Sam paces back and forth in the motel room, holding his phone to his ear. He sits down on the bed, listening to his voicemail.
"Hey, it's me, it's about 10:20 Saturday night," Jess's voice comes through the phone. Dean comes out of the bathroom, finally clean. He grabs his jacket and shrugs it on.
"Hey, man. I'm starving. I'm gonna grab a little something to eat in that diner down the street. You want anything?"
"No," Sam replies.
"Aframian's buying," Dean teases. Sam just shakes his head.
Dean leaves the motel room, seeing Maria come out of their rented room, pulling her jacket on has she walks toward her brother.
"I finally got all that mud out of my hair," Maria says. She notices Dean looking past her. She turns and sees a police car, and the motel clerk is talking to the deputies. The clerk points at Dean and Maria. They both turn away and Dean pulls out his cell phone, dialing Sam's number.
"So just come home soon, okay?" Jess's voice finishes on the voicemail. "I love you."
Sam's phone beeps. He looks at it, confused, and presses a button, putting the phone back to his ear.
"What?" he asks.
"Dude, five-oh, take off," Dean says into the receiver. Sam stands up from his seat on the bed.
"What about you? And where's Maria?"
"Uh, they kinda spotted us. Go find Dad." Dean hangs up the phone as the deputies approach him and Maria. They both turn and grin at them.
"Problem, officers?" Maria asks, smiling sweetly.
"Where's your partner?" one of them asks.
"Partner? What, what partner?" Dean asks innocently. One of the deputies glances over his shoulder and jerks his thumb toward the motel room. The other deputy heads in that direction. Dean and Maria fidget. Sam sees the deputy heading his way and darts away from the window.
"So. Fake U.S. Marshals. Fake credit cards. You got anything that's real?" the remaining deputy asks Dean and Maria.
"Our boobs," Maria says. She and Dean grin. The deputy slams them over the hood of the cop car.
"You have the right to remain silent…"
The sheriff enters the room carrying a box. He sets the box on the table in front of Dean and Maria. He walks around the table to face them.
"So you want to give us your real names?"
"We told you, I'm Nugent. Ted Nugent. And she's Jett. Joan Jett," Dean says with a smile.
"I'm not sure you realize just how much trouble you two are in here."
"We talkin', like, misdemeanor kind of trouble or, uh, squeal like a pig trouble?" Dean asks, thoroughly enjoying this.
"You got the faces of ten missing persons taped to your wall," the sheriff says. Dean and Maria look away. "Along with a whole lot of Satanic mumbo-jumbo. You two are officially suspects."
"That makes sense," Maria says sarcastically. "Because when the first one went missing in '82, I was one, and he was three."
"I know you've got partners. One of 'em's an older guy. Maybe he started the whole thing. So tell me. Dean. Maria," the sheriff says, tossing a brown leather journal on the table. "This his?"
Dean and Maria stare at the journal. The sheriff picks it back up and starts to flip through it. The journal is filled with clippings from newspapers, notes, and pictures.
"I thought that might be your names. See, I leafed through this. What little I could make out—I mean, it's nine kinds of crazy," the sheriff continues. Maria and Dean lean forward to get a closer look at the journal. "But I found this, too."
The sheriff opens the journal to a page with "Dean – Maria 35-111" circled, with nothing else on the page.
"Now. You two are stayin' right here till you tell me exactly what the hell that means," the sheriff says threateningly. Dean and Maria stare down at the page, then look up.
Sam knocks on the door of a grimy house in Jericho. An old man opens the door.
"Hi. Are you Joseph Welch?" Sam asks.
"Yeah," the old man replies.
Sam and Joseph walk down the driveway that is filled with old junk. Joseph holds the photo Sam found on the mirror in John's room.
"Yeah, he was older, but that's him," Joseph says, handing the picture back to Sam. "He came by three or four days ago. Said he was a reporter."
"That's right. We're working on a story together."
"Well, I don't know what the hell kinda story you're working on. The questions he asked me..."
"About your wife Constance?"
"He asked me where she was buried."
"And where is that again?"
"What, I gotta go through this twice?"
"It's fact-checking. If you don't mind."
"In a plot. Behind my old place over on Breckenridge."
"And why did you move?"
"I'm not gonna live in a house where my children died," Joseph says. Sam stops walking. Joseph stops too.
"Mr. Welch, did you ever marry again?"
"No way. Constance, she was the love of my life. Prettiest woman I ever known."
"So you had a happy marriage?" Sam asks. Joseph hesitates before answering.
"Definitely."
"Well, that should do it. Thanks for your time," Sam says, turning toward the Impala. Joseph walks away. Sam waits a few seconds, then looks back up at Joseph. "Mr. Welch, did you ever hear of a woman in white?
"A what?" Joseph asks, turning around to face Sam.
"A woman in white. Or sometimes weeping woman?" Sam says. Joseph just stares blankly at him. Sam walks back toward Joseph and stops in front of him. "It's a ghost story. Well, it's more of a phenomenon, really. Um, they're spirits. They've been sighted for hundreds of years, dozens of places, in Hawaii, Mexico, lately Arizona, Indiana. All these different women. You understand. But all share the same story."
"Boy, I don't care much for nonsense," Joseph says, walking away. Sam follows him.
"See, when they were alive, their husbands were unfaithful to them," Sam says. Joseph stops and turns around slowly. "And these women, basically suffering from temporary insanity, murdered their children. Then once they realized what they had done, they took their own lives. So now their spirits are cursed, walking back roads, waterways. And if they find an unfaithful man, they kill him. And that man is never seen again."
"You think…you think that has something to do with…Constance? You smartass!"
"You tell me."
"I mean, maybe…maybe I made some mistakes. But no matter what I did, Constance, she never would have killed her own children. Now, you get the hell out of here! And don't come back!" He turns away shaking, whether from anger or grief, Sam can't tell. Sam sighs.
Dean and Maria are sitting side by side in the sheriff's office, still being interrogated about the "Dean – Maria 35-111" page in the leather journal. It's been hours, but they're still enjoying irritating the officer.
"I don't know how many times we've gotta tell you," Maria says again. "It's our high school locker combo. We shared it."
"We gonna do this all night long?" the sheriff asks, getting irritated with their answers. A deputy leans into the room.
"We just got a 911, shots fired over at Whiteford Road."
"Either of you have to go to the bathroom?" the sheriff asks Dean and Maria.
"No," they answer in unison.
"Good," the sheriff says, handcuffing Dean and Maria to the table before leaving. Maria sees a paper clip sticking out of the journal. She pulls it out, and she and Dean look at it. A few moments later, as the sheriff and deputy are getting ready to leave, they are out of the handcuffs. Maria and Dean watch through the window, duck out of sight as the deputy approaches the door, and wait. Once the coast is clear, they climb down the fire escape, carrying John's journal.