Disclaimer: I do not own the boy or their show, but I very much claim every random thought I have about them, which so far is turning into fan fiction.
Author's Note/Warning: Please remember. I am posting weekdays only and not weekends, so the next chapter will come some time on (my) Monday. Also, please remember this is ultimately a discipline fic, but I really feel like it's just one piece of a larger puzzle as opposed to being the whole picture. You can be the judge of that. Enjoy!
John's POV - Chapter 3
John and Dean decided to pay a visit to the home of the most recent victim of this odd crime. They had returned to the house to change into their FBI gear and in short order found themselves in front of the sizeable, neatly manicured home. It was not exactly modest, but not ostentatious either. Most likely these were people who were doctors or lawyers or bank presidents. Whoever they were, they had come home to a circus. A body was found in their home and they would likely be skittish.
"Let's go," John said authoritatively, fake badge already in his jacket breast pocket. Dead nodded his affirmation and they quickly stepped out of the car, John falling into step with Dean as they headed to the front door.
The neighborhood was not the sort where homeowners would be outside mowing their own lawns or gardening. Workers dotted the area, toiling in their stead.
Dean stood slightly behind his father as they rang the bell. He noticed the alarm logo on the window of the home and looked around to see the same logo on the windows and lawns of some of the surrounding homes.
A small woman, with disheveled, mostly black hair in a messy ponytail, opened the door. Some wisps of dark hair mixed with gray fell from the loose ponytail and framed her still youthful, but sad face. She wore no makeup, which either made her look younger than her years or older. John couldn't be sure. The woman wrapped a gray sweater tighter around herself. She released the door, looking curiously at the men before her.
"Can I help you?" she asked quietly, gray-blue eyes looking from John to Dean and back again.
"Yes, ma'am," John replied. "Sorry to bother you." John flashed his fake badge. Dean did the same. "I'm Agent Leckie and this is my partner Agent Sledge. We heard about what happened in your home and were hoping to talk with you about it."
The woman considered the men in their nondescript suits. She looked past them and saw the Impala in front of her home, thinking it an odd choice for FBI agents, but she merely looked at the men again. They felt safe. And she could see lots of workers at her neighbors' homes. Surely they would hear her if anything happened.
She stepped back, nodding as she grasped the door to allow them to enter.
Dean looked to John, who had nodded his appreciation at the woman and stepped into the home. Dean followed, giving the woman a sympathetic smile.
"I'm Melissa," she said, taking the lead to show the men into the open room directly in front of them. Stairs flanked both sides of the sunken room, a tasteful chandelier hung overhead in the wide foyer that led to the open area.
"Carey, correct?" John asked. "Melissa Carey and your husband is Paul?"
"Yes," she said, extending her hand to one of the two long, dark blue sofas that faced each other. Both were perpendicular to a wall of glass that led out to an in-ground pool.
John smiled and nodded again, taking a seat. Dean sat beside him. Melissa seated herself across from them, in the middle of the sofa, then thought a bit and asked, "Can I get you something to drink? Water? Iced tea maybe?"
"Sure," Dean replied. John looked over at him, wanting to get on with his interview. He could see Dean refusing to look back.
Melissa nodded and gave them a small smile, pulling on her sweater again and lightly walking across the gray patterned rug. She went behind the sofa where had been seated, through a swinging door.
John watched her go then narrowed his eyes in Dean's direction.
"I just wanted to take a second to take the place in, Dad." John considered this and nodded a single nod. The two looked around then at the neutral palate – blue sofas, gray rug with large blue, rust and gray swirls. They took in the beverage cart against a far wall, above it a large abstract painting in the hues of the room. John noted behind them was an open doorway to another, more intimate sitting room. They could see the floor-to-ceiling bookcases on the walls, rows of books, art, and pictures on the shelves. Heavy leather chairs were facing inward to a part of the room obscured from where they sat. They knew the body of the victim had been found in the office. Maybe that was the room behind them.
Melissa came back in, two drinks in her hands. She moved back to where she had been sitting, leaning over the glass table that was between the sofas. She handed them each a drink, then stepped back around the sofa to go to the beverage cart on the wall behind her. She retrieved two coasters. Returning to where she sat, she placed the coasters on the table before John and Dean, then sat gingerly back on the sofa. Her black legging-covered legs pressed together. She cocooned herself in her gray sweater once again.
John took a sip of the too-sweet tea and set it down on the coaster, while Dean took bigger sips of his.
"Mrs. Carey," John started.
"Melissa," she corrected.
"Melissa. The local police filled us in. But can you tell us what happened in your own words?"
The woman sighed as she looked out the glass doors. She tilted her head, looking back to the agents in her home. "FBI?" she asked in a musing tone, ignoring John's question. "Why do you care about this?"
"Um, one of the victims…," Dean intervened, glancing quickly at his father. He set down the cold drink. "…was wanted in Ohio. We can't go into why. But his death here now makes this a federal case."
"Oh," Melissa said, accepting the excuse. She sat further back on the sofa. Her eyes shifted, looking at nothing in particular, but clearly recalling the events that led them to this point.
"Paul had a business meeting in Seattle. He only had to talk to some potential new client of his for maybe the span of a lunch, maybe dinner. But he asked me if I wanted to possibly make this into a getaway for a week. We've been…" Melissa looked back at the men now, shyly smiling at them. She clasped her hands and looked down at her manicured nails. She tucked her hair behind one ear. "We've been trying. To get pregnant. And it's been…difficult, you know?"
John and Dean watched the woman. Neither moved while she spoke.
"It's been a long time. Starts to feel like a job, actually, and Paul knew I was just a little tired. From the last round. We just knew it would take, but…" Melissa let her thoughts trail.
"Anyway, so he thought it would be good to go somewhere for a little while, get out of this place. We usually just lock the place up, tell a select few friends to keep an eye out and we go. But Paul's been doing really well lately and he's been indulging in his love of cars." Melissa chuckled to herself as she looked back at her nails.
"He had bought himself a 1965 Shelby Cobra Roadster maybe 6 months ago?" she pondered, her tongue tripping over the lengthy name of the car. "Most recently he got himself some Oldsmobile convertible from some guy in Texas. Super 88, I think he called it. He keeps them both in our garage. It's only a 3-car garage right now. I don't know what he's going to do after he gets a third one. We already have to park our everyday cars in the driveway. I've told him about the clutter…" she trailed again. "Sorry," Melissa apologized, as she noticed the men's patient looks.
"No need," John replied with understanding.
"Sounds like he's building himself a prized collection," Dean added.
"Yeah. He is. So with that and just, well, the addition of some more expensive things around here, we thought maybe a house sitter would be the way to go, even though we have the security system, which is really good.
"We looked in a few places and settled on Safe Homes because we knew a few people who had used them and they were also recommended by my friend Belinda. So we called them, went to their offices, spoke with the guy who handles the sitters and he introduced us to the young lady who would take care of ours. Lori. She was a nice girl. Going to college and was just looking to make some extra money. Even though she's a college girl, she was very mature and sounded so responsible, getting herself a job like this and all. We figured it would be ok. Plus the company is insured and there's a contract, so we knew we had a form of restitution."
"So Lori was here how long?" John asked.
"We left on a Sunday and Lori called us on a Tuesday night. She said she was just feeling spooked by our statue."
John and Dean looked confused at each other then back at Melissa.
"Your statue?" Dean asked.
Melissa nodded, starting to get upset. She tucked her hair behind her ear again. "Yeah," she breathed, her voice starting to break a bit. "She called Paul's cell. We were getting ready to go to dinner and Paul got a call. I heard him say Lori's name so I listened. She was telling him about some creepy statue in our office upstairs. We had told her that was the room where we kept all our movies, so if she wanted to watch any of them she could."
"Uh huh," John replied, pulled into her story.
"So she called and said she hadn't noticed it before because she hadn't been all the way into the room but for a second to put some mail on Paul's desk. But that night she went in to look at the movies and she saw our clown statue in the corner. She was trying to watch a movie, but the statue was freaking her out, so she was calling to ask if it was ok for her to turn it around. She didn't know how valuable it was and didn't want to break anything."
Melissa stopped at this point to look around herself. "Ummm, shoot. I don't have any…"
"Oh, here," Dean said, reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out a small packet of tissues, handing the pack to Melissa. She smiled, sniffing and gratefully accepting the tissues. She pulled one out and reached to hand Dean the rest. Dean shook his head. "It's ok. You keep them," he said gently.
Melissa nodded and dabbed her eyes. "So," John continued. "She wanted to turn the statue around?"
Melissa nodded. "Yeah, except…" she sniffed again, dabbing at one eye. "Except we don't have a statue like that," Melissa rushed. "Paul was gesturing to me and I wasn't sure what he was saying at first. Then I realized he wanted me to get my phone. He told Lori to leave the room and she must have been asking why because he kept saying, 'Just do me a favor please and head on downstairs.' He was telling me on the side to call the police and send them to our house. Then I heard him tell Lori to stay calm because he was going to tell her something. And then he asked her if she had left the room and she said she had. Then he told her we don't have a clown statue. Next thing I know Paul is screaming for Lori…" Melissa sniffed again, the tears coming freely now. "But she never answered," she whispered.
"So this happened while you were away. You never saw the body?" John asked.
"No, but we saw pictures when we got back. We returned that night, as fast as we could. Well, it was early morning, actually. The cops had showed us pictures to help identify her. She had this weird makeup on her face and neck. And her neck…" Melissa hugged herself again. "It was so red and…and twisted." Melissa shut her eyes a moment. "The colors on here some kind of bright, thick makeup." Melissa sighed a heavy sigh, dropping her hands in her lap as John and Dean looked at each other.
"It's so weird," Melissa went on, looking up at the ceiling, shaking her head. She looked back at the agents as if she were going to let them in on a secret. "There's this story around here. About some evil clown or something. I guess it's supposed to be a…a ghost or creature or something," Melissa shook her head again, clearly not believing her own words. "I don't know what it is. But it's supposedly appearing in people's homes and killing them. Can you believe that?"
John could believe anything.
She sniffed again, wiping an eye with the back of one shaking hand. "My friend, Belinda? She's the one who told me about it one night when we went out for drinks." She laughed a sad laugh. "What the hell. Clowns are supposed to bring joy, right?"
"Yes, ma'am," Dean replied. "Well, it's certainly a strange event."
"Ha!" Melissa laughed again. "Strange indeed."
"Melissa," John called. "Would you mind if we see the room where this happened?"
Melissa looked momentarily startled by the idea. "Oh, yes, yes, of course." She stood up, brushing nothing off her lap while she rose. "Just follow me."
John and Dean nodded as Melissa moved to head back to the foyer, Dean following behind her with John bringing up the rear. She turned to the right to go up the staircase, turning slightly to talk to whomever was closest to her. It was Dean. "I haven't been in here…"
"No, no of course not. You don't have to. If it's ok, my partner and I can look in alone. If you're uncomfortable with it."
They reached the top landing where Melissa pointed down a short hallway to a closed door at the end of it. Bright yellow police tape was a stark contrast against the dark wood. Melissa stepped around John and Dean so they were now in front and she was once again wrapping her sweater around herself with nervous fear clouding her eyes.
"Yeah, that will be ok. Lori said she saw…whatever she saw…in the corner, behind the door."
"Thank you," John said. "We won't take long."
"It's ok. I'll just let you look." Melissa's hand reached out to the railing. She took a small step back to the stairs. "I'll be downstairs when you're done."
"OK. Thanks," John answered. He looked at Dean, nodding toward the door. Dean went ahead, carefully detaching the police tape, and opened the door. Melissa quickly made her way down the stairs.
John and Dean entered the room. It had a library feel, like the one downstairs, except there were no leather chairs. They saw a window across from them on the furthest wall, a rust-colored roman shade pulled up about 1/3 of the way, cream-colored curtains cascading to the floor while letting in some of the bright Reno light. The room was spacious, allowing for a big screen TV to be hung on the wall to their right, a fireplace below it and flanked by more floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filled with all sorts of books and more movies than a cinema.
A deep-seat, burnt orange sofa faced the TV with two ottomans in front of it. Tasteful, complimentary throw pillows in natural colors such as green, tan and patterns with orange designs were neatly strewn on the cushions. The floor was hardwood this time, a cherry-kind of color. Directly behind the sofa was a large desk, a slim computer sat in the center, some mail right next to it, but there was no other clutter on top.
Stepping in, John saw there were cases behind the desk, displaying varied model cars. More abstract art decorated the wall along with speakers, which John assumed were for surround sound. There was another desk across the room in front of the window where a laptop sat closed on top along with some papers. Plants short and tall were placed around the room, some on the floor, some on shelves.
It was a cozy enough area. John could take it all in right away. He remembered what Melissa said and grabbed the door to pull it closed. He looked behind it. There was a jukebox on the short wall, leaving enough room for something to be there unnoticed by anyone who walked in.
The girl had been found lying across the ottomans like she might have been taking a nap. John looked at the area where the being, or whatever it was, allegedly was located. He examined the wall, the floor, even the side of the jukebox. He didn't see anything out of the ordinary. Dean pulled out his homemade EMF meter, checking behind him in case Melissa had changed her mind, and began to scan in front of the sofa, around it, under it, for any kind of clue.
"I've got nothin'," he said.
"Yeah," John replied. "Here either." He pushed the door closed a little more, suddenly noticing a spot of color on the dark wood.
"What?" Dean asked
"Not sure," John said, looking closer at the area. He rubbed his thumb on it and it came off on his skin. "Some kind of thick yellow substance of some sort." John thought a moment. Unbeknownst to his sons, he had been on the trail of whatever it was that had killed his wife, the mother of his children. He knew it had been some sort of demon and his research, plus a few cases he had caught trying to get a handle on demons in general, had showed him that they always left a yellow powder behind – sulphur.
John glanced back at Dean who had resumed looking around the room, then John brought the yellow substance to his nose. It didn't have a smell. Had to be something else. He rubbed his fingers together.
"It's like some kind of…paint?"
Dean looked up from the desk by the window. "Didn't they find some kind of weird makeup on the girl?"
John nodded. "We need to get a look at her." John turned fully to face his son. "We need to look into Safe Homes. We need to take a look at this girl Lori and the other victims too…"
"And we need to find out more about this friggin' ghost clown Melissa is talking about," Dean added.
"Uh huh," John said. "Did you know Reno was the clown capital of the world?"
"Uh, sorry. Trivial Pursuit was never one of my favorite games, Dad ," Dean retorted.
John rolled his eyes. "OK, so it's not exactly something I could have told you before. You know how Sam feels about clowns."
Dean nodded, saying nothing as he looked away. John ignored the heavy feeling he suddenly got when he mentioned Sam.
"Let's split up. I'll go to the police station; see what else I can find out about the victims. Then I'll head over to the Safe Homes offices so I can talk to the manager there. I know the clown capital of the world has a special museum downtown so I'll drop you there. You see what you can find out about our mysterious homicidal clown."
"Oh, joy," Dean answered.
"You call me when you're done, ok? We'll see what we've got. We need to get this bastard before anyone else dies."