Sorry to keep you guys waiting. So sorry, in fact, that I wont make you wait any longer!
Chapter 3
"Agent Murdock. Agent Stiles," Sheriff Walters addressed them respectively, though casting them a watchful eye. Even after seeing their badges, he still didn't trust the two strange men who had fast-talked their way past the secretary and into his office. On the other hand, he was coming up empty on the Oscawitz murder and the bodies were piling up- he needed as much help as he could get.
"Sheriff Walters, we would like to see the case file on the Oscawitz girl." The shorter one said, a little too silkily for the sheriff's taste. These city boys through they knew better than him- he'd been policing this town since before this "Agent Murdock" was a twinkle in his mother's eye!
"Oh," his partner, "Stiles"- the tall one with that hippy-dippy haircut that Walters didn't much approve of, added. "And the files on the other deaths as well."
"You'd think the FBI would be a bit more organized. 'Communication is key', I always say." The sheriff muttered as he turned to search through the small file cabinet that housed what few crimes the town had seen over the past half-century.
"What was that?" Stiles asked.
"One of your colleagues came here yesterday looking for the same file. Jones I think she said her name was." Sheriff Walters shrugged as he continued to look for the file. He knew it had to be around there somewhere.
"And what did this Agent Jones look like?" Dean, or Agent Murdock- as the sheriff knew him, said. He had a hunch. In this part of the country, it's odd to see the same traveler more than once and he knew that a small, black woman wouldn't be lingering in backwoods America without some particular purpose. His suspicions were confirmed.
"She was a little ol' thing. Maybe, 5 feet and some change. A colored girl with a funny accent- like the James Bond type. Don't see too many of those around here. 'Special Agent Jones, FBI' she said. Now where in the Sam Hill is that blasted file?" Walters said, more to himself than to the boys. It was then that they knew: they wouldn't find the file here.
"You know what? Thanks Sheriff, we'll just catch up with our 'colleague' and have her fill us in. Sorry for troubling you." Sam- Agent Stiles- said, nudging his brother. "It's been a pleasure and…uhhh… keep up the good work."
With that, the boys left- leaving the sheriff wondering where could he have put that dang file.
"Damn it! Whoever this Jones lady is,"
"If Jones is even her name," Sam interrupted.
"Yeah. If Jones is even her real name. Whoever she is, she has the file. And I'm willing to bet that she's not FBI."
Dean, as usual, had hit the bar the night before- chatting up the locals to see what dirt he could pick up on Georgiana Oscawitz and Ben Connors. No relation, no known enemies, no dabbling in the dark arts. Hell, neither one of them had even gotten so much as a parking ticket! Nothing about this vengeful spirit was adding up. However, one thing that was on everyone's lips- besides the killer, that is- was the strange woman walking around as if she owned the place. As if she belonged.
"Well," Sam started as they pulled into the Mountain View Motel. "If another hunter is on the case, maybe she knows something we don't. Maybe she can help."
"I don't know. I don't trust it."
After checking in, it was business as usual: combing through their father's notes and researching the victims. After a few hours of drawing blanks, Dean had had enough.
"I'm going to the last vic's house. See if I can't find something useful." Sam opted to stay behind and dig a little deeper into the town's past.
Dean pulled up to the clean, pristine house of Ben Connors. The 54-year-old widower had no children and no living relatives save for a little grey cat who had been adopted by the neighbors.
So what was making the curtains flutter like that? Dean grabbed a flashlight, his guns, and ammo before quietly making his way into the house. He was greeted with the barrel of a gun he had never seen before. Though it was dark inside the small house, he could see the blue-white energy building up inside the barrel.
"You need to leave. NOW!" The voice behind the gun hissed. As he suspected, it belonged to the pretty face he'd seen at the gas station (and the ass he'd seen outside of the coroner's office). Still, he wouldn't back down.
"No, you need to leave! You have no idea what you're dealing with, Lady." He quickly knocked her strange gun away from his face with his own sawed-off shotgun.
"It's YOU who doesn't know what he's dealing with! And right now, you're about to get us both killed. I can't kill it and worry about protecting your sorry ass, so just go already!"
They had reached a stalemate: neither one of them was going to just leave, and only one of them knew the real danger that lurked upstairs.
"Just put the gun down and walk out. You've been playing detective long enough. You don't even have any of the right equipment. Just let me handle this." Dean whispered, trying to stay calm- no small task for the more quick-tempered Winchester.
"Fine. You're right. I'll just go." The woman said, lowering her weapon and Dean lowered his as well.
"Good. Glad you- OOF!" He was caught off guard as the woman suddenly hit him with the butt of her gun. "Son of a Bitch! What the hell?!" Dean said, rather loudly for Martha's taste.
"Shut the hell up, would you? Now that we've got that out of the way, you need to leave. I'm serious. I don't want to have to hurt you… again." Martha added, smirking in the dark. She turned around and began to make her way towards the stairs.
"Oh, no you don't! You're not going anywhere, you crazy bitch!" With that, Dean scooped the small woman up into his arms and threw her over his shoulder, walking back to the door.
Martha continued to struggle against him, and finally managed to roll herself out of his tight grip. Unfortunately, in doing so she rolled onto Ben Connors' meticulously-kept glass coffee table, loudly shattering the glass and undoubtedly bruising a few ribs. Dean winced as she landed with a hard thud on the floor below. Just then, he heard a heavy slithering sound coming from above. He stared at the ceiling trying to decipher what could be making the sound; cats don't slither. "What the hell?"
He was so distracted that he didn't notice that the strange woman had gotten to her feet, and the fact that she was speaking barely registered. "I don't have time for this shit."
He turned to face her just in time for her boot-clad foot to connect with his temple. Everything went dark.
Martha turned to leave, but couldn't stomach the thought of leaving the hunter there with the Multi-Form. She couldn't resign him to that fate. Cursing her bleeding heart, she hooked her arms under his and dragged his heavy, limp body to the door. She ran to collect their weapons before lugging the unconscious man down the porch and to the black Impala out front.
"Typical." She muttered, wincing in pain. She was bruised and bloodied and at the disadvantage of having her enemy know her location. The only option now was retreat. She fished through the hunter's pockets, keeping one eye on the door. The Multi-Form hadn't yet emerged.
After finding his keys, she threw the guns and duffle bag in the back seat, then shoved the hunter in the front seat. Climbing over him to the driver's side, she shoved the key in the ignition and peeled off, hoping that her beloved cruiser would still be there in the morning.
She pulled over a few blocks later and checked out the damage she'd done. She discerned that it was nothing too serious. However, this brought up a new problem: what if he woke up?
Martha reached into her bag and retrieved the duct tape, securing the hands of the man who was now her captive. She rifled through his pockets once again and found a key marked "Mountain View Motel: 4". She had her destination.
The door banged open and bounced against the door jamb, but Sam wasn't fazed. Dean had probably come up with nothing at the vic's place, because he had come up with just as much. He had just finished looking up Indian burial grounds in the area when the door opened. "Please tell me you found something."
When no response came, he turned to the door. What he saw was enough for him to grab his gun. A woman, the same woman who, he assumed, stole the file from the Sherriff's office, was walking backwards into the room dragging a bound, unconscious Dean into the room. He gave her just enough time to prop his brother against the wall before drawing his gun.
"God, again with the rifles!" She sighed, adjusting the bag that was slung across her back. "Look, I'm not here to hurt you. I just-"
"Prove it." He said, cutting her off. In this entire investigation, nothing made sense- least of which was her presence. His brother was unconscious, and Sam was willing to bet that she had answers.
She gestured to the open beer on the table. "Spiked with Holy Water?"
"Yup." She walked over to the table calmly. She couldn't count how many times she had had a deadly weapon pointed at her. Surely it had reached the thousands. Guns no longer frightened her…much. Martha downed the rest of the beer in one long swig. "What's next? Silver or salt?"
He handed her the silver blade from where it lay on the bed and watched as it slid smoothly down her arm, opening the skin. She let him see the blood before licking it away. When the salt came, she poured it directly on the wound, never breaking eye contact. She'd never admit it, but she secretly enjoyed this process. As they stared each other down- Sam with suspicion, and Martha with satisfaction- another voice filled the room. Dean groaned from the corner, finally coming to.
"What the fuck… What's with the duct tape, man? How'd I get back here?" Then he noticed the woman in the room. "And what is this crazy bitch doing here?!" He said, anger rising in his voice as he remembered their encounter earlier that night.
She looked at him over her shoulder, catching him staring at her ass again. "That's Dr. Crazy Bitch to you, mate." She turned back to Sam. "Dr. Martha Jones. Chief M.O. of The Unified Intelligence Taskforce, Medical and Field Liaison of Torchwood III. I'm here to help."
Review! Let me know what you think. The multiform saga is almost at a close, so what would you guys like to see next for our trio? I'm thinking about changing the pairing... which would you like to see: Martha/Sam, Martha/Dean, or Martha/ Cass? It's your choice (if you care, that is. Lol!)
xoxo, LPL