A/N: It's Monday which means updating day! I hope you like this chapter. Please leave a review. I would love to hear from you guys!
Disclaimer: I do not own any Supernatural characters.
Episode: Bloody Mary
About a week later, we found ourselves in Toledo, Ohio after finding another possible case. I kept quiet about my feelings towards Dad's so called disappearance. Sam tried prying my feelings out of me but I would shrug him off. He meant well, but I didn't want to talk about it.
Dean pulled up in front of a large building where our most recent victim's body was being held in the morgue. Sam was asleep in the front seat, talking and mumbling about Jess. His voice was laced in fear.
"Sam, wake up," Dean shook him gently.
Sam sat up and looked around, at first confused as to where we were. He wiped away the sleep from his eyes, "I take it I was having a nightmare."
"Yeah, another one," Dean mumbled.
"Hey, at least I got some sleep," Sam shrugged. He picked up a newspaper that had Steven Shoemaker's obituary circled with a red marker.
"You know, sooner or later we're gonna have to talk about this."
"Are we here?" Sam changed the subject.
"Yup. Welcome to Toledo, Ohio," I said.
"So what do you think happened to this guy?" Sam looked up after reading the paper.
"That's what we're gonna find out," Dean patted Sam on the shoulder. "Let's go."
We walked into the morgue and down the stairs where they held the mysterious cases. It was dark and cold in there, which helped the creepy factor of this place to begin with.
There were two desks outside the door that held the bodies. One desk was empty and the other had a man in his late thirties to early forties sitting behind it. His nameplate read "Morgue Technician."
"Hey," He greeted us, but he didn't look too happy to see us.
"Hey," Dean grinned.
"Can I help you?"
"Yeah. We're the, uh…med students."
The tech looked between us confused, "Sorry?"
"Oh, Doctor—" Dean glanced quickly at the nameplate on the other desk. "—Figlavitch didn't tell you?" I looked at the nameplate. There was no way Dean said that name right. "We talked to him on the phone. He, uh, we're from Ohio State. He's supposed to show us the Shoemaker corpse. It's for our paper."
"Well I'm sorry, he's at lunch," The guy wasn't going to budge. He looked like an asshole.
"Oh well he said, uh—" I glanced at Dean who was struggling hardcore "—oh, well, you know, it doesn't matter. You don't mind just showing us the body, do you?"
"Sorry, I can't," The tech responded, but he wasn't sorry. Not actually. "Doc will be back in an hour. You can wait for him if you want."
"An hour? Ooh. We gotta be heading back to Columbus by then. Uh, look, man, this paper's like half our grade, so if you don't mind helping us out—"
"Uh, look, man," The tech mocked him. "No."
Okay, now he was pissing me off. I wasn't in a good mood to begin with and now I'm in an even crappier mood because of this dickhead. I turned around so I could unzip my jacket and pull down my v-neck shirt a little more. It was a good thing I blessed with boobs because they did come in handy sometimes.
The tech finally noticed me when I turned back around. Classy. I leaned down to place my elbows on his desk so he could have a good peek. I heard Dean mumbling something about hitting this guy in the face, but he luckily didn't hear him. I pulled out a couple of twenty dollar bills and taunted him with them.
"I really need an A on this paper…" I trailed off. The creepy tech took the money and grinned with a bite of his lip. He got up and led us to the morgue.
Dean grabbed me by my elbow, "What the hell was that?"
I glared at him, "Well your plan obviously wasn't working."
"Follow me," The tech opened the door for us. I ripped my arm away from Dean's grasp and followed after Mr. Creepy.
"Now the newspaper said his daughter found him. She said his eyes were bleeding." Sam began. The tech pulled off the sheet that was hiding Mr. Shoemaker's face. The victim's eyes were nothing but deep black holes. I grimaced.
"More than that," The tech shook his head. "They practically liquefied."
"Any sign of a struggle? Maybe somebody did it to him?" Dean asked.
"Nope. Besides the daughter, he was all alone."
"What's the official cause of death?" I asked.
"Ah, Doc's not sure. He's thinking massive stroke, maybe an aneurysm? Something burst up in there, that's for sure."
"What do you mean?"
"Intense cerebral bleeding. This guy had more blood in his skull than anyone I've ever seen."
"What would cause something like that?" Sam asked.
"Capillaries can burst. See a lot of bloodshot eyes with stroke victims."
"Yeah?" Dean asked. "You ever see exploding eyeballs?"
"That's a first for me, but hey, I'm not the Doctor," The tech shrugged his shoulders.
"Hey, think we could take a look at that police report? You know for, uh...our paper." Dean asked.
The tech smirked and glanced at me, "I'm not really supposed to show you that."
I forced a pout, "Please?"
Annoyed, Sam pulled out his wallet and handed the guy a couple of more twenties. The tech accepted the money and smiled. I couldn't wait to get out of his sights.
Our next stop was the Shoemaker's residence. It worked out perfectly that his daughter was holding a small gathering at her house in memory of her father. When we walked in, I noticed everybody dressed in suits and black dresses.
"I feel like we're underdressed," I said, glancing down at my washed out ripped jeans, dirty coat, and combat boots.
We walked towards the back. We asked someone to point us out to Donna, the daughter of Steven. She was sitting with her twelve-year-old sister and a couple of friends.
"You must be Donna," Dean said as we approached her.
"Yeah," Donna nodded sadly.
"Hi, uh—we're really sorry," Sam said.
"Thank you."
"I'm Sam, this is Dean and Allie. We worked with your dad."
Donna glanced at her friend and then back at us. "You did?" She was confused.
"Yeah. This whole thing. I mean, a stroke," Dean tried to say sensitively.
"I don't think she really wants to talk about this right now," Her friend glared at us.
"It's okay. I'm okay," Donna shook her head sadly.
"Were there any symptoms? Dizziness? Migraines?" Dean asked.
"No."
"That's because it wasn't a stroke," Her sister turned around and looked at her older sister hopelessly.
"Lily, don't' say that," Donna chastised her.
"What?" Sam asked.
"I'm sorry, she's just upset." Donna apologized.
"No, it happened because of me," Lily continued to press.
"Sweetie, it didn't."
"Lily," Sam knelt down to be eye level with Lily. "Why would you say something like that?"
Lily took a deep breath, "Right before he died, I said it."
"You said what?"
"Bloody Mary, three times in the bathroom mirror," She explained. I stiffened. I used to play Bloody Mary as a kid with new friends I made in middle school. It was like an initiation into the cool kid's group back then. "She took his eyes, that's what she does."
"That's not why Dad died," Donna said. "This isn't your fault."
Dean said, "I think your sister's right, Lily. There's no way it could have been Bloody Mary. Your dad didn't say it, did he?"
"No, I don't think so," Lily said sadly.
We stepped away, saying our final goodbyes and headed upstairs to the bathroom where Steven Shoemaker died.
On the tile floor of the bathroom there was some dried blood stained to the floor. And there was a lot of it.
"The Bloody Mary legend...Dad ever find any evidence that it was a real thing?" Sam asked.
"Not that I know of," Dean answered, looking around, except I didn't know what we were exactly looking for.
"Me neither," I added, crossing my arms over my chest.
Sam crouched down to touch the tile floor with his finger. "I mean, everywhere else all over the country, kids will play Bloody Mary, and as far as we know, nobody dies from it."
"Yeah, well, maybe everywhere it's just a story, but here it's actually happening."
"The place where the legend began?" I asked, raising my eyebrows.
Dean shrugged, opening the medicine cabinet.
"But according to the legend, the person who says B—" Sam stopped, glancing at the mirror that Dean had opened to face him. Sam closed it before saying her name. I smirked. "The person who says you know what gets it. But here—"
"Shoemaker gets it instead, yeah," Dean sighed.
"Right."
"Never heard anything like that before. Still, the guy did die right in front of the mirror, and the daughter's right. The way the legend goes, you know who scratches your eyes out."
"It's worth checking in to," I said. Sam nodded his head agreeing with me.
We walked out of the bathroom, almost running into Donna's bitchy friend who was frowning at the three of us. Her arms were crossed at her chest and she had a mean resting bitch face.
"What are you doing up here?" She asked forcefully as if she were a cop who had caught trespassers.
"We—we, had to go to the bathroom," Dean lamely replied. Yeah, Dean. The three of us had to go to the bathroom together because we're five years old.
She didn't believe him either, "Who are you?"
"Like we said downstairs, we worked with Donna's dad."
She shook her head, "He was a day trader or something. He worked by himself."
"No, I know, I meant—"
"And all those weird questions downstairs, what was that? So you tell me what's going on, or I start screaming."
"Seriously?" I dipped my head and looked at her as if she had just grown two heads. I didn't care about the attitude that was laced in my voice. This girl was hell of annoying. Plus, I could stop her before she even opened her mouth.
"All right, all right," Sam stepped in front of me before I could start swinging—not that I was actually going to, but I was tempted. "We think something happened to Donna's dad."
"Yeah, a stroke," She said as if we were idiots.
"Yeah because strokes usually turn people's eyeballs into liquid," I scoffed sarcastically. Sam gave me a warning glance, but Dean seemed to not care less about the attitude and more about the reasons why I was giving it. He was looking at me, concerned.
"That's not a sign of a typical stroke," Sam continued. "We think it might be something else."
"Like what?" She asked. We finally had gotten her attention and she let her guard down slightly.
"Honestly? We don't know yet. But we don't want it to happen to anyone else. That's the truth."
"So, if you're gonna scream, go right ahead." Dean shrugged.
I narrowed my eyes at her, challenging her to even consider opening her mouth and squealing.
She looked between the three of us, "Who are you, cops?"
"Something like that," Dean answered.
"I'll tell you what," Sam reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper and a pen. He began writing down his cell number. "Here. If you think of anything, you or your friends notice anything strange, out of the ordinary...just give us a call."
She took the piece of paper and nodded. I walked around her without saying anything else.
We pulled up in front of a public library where Dean had suggested we do all our research on any Mary's that have died in the past in this town. The place was pretty empty and dimly lit for this time of day. I guess no one liked to do their homework on a Saturday afternoon. I didn't blame them. I didn't like doing homework on a weekday. So I usually copied Sam's. Perks of having a smart twin.
"All right, say Bloody Mary really is haunting this town. There's gonna be some sort of proof—Like a local woman who died nasty." Dean said as we walked up the stairs to where the computers were.
"Yeah but a legend this widespread it's hard. I mean, there's like 50 versions of who she actually is. One story says she's a witch, another says she's a mutilated bride, there's a lot more."
"All right so what are we supposed to be looking for?"
"Every version's got a few things in common. It's always a woman named Mary, and she always dies right in front of a mirror. So we've gotta search local newspapers—public records as far back as they go. See if we can find a Mary who fits the bill."
"Well that sounds annoying," Dean complained. I sighed, agreeing with him.
"No it wont be so bad, as long as we…" We stopped on the second floor and glanced at all the computers. Every single one had a sign on it that said out of order. Oh, you've got to be kidding me. Sam chuckled, "I take it back. This will be very annoying."
We drove back to the motel after we got the hard, written copies of every member of the town that had died in the past decade. Dean and I divided up the workload between each other while we let Sam take a snooze in the middle of the afternoon. He needed it. With every nightmare he's had, the kid had barely gotten any sleep.
"Are we gonna talk about this?" Dean asked softly so he didn't wake up Sam.
"Talk about what?" I asked without taking my eyes off the papers in front of me. I knew he was referring to Dad, but I didn't know if I would be able to get through a conversation about it.
"About Dad and his voicemail…" Dean trailed off. "You've been down in the dumps since we left Pennsylvania and I know he's the reason. Come on, Allie. I know you better than anyone else, and I see what this is doing to you." He shut his book and placed it down on the table. "You know you can talk to me about anything, right?"
I swallowed the lump in my throat. "It just sucks, you know? We drop everything to go find this guy because we thought he was in trouble. Hell—Sam left a life he loved a hell of a lot better than this one to go find Dad—who has done nothing but push him away—"
"Hey—"
"All I'm saying is that we deserved more than a voicemail. It wasn't even a voicemail to us! It was for anyone who called him, and we had to find out through Jerry! That freaking sucks!"
"Sh, Allie. You're gonna wake Sam," Dean tried shushing me. He meant well, but I could see his concern for Sam too. I didn't expect to become so heated.
"He had your new number, Dean," I said quieter. "He had time to make a personal-recorded voicemail—something he has never done before, yet he doesn't take the time to call you?"
Dean had nothing to say. He knew everything I said about Dad was right on the ball and there was no excuse for it. So, we sat in silence for a couple of more seconds before Sam popped up, breathing heavily.
Sam rubbed his face tiredly, "Why'd you let me fall asleep?"
"Cause I'm an awesome brother," Dean said stoically. "So what did you dream about?"
"Lollipops and candy canes," Sam deadpanned.
"Yeah, sure," Dean scoffed.
"Did you find anything?" Sam asked.
I glanced at Dean, picking up our research to scan it over one more time, "Besides a whole new level of frustration?" I glimpsed back up. "No. I mean there was someone who fell in front of a mirror, but his name was Dave so…"
Dean nodded, "Me too. I got a Laura and a Catherine who committed suicide in front of a mirror, but uh, no Mary."
Sam fell back onto the bed, "Maybe we just haven't found it yet."
"I've also been searching for strange deaths in the area, you know...eyeball bleeding, that sort of thing. There's nothing. Whatever's happening here, maybe it just ain't Mary."
Sam's cell phone rang. He groaned and reached over to the nightstand. "Hello?"
The woman who called Sam was Charlie, Donna's friend who found us searching the Shoemaker's bathroom. Her other friend Jill, who was also at the Shoemaker's house, died at her house last night the same way Mr. Shoemaker did. She sounded upset and wanted us to meet her at a local park.
Charlie lightly whimpered on the park bench next Sam, whom of which she trusted most. "And they found her on the bathroom floor. And her—her eyes. They were gone."
"I'm sorry," Sam said sorrowfully.
"And she said it," Charlie continued. Dean and I glanced at each other. There goes Bloody Mary again. "I heard her say it. But it couldn't be because of that. I'm insane, right?"
"No, you're not insane," Dean shook his head.
"Oh God, that makes me feel so much worse," Charlie lowered her head.
"Look. We think something's happening here. Something that can't be explained." Sam informed her.
"And we're gonna stop it," I said. I felt as if I owed her a positive attitude since I was really rude to her at the Shoemaker's. "But we could use your help."
Charlie looked at me uneasily and reluctantly nodded her head.
We followed Charlie to her friend Jill's house so that we could search around her room and bathroom for any kind of indicator of where we could find Bloody Mary. Because Charlie was friendly with the parents, she was able to get inside to look through Jill's things. Sam, Dean, and I waited for Charlie outside Jill's bedroom window.
Charlie opened the window. Sam was the first one to creep in and I followed in after. Dean threw the duffel bag through the window so he could climb in next. I caught the bag and handed it to Sam. He started going through it as Charlie closed the window.
"What did you tell Jill's mom?" Sam asked.
"Just that I need some time alone with Jill's pictures and things," Jill pulled on the sleeves on her sweater. Dean shut the curtains behind her. "I hate lying to her."
"Trust us, this is for the greater good," Dean said. "Hit the lights."
I moved to turn off the lights. Charlie glanced back at me, not expecting to be surrounded by total darkness.
"What are you guys looking for?" Charlie asked.
"We'll let you know as soon as we find it," Dean responded.
Sam handed Dean a digital camera that is set up to make it night vision. Dean helped Sam by turning the night vision part on for him and shined the light in his own face. "Do I look like Paris Hilton?"
"More like Mick Jagger," I smirked. Dean narrowed his eyes and lightly shoved me forward.
Sam took the camera back and walked towards the mirror in Jill's closet. "So I don't get it. I mean...the first victim didn't summon Mary, and the second victim did. How's she choosing them?"
"Beats me," Dean said. I shrugged along with him. Sam closed the closet door. "I want to know why Jill said it in the first place."
"It's just a joke," Charlie said weakly.
"Funny joke," I mumbled to myself.
"Yeah well somebody's gonna say it again, it's just a matter of time," Dean said.
I walked next to Sam and watched him shine the light all over the mirror slowly. When he shined the light towards the bottom, we saw something running down from behind the mirror.
"Hey," Sam called out to Dean. "There's a black light in the trunk, right?"
"I'll get it," I said, holding out my hand for Dean to toss me the keys.
"You sure?" Dean asked carefully.
I sighed and shuffled on my feet. "Yes, Dean. I'm sure I'll be fine walking from here to the car a couple of feet away." Dean stared at me blankly, not amused with my sarcasm. "I need some fresh air anyway. You can even creepily watch me through the window if you want."
Dean tossed me the keys and I snuck out again through the window. I walked down the driveway and popped the trunk open. I rummaged through all the weapons we had until I found the black light. When I shut the trunk, I got this weird feeling that I was being watched. I looked up at the window, figuring it was Dean but even he wasn't looking down at me. I glanced around the area and didn't see anyone. I suddenly grew uncomfortable and I jogged back to the window.
Dean helped me inside, "What took you so long?"
"I, uh," I trailed off looking back outside. Sam took the black light from me. "I couldn't find it at first."
The mirror was laid across Jill's old bed upside down. Sam peeled off the brown paper on the back and shined the light over the back of the mirror. The light made a handprint visible. Under the handprint was the name Gary Bryman.
I was surprised we found something.
"Gary Bryman?" Charlie looked at us as if we were supposed to know what that meant.
"You know who that is?" Sam asked.
"No," Charlie shook her head. At least we had another lead.
The next day after doing some research, we met Charlie at the same park bench we met yesterday.
"So, Gary Bryman was an 8-year-old boy," Sam explained. "Two years ago he was killed in a hit and run. The car was described as a black Toyota Camry. But nobody got the plates or saw the driver."
Charlie's face fell, "Oh my god."
"What?" I asked.
"Jill drove that car."
There's our connection.
"We need to get back to your friend Donna's house," Dean said.
We went back to Donna's house to check out the mirror Steven Shoemaker died in front of. She wasn't exactly thrilled to have three strangers look around the house, despite Charlie telling her that it was our job. The mirror said Linda Shoemaker. We tried asking Donna about Linda, who happened to be her mother. This only resulted in Donna freaking out on us when we indicated that her mother's death wasn't an accident. She kicked us out.
So Dean, Sam and I went back to the motel, getting fed up with not knowing who Bloody Mary was.
Dean searched through Sam's computer on multiple websites while Sam and I stared at a bulletin board that had a bunch of clues from this case connected to each other in some way.
After I got bored from staring at the wall, I walked around to Dean. I was surprised to see him searching outside the box. "You're doing a nationwide search?" I asked.
"Yep." Dean typed away, "The NCIC, the FBI database—at this point any Mary who died in front of a mirror is good enough for me."
"But if she's haunting the town, she should have died in the town." Sam turned around.
"I'm telling you there's nothing local, I've checked. So unless you got a better idea—"
"The way Mary's choosing her victims, it seems like there's a pattern."
"I was thinking the same thing," I nodded.
"With Mr. Shoemaker and Jill's hit and run," Sam said.
"Both had secrets where people died," Dean agreed.
Sam nodded, "Right. I mean there's a lot of folklore about mirrors-that they reveal all your lies, all your secrets, that they're a true reflection of your soul, which is why it's bad luck to break them."
"Right, right. So maybe if you've got a secret, I mean like a really nasty one where someone died, then Mary sees it, and punishes you for it."
"Whether you're the one that summoned her or not," I said.
"Take a look at this," Dean turned the computer around to show us a picture of a woman laying by a mirror in a puddle of her own blood. Then he showed another picture of a handprint with the letters TRE.
"Looks like the same handprint," Sam noted.
"Her name was Mary Worthington—an unsolved murder in Fort Wayne, Indiana."
"Onward to Fort Wayne, Indiana," I glanced at my brothers and grabbed my jacket.
In Fort Wayne, Indiana we found a police detective who was willing to go over the case of Mary Worthington with us.
"I was on the job for 35 years—Detective for most of that. Now everybody packs it in with a few loose ends, but the Mary Worthington murder—that one still gets me." The detective shook his head as he thought back to it.
"What exactly happened?" Dean asked.
"You said you three were reporters?" He looked at us suspiciously.
Sam stood up straight, "We know Mary was 19, lived by herself. We know she won a few local beauty contests, dreamt of getting out of Indiana, being an actress. And we know the night of March 29th someone broke into her apartment and murdered her, cut out her eyes with a knife."
"That's right." The detective looked impressed enough to move on with the information. He pulled out some files from his drawer and spread them across his desk. "Technically I'm not supposed to have a copy of this." He pointed to the picture of the handprint. "Now see that there? T-R-E?"
"Yeah," Dean nodded.
"I think Mary was trying to spell out the name of her killer."
"You know who it was?" I asked.
"Not for sure. But there was a local man, a surgeon-Trevor Sampson," He pulled out another picture of a man, "And I think her cut her up good."
"Now why would he do something like that?" Sam asked.
"Her diary mentioned a man that she was seeing. She called him by his initial, "T". Well, her last entry, she was gonna tell "T"'s wife about their affair."
"Yeah but how do you know it was Sampson who killed her?" Dean asked.
"It's hard to say, but the way her eyes were cut out...it was almost professional."
"But you could never prove it?" I asked.
"No," The detective shook his head. "No prints, no witnesses. He was meticulous."
"Is he still alive?"
"Nope," The detective sat down and sighed. "If you ask me, Mary spent her last living moments trying to expose this guy's secret. But she never could."
"Where's she buried?" Sam asked.
"She wasn't," He answered. I got disappointed. "She was cremated." So much for a salt and burn.
"What about that mirror," Dean pointed at the picture. "Its not in some evidence lockup somewhere is it?"
"Ah, no. It was returned to the Mary's family a long time ago."
On our way back to Toledo, Sam tried calling the Worthington family for that mirror, "Oh really? Ah that's too bad Mr. Worthington. I would have paid a lot for that mirror. Okay, well maybe next time. All right, thanks."
"So?" I asked.
"So that was Mary's brother. The mirror was in the family for years, until he sold it one week ago to a store called Estate Antiques. A store in Toledo."
"Toledo?" I tilted my head. "So wherever the mirror goes, that's where Mary goes?"
"Her spirit's definitely tied up with it somehow," Sam nodded.
"Isn't there an old superstition that says mirrors can capture spirits?" Dean glanced at Sam.
"Yeah there is. Yeah, when someone would die in a house people would cover up the mirrors so the ghost wouldn't get trapped."
"So Mary dies in front of a mirror, and it draws in her spirit."
"Yeah but how could she move through like a hundred different mirrors?" Sam asked.
"I don't know, but if the mirror is the source, I say we find it and smash it." Dean suggested.
"Yeah, I don't know, maybe," Sam shrugged at the same time his phone rang. "Hello?" A look of concern washed over his face. "Charlie?"
I glanced at Dean. He stepped on pedal harder and sped down the street.
We picked up Charlie and brought her back to my motel room because it was a lot cleaner than my brothers' room. She sat on my bed and nuzzled her head between her folded knees. Sam and Dean scurried to get all the curtains drawn shut and tossed sheets over the mirrors. I faced as many reflective surfaces as I could find to the wall or the floor.
Sam sat down next to Charlie. "Hey, hey it's ok. Hey, you can open up your eyes Charlie. It's okay, all right?" She looked up slowly. "Now listen. You're gonna stay right here on this bed, and you're not gonna look at glass, or anything else that has a reflection, okay? And as long as you do that, she cannot get you."
"But I can't keep that up forever," Charlie shook her head sadly. Her tears had tried on her cheeks. "I'm gonna die, aren't I?"
"No. No. Not anytime soon." Sam said soothingly. I furrowed my eyebrows and felt this weird feeling come over me as he shown this girl so much sympathy.
"All right Charlie," Dean took a step forward. "We need to know what happened."
"We were in the bathroom. Donna said it," Charlie said.
"That's not exactly what we mean," I said slowly. She looked up at me confused and I offered a grin.
Dean continued, "Something happened, didn't it? In your life...a secret...where someone got hurt. Can you tell us about it?"
Charlie sighed, "I had this boyfriend. I loved him. But he kind of scared me too, you know? And one night, at his house, we got in this fight. Then I broke up with him, and he got upset, and he said he needed me and he loved me, and he said "Charlie, if you walk out that door right now, I'm gonna kill myself." And you know what I said? I said "Go ahead." And I left. How could I say that? How could I leave him like that? I just...I didn't believe him, you know? I should have." She stuffed her face back into her knees and started crying.
Now that Charlie was Bloody Mary's next target, my brothers and I were on a time restraint. We left Charlie back at the motel room while Dean sped through the town to get to the store where Mary's mirror was being held.
"You know her boyfriend killing himself, that's not really Charlie's fault," Dean said as he turned a corner.
"You know as well as I do spirits don't exactly see shades of gray, Dean. Charlie had a secret, someone died, that's good enough for Mary." Sam said.
"I guess," Dean sighed.
"You know, I've been thinking. It might not be enough to just smash that mirror."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"Well Mary's hard to pin down, right? I mean she moves around from mirror to mirror so who's to say that she's not just gonna keep hiding in them forever? So maybe we should try to pin her down, you know, summon her to her mirror and then smash it."
"How do you know if that's gonna work?"
"I don't," Sam shrugged. "Not for sure."
"Well who's gonna summon her?" Dean asked.
Sam stared out the window, "I will. She'll come after me."
I sighed and glanced over at Dean. We both knew that Sam was talking about Jessica, blaming himself for her death.
"You know what, that's it," Dean pulled over to the side of the road. "This is about Jessica, isn't it?" Sam didn't answer. "You think that's your dirty little secret that you killed her somehow? Sam, this has got to stop, man. I mean, the nightmares and calling her name out in the middle of the night—it's gonna kill you. Now listen to me—It wasn't your fault. If you wanna blame something, then blame the thing that killed her. Or hell, why don't you take a swing at me? I mean I'm the one that dragged you away from her in the first place."
Sam shook his head, "I don't blame you."
"Well you shouldn't blame yourself, because there's nothing you could've done."
"I could've warned her."
"Sam…" I sighed.
Dean continued, "About what? You didn't know what was gonna happen! And besides, all of this isn't a secret, I mean I know all about it. It's not gonna work with Mary anyway."
"No you don't." Sam said.
I looked at him confused. He was hiding something from us about the night that Jessica died.
"I don't what?" Dean asked.
"You don't know all about it. I haven't told you everything," Sam admitted. I knew it.
"Sam, what are you talking about?" I asked.
"Well it wouldn't really be a secret if I told you, would it?" Sam turned around to look at me. He had a hint of a smirk on his face, but nothing about this situation caused for a smile.
"We're twins. I feel like me not knowing a secret of yours is like against the law," I said.
"I don't know all of your secrets!"
This was true.
Dean shook his head, "Listen, I don't like it. It's not gonna happen, forget it."
"Dean that girl back there is going to die unless we do something about it. And you know what? Who knows how many more people are gonna die after that? Now we're doing this. You've got to let me do this."
I watched Dean shove his keys back into the ignition and drive off to the shop without saying another word. I didn't want to send Sam off to stand up to Bloody Mary alone, but I didn't see any other option we had.
When we arrived, I picked the lock and we walked into the mirror filled shop. Every glance I took, I caught a glimpse of myself—and let me tell you, I needed a shower ASAP.
"Well…that's just great," Dean sighed. I nodded. How the hell were we supposed to know which mirror to destroy? "All right let's start looking."
We split up to look at every mirror. I can't help but focus on myself after every passing mirror. You can't blame me. I'm a girl.
"Oh god…" I groaned rather loudly.
"What?" Dean walked quickly to me. He looked at the mirror I was looking at concerned that I found something dangerous.
"I have a pimple," I pouted, leaning into the mirror and running my finger over my chin.
Dean stepped back to look at me like I had grown two heads…which I basically had. "You're gonna have more than a pimple if you don't focus. Like a black eye."
I stuck out my tongue and walked to a new mirror. "Maybe they've already sold it," I said.
"I don't think so," Sam said, shining his flashlight on one mirror longer than the other. Dean and I went to stand next to him to check out the mirror. Dean pulled out the picture and compared the two. It was spot on.
"That's it," Dean sighed. "You sure about this?" He asked Sam one more time. Like I said before, we're out of options.
Sam handed me his flashlight as if that was the answer Dean and I needed. He glanced at us once before sighing and looking directly into the mirror. "Bloody Mary. Bloody Mary." He paused, picking up the crowbar he brought to smash the mirror and passing an unsure glance at Dean and I. "Bloody Mary."
A bright light shined through the windows of the shop and stayed there. I nervously glanced at Dean, figuring it out pretty quickly that it was the cops because that was just our luck.
"I'll go check that out," Dean said. "Allie, stay here with Sam. Be careful." Sam readied his crowbar and I nodded my head towards Dean. He nodded back at us again and left to deal with the fuzz.
I looked around at every mirror. Goosebumps rose on my skin and my heart started beating faster. I turned my head and saw a glimpse of a dark black shadow in the shape of a human.
"Sam!"
Sam whipped around and shattered the glass. Unfortunately, she wasn't in the mirror that we needed her in.
"You can see her?" Sam breathed, looking at me with big eyes. I stared at him with an open mouth. I didn't even think of that. Sam smashed the crowbar into the mirror behind me and sighed, "Come on. Come into this one."
Sam and I faced the same mirror and looked at our reflection. My body in the mirror moved on it's own instead of mirroring my movements. The head tilted and the eyes squinted into a glare. It looked mean as hell.
I felt my throat begin to swell and tears run down my face. When I rubbed the tears away, my fingertips were smudged with a red stain. My reflection in the mirror also had blood tears running down its cheek.
My hands reached for my neck, feeling my airway being restricted. I fell to my knees, feeling unbelievably weak. Everything that Sam's reflection was saying to him was muffled to me and I couldn't understand a word it was saying.
Dean ran back inside and smashed the mirror. I felt instantly relieved but still had that weak feeling. Dean helped me up on my two feet.
"Sammy!" Dean ran to him next.
Sam coughed, "It's Sam."
Dean glanced between Sam and I. He couldn't take his eyes off our blood stained cheeks. "God, are you okay?"
"Uh, yeah," Sam groaned. I nodded next to him.
"Come on, come on," Dean wrapped Sam's arm around his shoulder and I got on Sam's other side. He was injured a little more than me so I helped Dean carry him out.
There was loud breathing behind us and that weak sensation flew through me once again. We turned around to find Mary out of the mirror walking towards us. She was short, dirty, greasy, and creepy. She dragged her feet when she walked and her head was always tilted down with her hair covering her face.
We fell to the ground, all three of us too weak to hold ourselves up. Blood ran from our eyes again. Looks like we all had secrets we were keeping.
Dean managed to reach the designated mirror and found the strength to hold it up to Mary so that she could see her own reflection. Mary stopped in front of it, unable to take her eyes off of it.
"You killed them! All those people! You killed them!" Her reflection said to her.
Mary started choking and shrunk to the blood until she was nothing but a pile of blood. Dean tossed the mirror to the side and it shattered.
We helped each other back to our feet.
"This has got to be like…what? 600 years of bad luck?" Dean said.
I chuckled weakly—not yet really knowing how true that statement was going to be.
We left to go grab Charlie from the motel and drove her home. She sat in the backseat with me. It was a pretty silent ride back, none of really wanting to speak about the secrets we keep from each other.
"So this is really over?" Charlie asked as Dean parked in front of her house.
Dean nodded, "Yeah, it's over."
"Thank you," She slightly grinned and got out of the car. I scooted over to the middle seat.
Sam rolled down his window, "Charlie." She turned around. "Your boyfriend's death...you really should try to forgive yourself. No matter what you did, you probably couldn't have stopped it. Sometimes bad things just happen." Charlie smiled faintly and walked away.
I really wanted to scream at Sam to believe his own words, but instead I stayed silent, not wanting to bring up the subject of Jessica now.
Dean gently hit Sam, "That's good advice." He had the same mindset as me. Dean started driving again. "Hey Sam?"
"Yeah?"
"Now that this is all over, I want you to tell me what that secret is."
Sam sighed, "Look...you're my brother and I'd die for you and Allie, but there are some things I need to keep to myself."
I sat further back into my seat and stared out the window. One day we'll get the truth out of Sam, but for now, it was up to him to deal with it on his own.