Author's Notes/Warning: So I'm realizing my previous warnings about clowns in previous chapters was tame compared to my warning now. If they freak you out, like they do me, then consider yourself warned when I say I freaked myself out. For me, this was like therapy. Oh, and it's the longest chapter yet. I'll try to curtail that a bit in the future. Enjoy...if you can.
John's POV - Chapter 4
John drove to the police station conflicted. Something was up with Dean, but he would have to wait. There was something out there wrestling the life from these local folk and he was pretty sure it wasn't a demon. So what was it? Whatever it was, he needed to end it. He needed to end all of it. This evil that was set on wreaking havoc in the inane but peaceful lives of the people of North America.
The police station was on the other side of town from the museum, but the town wasn't that large, so before he knew it, he found himself pulling up in front of an early 19th century, brown brick building. The police uniforms were just a darker shade of brown themselves, tending to blend in with the dusty desert that surrounded them.
John parked a block away so as not to arouse too much suspicion once he introduced himself as a colleague. As he walked confidently past all the uniforms streaming in and out of the hive like bees, he was struck by how humid the inside of the building was, considering they were in a desert. Maybe they were too cheap to turn on the air.
"I'd like to see the officer in charge of the house-sitting murders," he told the young woman seated at the desk not far from the entrance. She didn't seem impressed. "And who are you again?"
"Agent Leckie." He flashed his FBI pseudo-badge. "Working a case that started in Ohio and ended here – as one of your weird ass murder victims?" The woman looked uncertainly at the badge, then back at John.
"I really don't have all day, young lady, so can you call the head guy and let's get this done?"
(~~~)
John found himself seated before the case's lead detective. He looked like he wasn't much older than Dean – darker hair, darker eyes, but clearly no slouch in the strength department. Like Dean, this kid looked like he had seen more than his years should allow. He wouldn't be an easy nut to crack. But John had seen as much, maybe more. More than most people ever would. And he could be a hammer.
"OK, sir, my name is Detective Truman. Cindy out there said you wanted to speak with me about the homicide of local house sitters?"
"Yes, one of your victims was wanted in connection with a case in Ohio. Looks like he got himself a job out here as a house sitter and he died on the job. Never expected a job like that to be a hazard to one's health, huh?"
"We've had a few of those, yeah," the young detective replied with suspicion that matched Cindy's. It was a small town. Feds were never welcomed. "Who are you talking about?"
John had done his homework. He knew the names of all the victims and enough about each to get what he needed. He leaned forward.
"Steven Collins. Age 26. Born in Cincinnati. On the run from some distribution charges, but connected to some counterfeiters who probably helped give him a new identity, which helped him slip past a background check. A check that should have come through your department, right?"
The detective sat back at the verbal assault.
"Blond? Light brown eyes? Ring any bells?"
"Yeah. A few."
"OK then. How about we get down to business?"
(~~~)
Forty-five minutes later, John sighed as he sat back in the familiarity of the Impala's leather seat. The detective had shared all he could. John had seen the pictures of Lori and the angry twist of her neck. The odd streaks of color on her face. He had seen the pictures of all the vics, and the police were at a loss as to who was breaking in. Security cameras were picking up victims, not perpetrators. Or just one perpetrator maybe?
It had the makings of a ghost, or some sort of creature with the ability to slip past the cameras. However, it could also be a very tech-savvy serial killer. Either way, it was time to pay a visit to Safe Homes. He shook his head at the irony. No one, apparently, was safe. Not the families. Not the sitters. Not his wife. Not his children.
He shook off the nostalgia and fired up the car's engine. Victor Holden. That was the name the detective had given him of the Safe Homes manager. Victor had some explaining to do.
(~~~)
The Safe Homes headquarters were located in a non-descript office park. For a business that was focused on safety, it didn't take very much for John to find Victor's office and surprise the man. There was an empty desk outside the glass-walled office. The assistant must have been out to lunch. John watched as the man inside paced back and forth in the small space. He was talking on a cell phone and hadn't noticed right away he was being observed. He turned to face the glass and froze when he saw John.
Even when trying to be nonchalant, John's presence tended to be menacing. The man straightened, his composure slipping into place as he spoke a few more words, then held the phone at his side.
John stepped to the door, wrangling his best "good cop" persona into position, plastered a smile on his face and entered.
"Hi there," John said, extending his hand. "Sorry to startle you. I was trying to wait for your assistant, but looks like they're out to lunch?"
The man nodded as his eyes took in John's official appearance. The two men stood in silence a moment, John trying to send a vibe of assurance that he was safe; the man expressionless and unreadable. He tilted his head, blinking at John, a slow, friendly smile blossoming on his face. John looked puzzled by the change in the man.
"Yeah. Sorry 'bout that," he replied, offering his own hand. "I'm Victor." He pumped John's hand vigorously. "Victor Holden." Victor chuckled nervously, stuffing his phone in his pocket and looking around like he had just forgotten what he was about to do.
"I'm sorry there was no one there to greet you. Steph's at lunch right now," he explained with a laugh. "We aren't normally this unguarded!" Victor stopped looking around as he rubbed his hands together to focus on John. He chuckled again. "We can't always have our defenses up, right? But that's why we have other eyes," he said nodding to the corner of his office.
John turned to see what Victor was referring to. He looked around, at the glass wall, then the painted wall where vacation photos hung like trophies. He almost turned back and then he spotted the tiniest little square in the corner. John stepped forward squinting at the tiny box on a swivel head. It was a gray color that almost blended into the background. John's mind instantly went over all the possible hidden cameras they might have missed in the houses. They might just get lucky if one of the murders was caught on camera.
"Ah, this belong to you, or do you have a security company too?"
"Actually, it is one of ours. We are a full-service security company. Homes, offices, people. I mean we work in conjunction with the local police, but we have our own security force too."
"Uh huh," John replied. He turned back to Victor "And what about your employees?"
Victor quirked his head in confusion. John gave him a small smile as he took a couple of steps forward. "Steven Collins. Lori Addison. Cassie Sloane? All house sitters for you, right? Or used to be?"
Victor straightened at the mention of the names, the color starting to drain from his face.
"I'm sorry. Who...who did you say you were?"
"I'm sorry. I didn't. Agent Leckie, FBI. I'm looking into these strange deaths."
Victor nodded. "Of course. Yes." He looked at John a moment, another unreadable expression swept over his face before his friendly demeanor returned.
"Have a seat, agent?" Victor motioned to the seat in front of his desk as he stepped around to sit in his black leather chair.
John sat, his eyes never leaving Victor.
Victor rubbed his hand down his face, lingering on his chin as he continued to skim his finger along his jaw. He looked out to the empty office where his assistant would have been. "It's a tragedy, Agent Leckie. Six of our own people. Six," he hissed. His hand fell to the desk as he looked at John. "It was my job," he said. "My job to protect those homes AND my people. I just don't know what's going on." He sighed as he sat back. His hands gripped the arms of his chair.
"Frankly, I'm surprised you're still in business right now."
"Contract, Agent Leckie. The homeowners sign them in advance and we have a few more jobs on the books. That's not to say that business hasn't been affected."
"Of course it has."
"I am responsible for the people on my payroll too, Mr. Leckie. I want to know what's happening, just like you do, and put a stop to it."
John nodded. "Have you considered that maybe this is an inside job?"
"What?" Victor sat up again. "You think one of my own people…"
"It's possible, right? Who else knew those homes would be empty of their owners, with your workers there instead?"
"That could be anyone! Starting with the homeowners! They are a tight-knit community – any one of their countless employees could have done it."
"Which would make sense if we were talking about a robbery," John interjected. "But nothing was stolen. So, does that make any sense to you?"
Victor sat back. He sighed again as he stared at his hands.
John softened at the sight of the man. He appeared to be as confused by it all as he was.
"Look, Victor. Your people are being killed. The homeowners are all different. They aren't even connected to each other. The only connection is this place."
Victor raised his head, his eyes betraying his sadness as he attempted to regain his professional composure.
"Now, Victor, who here arranges the placement of these workers in the homes?"
"I do," he said.
John sat back. "Just you?"
"Well, my girl, Stephanie, she has access and I do have a few employees here to help with payroll and the like. But Steph and I meet everyone. We're a small team right now so I interview the prospects, meet with the clients, Steph helps me with all the scheduling but pretty much, it's me." Victor leaned forward to place his clasped hands on the desk.
"But it's not me, Agent Leckie. OK? I swear." Victor rose from his chair to walk over to the window of his office. He stared out the blinds, his back to John. "But I think I know what it is."
"You do?" John asked.
"Yeah. I'm cursed."
John turned in his chair now. "Cursed," he repeated skeptically.
Victor turned back to John. "Agent, you are never gonna believe me."
"I can believe a lot of things, Victor. Why don't you try me."
Victor sighed a deep sigh. "Well, my parents never believed me and it's been following me my whole life."
John positioned himself a little more comfortably, but didn't want to spook Victor so he stayed seated and waited.
"I'm haunted, Agent. I'm haunted and now it's spreading to the people I am connected to."
"Why don't you tell me what you mean by that, Victor."
Victor turned to sit on the arm of the sofa that was right in front of the window. He looked at his hands as he spoke. "It happened one Halloween when I went trick-or-treating with my older brother. I was 10. He was daring me to go to some old house and I was scared, so he ditched me to go play some stupid pranks with his friends."
"Gotta love that brotherly love." And for a moment John thought of his boys and was grateful to know they would never desert each other that way.
"I had something to prove. So I went. It was one of those homes where you hardly ever saw the people who lived there, but they usually went all out for Halloween. I went there and rang the bell. The door opened really slowly, all creepy like. And it was all dark inside, but I never saw anyone actually open the door."
"So you went in," John guessed.
"Of course. I told you. I had something to prove. I went in and it was just so dark. Then the door slammed behind me. I tried to open it, but it just wouldn't budge. I was alone. Before long there was this glow coming from a room ahead of me. It was mesmerizing. Called to me, you know? So I went. Down this long, dark hall. It felt like the longest walk of my life, but I thought it might be the way out. So I kept going. The first thing I saw were all these candles on a table in the middle of the room and curtains on all the walls. It looked like I was walking in on a séance, or a sacrifice even. And then I saw it. There was this clown. Just standing there, staring at me. I coulda jumped out of my skin, but then I saw it wasn't moving. I thought it was some weird statue, so I got closer. It was so lifelike with this white face, big red frown, blue hair. I was…in a trance. And then I felt…something. I turned around and I froze. There was another one across the room. I didn't see it when I first walked in. And that's when I realized there were more, all standing against the walls, all around the room. I thought I was gonna freak."
"Sounds…traumatizing," John replied.
Victor hugged himself. "They moved."
"What?"
"I thought they were all statues. I couldn't figure out how I missed them when I went in, and I started to feel like I was suffocating. It was like they were watching my every move and as I looked at one, I could swear I saw something move out of the corner of my eye. I kept missing it until I realized they were closing in on me. I was surrounded!" Victor began to become more animated as he spoke.
"My heart was leaping out my chest, and all I could do was scream as they kept drawing closer and closer with those menacing eyes and evil grins. I was finally able to crawl between the legs of one of them to run out the door, and they were chasing me, down that long ass hall. And just when I reached the door, I could feel myself being pulled back. Red gloved hands were grabbing my arms, but I pulled away and found the door wasn't locked after all."
Victor breathed deep and looked intently at John.
"I got out, Agent. I got out and when I turned back to look, the door had slammed behind me so I ran. All the way home. I even beat my stupid brother home. When my mom saw I was alone she reamed him," Victor snorted to himself at the memory.
"I was up all night watching the shadows. I was exhausted. It was the weekend so I just stayed in my room, slept all day and I stayed up all night. I never had so many nightmares before. By the time Monday came I was a wreck, but I couldn't convince my mom to let me stay home from school. She thought I just ate too much candy that weekend, or watched too many horror movies, and that I needed to learn a lesson from it."
Victor got up and walked to a cabinet located on the wall of photos. He opened a door and John could see it was a bar. Victor pulled out a bottle, turned over a tumbler and poured himself a drink, holding the bottle to John in a silent question. John shook his head. Victor nodded, replacing the bottle as he grabbed the tumbler. He then went to sit on the sofa.
"I went to school, Agent. It was the longest day of my life. I was so tired. At the end of the day, I walked home, like I always do. I had to pass one of those abandoned factories, you know the kind?"
"Yes," John answered, standing slowly to lean against the desk. He wanted to have full view of Victor as he continued his tale.
"I had to go past one of those on my way to school and back home. It was off limits to kids, but of course we always hung out there. Well, they did. I didn't get asked to hang out all that much. Usually I was alone. I was alone when I walked past that place that day on my way home. And I didn't see anyone following me, but I kept hearing jingling. When I got to the factory, it seemed even louder so I stopped and I looked. You know what I saw, Agent?"
John could guess.
"One of those damn clowns. He was waving at me at first, then he was beckoning me. I felt like I was going to panic again, and I started to run. I ran right into this old dude with a cane. He grabbed me and asked me what my problem was. I know I was babbling and I went to point at that friggin' clown… no one was there. Gone. Just as fast as he came."
"Did you find out who it was?"
Victor snorted. "Yeah. It was my nightmare. He had stepped right out of it into my reality, Agent. I was seeing that clown, that exact clown, in my dreams." Victor downed the rest of his drink before setting it heavily on the table before him. "I told you, Agent. I'm haunted."
"But how?"
"That clown? He's literally followed me my whole life."
"You still see it?"
"Yes. But no one else can, it seems. And there have been times…" Victor paused as he rubbed his hand roughly on his neck.
"Times…," John started.
"There have been times when I was so sure he – it – was the reason for the things going wrong in my life. It was small stuff before. Losing a girlfriend here and there. I had a roommate accuse me of trashing his stuff in our room in college."
"That doesn't sound so small to me," John said.
"Well, compared to murder, Agent? Small potatoes."
John crossed his arms as he thought about Victor's ghost or whatever it was. "So you think…"
"What I think is crazy. Or it was. Until I heard about the legend. I'm from here, Agent. Been here all my life. I had never heard that legend as a kid. What are the chances that they aren't connected?"
John didn't know what to think. Something was haunting Victor and it was remarkably similar in tale to whatever was killing his employees.
Victor's cell phone chirped as John was about to speak. Victor pulled it out, looking at the lit screen.
"I'm sorry, Agent. Could you excuse me a moment? You can stay here. I'll be right back."
Pretending to have an interest in the photos, he walked toward the wall. He peered at the pictures, studying them, one hand propped casually on the glass. He looked closer, his hand moving up and along the glass until he reached the area of the camera. He saw the camera was on a swivel of some sort and he pushed it so it was positioned toward the ceiling.
Checking the office again, he saw he was still alone and moved quickly to Victor's desk to check out the file. John saw a list of names, addresses and more names beside each. Drawing his finger down, he spotted Melissa and Paul Carey. Moving over he saw their address and then Lori's name. This must have been the client/sitter schedule.
John noted the dates as he drew further down the list. There was a home slated for a house sitting job the next night. Rory Myers was the sitter on tap. John memorized the address and hurried back to his seat in front of the desk as Victor walked back around the corner to his office.
"I'm sorry, Agent…"
"No need to apologize, Mr. Holden. I think I got what I need for now. I'll be in touch, ok?"
"Sure, sure," Victor replied, reaching to shake John's hand once more. "Anything I can do to help. I'm devastated by this. I'm sorry to, um, scare you with my talk…"
"Not scared, Mr. Holden. Clearly something is going on. And I'm here to help."
Victor nodded. "I know it's just my imagination," Victor said. "It's gotta be. But what if it's not?"
(~~~)
John went back to his car to think. Victor sounded like most haunted people did. Except maybe his nightmare had found its way out into reality and it was going after innocents.
Damn clowns. It was no wonder Sammy didn't like the things. He wasn't overly fond of them himself. All that makeup and secrecy. Painted smiles that could easily be hiding more nefarious intent. He understood the disdain some people had; that Sam had. Speaking of Sam, it had been a long time and it was about time he checked up on his younger son again. Maybe it would even help Dean's weird mood to see his brother again, if only from afar. He couldn't risk Sam finding out that he checked up on him, of course. Sam would climb up on that high horse of his and read him and Dean the riot act for spying on him. But John needed this right now. Dean needed it. And John was going to make sure to take care of two birds with one stone as soon as this hunt was done. For all of their sakes.
John smiled at the thought of seeing Dean happy again. He moved to put the key in the ignition when he spotted Victor coming out of his office building. Not expecting to be noticed in his car, he watched as Victor strode to another car in the lot and got in. John looked at the time. It was only after 2 p.m. Not exactly too late for a late lunch, he supposed. But Victor was looking…off to him.
Victor got in his car and John started his, deciding to follow him for a bit, while he tried Dean one last time. "Damn it, Dean. What the hell are you doing?"
Victor drove, once again oblivious to John watching him. He went through town leading John through streets heavy with a late lunch crowd. There were enough cars for John to feel confident that Victor wouldn't notice him, but he stayed a few carlengths back anyway.
Before long, Victor was pulling into the lot of a diner. He was just grabbing lunch, John thought, but Victor kept driving toward the back of the diner. Assuming there was another lot there, John stayed where he was and waited. After about 5 minutes, he looked around to see if Victor might have slipped into the diner. He looked at the heads as they moved about inside, then wondered if there might have been another door in the back.
John drove to the back lot. It was larger than he had expected. That was when he noticed there were more cars sitting neatly in rows a little further away. There was another business behind the diner.
John drove ahead, keeping his distance, and he moved along the edges of the lot looking for Victor's car. He finally spotted it parked in a row close to the building. He drove in front of the vehicle to get a look inside, but Victor wasn't there. Driving to the other side of the building, John thought he'd be able to sit unnoticed while he checked things out from the outside. He looked up in search of a sign and spotted the name in thick, faded script on the side of the pink, brick wall.
Funny People.