And the next chapter. Enjoy. -TA

Lady Emily: I told Nomi you ref that Joe got "the shining" in your lovely review. She's very happy. Thanks. - TA

A/N: This is the chapter you asked for specifically, PK. What's the difference between natural and supernatural detective work? This is my puny attempt at trying to answer that: it's in the questions they asked. For Supernatural fans, here is where I diverged from the main story line somewhat.

The OneThat Got Away

By Nomi

CHAPTER FOUR

Private vs. Paranormal Investigators

It was eight in the evening and the Hardys had just finished a quick dinner where Fenton had given a quick brief on the latest development on the ongoing investigation. Now they gathered in their living room for a serious family and case discussion in the light of the latest revelations.

Laura Hardy was curled up in her favorite rocking chair, a hand-woven quilt drawn comfortably about her. She appeared to be reading, but was in fact observing the three most important men in her life gathered around her favorite coffee table. It was a very special coffee table; her husband and sons made it the year Joe decided to try out a carpentry course. It was a clunky looking thing, but Laura loved it; it was the birthday gift Joe wanted to make, and Fenton finished up with Frank's help, for her. So that coffee table sat on its place of honor, the posh Old Persian carpet inherited from grandpa, right in the center of the living room for the last four years, despite the fact that it looked totally out of place in the classic style living room.

Frank sat cross legged at one end of the table, quietly and meticulously reviewing his data on the profiles of all the women from the list his father provided. It did not matter that he had gone through that list several times. Each time he went through it, he noted something new that may or may not contribute to the case. Such was the truth of real life detective work, grinding through piles and piles of seemingly useless data, finding that link that would turn those data into meaningful information. Every once in a while he would glance over at Joe just to make sure that his brother was all right.

Joe was sprawled on the floor next to his brother, a large map of Bayport spread out before him. His Dad had just officially given the two of them the green light to investigate the case on their own on the condition that they continue to keep Mom's safety their top priority, and that they kept him informed of whatever progress they made. So to get a feel of the serial killer's geo-spatial movements, Joe carefully marked the locations of all the victims on the map. To that, he added the time of the murders and a small photograph of each victim. Then he proceeded to add the potential victims and their photographs to his map.

Fenton sat on the comfy arm chair at the other end of that large wooden coffee table from Frank, swiftly scanning through a set of printouts that he just received from his partner, Sam Radley. It was rare for Laura to sit in when he and his sons reviewed details of their cases. But this time, he felt it was necessary that his wife join in the discussion. The two unexpected developments had meant the case had taken a sinister turn.

Firstly, the framed photograph from Carson had placed Laura on the list of potential targets. That also meant that there might be something from Laura's past that could help with the case. Given that Laura, like all other middle-age women in town, was starting to chafe under the stress due to a lack of freedom of movement and privacy, having her on the case discussion might also helped impressed on her the gravity of the situation and the danger she was currently in.

Secondly, there was the issue of how the Carson murder was carried out. Unlike the five previous cases, Mrs. Beatrice Carson was not alone at home. Mr. Carson's and his son's testimonies were incredible: They were watching the nine o'clock news downstairs when they heard a piercing scream. They rushed up the stairs to the bedroom only to see the fire burning out on the ceiling leaving behind a shadowed patch the shape of a human being, and a pool of blood and something else on the floor. The speed at which the murder was executed was unbelievable. The killer had grown bolder, his confidence buoyed by the series of successive kills he got away with, the Profiling Expert concluded. Fenton now truly feared for Laura's life.

"What have you got, Frank?" Fenton asked his eldest when he finished perusing his notes.

"Nothing," Frank admitted a little tiredly. "The only relevant information from these texts is: all twenty-two of them graduated together and that they all knew each other. But in a small town like this one, that's hardly useful information. Nothing about the six victims that stands out; and nothing there that tells us why they were killed in that order either. I crossed referenced against birth-dates, grades, even height and body weight. I'm really clutching at straws here, Dad."

"Joe?"

"Nothing beyond the known facts for the six victims, Dad: the killer strike at roughly between half past eight and nine. The victims are scattered across Bayport. However, once you factor in the list of potential targets, looking at the photographs, I think we might be able to guess who the next three might be…"Joe's voiced tapered off as the rest of his family turned to face him.

Frank leaned over to have a closer look at the map his brother set up when Joe's voice started to taper off. He gasped. All the victims were blonde, and there were only three blondes amongst the potential targets, including Mom. An indrawn breath from his Dad told him his father saw the same thing Joe did.

"Dad, please tell me someone on the team figured out how the murder was conducted or figured out the motive? Surely the labs should have found out at least a tiny trace of whatever chemicals that was used?" Frank asked his Dad. All he needed was one chemical and he could start experimenting for a potential combination of flammables used. With that, they could then backtrack and narrow down a list of potential suspects with the knowledge, the capability, and the access to those chemicals. "Then we can start narrowing down on a list of suspects?" Frank added.

Fenton sighed – they had no list of suspects and his sons knew that. The one that got his sons on it doesn't count as far as he was concerned. He took in the three sets of eyes looking earnestly at him and felt his heart constricts just a little. He would have to disappoint them this time.

"You know as well as I do, son – all the grisly details of the murder. We had no idea how it was done, much less why. Somehow, the body was pinned to the ceiling and then burnt. The fire was so hot nothing was left of the body. It was as if the body was cremated. The only reason why we know the victim was gutted before she was burnt was the residual pool of blood and something else located directly below where the body was burnt. Without a body, our forensics team had no way of determining if the victim was burnt alive, or gutted and killed before…" Fenton stopped when he noted that Laura was starting to look a little green.

"Surely there must be some trace of whatever the killer was using to start that fire?" Frank asked. There must be something that they could use! He thought a little desperately. If what Joe spotted was right, then they had between three and nine days to figure out the serial killer's game. That was not a lot of time.

"The forensic team had gone through all those crime scenes a dozen times under a microscope, Frank. There was nothing but human ashes. Whatever chemical compound that was used was burned up totally and cleanly," Fenton repeated.

"What about those two brothers masquerading as FBI agents?" Frank pressed on, remembering that his Dad voiced some suspicions about those two earlier. "Do you think they might know something?"

"They might know something, or they might just be lucky in spotting that photograph. We won't know until we find them," Fenton responded tiredly.

They were at another dead end at the moment. The investigator picked up his cell phone and made a call to the police to request increased patrol to the area where the three women Joe helped identified lived, including his own home. That was when he realized that his younger son had been uncharacteristically quiet. His brows furrowed with worry; Joe was always the one that continue with outlandish ideas and suggestions whenever he and Frank hit a dead end in the past. Once in a while, Joe actually hit the jackpot, but most of the time, those hilarious outlandish suggestions served to break the serious mood and helped them de-stress.

"Hey Joe, I could certainly make do with some of your wild ideas right now," Fenton asked his younger son, hiding his concern behind a light joking tone.

Joe merely lifted his eyes to him and stared straight back, his face absolutely expressionless. Fenton's breath caught in his throat at that sight.

"I know how the murder was committed," Joe finally said in a flat voice. "The killer entered by the back door. He made his way to where his target was. There he surprised her, and then gutted her with a knife he took from the kitchen, relishing in her pain and terror. Then he pinned her against the ceiling, where he turned her into a human fire bomb. Then he left. It was all over in minutes."

Fenton, Frank and Laura stared at Joe, shocked at what he just said. Joe continued to stare blankly into nothingness before him, seemingly unaware of his surroundings, and they were starting to get spooked by those unblinking shadowed eyes.

"Joe, how did you know what the killer did? And how did you know that the killer used the victim's kitchen knife?" Fenton asked gently, his own heart pounding with an inexplicable dread. The part about the kitchen knife as a murder weapon was kept secret from the public, even from his sons.

But Joe seemed not to hear him at all.

"Joe?" Frank called out softly to his brother. When Joe failed to respond, he reached out to gently shake his brother out of whatever held his brother captive within its grasp. Foremost in his mind was what Joe told him about those dreams just this morning.

"Joe?" He called out again, louder this time, and was taken aback by his brother's rather abrupt and almost violent reaction.

The parents and brother watched in deep concern as Joe shove Frank away and started scrambling backwards. A tiny squeak of terror escaped his throat. Then he was breathing heavily and staring back at them with wild and fearful eyes.

Fenton and Frank continued talking in a soft gently tone. Still, it was a while before the wildness in those blue orbs dissipated. The eyelids started to blink furiously. Another few more minutes passed before recognition started to appear in those eyes, and it settled unerringly on his big brother.

"Frank!" Joe cried out before grabbing on to his brother as if for his dear life.

Frank gritted his teeth to prevent himself from crying out at his brother's painfully tight grip on his arm. The sound of his brother's heavy breathing echoed loudly in his ear. He continued to whisper soothingly to his brother, hoping to calm him down further. Finally, he could feel Joe relaxing, and grip on his arm loosened. He watched as Joe slowly extricates himself from his arms, his face red from embarrassment.

"Sorry…" Joe mumbled softly to no one in particular.

"Joe, how did you know about the knife?" Fenton asked his son when it feels like everyone had calmed down somewhat. "And why did you say you know how those murders were committed?"

Joe gulped. How could he explain that? It all started as dreams. But what happened just now… the fear grew and bloomed as he was forced to consider that possibility. His Dad was right – how did he know about the knife? That was the one evidence he could not ignore. God, how would his family take what he was about to tell them? He could feel everyone's eyes on him. He returned the eye contact, and saw the love and concern in every pair of those eyes. A kind of peace settled on him. His family loved him, and that was all that mattered.

"I know because I saw them. I just saw them in detail. I saw the journey through the backdoor into the Hooper's home, and a hand reaching out to grab the third knife from the block of seven. I saw the relief on Mrs. Hooper's face as she recognized whoever the killer was before she was gutted. I could feel her terror; smell the coppery smell of blood, as she recognized who her assailant was. Then she was lifted onto the ceiling by an invisible force, and burnt alive…"

"Those vision-dreams of yours are getting very detailed…" Frank started.

"How did you know it was the third knife?" Fenton asked at the same time.

Frank turned to his father in shock. That level of coincidence would be far too improbable.

Joe turned towards his family with haunted eyes. "Do you think I could have killed them?" he asked.

"No!" three voices shouted out instantly at the same time.

"Of course not, Joe! You would never kill anyone, much less a close family friend like Mrs. Hooper," Laura admonished firmly.

"And we were at the Annual Father and Son Bowling Championship together the night Mrs. Hooper was killed, remember? You could not have killed her, Joe," Frank added empathically.

"But I went out for an hour long walk when you were playing, remember?" Joe reminded his brother. "I went out for a walk and lost track of time… or so I thought. But an hour is more than enough time to travel to the Hooper's home and back…"

"Okay, how about this: Mrs. Carson was killed at about eight last night and you were in bed during that time. I tucked you in at half past seven with a couple of aspirins, remember? You had another of those killer migraines…"

"And you did not check on me again until I came down for a late dinner at half pass nine," Joe cut in.

"All right, Joe. Then how are you going to explain the part where the victim got pinned to the ceiling; how did you manage that feat and what was used to burn them?" Fenton asked instead.

Joe opened his mouth but nothing came out.

"See, it can't be you. The reason why you can't answer this part of the crime is because none of us had any idea how it was done. The knife part was guessable because we do know she was gutted," Frank concluded reasonably. "Try not to let those dreams get to you, okay, little brother?"

Joe looked unconvinced.

Fenton's cell phone rang before Joe could answer his brother.

"Fenton here," the investigator said. "WHAT?! ... All right, I'll be there as soon as I can."

Then he turned to his family and said in a terse voice: "There's been another murder. Mrs. Margaret Gogh, one of the three women we just identified."

He could see Laura turning pale at his words.

"That would make two kills on two consecutive nights," Frank said quietly. "The serial killer's speeding up his kills."

"I have to go," the father said as he gave his wife a quick hug and kiss. Then he eyed his younger son worriedly. "At least we can now be certain it can't be you since you are definitely here with us for the last hour." He said to Joe.

"Don't worry, Dad. We'll take care of Mom," Frank assured his father. And I will keep an eye on Joe too, he told his Dad with his eyes and received the slightest nod in acknowledgement.

"Secure the house," Fenton told his sons. "Grab your sleeping bags and camp over in the master bedroom tonight. I'll try to arrange some additional security for tomorrow."

Then Fenton put on his coat and reluctantly left the house.

---supernatural---

"Where the seven heavens have you been?!" Dean near shouted at Sam the moment his brother opened the motel room door and walked in. "I've been worried sick about you."

He had been pacing the length of their room for the last half hour and had worked himself into a fine temper worrying about his brother. He even took several quick walks around the motel, but Sam was nowhere in sight.

"Sorry bro," Sam said. "I needed fresh air, when out for a walk and lost track of time… how long was I gone?"

Dean glared at his brother. He had left Sam working on the photos downloaded from the handycam's internal memory hard disk and gone out to get some takeaways for both of them. When he returned, the room was empty. He relaxed when he saw that note on the table in Sam's handwriting.

Need some fresh air, back in 10 minutes.

Except Sam was gone for far longer than that… and for a moment, he was terrified that some demon or another crazed hunter like Gordon had got their hands on his kid brother.

"At least half an hour!" Dean snapped back, the tensions and fears from the past thirty minutes getting the better of him. "And where the heck did you go? I've checked the lobby, the parking lot, and the terrace, and you weren't in those areas."

"I… I don't know…" Sam stuttered, a rather mystified and lost expression on his face. "I was just out there walking and enjoying the fresh night air."

At least Sam had the grace to look contrite, Dean groused. Then he caught that lost bewildered look on Sam's face. A memory of a much younger Sam flashed before his eyes; that fearful lost expression whenever the two of them had to spend the night alone when their Dad went out hunting alone. And he, the big brother was always there to chase away the shadows and the monsters. The anger melted out of him.

"Sorry for yelling at you, Sam," Dean apologized. "I was just worried…"

"I understand, Dean. And I am sorry for making you worry. But I really have no idea where I went. I just… walked and thought…about what we learnt so far. I lost track of time," Sam tried to explain what happened on his end. He had no idea how time flies.

"It's just that your note said 10 minutes, and when you did not come back, I thought something might have happened," Dean said softly. "I promised Dad to look after you."

"You must know that I am no longer a child. I can protect myself. IF I can't, I better learn fast. Have some faith in my abilities to take care of myself… please?" Sam answered.

Dean thought about what happened the last few weeks and how his brother managed to come to his rescue several times, and had to agree that Sam's right. His kid brother's grown up. And he had to let his kid brother grow up.

"I'll try to remember that," Dean promised. "But, no matter what, you'll always be my kid brother. Remember that too, okay?" He finished gruffly.

"'Kay," Sam answered softly, as the two brothers stood and shared that precious moment of brotherhood that they rarely let surface in their hectic demon hunting life.

"Okay, enough of that… maudlin. The food's cold and getting colder while we wait. We got things to do, demons to hunt and lives to save. Grab a quick bite and let's get to work, man!" Dean said finally. "So what have you got there, bro?"

"Questions and more questions, Dean," Sam said as he took a big bite of the burger his brother bought him. "We know Azazel's dead, so who's the one killing all those women and why? And none of the victims had any kids under the age of one – in fact all their kids are already teenagers in high school or in college. All those other kids that we found who are like me: their moms were killed before their first birthday."

"Yeah, on All Souls Day in the year of their birth," Dean remembered softly. He shivered as he remembered the night his mother was killed, his childish terror as he watched the flames swept through his home. He shook those memories away.

"This may be?" Dean wondered. "Or maybe somehow,

"And if you are so certain that blond woman in your dreams was the one the killer's looking for, then why were all those other woman killed?" Dean asked instead, as he shoved the last bit of his burger into his mouth.

"I have no idea," Sam replied as he started to mark down the locations of all the victims on the Yahoo! Map of Bayport that he just printed out from his laptop. "You can't really tell with just six victims, but there don't seem to be any patterns in the killings so far. And maybe this is a totally different situation from our case, maybe that's why the mothers' only are getting killed now."

"If a killer already has a target in mind, why would he kill all those other women?" Dean mused. "And maybe something happened back then and somehow, this particular mother survived all those years ago. And for some unknown reason, the creature's back for the one who got away…"

Sam eyed his brother's stuttered expression. Dean, like Dad, was always looking for a reason to berate themselves for failing Mom. Why could he not see that at four going five, there was absolutely nothing that he could do back then?

"Well, if she got away from Azazel somehow all those years back. Who or what is going after her now? And there are two possible logical reasons for your first question: One, for distraction, and two, he don't know who the real target is and kill all that fit the description just to be certain," Sam put forth his theories, hoping to distract his brother from those morose thoughts with serious work.

"Hey, you might have something there, bro!"

"Oh?"

"All the victims are pretty, even in their mid-forties." Dean laughed his brother's predictable reaction as Sam groaned at that lame attempt at humor. But he needed to lighten things up a bit. Sam's getting too serious lately.

"Come on Dean, get serious!" Sam growled irritably.

"I am serious, they are pretty!" Dean continued in good humor. "They're all blondes – just like that woman in your dreams. And talking about pretty women, what about that photograph you paid so much attention to at the Carson place?"

Sam reached out for the A4-sized print out of that old photograph. Dean could see that his brother circled a face on it.

"That's her, the woman I dreamt about, and someone's Mom," Sam said quietly, thinking of the mother he never knew except for what Dean told him and a much crumpled old photograph.

"I am still trying to enlarge and sharpen the picture, but I just can't see her name clearly." Sam added as he continued to fiddle with the jpeg file before sending it to print.

"But we know she's here, Sam. We'll find her before that creature does," Dean told his brother.

And he meant it. His mom was killed by a demon and he lost his chance at a normal childhood. Every kid should have one, and he would try his damnest to give that unknown kid what he did not have. He reached out for the colored print out of that unknown woman, took a close look at her, and commits her face to memory.

"We'll find you," he promised.

---xxxSUPERNATURALxxx---