Okay, I would like to state for the record, that you, Nomi, have atrocious handwriting. The chapters will be posted as I typed them up. Meanwhile, enjoy chapter 6 - TA

The OneThat Got Away

By Nomi

CHAPTER SIX

You Have to See to Believe

It was about two in the morning. The bulk of the crime scene investigators were just packing up and about to leave, leaving behind just two to do another sweep of the scene. They were rushing everything to the labs for analysis, hoping against hope that the killer would have left some clue behind as to where he had gone. Because this time, unlike all previous times, there was hope that the victims might still be alive.

The father of the missing 'victims' stood alone at one of the shattered windows of his bedroom, a notebook held loosely in his right hand, desperately trying to make sense of what he just heard.

Witness statements collected from neighbors told an unbelievable tale:

First was the sound of a dull 'thud', followed by a cop falling from the sky, landing in the middle of High Street – Officer Murphy was critically injured, currently undergoing surgery in Bayport Hospital. The doctors were not confident that he would make it. Officer Brown was found dead with a broken neck in the middle of High Street.

Then there were the gunshots. A good number of them, and from a number of different types of guns, but no one could be absolutely certain how many there were – So far, the Crime Scene Investigators recovered three bullets: One from the ceiling in the bedroom, one from the living room, and the last one from the wall on the outside of the house. But the investigators also found splotches of damp marks on the wall that were rapidly drying up. Forensics could only hope whatever that was in that liquid would provide the break they needed to stop the killer from striking again.

There was a loud roar of fury, and that was when the windows shattered – forensics recovered shards of broken glass all around the house; the placement and shape of those shards suggested the force started from within the house, and propagated powerfully outwards.

All witnesses recalled the sound of a loud explosion after several gunshots – That was from the brothers' van parked in the garage. They had what remained of the van towed to the labs for further analysis.

Finally, the witnesses living across the street from the Hardys reported seeing an old weather-beaten Chevy screech to a stop before the Hardy home and two young men jumping out of the car and breaking into the house. Then they saw Laura scrambling out of the front door, closely followed by a limping Frank, Joe, and the two young men who broke in just minutes earlier. They slammed the door shut behind them. There was another loud roar of fury, and the door was blasted open from the inside. A flying piece of broken door hit one of the unidentified young men on the shoulder and he went down. Joe turned back to help him up while the other unidentified young man took a shot with his double-barreled shotgun. There was a sizzling sound and a howl of pain. Then all five ran for the old black car. The car sped down the road, chased by another young man, presumably the 'killer'– That part was partially verifiable. Pieces of the door were found scattered on the front lawn, and skid marks confirmed the desperate attempt to get away from whoever was chasing them.

The next bit was the truly inexplicable part:

There was steam sizzling off a drenched-looking young man who emerged from the broken door. The movement of the presumed 'killer' was awkward, as if he was in great pain. The 'killer' apparently chased after a speeding car, caught up with it, and made a ten-foot or so leap from the road onto the roof of the car. Then the car skidded and disappeared around the corner – Police officers followed the tracks left by the car. Residents along the road reported being awakened by either sounds of tires screeching, or gunshots, or both. The tracks mysteriously ended on Cromwell Street.

'The killer must be inhuman!' Fenton muttered. 'Or there must be more than one of them.'

Fenton knew both his sons were capable fighters and crack shots. Yet they, and two other young men, had to run from one killer armed with nothing but a knife?! Impossible! the father ground out. Yet, apparently, that was exactly what happened. At least, from the preliminary evidence gathered with the naked eye, there were no indications that there was more than one assailant. But it was clear from the footprints on the lawn that six people ran down it, heading towards a parked car.

'What the hell happened here?!' Fenton wondered, desperate to know the truth. And for that moment, he regretted taking on the case. If he could turn back the clock, he would never have gone out. He would have stayed home to protect his wife and sons…

"At least there's no burnt mark on the ceiling and we know from witness accounts that they made it out of the house."

Fenton turned around to see Sam Radley walking into his bedroom, Officer Con Riley following close behind. Both had extremely worried expressions on their faces.

"They're rushing the evidence to the labs now. Hopefully there was something left behind that will tell us where to look next," Officer Riley offered.

"Fenton, there's nothing more you can do here. Let's head back to the department and brainstorm our next move, all right?" Sam tried to persuade Fenton. He did not want to leave the distraught father and his close friend alone at this point in time.

"I'll be there. Just give me a moment more," Fenton requested. "Please…"

Radley nodded, his eyes reflecting his worry. But he understood Fenton's need for a moment of privacy. "I'll be outside with Ezra," he said quietly before leaving with Con.

Fenton gave Sam a tiny and curt nod of acknowledgement before returning to his own thoughts. He already knew in his heart that by the time forensics came up with anything, if they did come up with anything at all, it would be too late for his family. Ruthlessly, he shoved all his emotions and fears aside. Those could wait. This was one case where he could not depend on evidence; he would have to become in his mind, either the predator on the hunt or the prey on the run. Since he had no idea what the killer was after, he would have to become his sons – they were being chased by an enemy they could not fight, so what would they do? Where would they go?

But no, wait – there were two other persons with his sons and wife. Fenton reviewed the eye-witness statements and had no doubt that those two unknown persons who broke into his home and escaped with his family were the same two gallivanting around town pretending to be FBI agents – the two brothers he met at the Carson residence. How the heck did they know when the killer was going to attack his home? And why did they save Laura, and not the other two women? Or were they just lucky? But all those questions ceased to matter for as long as his family lived. As far as he was concerned, those two somehow interrupted the murder attempt, and were the reason why his sons and Laura were still alive.

That meant those two knew something. And whatever they knew might tell him where they were headed with his family. He recalled the notes on the Winchester brothers that Sam passed to him earlier. Dean Winchester was on the FBI Wanted List for the assault and murder of a girl in St. Louis, and both brothers were wanted for attempted bank robbery and murder in Milwaukee. Then there were the charges that were dismissed in Baltimore by Detective Diana Ballard…

The investigator remembered how surprised he was by that piece of information. While the brothers were clearly not law-abiding citizens, Fenton could not imagine them as hardened criminals either. Since he and Detective Ballard had worked on a homicide case several years back, he gave her a quick call. Diana had confirmed his suspicions that the brothers were looking for a particular serial killer on which she had no details. She also told him, off the official record, that she believed the Winchester brothers were not responsible for those murders or the bank robbery. Why not? Fenton asked. You have to see to believe, Diana answered most cryptically before hanging up the phone on him.

Nothing there that could help him, Fenton sighed. He went through his notes swiftly one more time. Nothing from there stood out at him either. He snapped his notebook shut and started going through his room again. Broken furniture littered the room, and Fenton forced himself to ignore the bloodstains on the wall and the floor. Maybe there was something he missed earlier, a something that would tell him where to go next…

"I could tell you exactly what happened here second by second, and still that would not tell you where to find your sons."

Fenton swiveled around at the sound of that deep, gruff voice. A heavyset man, possibly a decade older than himself, stood by the door, leaning negligently against the doorframe.

"Who are you and how did you get in here?" Fenton demanded. He had never seen the man before.

"Aren't you interested in what happened in here?" the man asked instead of answering him.

"And how would you know what happened in here?" Fenton asked in a suspicious voice.

"Tell me, Mr. Hardy. Do you believe in God?" The stranger sidestepped Fenton's question with one of his own.

"What has that got to do with what happened in here?"

"Perhaps nothing, but perhaps everything," the stranger stated rather blandly.

"I attend every Sunday service I can with my family," Fenton finally answered. He had no idea what the man was up to, but his gut instinct was telling him to play along.

"I suppose that will have to do, Mr. Hardy," The heavyset stranger said with a sigh. "Your sons fought well, but the killer's out of their league. Not for lack of skills, but a lack of knowledge. The two young men who barged in managed to thwart the killer's attempt to murder your wife, as you surmised. Unfortunately, the killer's too fast for them. They were all thrown rather forcefully against the wall. Then Dean was flung against the dresser before the killer turned to throw the knife at Laura. Joe managed to get a shot off, but the killer barely flinched. Then Sam managed to spray some holy water on it. It bought all of them the time to get out of the house, just barely. The rest you know from the witness statements."

Holy water?! Fenton thought in disbelief.

"Yes, Mr. Hardy. Holy Water. The serial killer you're after is a demon."

A demon? Fenton thought. Was the guy crazy or something?

"No, I am not crazy," the stranger told him emphatically after he noted that incredulous expression on Fenton's face. "And to save your family, you will need that Colt." The stranger pointed specifically to the top left corner of what was left of his bed. "It is the only weapon here that can kill the demon. Sam and Dean would know what to do."

Fenton stared at the Colt lying at the corner of the bed in disbelief. How could any of his investigative team miss that? As a matter of fact, how could he miss that? He himself had looked through that corner several times and he could have sworn that he did not see the gun.

"I prevented anyone from seeing it at a great cost to myself, Mr. Hardy. And like I said, you will need this Colt to kill the demon and save your sons and wife."

"Why are you helping us?" Fenton asked even as he reached down with his gloved hand to pick up the Colt, placing it in an evidence bag.

The stranger moved over and gazed at one of the family photographs left hanging on the wall. Regrets shadowed his rugged features. The photograph showed four happy faces staring back at the camera against the backdrop of the ocean. It was something his own sons never had, because he failed them as a father.

"You are very fortunate to have such a loving and close-knit family, Mr. Hardy. And you have done well by your sons, despite the demands of your chosen vocation…"

'Chosen vocation?' Fenton thought that was a strange choice of words.

"I have one real regret in my life; and that is not being the father that my sons needed when they were growing up. I let my grief and obsession with the death of my beloved wife consume me. And I hunted her killer for two decades. I can only say, my sons grew up to be remarkable young men despite my lack of care and attention. But I know that they are starved for affection and hunger for a chance at a normal life. My elder son had it especially hard, having witnessed the murder at the age of four, and then having to deal with the loss of his mother and take care of his infant brother at the same time."

The heavyset stranger turned to him, a pleading light in his dark eyes.

"Help my sons; help save my sons, and help me look after them, given them a little taste of what I could not," the heavyset stranger said as he slowly turned translucent before Fenton's very eyes! You have to see to believe… Diana's words echoed through his brains.

"I cannot tell you where they are now. It's against the rules. But I can tell you that my sons would be looking for a place where they could hole up in till dawn. It would be preferably a small sturdy wood cabin in someplace reasonably isolated so that they could battle the demon without having to worry about other casualties. My sons do not know this area well, but I believe your sons do. You have to get that Colt to them…and hurry…before the demon finds them…again…"

As the voice faded off, the figure vanished.

"Go…hurry…and tell my sons I love them…"

Then there was silence.

"Wait…" Fenton shouted out. But the 'ghost' was gone, leaving Fenton with a host of unanswered questions.

Then he collected himself; his wife and sons were in danger. And if he had to believe in supernatural angels and demons to save them, he would.

Fenton removed the Colt from the evidence bag, exited his home, and headed towards his car. He had a wife and two missing sons to save.

"Fenton!" Chief Ezra Collig called out when he saw Fenton striding towards his car. "Where do you think you're going?"

"To find my wife and sons," Fenton replied stonily as he got into his car.

"Fenton, if you know something, tell us and let us help," Ezra pleaded with his friend.

But Fenton ignored him and just started the engine of his car. Some things one had to see to believe. And he had no time to explain.

"Fenton… Don't do anything that you'll regret, Fenton… FENTON!" Ezra yelled at the moving car as the investigator sped away.

Ezra cursed as he raced back to his own car and used the police CB radio to call his men. Fenton must have seen or figured out something, he concluded. He had no doubt that the private investigator knew something.

"Con!" he yelled at the young officer currently heading towards him, a good friend of the Hardys. "Get to your car now and follow Fenton. Do not let him out of sight, you hear me? Do NOT let him out of sight! Go, go, now! Hurry!"

The police chief then reached into his car, grabbed his radio, and started shouting instructions into it. He made sure that the crime scene investigators knew what they were doing, and who to report to, before he got back into his car. Once there, he pulled out his personal cell phone and started calling Con Riley.

Ezra hoped Con successfully tailed Fenton; he hoped he reached his friend before the angry and distraught father did something that could not be undone.

"Come on Con, pick up the phone!" Ezra muttered as he drove.

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