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It's Provenance, guys! *squeal*
Lyrics are from 'Consider No Man Happy Until He's Dead' by Juvenescent Beat.
Chapter name borrowed from Adele. (Oh, she's amazing)
How many lines must I mouth
Before words begin to form?
So long since I've heard my own voice
I'm screaming now, screaming out loud
CHAPTER FORTY- HOMETOWN GLORY
"Dean, we got a case," Sam beckoned him over impatiently.
I bit back a smile as Dean flirted with a curvy blonde waitress.
He finally came over when Sam glared at him.
"Mark and Ann Telesca of New Paltz were both found dead in their own home a few days ago. No prints, no murder weapons, windows and doors locked, the whole shebang."
Dean continued to check out the women in the diner.
"Could just be a garden variety murder, you know, not our department."
"It is not," Castiel, silent till now, finally spoke up.
Dean glared at him, but it was markedly less hostile than before.
"Where are we going?" Dean asked Sam rapidly, eager to be off.
"New York."
I paled, ripping my napkin in two.
It must have been blatantly clear on my face, because Sam's head had jerked up to stare at me.
Castiel's eyes were heavy on mine.
~Supernatural~
Dean slouched in the car, sunglasses on, fast asleep.
I curled up in the backseat, unobtrusively watching Castiel.
I wondered how he always seemed so emotionless.
Sam walked around the car, leaning in to honk the horn.
Dean jumped a foot in the air, mumbling as Sam sat in the driver's seat, laughing.
"Man, that is so not cool," he adjusted his glasses.
"I just swept the Telescas with EMF. It's clean. And last night, while you were…..well….out," Sam coughed.
I pointedly looked out the window, suppressing my laughter as Castiel's expression became adorably perplexed.
Dean smirked. "Good times."
"I checked the history of the house," Sam continued. "Nothing strange about the Telescas."
"All right, so if it's not the people and it's not the house, then maybe it's the contents. Cursed objects." Dean furrowed his brow.
"The house is clean," Sam repeated.
"Yeah, I know, you said that," Dean rolled his eyes.
"No, I mean it's empty. No furniture, nothing."
"Where's all their stuff?"
I tried to concentrate on the conversation, I really did.
But I couldn't.
I was here.
After I'd sworn I'd never come back.
"You are troubled," Castiel's deep voice made me start in alarm.
Sam's focus instantly shifted onto me.
"No, I'm just tired." My lie sounded weak even to my own ears.
Dean snorted. "Yeah, right. You woke up an hour ago. Feathers is right."
Castiel looked almost indignant.
"You've been acting weird ever since the time we came here."
"Spill," Dean commanded.
I gave up.
"All right. New York is where I lived before Maine," I closed my eyes for a brief moment.
Silence.
"It's home."
~Supernatural~
I twitched, uneasy, as the people in the auction shot me disbelieving looks.
I'd left this life.
All I had now was a bitter reminder.
"Consignment auction, estate sales. Looks like a garage sale for Wasps if you ask me," Dean scoffed.
He snatched a finger sandwich from a tray, tugging at the lapels of his suit.
"I cannot believe you put us in these monkey suits," he grumped.
Sam refrained from complaining, but he did not look happy.
"And you're dressed up six ways to Sunday yourself," Dean added.
"You're wearing heels, and you hate those." Dean made no attempt to control his snigger.
I looked down at my black silk dress and high heels, flushing.
"This is where the crème de la crème of New York comes, Dean. You're going to attract attention if you don't look the part."
I looked ruefully at Castiel, stubbornly wearing his trenchcoat.
He'd flatly refused to change, and I'd deemed it wise not to argue with him.
"These people are looking at you," Sam noticed. "Do you know them?"
I raised my chin, sweeping the room with my gaze.
They stopped staring.
"I recognize a few faces."
I could not give him more than that.
"I don't think I invited you here," We spun around as we heard the man.
The voice was familiar.
Dean raised an eyebrow, about to say something rude, no doubt, when I stepped into view.
He blinked in quick succession. "Odette?"
I ignored Sam and Dean's surprised huffs.
"Hey, Uncle Danny." I smiled wanly.
"How-?"
He didn't need to complete his question.
"Unfinished business," I tried to lie convincingly.
"I see." I didn't know if he believed me. "How are you?"
I glanced at him carefully.
Outwardly, he was put together and composed, every inch the suave businessman he was.
But I could see the signs.
The circles under his eyes, the tightening of his mouth, the silver glint in the normally black hair at his temples.
It had taken it's toll.
The guilt was almost overpowering.
"Probably the same as you," I whispered.
His grim expression told me he understood.
His eyes shifted suspiciously to Dean and Sam, lingering on Castiel with ill-concealed distaste.
I didn't know why that annoyed me.
"These are-"
"My friends," I finished quickly. "I know this is rude. I heard you were here, and I just couldn't miss the chance…."
Daniel Blake nodded quickly. "Of course, Odette. You're always welcome. Just…."
He looked at the people watching us edgily.
"Of course," I was quick to say. "We weren't planning to stay for very long, anyway."
"Are you-?"
"No." I said flatly.
Something like pity flashed in his eyes before he went away.
Before they could ask, I moved to the first painting I saw.
Sam looked at it curiously, when someone spoke from above.
"Fine example of American Primitive, wouldn't you say?"
I knew that voice.
We turned around, and I found myself staring face to face at Sarah Blake.
I was in turmoil, half joy, and half gut wrenching grief.
She hadn't seen me yet.
"Well, I'd say it's more Grant Wood than Grandma Moses," Sam replied. "But you knew that, you just wanted to see if I did."
"Guilty," she answered in the sheepish tone I'd heard so many times.
"And clumsy. I apologize."
I wasn't listening, as I studied Sarah intently.
Outwardly, Sarah looked no different, still the same pretty girl with the soft brown eyes I'd left a year ago.
But as I looked closer, I felt like curling onto the floor and sobbing.
The carefree, warm, happy light in her eyes was gone, replaced by a lost, hopeless stare.
Sarah Blake was lifeless.
And it was my entire fault.
She finally saw me.
"Odette?"
The next thing I knew, she had her arms wrapped around me, and I buried my face in her neck, pretending, just for one short second, that everything was all right.
We pulled apart.
"Hey, Sarah," I greeted her, sort of anticlimactically.
She opened her mouth, presumably to ask me the questions I knew I'd have to answer someday, but I shook my head imperceptibly.
She glanced at the other three, and thankfully let it drop.
"I'm Sarah Blake," she nodded politely at them.
Sam smiled. "I'm Sam. This is my brother…." The smile melted off his face as he saw Dean was still eating.
"Dean," he finished, glaring.
"This is Castiel," I added hastily when Sarah looked his way.
He continued to stuff himself from the passing trays.
"Dean," Sarah's lips twitched. "Can we get you some more mini-quiche?"
Dean kept chewing. "I'm good, thanks. So you guys know each other?"
Sarah nodded, latching onto my arm. "Odette's pretty much a sister."
After all this time.
The tears pooled in my eyes.
She addressed Sam. "So, can I help you with something?"
"Yeah, actually," Sam sighed in relief. "What can you tell us about the Telesca estate?"
She shuddered. "The whole thing's pretty grisly if you ask me, selling your things this soon. But Dad's right about one thing, sensationalism brings out the crowds. Even the rich ones."
"Is it possible to see the provenances?"
Daniel came up from behind. "I'm afraid not."
We took our cue and left.
~Supernatural~
We approached the hotel room.
"Grant Wood, Grandma Moses?" Dean sounded scandalized.
"Art history course," Sam shrugged. "It's good for meeting girls."
Dean unlocked the door. "It's like I don't even know you."
We entered the room, and froze, nonplussed.
The do not disturb door hanger was a silver outline of John Travolta.
The room was a completely over the top retro seventies disco fantasy room.
"Huh," we said together, dumping our bags on the bed.
Dean screwed up his face in confusion. "What was….providence?"
"Prov-e-nace," I said slowly. "It's a certificate of origin, like a biography. You know we can use them to check the history of the pieces, see if any of them have a freaky past."
"Geek," Dean snorted. "Well, we're not getting anything out of 'Uncle Danny', but Sarah…."
He snapped his fingers at Sam, smirking.
My lips turned down in disapproval.
Sam snickered. "Yeah, maybe you can get her to write all down on a cocktail napkin."
"Not me," Dean laughed.
"No, no, no," Sam looked slightly panicked. "Pick ups are your thing, Dean."
"It wasn't my butt she was checking out," I couldn't help but laugh at Dean's response.
Sarah had never been subtle.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Castiel leave.
"In other words," Sam crossed his arms. "You want me to use her to get information."
"Sometimes you gotta take one for the team," Dean tossed him his phone.
"Call her."
~Supernatural~
Dean sharpened his blade on a whetstone, beckoning to me to give him mine.
Sam and I were looking through some papers.
"So she just handed the providences over to you," Dean cocked an eyebrow.
"Provenances," Sam and I said at the same time.
"We went back to her place," My chest tightened at the mention. "I got a copy of the papers."
"And?" Dean waited expectantly.
"And nothing," Sam sighed. "That's it, I left."
"You didn't have to con her or do any….special favors or anything like that?"
Sam glowered at him. "Dean, would you get your mind out of the gutter, please?"
He laughed. "You know when this whole thing's done we could stick around for a little bit."
"Why?"
"So you could take her out again," My eyes widened. "Obviously you're into her, even I can see that."
"Hey, I think I've got something here," I suddenly found what I was looking for.
They came over and I handed over the papers.
"'Portrait of Isaiah Merchant's family, painted 1910.'"
"Now compare the names of the owners with Dad's journal," Sam added.
Dean checked. "First purchased in 1912 by Peter Simms. Peter Simms murdered 1912. Same thing in 1945, then 1970."
"Then stored, until it was donated to a charity auction last month. When the Telescas bought it. What do you think, it's haunted? Cursed?" I looked at them.
Dean got up. "Either way, it's toast."
~Supernatural~
Dean leapt, easily scaling the metre high metal gate, sprinting into the mist.
Sam hauled me up, following quickly.
Wearing gloves, he disarmed the security alarm.
"Go ahead," I told Dean.
He picked the lock, shining his flashlight inside, quickly searching for the painting.
Dean spotted it upstairs, expertly cutting the painting from the frame with his switchblade.
We brought it out onto the dirt road.
"Ugly ass thing," Dean eyed it with disgust. "If you ask me, we're doing the art world a favor."
He dropped the match, and the painting ignited.
~Supernatural~
I had to say goodbye, at least.
I wanted to tell Sarah everything.
Everything that I'd done, the blood on my hands, the guilt, the grief.
Waking up every night muffling my scream into my pillow.
But I couldn't.
I was a coward, because she would hate me when I did.
Goodbye was the only thing I could give her.
I walked into the auction house, and stopped abruptly in my tracks.
Isaiah Merchant's portrait was staring me in the face.