The time was late evening when everyone finished their meal. Sam stayed in the kitchen to clean up but stopped Caleb just before he joined Dean and his father in the living room.

"Hey Caleb," Sam said, pointing to the sink. "Have you ever had a problem with the spray head?"

Caleb directed his eyes across the room to register the object of Sam's attention. Instantly, a surprised expression then crossed his face. "Oh, yeah...sorry! Did it get you?"

Sam nodded with a sheepish grin.

"Yeah, I forgot to tell you, sometimes the thing sticks. It has a mind of its own...so you should check it each time before turning on the water." Caleb then offered an apologetic smile before continuing out of the room.

'Well, at least I know Dean didn't do this,' Sam thought with relief - he really was not in the mood for another round of pranks - as he started to gather up the dishes from the table. That realization and the low murmur of three familiar voices in the next room lulled him into a feeling of contentment. Moments later, abrupt silence was then followed by the sound of the phone being dialed and his father then introducing himself to someone.

Once Sam set all the dishes into the basin he next inspected the nozzle and was satisfied it would not spray him if he lifted the faucet. The noise of gushing water drowned out the conversation taking place in the living room as Sam remained by the sink as it filled. He stood there in a trance, staring at the rising layer of suds.

Once the soapy water was high enough, Sam shut of the faucet, began the mundane task and glanced out through the window before him. Sam stopped what he was doing, let his hands, a plate in one and sponge in the other, float gently down to rest on the bottom and gave full attention to the stark beauty displayed before him.

Having travelled past the mid-day point hours ago, the sun currently occupied a point on the opposite side of the house, thereby allowing Sam to gaze comfortably at the view. A cloudless sky curved out over the widespread distance. The tan colored earth was peppered with large rocks and softened with sporadic green shrubs.

Sam considered it fascinating that so many different landscapes graced the planet. He then could not help think that just days ago he was surrounded by lush leafy green trees and now he was located in the driest of environments. 'I've been to every state in the lower forty-eight at least twice over...I wonder how many kids my age could say the same...I wonder how many states that guy at the rest stop saw before he was murdered...'

Suddenly, Dean cleared his throat and Sam spun around, startled. His big brother, with arms crossed, was leaning against the entry, eyeing him with a dubious expression - for how long, Sam had no idea.

"Am I interrupting something, Ralphie?"

Sam turned back and resumed scrubbing. "No."

"So..." Dean pushed off the door and sauntered into the kitchen "...I...uh...was an ass earlier..."

Sam paused, glanced over his right shoulder and noticed his older brother was focused on the floor. He knew his brother had often avoided sharing personal feelings and felt he should not have to in this case. "Dean..." he sighed. "Don't."

Dean visibly swallowed the rest of what he started to say and looked up. "Well, we're about to go out...so, we're good, right?"

"Yeah, we're good."

Dean acknowledged Sam with an expression conveying relief then turned to head up the stairs.

Sam watched him with a slight grin, shook his head then went back to washing dishes. No sooner did he put the last clean plate back in the cabinet, when his father called out from the living room, "Sam, are you almost done in there?"

He spared one final wistful glance to the outside then one more time down at the spray head. He grabbed it up and squeezed the nozzle, held it down for a few seconds, then set it back into the holder. It was the second time he checked it and the lever still did not appear to stick. 'huh...' He then turned and entered into the living room, faced his dad and Caleb and announced, "kitchen's done."

Dean came down the stairs just then, adorned in tan pants and a white button down shirt. "Let's do this!" He exclaimed and nodded at Sam, "at least you don't have to play dress up."

Sam jumped at the chance to test his skill at categorizing his brother like he himself had been so many times. "You're a reporter, remember Clark?"

"Oh yeah," Dean said as if the notion just dawned on him, then added, "thanks Lois."

Caleb snorted. "Ha! Looks like he got you again, Sam."

Sam rolled his eyes at that but said nothing.

Dean lifted an eyebrow and stared meaningfully at Sam's torso. "If we're gonna dress the part, no way do you get to go prowling around in that shirt."

Sam looked down at himself, said, "it's my last clean one." He faced Dean and stated, "I can easily avoid being seen...it's announcing my presence to someone with a functioning nose that I'm worried about...and besides, what's wrong with this shirt?"

Dean, with difficulty, restrained a grin. "Don't get me started."

John stood up, surveying his sons with the crisp detachment of a combat officer inspecting his troops before a mission. "Alright that's enough...Sam's fine. We've got lots of ground to cover in as little time as possible."

Caleb nodded. "We should drive by the third vic's house first...last I checked it was crawling with detectives. We can figure out if and where to drop Sam off then I'll take you to the first vic's house and look around while you interview the daughter. Sound good?"

John nodded. "Sounds like a plan."

The four men stepped outside into the arid heat and hastily piled into Caleb's Explorer.

Dean groaned. "Why couldn't this have happened up in Minnesota? It's one of the hottest months of the year and we're running around losing fifty percent of our body weight through sweat."

"Here, the average temperature in July is one-hundred degrees Fahrenheit...the average precipitation is about half an inch."

From a position next to his brother, Dean shot Sam an incredulous look. "Thank you. Sam," he snapped. "I feel so much better now."

"Don't worry guys, it'll get better in here soon," said Caleb.

Due to the efficient inner workings of the relatively new car, just as he completed his sentence, the interior was noticeably more cool. Dean sighed in appreciation."...thank God your car has air conditioning."

Caleb smirked at that. "You kidding? All cars need AC down here."

They continued on in brooding silence, Caleb with his eyes on the road and the Winchesters each surveying their surroundings. The vehicle took them at first through a desolation of flat lands with scattered outcrops of rocks then gradually into the civilized world with its sidewalks, evenly spaced palm trees, street lights and businesses with large glass windows. It was a very clean town. The sun, rather pale for the lateness of the day, created longer shadows, more noticeable for beign surrounded by structures grouped more closely together.

As they made their way past the center of the town, the buildings grew more widely spaced apart. They were heading toward some hills with rows of houses up the side, layer after layer. Caleb guided the car along a winding road within the cluster and pointed out the third victim's family house, located on their left. It was a two-story similar to Caleb's house on what appeared to be a quarter acre of land and a fenced in pool in the back. In the space of time it took to travel the length of the property, two people, clearly official in their dress, were seen moving around the front yard.

"There's obviously no chance for this house to be unoccupied in the immediate future," Caleb noted.

"Is the family is still here, though?" Dean asked. "Some people get the hell out of a house where a death occurred."

"Oh, I have seen them around," Caleb replied. "I went by the place as soon as I learned of the man's death." After putting a little distance between them, Caleb had slowed the car some, awaiting word on how his friend wanted to proceed.

John, having judged that the best approach might be from the back said, "Sam might be noticed if we let him out here...since there aren't any houses behind this one, the best bet would be to go to some location set apart from the rest."

Caleb nodded in agreement and increased the vehicles speed.

After about fifteen minutes, Caleb guided the car down an isolated road and pulled off to the side, put it in park. He shifted to face inward, alternating his attention between John, Dean and Sam. "Just so you know, the family consists of the wife, one daughter, fourteen and a son, nine."

"Okay, Sam," John said. "You're up...we're losing daylight."

"Yes sir." Sam straightened and leaned over toward the handle to let himself out when he felt Dean touch his arm. Sam looked at him over his right shoulder and said, "what?"

"You sure you want to do this?" asked Dean, a slight hitch to his voice. "We don't really know how many detectives are over there."

"Dean...come on," Sam moaned.

John reached over and squeezed the back of Sam's neck in a gesture of affection. "Don't listen to Dean...you've been through plenty of practice runs, you'll be fine."

Sam pulled away from his father's grasp but looked at Dean. "I know that...I..."

"Dad, couldn't Caleb do this and the three of us work the next house."

Sam let out an exasperated sound then quickly turned, pushed the door open, and slammed it shut after jumping out. He started to run off without looking back, kicking up dust behind him.

Dean opened the window, held out a bottle of water and yelled "Sam!" and dropped his arm down in defeat when his brother didn't stop.

"Better be careful," Dean murmured, just at the edge of audibility.

John cleared his throat and faced Caleb. "Okay, I'll drive so I can let you off a ways from the next house." They both got out, jogged around the front and re-entered the car. John started the ignition and pulled back onto the road with a flourish of the wheel. "We've got about one hour to get there, interview them then come back for Sam."

"Just take a right at the end of this road and follow it for about three miles," said Caleb.

Off to his left, John could still see Sam; he apparently never slowed his pace for he was quite a distance away. A glance in the rearview mirror showed Dean intently watching after his little brother as he disappeared past an outcropping of large rocks. 'He just can't get past worrying about that kid,' John thought. "He's got to learn sometime, Dean. Now are you gonna white knuckle it 'til we see him again or are you gonna focus on the job?"

Dean wiped all the emotion off his face, looked straight into the mirror at his father's eyes and answered, "I'm focused." He then stared back out the passenger window. "It's just...well...last time I lost sight of him, he was attacked in a rest stop bathroom."

"Holy shit!" Caleb, who had been looking out the windshield, spun around to face John and observed his friend's jaw clench, his whole body tense up. "What the hell happened?"

"Some pervert came on to him," John spat. "Nothing Sam couldn't handle."

"But for the added guilt over an innocent man's murder," Dean said. "He'll beat himself up over what happened for weeks. He may look put together on the outside but…"

Caleb's eyebrows furrowed, his face expressing curiosity. "Wait...murdered?"

"We left him unconscious...another dude had walked into the restroom, surprised at what he saw and I took Sam out, told that guy what happened and to call 911. Apparently the asshole woke up and killed him...we had no idea that piece of filth pervert was a murderer and now an innocent man is dead."

Caleb blew out a breath. "I had heard about that...and you were there? I heard they found the suspect wandering, seemingly confused...that's all that was reported anyway. 'Possibly under the influence of drugs,' they said on the news."

John glanced at his friend. "I told him not to let it get to him but Sam keeps everything that happens to him inside...no matter what we say."

"He should understand that it's not his fault," Caleb said.

"Sam is Sam," Dean shrugged with resignation.

"Thing is, Sam has a photographic memory," John said. "The kid keeps a continuous and running tally of every injustice ever done...categorically filed away. The good thing here is that lately he's been all gung-ho about hunting and focusing his energy more on training."

"Well I can help with that," Caleb said with a small smile. "Best time to work out is at four in the morning. I go to this track that stays lit. I also have access to a shooting range...it's safe and good for practicing with limited visibility."

"That reminds me...I've been meaning to get Sam his own gun."

Caleb nodded then turned to look at Dean. "That's an interesting amulet you have there."

Dean angled his head downward and grasped it with a hand. "Sam gave it to me years ago."

Caleb cringed, his attempt to get Dean's mind off of Sam unsuccessful, and tried again. "So, Dean. Tell me about yourself."

"Not much to tell...I love to hunt, I dropped out of high school and I am an atheist."

"Wow...what makes you an atheist?"

"I have my reasons," Dean stated matter-of-factly. "What about you? Tell me more about what you do."

"Well, what's interesting is that I used to work as a civilian in military security...I had access to the overstock of weaponry, munitions. But then I felt I was being scrutinized too much, rightly so, I guess, and left, and I've been hiding out here ever since. Thanks to Uncle Sam..." 'There's that name again...damn it!' "...I learned a great deal…how to hack into computer systems, how to disarm electronic security systems."

John stopped the car at an intersection and said, "okay, Caleb, now what?"

"Take a left at these lights, let me off just beyond that palm tree and the house is about a mile on our left, number forty-three. Give me fifteen minutes to get there."

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Catherine looked up from the television when she caught sight of her friend, Geraldine, step into the living room. "What are you all about, Gerrie?" she laughed instinctively, gesturing toward her clothes.

Her friend usually dressed conservatively in ankle length skirts and sleeveless collared shirts. When she managed to find a cheetah print mini skirt, a black halter top and black pumps she did not know.

Catherine then frowned as she decided maybe her friend was not coping as well as she thought. She opened her mouth to ask when suddenly she heard someone just outside the door.

"Those must be my visitors," Geraldine said with a wide grin.

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John was outside the residence at the appointed time when he reached out and pushed the doorbell. Dean stood behind him, surveying their surroundings. Moments later an eye appeared as the door was cracked open an inch.

"Can I help you?"

John spoke up. "Yes, I am Jason Tyler and my colleague, Stephen Perry. We called earlier asking to meet with Geraldine."

The woman behind the door scrutinized the two men standing there then undid the chain lock and opened the door wider.

"I'm Geraldine...come in quickly." She motioned for them to enter and added, "I don't want to let out the AC."

Dean stepped inside first. The woman before them appeared to be in her late twenties, with a thin body dressed in the most seductive clothes he had seen on a female in person. Her face, under a thatch of short auburn hair, was far from unattractive. "Thank you. We won't take much of your time."

The woman smiled at his polite acknowledgement and scrutinized Dean with lowered eyelids. He got a sense she was irrationally crafty and sly. 'This is definitely a woman to be dealt with cautiously,' he thought.

Dean stepped even further in to allow John to enter behind him and shut the door firmly.

"We appreciate you meeting with us on such short notice," John said with a smile.

Geraldine waved a hand. "Poof! My biggest concern today was finding a matching pair of shoes. It's no trouble really."

John nodded. A rapid scan revealed a non-descript, dimly lit entry way. She led them from the hall which opened up right into a living room and said, "have a seat."

Geraldine sat across from them and nodded toward another woman sitting on a chair. "This is my friend, Catherine," she said. "She is here to comfort me in my time of need."

The other woman had dark hair pulled back into a simple pony tail, a simple cotton sleeveless shirt and denim skirt completed the picture. "Hi," she smiled slightly.

After Dean and John seated themselves on the other sofa, they gazed past the two women. A wide entrance revealed what some would consider a dining room. It was converted into a sort of museum of erotic art on the walls, statues, and artifacts.

Geraldine followed Dean's gaze. "My father's private interest. It was his pride but he never allowed anyone to view his collection, only close friends and family. By any chance, have either of you studied the philosophy of aesthetics?"

"No, not really," John admitted with a frown.

Dean interrupted. "Let me start by saying we're sorry for your loss. Now then, we're investigating the death of your father and hope our questions might shed some light on his passing. We'll start with a broad question...had you noticed anything strange recently?"

"Well, since father died, there's been all sorts of visitors and special occasions."

John and Dean shared a look. "Related specifically to him...did he seem more tired, for instance, or say anything unusual?" Dean elaborated.

"I can tell you are both men who have 'been around town' so the answer would be no...for my father, nothing really can be said to be unusual."

"How about anything unusual for him?"

Geraldine tilted her head to ponder the inquiry for a moment. "Well...what do you think of what I call Adam," she gestured specifically toward a marble statue depicting a highly aroused pose. "He recently acquired it. He never bought a statue before."

Everyone present simultaneously scrutinized the object of discussion. Catherine grimaced while John searched for something to say.

Dean was the first to find his voice, his eyebrows lifted as he stated, "I'd say he's simply asserting his love for the human body and it's...capabilities."

John cleared his throat, "did your father ever mention anyone wanted to hurt him?"

Geraldine narrowed her eyes and looked at John. "Back to business then?" She then faced Dean and offered him a kind expression. "No. I was already asked that but was told later they found no signs of poison, or any kind of foul play."

Dean added, "Geraldine, has there been anyone new in your father's life?"

"You may call me Gerrie," she said. "Well, actually, yes there was. He started dating a woman he met at a grocery store."

"Do you have her name?"

Geraldine offered merely a sidelong glance toward Dean. "How much do you want this information?"

"What do you mean?"

"What I mean is if I do a favor for you, then you must do a favor for me."

Dean caught a glimpse of his father, silent during this dialogue, with his eyes narrowed, glaring straight ahead before asking, "really. What did you have in mind?"

"I am a photographer and I believe you...Stephen, right?..." she looked at Dean and he nodded "...would be a perfect subject for an exciting bold new project I am undertaking. My work is scheduled to be displayed next month but I feel it's missing something. If we are agreed, I could take some test shots. There's a bedroom close by where you may disrobe while I prepare my equipment."

"Umm..." Dean said. He glanced over at Catherine who sat still with a puzzled look on her face.

John stiffened. "I'm sorry Ms. Vance. I appreciate art just as much as the next crackpot. However, I don't think posing for nude photography equates with simply wanting a name."

Geraldine tossed her head, uttered an angry sound, then said, "Well, then of course there is no more to be said." She raised her arm toward the hall, gesturing for them to leave immediately.

The two men rose up and John handed Catherine a business card. "Thank you for your time," John said coldly then turned, marched toward the door and followed Dean out.

Once settled inside the car, John started the engine. He looked back toward the victim's house, started to speak but thought better of it.

Dean made an airy gesture. "Go ahead, Dad...say what's on your mind."

Suddenly the phone rang. Dean gave a questioning look and John reached in his pocket, pulled it out and pushed the speaker button.

"Hello?"

"Hi, is this Jason?"

"Yes...who's this?"

"This is Catherine...Gerrie's friend..you were just here."

"Right, just didn't recognize your voice."

"That's okay. I was around when Gerrie's dad brought his girlfriend by...I met her and just wanted to tell you I have the information you wanted about her."

"Go on...what's her name?"

"It's Susan Wellington. Oh, and I can tell you where she lives."

"That would be great."

"Do you have a pen?"

"No...but I have a good memory."

"Okay, she lives at 198 Ecce Way here in town. Oh and sorry about Gerrie, she's never acted this way before."

"Don't worry about it. Thanks for your help."

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Geraldine, standing just outside the bathroom door, smiled knowingly after listening to the phone conversation. She then walked to the closest bedroom, closed the door and lay down on the bed. She tilted her head back and suddenly let out a blood-curdling scream as black smoke rapidly ejected from her mouth.

The door was flung open and her friend burst through. Eyes fixed on her friend, wide with fear, Catherine cried, "Gerrie! What's wrong?"

The figure on the bed rolled onto her stomach. Her face in the pillow muffled a voice that said, "fuck off...I got the worst headache."

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Caleb loped toward his car, eager to meet back up with John and Dean. He let out an exhale, relieved to see they were sitting inside with the engine running, air-conditioning sure to be on high. He closed the final distance within a manner of seconds, yanked open the driver side door and jumped in, tossed a hex bag lightly to John which he caught. "Looks like we don't need further proof," Caleb said.

"You are a master," Dean said. "We didn't hear a sound...nobody suspected a thing. Oh and by the way, you might want to give an anonymous tip to the local psych ward to keep some space available...that chick is buckets of crazy."

"She never stood out before that I know of," Caleb said. "Her father's death must have made her snap. I heard some of your interview and had to get out of there before I gave myself away due to uncontrolled laughter. Were you really thinking of stripping?"

"I don't know..."

"Thank God you had your daddy there to protect you," Caleb said with a wink to John.

John smiled briefly. "Well, in any case, our friendly neighborhood sex-addict artist mentioned her father became involved with a woman, met her a couple of weeks before he died," John said. "So slight change of plans...Dean, you and I will check out this new information."

Dean made eye contact with John, his jaw dropped slightly. "You consider her 'I'll only give you what you want by nefarious means' information reliable?"

"It seems like a solid lead to me...plus her friend supported the story."

"Shouldn't we wait for Sammy?"

"Dean, Sam'll be fine. If this woman is a witch, we have a responsibility to stop her now."

"So what are we doing?" Caleb asked.

"Caleb, would you take us back to your house so we can pick up my car and can you wait for Sam?"

"From what I've seen of Sam, he won't like it."

John shrugged his shoulders. "You're scared of a fifteen year old boy? Look, if he gets upset, just show him the weapons you have for sale and tell him I said he can pick out a gun."