Firefly – Chapter 13

By: Suz Mc

Dean shook himself when he realized he hadn't been paying attention for the past few minutes of the drive. The photo Sam had shot over to his cell had occupied a great deal of his brainpower over the past hour. If Emily hadn't been standing in front of him when he'd seen it, Dean had no doubt that fist would have gone into the wall. Instead, he'd put his focus on learning to pull a four-year-old girl's hair into a lopsided ponytail, which was a new skill that would take a bit of practice to master.

The Impala turned easily into Dr. Wallace's parking lot and Dean shot a look back at Emily. Everything she had suffered in the fire, what she was about to suffer again, happened because someone destroyed the symbol Calley had carefully painted to protect them both. Dean and Sam had scraped away at the lines of Devil's Traps before to let demons in or out as it suited their purposes. It only took one break of one line to render it useless. Whoever damaged that mark knew what they were unleashing on a terrified mother and her child.

That person was now shoved to the top of Dean Winchester's death list.

As Dean settled the car into a space, he turned his full attention to the little face filling up his rearview mirror. Emily was staring past him toward the front door of the clinic. She was nervously chewing on one corner of her lip, trying to bite back the fear rising up inside her. Dean shoved the gear shift into park and eased himself out of the front seat. When the back door opened, Emily remained still, held firmly by her seatbelt. Slowly, Dean slid into the seat beside her.

They sat in silence for a while before he found the words for what he wanted to share with Emily.

"I'll always tell you the truth, Cutie Pie, when something is going to be scary or loud or if it's going to hurt or if it's not. You can trust me on that," he said, taking her hand in his. When he closed his fingers around hers, they disappeared into his grasp but the tremble was still there. "This is probably going to hurt again, but maybe not as much as before. That's what Dr, Mike said, remember?"

Emily kept her eyes on the fearsome clinic door waiting for her but nodded her head up and down.

"My dad told me something one time about getting through something scary that you have to do. Want to know what he said?" Dean waited as Emily turned her face toward his. It was awful to see her so afraid, so helpless to avoid what was coming. "He said it's like standing on a big cliff. The longer you stand there, the worse you feel and the higher the drop looks. But if you jump, you just hit bottom once then you get up and it's done. The being scared part will be over and it sure feels good when the being scared part is done, right?"

With his free hand, Dean reached over slowly and snapped open the clasp on her seatbelt. She didn't resist, but followed him out of the car and onto the pavement. Hand in hand, they walked to the steps leading into the building, but that was as far as Emily was able to go. She didn't attempt to run away, just stopped in front of the steps as if they were a mountain she wasn't going to be able to climb.

"Being brave doesn't mean you can't have some help," Dean said, holding out his open hands to her. He lifted her up into his arms and gave her back a gentle pat. Emily's arm went around his neck and she held on tight. "You ready?" He waited until she gave the okay to go inside before he climbed the two steps and opened the door. "That's my girl," he whispered and gave her cheek a little peck.

***

Lindsey Deaton cracked her door open only a sliver, peering out at Sam with only one eye. He'd felt her spying on him from a crack in the draperies of a side window and he'd done his best straight arrow posture, fingering the badge he'd clamped to his belt.

"Yes?" she said, her voice just above timid.

"Ma'am, are you Miss Deaton?" Sam was trying for authoritative, but polite. Everybody down here was polite. Lots of 'yes ma'ams' and 'thank you ma'ams.'

"Yes, that's me and you are?"

"Sam Langley, ma'am. Texas Ranger," he said, tapping the badge at his waist and folding open his very nice fake ID. "If it's not too much trouble, I'd like to ask you a few questions about your friend, Calley Rail."

Lindsey gave a weary huff, but kept the door chained. "I've already told the Fire Marshal and the police everything I know."

"Yes, ma'am, and you've been really helpful," Sam answered, trying to be the good cop today. "The investigation into the homicide has hit a brick wall and the locals thought some fresh eyes might be able to come up with something new." Sometimes having a good smile came in handy and Sam used his shamelessly. "I know you were Miss Rail's friend and you helped her and her daughter. Emily? Isn't that her name?"

"Let me see your ID again," Lindsey said, softening a bit and releasing the chain on her door. After a careful examination, she said, "Yeah, that's her name. Calley was taking her to her dad so when she was able to leave the hospital, I drove her there."

"I'm sure Miss Rail would be grateful to know her friend looked after her little girl."

Lindsey looked away, mulling over something in her mind, then said, "I guess you can come in for a minute or two." She stepped back and invited Sam into the small cottage. She waved him toward the living area. "I don't have much time. We're staging 'Rent' at the community college where I teach and rehearsal starts in an hour."

"You're a drama teacher?"

Lindsey smiled for the first time. "Yep, frustrated high school actress wannabe. I do community theater, but this pays the bills."

Sam pulled out a notebook and flipped through some notes he'd constructed for her interview. "Is it right that you knew Miss Rail in high school?"

The woman gave a somewhat sad puff of laughter. "I did. Calley and I were both a little on the outcast side. She was an artsy girl, dreaming of running away to Italy to paint and I was a drama department weirdo. Not exactly popular pastimes for Texas teens. Her family was loaded but even Calley's own cousins made sure none of the popular kids would have anything to do with her. Kinda put us in a clique of our own."

"Sounds like you were close."

"Yes, but we lost touch after she left school," Lindsey answered quickly, as if she were trying to shut down her travels on memory lane.

"Yeah." Sam flipped a couple of pages. "There was some sort of accident?"

Lindsey shifted uncomfortably. "We were at a sleepover and there was a gas explosion. First time we'd been invited anywhere and it had to be a disaster."

"Says here Calley was hospitalized and the two other girls died," Sam read from his fake notes. "Guess that made you pretty lucky to walk away, huh?"

"Lucky. Yeah. I watched my friends get blown up and I had a hard time with it. Ran away from home for a while but I eventually got my shit together."

"Seeing something like that can really mess with your head when you're a teenager."

"Shit happens and life goes on," Lindsey said, trying to make light of the long ago trauma. "What does this have to do with Calley's death?"

"Oh, nothing. I just thought it was interesting that you two would go through something so life altering and not stay connected." Sam folded his notebook closed. "When did Calley get back in touch with you? Was it recently?"

"Uh, yeah, it was," Lindsey said, leaning just a bit closer to where Sam sat beside her on the sofa. "She was really upset and was trying to get out of town. I was so worried about her. She seemed so desperate. Kept talking about someone being after her and trying to find Emily's daddy. When she called me after all this time, I didn't know what to think. I guess she couldn't trust the people she was hanging around with now and wanted an old friend to rely on."

"What sort of people was Calley associating with?"

Lindsey did a little twirl beside her ear with her finger. "Well, that odd gallery owner for starters. Calley's paintings are in demand like crazy and that one gallery repped her work." She leaned in even closer, whispering. "I think that woman is into some freaky-goth-callin'-up-Satan crap and she may have dragged Calley into it. I think her name is Ariel Anderson at Backstreet Gallery. I'd check her out if I were you. Has a total Anne Rice occult vibe going, if you know what I mean."

"Why would you think Calley was into the occult?"

"Why? All that stuff Calley had painted all over her apartment, that's why. Scared the crap out of me. And the books and the way she was acting all paranoid? She just wasn't the girl I knew in high school." Lindsey picked up her purse as if to signal Sam that the interview was over.

"And yet you were going to help her, even though you thought she was having some sort of breakdown?" Sam stood up as Lindsey rose from the sofa.

Lifting her purse to her shoulder, Lindsey said, "Guess tragedies bond people and you're never quite finished with them." A frown had crept over her face and she forced it away with a smile. "I guess Calley's done now, though. I mean, she's at rest. Maybe that's best. You should check out that gallery. You might find some better answers from the people she was close to in recent history. Now, I really need to get moving or a bunch of moody teenaged actors are going to be at each other's throats."

"Can't have that," Sam said, letting her dismiss him. "Thank you for your time."

They both passed through the door and he watched Lindsey lock it behind her. Lindsey dropped her keys into her purse and thought for a moment before she said, "Calley was my best friend once. It's a shame it had to end this way for her."

"Maybe it didn't have to," Sam answered, watching the sadness travel over Lindsey's face.

"Some people are just doomed, Ranger." Lindsey walked away toward her car and didn't look back.

***

Dr. Wallace had been right. Although unwrapping and treating Emily's wound was painful, she didn't suffer nearly as much as their last brutal visit. This time Emily had sat in her father's lap while the doctor had carefully unwound the bandage and examined the progress of her healing. A couple of times she'd buried her face against Dean's shirt and squeezed his shoulder with her right hand but she didn't fight or panic.

Dr. Wallace took one last careful look at the melted handprint on Emily's arm before he began to wrap the clean gauze around it once again. "It's healing up great and the only rough spots are these deeper burns," he said, pointing toward what must have been a thumb and fingertips seared into her flesh. "There's more tissue damage at these points and they will take longer to heal. You have to keep them clean and medicated so infection doesn't set in." Slowly, he began to cover Emily's forearm with the bandage. "Much as I'm going to miss seeing you so often, Sweetie, I don't think you need to come back for a couple of weeks unless there's a problem. Your daddy can take care of this for you at home."

"Hear that?" Dean said into the little ear right at his lips. "Told you it was going to get better."

Emily clearly understood the part about not coming back to the doctor's office and her entire body relaxed against Dean's chest. It was a reaction of complete relief. There was one fearful burden lifted off of her tiny shoulders.

Once the bandaging was complete, the doctor held up a bright green ball that would fit right in Emily's palm. He gently took her hand and put the ball into her grip. "Emily, I'm going to need you to squeeze this ball as hard as you can to keep your muscles strong. Think you can do that for me?" The man switched his attention from Emily to Dean. "She needs to get the strength back in her left arm. Since she's naturally right-handed, it's been easy for her to avoid using the arm that hurts. Have her do this three times a day for the next six weeks to keep things from contracting. Start out with ten reps each time for the first day and add a couple every day until you get up to thirty then keep it there."

"I'll be sure she does it," Dean said, shifting Emily around in his lap. One of the nurses came into the exam room and Dean pointed over toward her. "Why don't you go with Mel, Cutie Pie, and get a sucker and some stickers? Get me a green one, 'kay?"

Emily was happy. She'd jumped from the ledge Dean had told her about earlier. "Bottom didn't hurt so much, did it?" Dean said, giving her a hug and a smile. The little girl smiled back then slid out of Dean's lap to follow the nurse out of the room.

As the doctor jotted notes on Emily's chart, Dean cleared his throat then said, "I appreciate everything you've done for her and I want you know I'm going to pay the bill as soon as I can. I'm kinda between jobs right now but—"

Dr. Wallace held up his hand to stop Dean's explanation. "There's no bill."

"No, really, not going to duck out on the bill."

The man folded the file folder closed and leaned back again the exam table. "When I first came to town years ago, Ellen helped me out with a particularly nasty problem in my house that required a professional in your line of work." The doctor stayed quiet for a few seconds, letting Dean digest what he'd just said. "She and Bill saved my family, my kids. Anything I can ever do for Ellen, anything she asks of me, is on the house. Forever."

Suddenly, Dr. Mike stood in a whole new light. "So you know about hunters?" Dean asked, wanting everything out in the open.

"Yes, I know about hunters and nasty things that can burn up a little girl's arm that can't be talked about to outsiders." The man smiled at Dean and added, "So Emily's care is taken care of and when she's healed enough for reconstructive surgery on the scar, I have a friend who'll do it as a professional courtesy to me. When we get to that point, I'll make the arrangements."

"I don't know what to say, Doc, but thank you," Dean said, reaching out to shake the man's hand.

"You're welcome," the doctor answered, shaking Dean's hand then releasing.

"Listen, in your opinion, uh, do you think she's going to be okay?" Dean asked, genuinely wanting an answer. "And I don't mean just the arm, either. She's letting people touch her now but she's still not talking. She's so frightened all the time and the nightmares keep her up all night. I just don't want to do the wrong thing and make it worse."

Mike looked away, letting out a heavy breath. "If this were any other kid, I'd be setting up sessions with a counselor for her but we both know that's not an option."

"No, not really," Dean said, pondering the response of a child psychologist if Emily suddenly started talking and told him a demon had chased her and her mother around Texas then tried to burn them alive.

"Look, Dean, I don't know you, but I can see how you two have connected. You love this kid, right?

"I do."

"Then be sure she knows that. Be sure she knows she's the most important thing in her dad's life. When she feels safe and secure in that, when there's a bit more distance between her and the fire, I'd be willing to bet she'll find her voice again," Mike said, talking more like a father who knew his business than a doctor. He looked Dean straight in the eye, a slight sadness in his expression. "No matter what happens, you be that little girl's father and she'll be your child. Don't let anyone or anything get in the way of that. That's all she'll need."

The door banged open as Emily rushed back inside. She went straight to Dean and slapped a sticker over a hole in his jeans.

"Jack Sparrow, huh?" Dean laughed, pulling her up onto his hip. "I can dig being a pirate."

Emily grinned with a red lollipop bulging in her cheek. Popping her hand up in front of Dean's face, she showed him a green one.

"Candy and stickers," he said as he pulled the candy from her hand and peeled the wrapper away. "Could this day get any better? I don't think so." He walked to the door but looked back over his shoulder. "Thanks for your help, Doc. If I can ever do anything to help you, Ellen can find me, no matter where we end up. I mean that."

The older man nodded in response. "Just hang onto your family. All the thanks I need."

Dean squeezed Emily a bit more tightly and left.

***

"So she's better? That's great news," Sam said, leaning against Ellen's car as he sized up the looks of Austin's Backstreet Art Gallery. The relief he'd heard in Dean's voice made him happy.

"Yeah, I talked to Lindsey," Sam said. "She put me onto Calley's art dealer. Said she was a little on the off side. I'm waiting for her to get here so I can feel her out." Sam got a disgusted look, held out his phone and glared at it for a second. "Feel her OUT, you perv, not up."

A dark figure rounded the corner, heading for the front door of the gallery. The look was less Goth and more serious pretension. The woman's hair was short, black, and straight. Her glasses were large, black-rimmed spectacles that drew attention to her face. Everything else was more black. Black t-shirt. Black skirt. Black boots. Black fingernails. Black purse the size of the entire state.

Jamming her key into the lock on the gallery's front door, she shot an appraising look toward Sam. No smile or polite greeting like most of the natives he'd come into contact in Austin. The woman simply looked, evaluated, then twisted the lock open and went inside.

"I gotta go. She just showed up," Sam said, pushing himself off the car. "See if you can find anything else about that gas explosion. I still think that event fits in the timeline somewhere. Lindsey said she ran away from home afterward. See what you can dig up on the accident and her. If there's more there, maybe it can help us."

Sam snapped his phone shut, and stowed it on his belt and made his way into the gallery.

TBC