Over the years since Caleb had gotten directly involved with the hunting lifestyle, he had learned to compartmentalize his emotions into separate boxes to be checked later. It did not bode well for him (or John), to focus heavily on the blood spatters he found on the highway, and at the motel room. It would only end up hurting his investigation, and his friend. Accomplishing that task, however, was easier said than done. His mind was traveling a thousand miles an hour as he contemplated what could have possibly caused the blood marks, and if they truly came from his friend.

Blood of any kind was not good. Especially not when it was located in two separate places. Of course the blood could have come from either John or the man who recently died, but he was not willing to let himself draw any unnecessary conclusions before reaching the facts. Climbing into his truck for the next portion of his research process, Caleb sighed deeply, and tried to put the blood off his mind. The blood from the highway was still on his knife, which was tucked securely in his hunting bag.

Driving the truck off the dirty motel lot, he pulled off into the town traffic. The day was quiet for that particular town; no one was willing to do much because he knew they were all scared of the recent murder. It made his job easier in getting to the victim's house, and finishing up the research process he needed to do. Brushing a hand down his face, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror, and noted how utterly exhausted he looked, and well older than his years. A product of the stress that was not getting the better of him. Neither he or Jim wanted to face the facts of where this investigation was leading.

Sam and Dean deserved a living parent in their lives; not someone who they would only hear about from the recollections of their father's good friends. Dean was only five; he would pick up on the absence of his father better than his brother would. He had already experienced so much loss, it made Caleb's blood boil that he might soon face another. Sam was a different matter, but it was still tragic. He was only a year old, and would have no memory of his mother or his father to carry him through. The hunting world was cruel, but Caleb naively thought two little boys would be spared.

Caleb was so engrossed in his thoughts that he very nearly missed the turnoff for the peaceful neighborhood where the victim's mother lived. The street was small, the sign nearly hidden behind a few bushes. Scanning the row of nearly identical houses that all had neat yards, apart from one that looked like it had seen better days, Caleb slowed his truck and pulled into the driveway of the house that was at the end of the street. Pausing before getting out, he hoped that this interview would yield valuable information about John, and maybe also where he was supposed to direct his next investigation. Sam and Dean, as always, stayed front and center on his mind as he finally got out.

Walking up the winding pathway, Caleb's heart pounded in his chest. This interview would be unlike anything he had ever taken on before, and all because his friend was at the forefront of the investigation. It truly boggled his mind what could have happened to John, but all the possibilities he ran through his mind, proved to be anything but comforting. John was a new hunter, but what he lacked in experience, he made up for in surprising skill. A spirit haunting should have been a routine gig, but it was not.

When he knocked on the door, after making sure that his head was in the right space to conduct an interview, he was met almost immediately by a short woman, whose eyes looked like she had seen far better days. From the instant way she opened the door, it was clear she had been waiting for his arrival. Giving her a small, comforting smile, Caleb allowed her to show him inside. The house was dark, not surprising, and was also slightly messy. Caleb understood, and even remembered the early days after his wife was killed.

The woman walked ahead of him, and showed him to the family room, which was off the kitchen. Her long, black hair bounced unsteadily in the bun she had hastily put it in. Caleb followed her lead, gazing around at the unfamiliar surroundings. It looked like a nice, family home, but he knew that appearances could be very deceiving. Sitting where she directed him to, he returned the uneasy smile she gave him. It was obvious that maybe she was craving the company, since he did not see a wedding ring on her finger.

"Mrs. Ellis, thank you for taking the time to meet with me. I…I can't imagine what you must be going through."

Mrs. Ellis nodded, blowing her nose on the tissue she had in her hand. It seemed to be crinkled, and well past the date of expiration, but he was hardly going to judge her for it. The grieving woman's hands shook as she offered Caleb some coffee, which he accepted gratefully. Studying her closely while he drank down the searing hot liquid, he watched as she wrung her hands tightly around each other. A classic sign of nerves, and also general upset.

"You said over the phone, you had questions?" Her voice was raw, probably from not speaking too much, or from the amount of time she had spent crying.

"Yes," Caleb replied apologetically. "I understand, unfortunately, that your son-"

"-Max."

Caleb nodded slowly, mouthing an apology. "I understand that Max's death happened after he went over the bridge?"

"Yes. He was finally figuring things out, you know? And this happens." The woman seemed at a loss. "I just…I don't understand what could possibly possess him to do something like that."

"Well, were you aware of any depression or upset?"

Mrs. Ellis fell silent, her eyes downcast as she mentally searched for any classic warning signs of something like that happening to her son. Caleb's heart went out to her, and it always made him feel slightly bad for pushing the victim's family so hard. Silently offering her another tissue once she finally let go of it, he watched her as her eyes once again welled with tears.

"He was stressed, yes. He was only sixteen, and he had the responsibility of a man twice his age."

"Sixteen?" That was a new bit of information that he hadn't yet heard. Bowing his head, he wrote the information down in the yellow legal pad notebook he had brought with him. "But I thought that he-"

Mrs. Ellis sniffled. "Had a child?" At Caleb's hesitant nod, she continued. "Yes, he did. We, of course, wanted him to give the baby up for adoption, but that woman wouldn't hear of it." The anger was hard to miss in her tone, and Caleb nodded sympathetically.

"What was her name?"

"Rachel. Rachel Landon."

Caleb nodded, writing down the name, and also wondering if she was the same woman he saw on the highway. With a case like this, he knew the woman he saw on the highway, could either be the same one, or someone from many years ago, who was now stuck on the same stretch of blacktop that the other deaths had occurred on.

"Your son, was he in favor of keeping the child? What did he think of that idea?"

"Well, he was excited about the prospect of being a father. And I have to admit, after awhile, I was, too. It was my first grandchild, and I guess I got a little too over enthusiastic."

Caleb smiled. "My parents were the exact same way. Crib shopping, clothes shopping, basinet shopping, you name it."

Mrs. Ellis nodded. "The baby came, and everything was wonderful. Great, even. Max was adjusting to this new role, and Rachel seemed to be a good mother. They were both working, both very at tentative to the baby."

Caleb sensed an underlying "but" in the sentence. When he broached the subject of someone dying, he tried to segue into that line of questioning with the utmost sensitivity. The memory of his wife dying was ingrained into his head, and also the way the police handled the investigation. In a small town, people knew each other, and that included the local police. When he was brought in for questioning, they handled the topic well, and did not overtly threaten or accuse him of anything.

It was that method, he tried to implement in his line of work. Most of the time, it worked in getting families to feel more comfortable talking about the most painful time of their lives. Clasping his hands in front of him, the young hunter sucked in a mouthful of bracing air.

"Mrs. Ellis, what happened to Max?

Mrs. Ellis heaved a heavy sob, before reaching over and taking a photograph of him that was on the end table in full view. From the outside looking in, Caleb saw a young man who wore a hopeful expression on his face for his future. There was no hint of the chances that was about to come over him sooner than later. Taking the photograph from her, Caleb tried to picture this young man doing something like that, and could not.

"He…he had recently been laid off from his job. It was a good job. It was right up his alley. Anyway, he got laid off, and he changed." His mother snapped her fingers to illustrate. "Just like that. I don't know if it was the stress of the job, or the stress of the baby, or both, but he snapped."

Caleb leaned forward, his heart thundering in his chest. "What did he do?"

"I wasn't there. I just got the call from the police. They told me that they got a 911 call from Rachel. She was half-hysterical. Apparently, she walked in on Max, and he had drowned their daughter! The police, they got there fast, but they couldn't save Lily."

Caleb nodded, sighing deeply. It was those kinds of cases that often proved hard for him to maintain a professional distance. All he had to do was think about his own child, and how he would have given the world to be able to see or hold it, and he could feel the anger coursing through him. This teenager had ended a life before it really had the chance to begin. Taking a soothing breath, he refocused on the task.

"What about Rachel? How is she holding up?"

"Well, she was a mess. Understandably." Mrs. Ellis shook her head in disbelief. "She said she couldn't go on without her family. She said she would rather die than do that…and so she did."

"She-"

"Yes."

It was Caleb's turn to be astounded. It wasn't unusual for a parent to do that when their child was gone, and so suddenly, but he still could not believe the bizarre and dramatic turn the case had taken. Figuring out how best to approach his next question, he looked down at his hands, and twisted his wedding ring around his finger. It had been just over two years since his wife died, and he still couldn't bear to part with the ring.

"Mrs. Ellis, do you mind if I see a picture of Rachel?"

Mrs. Ellis nodded, swiping a hand across her nose, before digging into a drawer in her end table. A few odds and ends had been placed in there, including several photographs that were turned upside down. Grasping one, the grieving woman handed it over to Caleb. Taking the picture, he flipped it over and gazed at the woman who was staring back at him. One look at her, communicated to him that it was not the same girl he had seen on the highway.

"She was a bright girl. I heard she was top of her class in school. But more importantly, she had a caring heart. A compassionate one, too."

Caleb nodded. "I just have one more question. Did my associate come to see you? His name would be John Randall?"

"Yes. Yes, he did."

Jim was going just a little stir-crazy hanging around the house while Caleb took over the search for John in his hometown of Dallas. The pastor knew the best place for him was with the two boys both he and Caleb were so concerned over, but it did not negate the pressing need he had to do something that did not involve research, and then making sure the boys were properly cared for. Over the last few days, both boys had been troopers while all this change was happening around them.

Dean, in particular, seemed to be keenly aware that something was happening. He did not have the knowledge to know what exactly was wrong, but Jim wondered if he could pick up on the thick cloud of tension that was hanging in the air like a sordid web. If he did suspect something was wrong in his life, he did not voice it. Instead, Dean threw himself into helping Jim with his baby brother, because only he knew the right way to give Sam a bath, and to make him fall asleep. Little tricks he picked up, and ones his father taught him.

Jim, for his part, was thrilled that Dean was so willing to help him. It gave him a much needed break, and also shifted his focus from the boys, to the hunt for their father. Even though he knew Caleb had the job pretty well handled from his unique position right in the heart of it, the elder pastor was not accustomed to handing off jobs to other hunters without having a say in it. Sighing deeply, he looked out the window in the kitchen, and saw the nice day that beckoned two little children to come outside and play.

The invitation was too tempting to pass up. Sam and Dean had been cooped up in the house for the last two days without a break. Dean was a good sport; he hardly complained about being forced to stay indoors. Only Sam seemed to have a real problem with it, and that was when he somehow caught a glimpse of a toy he played with when they were allowed outside. Moving quietly through the kitchen, he expertly grabbed a toddler cup for Dean, and filled it with water, and then made Sam a little snack in his bottle. The boys were in the family room watching cartoons. Or Dean was, but Sam was busy figuring out the mechanics of walking.

Seeing them so young and innocent, broke Jim Murphy's heart. They had seen death, and had experienced the brutal aftermath intimately, and now they were staring yet another death in the face. Dean, for the first time since he had come to Jim's a week ago, was finally starting to relax in the presence of the hunter. Instead of having his guard up, he was actively engaged with the TV show he was watching, and seemed to enjoy teaching Sam the different characters on it. Sam, on the other hand, was more interested in the snack Dean had left for tiny hands to grab.

"Hey, Dean," Jim said, moving lithely in front of the TV, before bending down to switch it off. "You've watched quite a bit of-" he struggled to remember what exactly he had allowed him to watch.

"Thundercats," Dean filled in.

"Yes, exactly," Jim said, smiling at Dean's bluntness. "So, I was thinking, that perhaps you would like to go outside for a bit? Maybe blow off some steam."

Dean considered his proposal. "Sammy's coming, too, right?"

Jim nodded. "Of course he is. We can't leave him in here by himself."

Sam gurgled in response, oblivious to what was going on. "De!" Sam giggled. The only word he knew.

Jim was grateful that Dean had so readily agreed to go outside. It would do all of them good to blow off energy, and forget the last few days, which had been stressful on just about everybody that was in the house. Rising himself to his feet, Jim grabbed two coats off the hangers, and prepared to help the two little boys who were both excited at the idea of going outside and exploring some strange, new land.

"I can do mine!" Dean exclaimed proudly, grabbing the red coat from Jim, and expertly sliding his arms through the long sleeves. "Daddy taught me!"

Jim could not help but laugh, before leaning down to help Sam with his. The one-year-old had taken after his brother, and had attempted to get the coat on all by himself, with very different results from his brother. Chuckling when he noticed the frustrated look Sam had, and the helpless way he held out his arms to Jim, the older hunter quickly had the situation righted.

"Did your Dad teach you how to tie your shoes?" Jim asked, directing his gaze to the mess of laces that hung off the sides of Dean's shoes.

Dean shook his head. "No. He said when I was six." The small boy held up six fingers. "How long is that?"

Jim mentally calculated the time remaining for Dean's birthday. The child was excited about it, and Jim was glad to see him happy about something. "About four months."

Dean hung his head. "That long? That's a bazillion years away."

"It won't seem like that long," Jim assured him, as he worked hard to get Sam's shoes tied. The child was nearly as impatient as Dean was, and had no compunctions about (loudly) voicing those complaints. When he was finally through with Sam's tricky laces, the one-year-old promptly leapt off the floor, and made his way around to Dean, and began tugging on his arm.

It was amazing to see the bond that existed between the two of them. When he was littler, Jim could remember fighting endlessly with his brother over the tiniest, most unimportant things. With Dean and Sam, they fought like cats and dogs sometimes, but also had a beautiful medium that balanced out the sibling fights they engaged in.

"I think someone wants your attention, Dean."

Dean turned to look at his brother, who was still pulling on his arm, and rolled his eyes. "He wants to go outside."

Jim laughed, rolling his eyes. "Then let's not keep him waiting."

Opening the sliding back door to allow the boys to run free in the open backyard space, Jim could see how utterly thrilled the boys were to finally release the pent-up energy they had inside them. Their legs were all but a blur as they ran in circles, and tried to catch each other. Sam, being the youngest at only one, had a much harder time playing the game. Each time he would fall in the tall grass, Dean would double back to make sure he was okay.

Relaxing at a chair around the backyard table, Jim kept the house phone close by him. He was wondering why Caleb had not yet called him, and he wanted to make sure he was around for when he did. Looking down at the hunting journal he had brought outside with him, he studied the details of the case John was hunting. It was supposed to be a simple haunting, but it was turning out to be anything but.

Directing his gaze to Dean when they made another lap around the yard, he could not help but wish he had the same childlike innocence that the two boys in front of him possessed. They had no real idea that their lives could change again, and he liked that.

"Sammy likes to fall a lot," Dean announced breathlessly.

"I think it's because his little legs are not as big as yours are," Jim explained, keeping one ear in the direction of the phone in the kitchen in case Caleb called.

"Yeah, but he thinks it's funny."

Jim smiled, tickling Dean's nose, making the child laugh. "As I recall, every time you fall, you think it's the funniest thing you've ever done."

Dean shrugged. "I guess so."

Watching as he scampered off again, Jim had the inclination to make that night a bonfire night. It was just warm enough for it, and also just cool enough to warrant a night like that. He already had the right tools to make delicious s'mores, and the boys would love it. Especially Dean, who was developing a real sweet tooth.

Before he could get much further in his impromptu bonfire planning, the pastor could hear the phone in the kitchen ringing. Keeping one eye on the boys, Jim lightly got up from his chair, and rushed to answer the phone. The only problem was that he was not sure he was ready to hear the news if it was from Caleb.

"Caleb?"

The young hunter sounded exhausted. "Hey, Jim."

"Have you found anything yet?"

"I talked to the people that he was helping with the spirit, and they said that they last spoke with him not too long ago."

"What about the hospitals?"

"I called all of them. They haven't heard anything, or admitted anyone with his description."

Jim sighed, palming his face. The last thing he wanted to do was face the reality that they were looking for their dead friend. He wanted John alive so he could give him a piece of his mind about leaving his boys without so much as a phone call, and the boys deserved their father to be with them. But without any solid leads, he knew they had nowhere else to turn.

"What about the county morgues?"

"I haven't wanted to even look there. It seems too soon, but I'm not sure."

_"We've run out of options," Jim said. "Call me and let me know what happens."

Caleb breathed quietly. "Okay."