Disclaimer: Not my boys nor my show. I just like playing with them in my head. That sounded weird.
Author's Notes/Warning: This was almost literally finished in the 11th hour - wait. Maybe that's more like the 23rd hour - but finished it is; this chapter that is. We're almost there and I thank you for hanging in as long as you have.
John's POV - Chapter 5
The house was empty when he got home – again. It was starting to feel like when he first came back from the weekend of debt collecting expecting to find Dean waiting for him. Except this time, the place didn't even look dumped on. It looked just like it did when he and Dean left that morning to talk to Melissa Carey.
John walked through the house, then went outside to walk the perimeter. There was no indication that Dean had even returned from when John had dropped him off at the museum. "So what is the deal?" John asked himself.
He went back into the house to check Dean's room again, hoping for some sign as to his state of mind. But it wasn't forthcoming. He checked his phone to make sure he hadn't somehow put it on silent and missed Dean's call. But it yielded no information regarding Dean's whereabouts.
It was still daylight. Dean could have found some trail that he decided to follow. John wandered to the sofa as he thought about what had happened that day and what to do. Victor and his haunting were too similar to the killings to be mere coincidence. There were no coincidences in his line of work.
John plopped down on the sofa and reached with a lazy hand to pull the computer to his lap. He would need to look a little more into Victor's background, that was for certain. Then he and Dean could stake out the next house on that list.
As the laptop powered up, he checked his watch. Where are you, boy?
(~~~)
The day had turned into evening and still no Dean. John's curiosity had curdled into anger mixed with anxiety. Phone calls went to voicemail and John refused to sit and wait any longer. He had to make sure he knew which way to feel before committing to a warpath – worried or pissed. He checked his watch once again. It was just after 6. Early enough?, he wondered. He had to try. Last-known whereabouts? The museum.
John grabbed his keys, musing about his son's potential irresponsibility and the mystery around Victor and his demons. Hustling to the car, he was determined to put an end to whatever was wiping out Reno residents and bring his son back – all the way back.
(~~~)
Reno's after-work traffic was the sort where one couldn't necessarily speed to one's destination, but it wasn't stop-and-go either. John got to the museum in about 20 minutes and pulled up just as a lanky young man was locking up.
"Hey!" he called, before the car came to a full stop. The young man didn't notice. John put a hard stop to the vehicle, forcing open the door as he spoke. "Hey! Hey there!"
"Sorry! We're closed," came the reply. The young man continued to lock the door. "I'm sure your burning clown questions can wait until the morning."
"Hey! I just need to ask you a quick question."
"I said I'm sorry –" The keys clattered on the pavement as the young man found himself with his back pressed against the door, face to face with bearded fury.
"I said I have a quick question," John insisted.
"Uh, loo…look, man, I don't know –"
"Earlier. Today. Young agent come to see you?"
"Wha...what? Agent?"
John's arm shook against the man's collarbone as he pressed tighter. "Slightly shorter than me. Dark blond. Green eyes. Slightly juvenile attitude."
"Oh, oh yeah. He came in. Asking a bunch of questions about homicidal clowns and weird legends."
"Did you notice when he left?"
"Man, that was hours ago!"
"Did you notice where he went?"
"Sorry, no. I went to the back room when he was on his way out. Why? Is he missing? He didn't seem to be in any danger. Came out of left field asking about coulrophobia."
"Cole-ro-what?"
"Fear of clowns. He seemed to have an interest in that too."
John stepped back, lowering his restraint as he continued to watch the man.
"I don't know where he went, but could have used him not long after though."
"Why?"
"Well, some guy came in to use our phone. Reported his car stolen. Too bad your agent wasn't here then."
John's temper began to rise as the realization dawned on him. "He's FBI, not a cop." John stepped back as he decided there was no reason to worry – yet. "Thanks for your help, uh…"
"Robert."
"Yeah, thanks Rob."
"Robert!" the man called as John rounded the Impala to head back to the house and wait.
(~~~)
He was having flashbacks to when his boys were teenagers; him coming home unexpectedly to an empty house because they thought he'd be gone longer. Like the monsters he trained them to fight, he would lie in wait in the dark to catch them sneaking in past the curfew he insisted they obey, even in his absence. On more than one occasion he had ended up catching them. On most of those occasions he punished them, the severity of it depending on the state in which they returned home, as well as the lateness of the hour. By those standards, Dean should be expecting to not be able to sit for a day or so, due to the beat-down he was developing with each passing second.
(~~~)
It was, once again, a new day, despite the darkness outside. Once again, John was left to simmer as he watched for his errant hunting partner. Sleep was threatening to derail his anger, but he was determined to get his boy straight first, so they could focus on this hunt.
John rose from the sofa, where he had sat seething, to scrounge up another cup of coffee, when he heard the sound of a motor dying, followed by the barely audible sound of a closing car door.
John froze in his tracks as he turned his head to listen if the driver was headed toward him or moving away. He didn't have to wait long to hear the thump of footsteps on the porch and with that he turned fully and stalked to the door, snatching it open just as Dean stepped through.
"What the hell!" Dean gasped.
"Exactly! What the hell and where the hell!"
"Dad! Why are you hiding in the dark, man!"
"Where have you been, Dean? Why didn't you answer my calls? I dropped you off yesterday!"
"What?"
"It's after 2 a.m.!"
"What? Do I have a curfew now? I'm 24, dude!"
"And that's as old as you get after tonight!"
John yanked Dean further inside the house, shoving him in the direction of the bedrooms as they turned from the front door.
"I called you repeatedly! You were supposed to tell me when you were done, so I could get you. And if you couldn't wait, you were to meet me back here to run down this hunt. That was the plan!"
"I know! I know!" Dean snatched his arm from John, stepping out of his grip. "I went to the museum, ok? I talked to the guy."
"Yeah, that much I know!"
"You checked up one me?"
"Dean! It's after TWO A.M.!"
Dean nodded, stepping back further as he took off his jacket and hung it on the chair. "I…I just needed a minute."
"You had 8 hours, boy!"
"I know! I'm sorry, ok?"
"Do you really think –"
"Dad! You're pissed. I get it. I get it. And I…I just needed some time."
John straightened as he looked at his tired son. He wouldn't normally relent so easily. But he had decided to put his rage on the back burner in favor of other priorities.
"We sort out this case, Dean. You tell me everything you know and we make a plan. We follow that plan, we kill whatever the hell it is and then I deal with you."
"Yes, sir."
John calmed enough to finally go get the cup of coffee he'd originally sought. Holding the cup in both hands, he sat at the kitchen table. "Talk."
(~~~)
"I heard a car outside," John remembered.
"Oh, uh, yeah. I needed to clear my head so I went for a drive."
"Uh huh."
"Um, out of town."
"What?" John said in a low voice.
"I, you know, borrowed a car from a casino in town, but I left it there and…took another one to come back."
John shook his head. "Later, Dean." He sipped his cooling coffee. He and Dean had just spent about 45 minutes informing each other of the museum and the lack of a homicidal clown suspect. John told Dean about Victor and his haunting.
"Do you think he somehow brought something to life," Dean mused.
"I don't know. Maybe."
"How do you fight a figment of the imagination? If it's a figment."
"You stop the imaginer," John said coldly.
"Figment," Dean snorted. "His figment is made of bright pigments. Get it?" Dean grinned.
John shook his head, rising to toss the now-cold coffee into the sink.
"Got it. Don't want it."
He placed the cup in the sink and turned back to Dean, leaning against the sink. "Here's what we're going to do. I am going to follow Victor tomorrow. You are going to watch the house of the potential next victim."
"Dad, come on. Baby-sitting duty?"
"Dean, right now I can't trust you to be where I expect you to be, but we also don't have time to waste. I will be mad, Dean. I am mad. But it will be better for both of us, faster, if we each take a part. So you get the super easy part. You can sit there and wallow in whatever you have going on while you watch that house on Poplar Street. But you stay there and you do your job, understand?"
"Yes, sir."
(~~~)
Trusting that Dean would do his part that day – watch the house until John arrived that evening – John left early to get to Victor's house before he left for the day. He had followed him home the day before, so he knew how long it would take to get there.
As he walked to the Impala, he noticed the car that Dean must have "liberated" from somewhere. Black Explorer. That's not obvious at all, Dean. He'd have to make sure he ditched the truck after the stakeout. But one thing for was sure – this hunt was showing him how much they needed two vehicles now.
Re-focused on the hunt during his drive to Victor's, John finally reached Victor's street. He slowed to find a safe place to park and wait. He knew Victor's office hours were 9 to 7, and since he was the boss, John assumed he'd be there before everyone else. He allowed 2 extra hours of time and saw he was correct when he noticed the shadow walking past closed curtains on the second floor of the house.
It wasn't too long of a wait before the garage door opened and the familiar car pulled out slowly, stopping at the end of the driveway before turning in the opposite direction of the business.
John followed at a distance and watched as Victor made pit stops at a diner, presumably for breakfast. Then he went to a drug store where he took longer than John would have thought he would. When he finally came out, he noticed the bag in Victor's hand looked to be from the pharmacy.
Victor got into his car and sat there. John sat up to squint. "What are you doing, Victor," he wondered aloud. Victor shook his head, then covered his face continuing to shake his head as if he were talking to someone. John watched puzzled. He thought maybe Victor was on his cell again. Maybe he had one of those headphones or something, but John couldn't see it.
Victor drew his hands down and sat up. John could see him lean forward as if to start the car, so he hurried to start his as well. Victor pulled out of the lot, John at a safe distance behind him.
John followed Victor for about 15 minutes before finally pulling into the one-story parking garage of a building. John drove past to see if the garage had any other exits. Seeing none, he turned around and parked down the street to see what would happen next.
Victor emerged from the garage and went into the building. John got out of the car to see what he could determine. Walking purposely toward the building, he noticed a small sign with a medical symbol. The building seemed to have a lobby, so he went inside. There was a board immediately inside the door and John read the names. All doctors of one kind or another. "Ah, doctor's appointment. OK, Victor," he said to himself. "I can wait."
John noted the time and headed back to the Impala to wait, noticing a coffee shop across the street as he walked. It was perfect. Big window, unobstructed view. He headed over to get some much-needed coffee – and a quick pee if he dared - and wait.
It was about an hour later when Victor showed again. John jerked after the long wait and moved quickly to get to his car before Victor left the garage. He hopped in, started the car and watched as Victor drove to the street, looked both ways, then turned to drive past John.
John quickly ducked behind the newspaper he was reading for cover before Victor could see him. He watched Victor drive further away before jumping into the Impala and making a U-turn to follow. There were more errands and it didn't seem Victor would be going to work today.
"Alright, Victor. You're one busy boy."
John soon found himself back in front of Victor's house. "That it, Vic? That all ya got?" John was feeling somewhat relieved that he could scratch Victor off his list, though he'd give it some time before he officially did. It wasn't even noon yet, so he decided to wait a little longer first. If there was something to be found here, you had to give it at least a full day before calling it quits. So John sunk down in this carseat and watched the traffic and pedestrians go by. He wished he had had time to get another cup of coffee to go.
Four long hours passed before Victor's garage opened once again.
"Here we go," John said.
The garage door opened fully and it was a moment before a dark blue van pulled out. It was about as nondescript as you could get, with no windows beyond the 3 in the front. "What the hell?" John thought. With no sign on the side, he assumed the van was not for work. He was also sure he hadn't seen anyone else go in or out of Victor's home and he was also pretty sure he lived alone. It was after 4 now and surely Victor wouldn't be going to work now, John thought. If in fact it was Victor.
The van stopped at the end of the drive and John could clearly see it was him. Victor looked stonefacedly out onto the street before turning away from John and driving off.
John looked at the house once more, as if he expected to see someone else, but it was still. So he pulled off after Victor, following him through the city. Victor turned into the dusty lot of a bar. "Kinda early, ain't it, Victor?" Then John snorted as he realized he'd had some early drinking hours himself from time to time.
Victor hopped out of the car and took long strides to the bar. He walked with a purpose that he hadn't shown all day and John wondered if he was meeting someone. But it was another long wait before Victor returned, and by then it was dusk.
As far as suspects went, Victor was certainly on the less interesting side. Or so John though before he watched Victor hop into the back of his van and close the door.
John sat up, peering into the darkening space before him to see if he could detect anything. The van was still for a short while before John could see movement in the front seat. It was Victor climbing into the seat and starting the old van. He drove carefully over the gravel lot and John gave him distance before starting up after him.
"Where to now, Victor, in your undercover van," John asked, as if talking to an invisible companion.
The van moved carefully through the streets, driving the limit in all the neighborhoods that they went through. Before long, Victor was making turn after turn down residential streets. Clearly he was headed somewhere and John perked up.
Victor pulled up to the side of a home on a corner lot and John drove past to park on the perpendicular street. He turned to face in Victor's direction, searching out street signs as he did.
Rose and Poplar.
Wait a minute, John thought. He snatched at the car door handle to get out, quietly closed it, and quickly dashed across the street, still out of Victor's sight. He noticed that Victor was not inside the van and ran across the street to find the address of the house.
25 Poplar. It was the home he had sent Dean to watch. He ran in front of the high bushes that lined the home's front yard. Squatting at the end of the row, he looked around for the car Dean had been driving that morning. These homes were large enough for their owners to park on their own property, so there were not too many cars on the street.
John searched up and down, but did not see Dean's car. He squatted in the bushes and pulled out his cell to quickly dial Dean. It went straight to voicemail.
"Damn it to hell, boy!" he whispered harshly.
Snapping the phone closed and shoving it back into the pocket of his jeans, John turned back to the house. He saw a light on in the first-floor window and curtains being closed. It was a young woman, college-age maybe; possibly the house sitter. John ducked further and snuck as quietly as he could to the window.
He could barely see inside since the girl had covered the window, so he skulked to the side of the home in hopes of getting more visual access in the back. When he got to the corner, he darted quickly back to the side of the house, seeing someone already standing there.
It was Victor. In a colorful suit, donning a rainbow wig.