Firefly – Chapter 18
By: Suz Mc
Sam couldn't decide what he would do first in Lindsey's apartment, toss the place or pee. He'd gone through all of his coffee and a couple of Jolts to stay sharp in case the woman made a move in the middle of the night. The sun was coming up, bright and hot, making the Texas heat spike upward early. The sweat was making him long to get into that house and run up Lindsey's electric bill with the AC.
Finally, at 6:45, Lindsey burst out of her front door. She was weighed down with an oversized purse and briefcase as she headed for the car in her driveway. Before getting completely away from the safety of her house, Lindsey paused and scanned the area around her vehicle then proceeded to get into her car and drive away. When she turned the corner, Sam made his move, carefully picking his way around the edge of the shrubbery to avoid the eyes of nosey neighbors. Her alarm system was elementary at best; Sam could have disabled it when he was ten.
Alarm silenced and lock picks in hand, he attacked the backdoor so he'd be out of sight from the street. A wooden "Welcome" sign rattled with every push of his tools so he reached up to move it and found one perfectly painted protective symbol guarding Lindsey's door. Unless Lindsey had hidden artistic talent, Calley had put it there. It shed a whole new light on their relationship. Calley was trying to protect Lindsey.
Sam was inside the small house in seconds giving him enough time to get to the bottom of Lindsey's guilt or innocence. It was ice cold in the house and it felt crazy good compared to the stifling heat of Ellen's car. Sam took care of personal business in Lindsey's bathroom then set about searching the place. Working front to back, Sam began with the living room and moved backward.
Partway through he realized he'd forgotten to call Dean and snapped open his phone.
"Are you in?" Dean barked into the phone, dispensing with the normal "Hey, Sammy." He sounded like he'd been awake for a while.
Sam opened a few drawers on Lindsey's desk and said, "Yeah, just got inside and I'm looking. There's a protective symbol on her door. Looks like Calley painted it."
"Calley was protecting that bitch?" Dean had stopped referring to Lindsey by her name. She was now only known as "that bitch."
"Looks like," Sam said, looking under the desk. "God, this girl must be really hot natured. It's cold as hell in here."
"Hell's not cold, Sammy. Oh, I almost forgot," Dean said. "Bobby said to tell you this book generates heat. Look for a hot spot."
"Generates heat?"
"Made in Hell, ya' know?"
"Okay." Sam finished inspecting the desk and the few scripts and bills that were on it. "I'll call you back if I find anything." He didn't wait for Dean to respond, just folded the phone closed and went to work.
Hot spot. He did a quick walk through the house trying to sense a contrast to the freezing cold of Lindsey's fifty-five degree setting on her air conditioning. In the bedroom he didn't find anything demon related, but there were two packed suitcases neatly stacked at the end of the bed.
"We're taking a trip, huh, Lindsey?" Sam asked aloud and zippered the bags open for a good inspection. They were clean except for some freaky underpants and he closed them back up. There was nothing under her bed or in the bathroom, so Sam set about searching through Lindsey's closet and box after box of scripts, lesson plans, policy manuals from different universities all over Texas, and miscellaneous crap. It took forever and netted him zilch.
Disappointed, Sam went to the kitchen and stood in the cold to survey the sparse kitchen. There were no hot spots in this freaking deep freeze. Lindsey Deaton evidently was not of the Rachel Ray school and didn't spend much time cooking. There were only a handful of pots in the cabinets and the refrigerator held only water and salad. Maybe she'd emptied it before her trip. Sam sank down at the table, contemplating ripping up the carpet when his eyes settled on the oven.
The oven. A nice home for something hot. It only took him a couple of steps to get to the bright white appliance in the small room. He jerked open the door and was immediately slapped by something akin to the stifling Texas heat he'd lain in all night long. A cracked, leather bound book rested on the center rack of the oven and Sam pulled it free. The muscles in his arms strained carrying the book back to Lindsey's living room, the heat strong against his palms but not unbearable. He let it drop to the coffee table with a thud. Sam took a quick look through the window and then went to work analyzing the text.
It looked evil, with its burnished brown cover mottled with ancient lettering and markings. Page after weathered page crunched with age as he turned them, and he recognized nothing that made sense to him.
"Skip to the ending, Sam," he whispered to nobody and grabbed pages further back to open another section. Inserted between the final pages were sheets of parchment that appeared to be of another century than the ancient originals. Those added pages were a Latin translation of the unknown tongue used for Amora's collection of regulations.
Latin he could work with. The book in its original form wouldn't help him much, but the Latin he could read and understand with a little time and the help of a few programs on his laptop. Sam pulled the pages free, taking care to keep them in order and intact. He went back to flipping through the book. A rendition of the symbol in the 2002 basement photo caught his eye and he knew this book had been at the scene of that basement nightmare.
A key turning in the lock jerked his attention away from the book. Sam quickly folded the translated pages and stuffed them in the back of his waistband under his shirt. Lindsey burst through the door, dropped her purse on a chair and headed toward the bedroom.
"Forget something?" Sam said, stopping the woman dead in her tracks.
Lindsey skidded to a stop and spun around in shock. Fear and recognition dawned on her face at once. "What the hell are you doing in my house?!" she shouted, trying to portray a sense of righteous indignation. "Even Texas Rangers need a warrant."
Her eyes dropped to the table and her precious contraband and then to Sam's dramatically different appearance.
"I think you've figured out by now I'm no Texas Ranger, just like I've figured out that you're a liar, Lindsey," Sam said, leaning forward in his chair. "If you run, I'll catch you in about two strides. So if you want to get through this in one piece, you'll get your ass over here, sit down, and start telling me the truth."
"Who are you? What do you want?" Lindsey was a trembling mass of fear. White and shaking, she stared at Sam like a deer in headlights. "Just take what you want and go." She began to back away and Sam stopped her with a pointed finger.
"I am not playing with you, Lindsey," he said, keeping his voice low and threatening. If there's one scare tactic he'd learned from his brother is yelling isn't nearly as frightening as a tone your victim had to strain to hear. "You can keep this civil by getting over here, sitting down in this chair, and talking or I'm coming over to get you. If I do, you won't like it when I get there."
Slowly, Lindsey advanced, taking baby steps to cross the floor. "Please tell me who you are? I don't know what it is you think I've done, but you're wrong." Tears were running down her face and the closer she got to Sam, the more she shook.
"I'm Sam Winchester. Dean Winchester is my brother."
Lindsey processed the information and began to gush in response. "Emily's dad is your brother? Then you know I took Emily to find him." She walked a little faster, her words speeding up with her travel. "Is she okay? I told the firemen to find her. Go ask them! Calley was my friend and I was trying to help her because she was so confused and scared. Really, why are you here? I told you everything when you were here before."
She was almost at the chair and Sam rose from his to tower over her. Fear made you talk fast and frantic and that was where Lindsey was at this moment.
"Sit and explain this book to me," Sam said, pointing toward the hellish volume that ruined Calley's life.
"It was Calley's!" she shouted, moving closer to the chair. "She told me to keep it. I don't know what it is. Take it!"
"Sit, Lindsey, before I decide to tie you up and deliver you to my brother." Sam grabbed a handful of her shoulder and shoved her down into the chair.
"Please, don't hurt me, Sam. I don't know what Calley was into," she said, grabbing his hand for sympathy. "I helped Emily, remember? Doesn't that count for something?"
Lindsey was begging, holding onto his hand with both of hers, sobbing harder with every word. As she leaned forward, the neck of her blouse gaped open and a flash of silver caught Sam's eye. Lindsey screamed as Sam surged forward and grabbed at her throat. She shrunk away from him, pressing down into the cushion as he ripped the charm from around her throat with a rough snap.
The silver circle gleamed in his fingers. It was the charm Calley had bled into so she could protect Emily, the one item that had stood between a little girl and a demon.
"You're a lying bitch, Lindsey," Sam spat at her as she cowered against the cushions. "We know you took this from Emily. Why?!"
"Calley gave it to me! I swear!" Lindsey wept, looking like a pathetic, red-eyed mess.
He took a step back and put the charm into his pocket. What he wanted to do was gag her, tie her up, and turn her over to Dean, but there wasn't time for that long drive. He needed answers to his questions now.
"We know you took it, Lindsey," Sam said, trying to keep his anger under control. "Why?!"
Lindsey doubled over, collapsing against her knees, sobbing louder and more hysterically. Her face was resting on her lap and she was mumbling incoherently.
"What did you do to Emily on the way to Nebraska?! Tell me, dammit!" Sam advanced and stopped dead cold when Lindsey rose from her puddle with a gun pulled from inside the very Texas boots she wore under her jeans.
"I told the little brat if she said one word I'd bring that monster back to burn her eyes out and bar-b-que her new daddy." Lindsey's expression was cold and calm and she wiped the fake tears from her face with her free hand. "Made sure to keep her awake the whole time and squeezed that burned arm every so often so she'd get it through her stupid little head that I meant business," Lindsey said, a strange ring of pride at her accomplishment of destroying a four-year-old permeated her words.
She pointed the barrel at Sam's chest and grinned widely. "Now who's the bitch, Bitch?" she asked, rising from her chair as Sam took a couple of careful steps backward.
TBC