(Author's Note:To anybody who is actually reading out there, my most heartfelt apologies. I mistakenly posted an earlier version of this chapter. That's the reason much of it made no freaking sense. Please read this one instead.)
Chapter Four
"I will kill you," Lucinda's spirit sighed and shook back her red hair sensuously. The knife in her hand played down his neck and onto his chest, leaving a deep bleeding scratch behind the sharp point.
Suddenly she jerked and cried out. Her hold on him momentarily broken, Dean shoved her away from him with all his might. "Looks like I can touch you back," he snarled and reached for the mini salt shaker on one of the small bistro tables around the room. He unscrewed the cap and dumped the contents into his hand, dismayed by how little there was. He cast it at her anyway and she leaped at him with a feral snarl.
Somehow he managed to jump back as she yowled in pain again. Elizabeth stood at the kitchen stove in the back of the house, waving some kind of torch over a black skillet.
He ran toward her. She tossed a paper sack at him. Cornmeal? "Salt! I need salt!" he yelled, grabbing for another of the tiny shakers.
"Be consistent!" she yelled back and tossed him a round carton of sea salt.
He pulled off the metal spout and poured himself a large handful. The instant Lucinda made her next appearance, he pelted her with it. She screamed and vanished.
"Is she gone?" Elizabeth asked anxiously as she continued to wave the torch over the skillet.
"She'll be back unless we can banish her for good,"he explained, dumping out another handful of salt in preparation. He moved close enough to see that she had the jewelry poured out in the big black skillet with the flame underneath it on high. She had a tiny butane torch in her hand, scorching the metal pieces from the top as well.
"Keep cooking," he instructed, pressing his hand against his bleeding side. "She's bound to be tied to one of these pieces."
Elizabeth looked over at him, her face pale but determined. Her eyes widened in fear. "Dean, look out!"
He dropped to his knee and rolled to one side, just in time to miss the spectral knife as it descended. He threw the salt at Lucinda as he fell, but didn't hit her as squarely as he needed. She vanished briefly but regrouped in seconds right behind him.
Her arms wrapped around him like icy bands and the knife blade pressed against the side of his neck. "You can't cheat on me and get away with it," she hissed.
He tried to struggle free but that cold touch burrowed into his skin and into his muscles, causing them to clench and cramp painfully so that he couldn't move, couldn't breathe. A hard shower of tiny rocks pelted him, stinging his face. Lucinda howled in his ear, and as she dematerialized again, he staggered back toward the kitchen. Elizabeth tossed him the box of ice cream salt she'd used on Lucinda. All the while, she never stopped moving that torch.
The heat had turned most of the pieces into molten goop, but that last pendant stubbornly held its shape. POP. The little piece sprang open, revealing itself to be a locket with several strands of red hair curled inside.
"Gotcha, bitch." But Dean spoke too soon as the torch went out with a hiss, empty at last. "Shit. We've got to burn that hair. That's what's holding her here."
He readied another handful of salt but before he could cast it, Lucinda's spirit blasted into him, sending him sprawling across the floor. She leaped onto his chest and he grabbed her arm, desperately trying to keep the point of the blade from piercing his eye. The cold soaked into him, the essence of death drained at him, as the point of the blade grew ever larger in his vision.
Foom! A blast of heat rolled out of the kitchen and he heard Elizabeth yelp. Lucinda, however, screamed in agony. She dug her icy fingers into his shoulder as an unseen force dragged back at her. She clawed and scratched and slashed at him, leaving long cuts over his forearms and face.
"No!" she howled in desperation but with a rush of wind and a thunderclap like the closing of a vacuum, she disappeared.
Normalcy fell upon the room as if it had never left. The blood vanished. Shawna sat up, rubbing at her face, the refrigerator hummed, and all was right with the bed and breakfast once more.
Dean lay on the floor, trying to catch his breath. He remembered the noise and the wave of heat. "Lizzy!" he called. "Are you okay?"
She knelt beside him. "I'm fine. Just a little cooked." Her face and hands were pink.
"What did you do?" he asked as she pressed napkins over his arms.
"When the blowtorch ran out, I improvised," she stated. "A can of olive oil spray makes a pretty effective flamethrower. Shawna, are you okay?"
The woman nodded and pushed herself up from the floor. She groaned as she took in the skillet full of melted jewelry and the blackened cabinets around the stove. "All those pretty things ruined," she sighed.
Elizabeth nodded. "For a homicidal bitch, she sure had nice taste in jewelry."
Dean laughed but the movement made the wound in his side redouble its bleeding. He winced at the stab of pain.
"Shawna, we're going to need you to drive us to the clinic," Elizabeth began, but Dean stopped her. He pulled out his phone and called Sam.
"Come to the quiche place," he instructed. "And bring the kit."
"At least lie down somewhere and let me see how bad this cut is," Elizabeth stated.
Shawna led them to a sitting room with an old fashioned settee but before she'd let him sit down on it, she spread some tablecloths over it. "This is an antique," she explained as Elizabeth frowned at her.
Dean eased himself onto the tablecloths and tried not to moan too much. Elizabeth knelt beside him and carefully pulled away the towel. There was a good bit of blood, but he'd had worse and said so. "Sam will be here in a few minutes and he'll stitch it up for me."
Elizabeth just looked at him sadly. Then she took another couple of towels from the stack Shawna brought and began to press them against the worse of the cuts on his chest and forearms. "You look like you fought a bandsaw and lost," she declared, and to his dismay, her bottom lip began to tremble.
"Yeah, but you fought a ghost and won," he cupped her cheek with his least bloody hand. "You were incredible."
"I was terrified," she blinked and breathed, fighting back tears. "I thought the ghost of Lucinda Whaley was going to kill you. A ghost, Dean. What the hell is going on here?"
"How do you know her name?" Dean asked, avoiding the tough question.
She pointed to a portrait on the wall. "This was her house back in Titus. I've seen that portrait a thousand times. I used to think she was pretty."
Dean studied the portrait of a Victorian lady with the long red hair and porcelain skin. Having nearly been stabbed to death by her, he didn't think much of her. "Hey, look," he pointed, "she's wearing that necklace."
Elizabeth stared for a long moment, then broke down fully into tears. He pulled her into his arms and stroked her hair. "Shhhh," he whispered. "You did it. You beat her. She's gone and she's never coming back."
Within moments, Elizabeth had pulled herself back together and was wiping at her face when Sam entered.
"What the hell happened to you?" his brother asked.
While Sam tended to the worst of his injuries, Elizabeth and Shawna made themselves scarce. Shawna offered him and Sam a cup of tea, which Sam accepted. Once the tale had been told, Dean was more than ready to get home and lie on his own couch. He pulled himself up, swaying a little. Sam and Elizabeth were both at his side in a heartbeat.
"Shawna, you owe me a pie," he declared.
That evening, they all sat around the brothers' little dining table, complete with mismatched chairs, and ate barbecue and cole slaw from the Hot Pig.
After dinner, Sam and Abigail curled up together on the couch to watch some foreign movie. Dean wanted to be alone with Elizabeth, but didn't feel right asking her into his bedroom.
"You want to take a walk or something?" Dean asked. "We could take Scooter."
"Are you sure you feel up to it?" she asked.
"If I don't keep moving, I'll stiffen up," he replied as he found the little dog's leash.
As Scooter led them to every tree within three blocks of the apartment, he found out everything he could about Elizabeth Coleman. She was a local girl, her parents still lived in the house she grew up in just across town. She'd been invited to come back to practice law by the local judge who'd encouraged her legal aspirations when she was in high school.
"He told me things were too quiet in town. He said we needed another lawyer to shake things up," she laughed. After the insane day they'd had, the sound of her laugh made him feel warm and comforted. All the evil of the day was suddenly erased because she was happy. Dean was suddenly gripped by a deep desire to make her happy every day.
He took her hand as they crossed the intersection and just kept holding it on the other side. The town was so peaceful. Scooter led them around the park, then gave the air a sniff and headed back toward home. They stopped on the corner across from the apartment and looked up at the stars.
"I don't do this enough," she sighed as she gazed overhead.
He thought about the many nights he and Sam had slept in the car, the innumerable beers they'd drank while lying on the hood of the Impala, looking up at the stars. It was freedom and he loved it.
Freedom also meant that he'd been with plenty of girls over the years. But no matter how hot the sex, he'd always felt the itch to hit the road after just a few days in one place. Because of that, relationships tended to move fast for him. He was in, out, and over it usually within a matter of days.
But he'd known Elizabeth for over a week. That was over two months in Dean years, he decided. For once he didn't want to rush it. She'd shown him today just how extraordinary she was. He wanted to take his time and enjoy getting to know her. He wanted to kiss her, to be with her, but he wanted to court her too. Elizabeth was different. She wasn't just some girl on the way to something else.
The stars hung overhead; the temptation of the open road lay before him.
But in that moment, his heart longed for something else. Home. He'd been without a home since he was just a kid. Being there on the quiet street with Elizabeth felt like coming home. He sighed.
"Are you okay?" she asked.
"No, I'm good. Really good."
He wasn't planning to kiss her. He hadn't come up with any lines or smooth talk. But all the same he found himself holding her, his lips against hers. Her mouth was soft, and her hair flowed around his fingers. Her body curved against his, like two parts of a whole. He felt like himself for the first time in his life.
He clung to her then, kissing her deeply, wanting to lose himself in her, to find himself in her. He barely knew her, but she made his heart pound and his breath catch in his chest.
Finally he forced himself to stop before he started something on the streetcorner that he couldn't finish. She leaned against him and he became aware that she was trembling.
He wanted to apologize, but he wasn't sorry he did it. Not at all.
Sam opened his eyes when he heard the door. Abby had fallen asleep against his chest and he too had nearly drifted off. He looked up to see Dean in the doorway. Scooter followed him into the room and stood patiently until Dean finally unhooked the leash.
"Where's Elizabeth?"
Dean looked up at him, an almost startled look in his eyes. "I walked her back home."
"Is it that late?"
"It's just after ten."
"That's not late, Dean."
Dean walked through the living room and to the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator door and pulled out the orange juice. Then he proceeded to chug it straight from the carton.
Sam eased out from under Abigail, trying not to wake her. It didn't work. She roused up, pushing back her hair. "What time is it?" she asked.
"Just after ten."
"I can't believe I fell asleep on you," she moaned. "I'm so sorry."
Sam gave her a soft kiss. "You fall asleep on me any time you want to."
"Et tu, Sammy?" Dean mumbled from behind his orange juice.
"I better head home." Abby pushed herself up from the couch.
"No. You don't have to leave. Don't leave." Sam hated the pitiful note of pleading in his voice but he couldn't help it. He'd been really comfortable.
"Good night, Sam," Abby said with a smile.
"Let me walk you home."
"It's one flight up and two doors down."
Sam took her by the hand. "I'm walking you home." He looked back at his brother. Dean leaned back against the kitchen sink, still holding his OJ, a look of deep trepidation on his face. "Stay put. I'll be right back. Scooter, watch him."
Scooter walked into the kitchen and curled up on the floor at Dean's feet.
Fifteen minutes later, Sam walked back into the apartment. "These Southern girls are tough," he complained. "I couldn't get her to let me in or anything."
Dean still stood at the sink. He still held the carton of orange juice. He still had a distinctly deer in the headlights look on his face.
"What's the matter? Are your stitches pulling loose?" Sam asked him, going to the fridge himself, but pulling out a beer.
Dean shook himself and his eyes actually focused on Sam for the first time since he'd come home. "No. No, I'm good."
Sam unscrewed the cap from his bottle. "So what's eating you? You look like you've seen - well, I would say a ghost but that was hours ago."
"Sam, I think I'm in love. Like real, life-changing, honest-to-God, true love."
"For real?" Sam couldn't help but laugh. For a man in love, Dean looked more like he'd been punched in the gut.
"Is love supposed to feel like this?" Dean sounded hurt. His eyes were even bloodshot.
"Feel like what?" Sam had seen his brother face down monsters with a grin on his face and a what-the-hell attitude, but now he was getting worried.
"Like everything you know is getting remade. I feel like everything I am has just been re-worked. Oh, God, Sam. I think I love her." Dean groaned and actually leaned on the counter with his head in his hands.
Sam leaned against the cabinet beside him, taking a sip of his beer to hide the grin on his face. "What's so bad about that?"
"I never loved anybody before. I don't know what to do."
"You just do it. You just love them."
Dean looked up at him, his brow wrinkling anxiously. "But this changes everything. This girl isn't someone you just love and go on. This girl is the until-death-do-you part kind. What am I going to do? I can't love her and keep hunting. I can't keep hunting and not love her." Dean reached out and grabbed his shoulder, squeezing it hard in emphasis as he repeated, "This. Changes. Everything."
Sam stared hard at his older brother. He'd never seen him like this. He'd never actually watched a personality re-integration take place. A deep joy began to bubble up inside him and a huge grin split his face. The untouchable Dean Winchester had fallen head over heels in love. This was going to be fun.