to each other even as the man continued to speak.

"...and she says that she's... Well, that she's a psychic. Please, don't think she's crazy! She's not. Sometimes she really does know things."

"Mr. Hoffkins," Dean replied, "One more question. Do twins run in your's or your wife's families?"

"Why, no," the man replied, staring at Dean questioningly.

"Let's go, Sammy," Dean said to his younger brother.