AN: Thank you so much to Jen_814 for the interesting and compelling prompt. I hope I did it justice. Writing this was very different from my usual plot-heavy stories. Special thanks to my beta shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod for her fantastic advice. Any errors are mine, not hers.
Prompt: Sam and Dean roll into town, and the people they encounter are never quite the same way again. Outsider POV - what is it like to lose so many people in your community, to violent death? What do people think is happening, before they learn about monsters/demons? How do you react to learning about the supernatural? How would this shape the rest of your life?
Monument
Kira pulled up to the curb and checked the address on the scrap of paper she had stuffed in the cup holder of her Nissan. This was the place. Her little car looked out of place amongst the fancy houses and wide tree-lined street. Across the street, a young woman in expensive yoga pants jogged by, pushing a fancy stroller. Next door, a grey-haired lady puttered in her expansive flower garden. Taking a deep breath, Kira confirmed the battery life of her phone - nothing was worse than having it die right in the middle of an interview.
A few moments later she was ringing the bell, waiting impatiently until the door was opened by a distinguished-looking man in his early sixties. Fit and trim he was wearing a golf shirt, a pair of khakis, and an impatient scowl as if she were disturbing his turn to putt.
"Mr. Glenn?"
He nodded. She ignored the way his eyes swept up her legs and across her breasts.
"I'm Kira Prail, we spoke on the phone?"
"Oh yes, please come in." He swung the door open and waved her inside. "Let's talk in my office." He led the way to a nearby door and ushered her in. "Can I offer you a drink? Some coffee, or…" he trailed off when she shook her head with a murmured, "No thank you."
Circling the large desk, he took a seat in a sleek leather wingback, pointing her towards a chair of her own. She perched on the edge and scanned the room. It was tastefully appointed, with a kind of muted luxury that was intended to look casual but probably cost more than her annual income. Photos and mementos of his political career were artfully displayed. Laying her phone on her side of the desk Kira cleared her throat.
"Thank you for agreeing to speak with me, Mr. Glenn."
"Please," he interrupted, "Call me Roger."
"Roger," she corrected herself. "As I mentioned on the phone, I'm writing a book about the 2008 gas explosion in Monument. I understand that you were mayor at that time and I wanted to ask you some questions." He shifted uncomfortably.
"I was," he confirmed with a frown, "But I'm not sure what I can tell you that's not in the official report."
Kira refused to be discouraged. She had read the official FBI report and it was almost 150 pages of carefully worded government-speak. The formal accounting of events was incredibly vague, so much so that it was obvious the author of the write-up didn't have a clue about what had actually happened. Regardless, the facts it did provide didn't give Kira any sense of the town or the impact of the disaster.
"Of course, but what I'm really looking for is your insight into what happened after the explosion. As mayor I know you must have the real story - information that the FBI just couldn't have been privy to." She blinked her lashes at him and turned up the charm a little, shifting slightly to show off the legs he'd been creeping at the door. "Perhaps you could tell me your version of the events that night?" Leaning forward to press record on her phone, she flashed him a little cleavage and a smile.
His gaze lingered on her chest appreciatively, and apparently liking what he saw, Roger seemed to relax a bit. He began to talk albeit haltingly.
"Well, I was at home when it happened, my wife and I had just finished a late dinner when I got a phone call from Dr. Liparulo. He told me that there were people coming into the medical clinic with mysterious injuries from some sort of altercation at the police station. Of course, I called the station to talk to Mel - uh, Melvin Dodd, the sheriff at the time, but all the lines were busy."
Kira nodded to herself. Sheriff Dodd was one of the police officers killed that night. She jotted a quick notation to herself in her notepad to look into the phone records.
"And then what?" she prompted.
"I decided to drive over there to see what was going on. Back then the police station was out on Beacon Road. I was driving past Gibson's Corner Gas at the corner of Buttonwood and Beacon and I saw a commotion. A guy flagged me down, so I stopped to see if I could help."
Kira scribbled another note. The incident was briefly mentioned in the official account but didn't contain much detail, so she was thrilled to add information to her research.
"Go on," she urged.
The former mayor squirmed, dragging a hand across his mouth.
"Unfortunately, there had been a murder."
"A murder!" That was news. The report had said a man was found dead, but Kira had assumed it was an unfortunate victim of the blast who had succumbed to his injuries.
"Yeah," he sighed heavily. "Someone had killed Perry Nevin - slit his throat and left him bleeding beside the gas pumps." He shuddered; the seasoned mask of a career politician slid a bit.
"Do you know who did it?" she asked.
"That's the weird part - later, after everything settled down, the FBI reviewed the security footage. Apparently, Perry was killed by Sergeant Joe Jackson. It was gruesome." He shuddered again. Kira mentally reviewed the facts she had studied.
"Joe Jackson was one of the men killed in the explosion, wasn't he?"
"Yes, he was. Almost our entire police force died that day." He shook his head sadly. "We'll never know exactly what happened, but it's pretty crazy that Joe killed a man just before being killed himself." Roger leaned forward, his voice dropping to a hush.
"Speculation was that Joe blew up the police station. Some say it was a mass-murder suicide, that he must have snapped and taken everyone out with him. Either that or he was trying to cover up his crimes by killing his colleagues and something went wrong." He sat back, obviously pleased to have shocked her with his revelations. "I felt bad for his wife Carla."
Kira mulled over this intelligence and added a few more notations to her pad to look into later. Beyond the grief of losing her husband, Kira imagined that the wife of a rumoured murderer didn't get treated very well at the supermarket. Especially as people thought Joe had blown up and killed more than a dozen people. Having grown up in a town not too different from Monument, Kira knew how people gossiped – it was how she had started as an author. She glanced at the questions she still wanted to cover. This was all very interesting, but they were getting off track.
"So, you stopped at the gas station. Was this before the explosion?" she asked.
Roger cleared his throat. "Yes, just before. In fact, I was just calling Melvin again when it happened."
"What did you see?"
His gaze turned inward and he answered with a sort of sorrowful contemplation. "There was this intense white light that just burst out of the darkness in the direction of the station. It was too bright to look at, even from where we were. Melvin's phone was out of service, so I jumped back in my car and drove to the station. When I got there, the building was caved in, glass and debris everywhere; smoke billowing from all the blown-out windows. I never saw any flames, but the heat - even from the road, I could feel it, hot as the armpit of Hell." The folksy idiom seemed to slip out before he could catch himself because Roger stopped and flashed her his campaign smile to cover.
"Well anyway, I called the fire department and my secretary. Once the fire chief arrived, I went back to my office to start working the phones."
Kira tapped her pen against her chin as she thought back to the timeline of the night she had established from the report.
"Mr. G-, uh Roger…can you tell me how soon afterward the FBI arrived?"
"An agent from the Colorado Springs field office showed up no more than half an hour later. By midnight they had a full mobile command unit here, at least 20 agents, and had completely taken over both Gibson's and the scene of the explosion."
"And what did they say happened?"
"They didn't - not really. Oh, they said something about a leak, a rare type of gas that burned extra hot or some-such. Frankly, they were exceedingly difficult to deal with. I had citizens screaming for information, but they kept me in the dark - and in a campaign year no less!" An angry scowl soured his expression. Kira remembered that he lost the next election which was why he was the former mayor. Checking his watch, he abruptly stood.
"Well Ms. Prail, I'm afraid I've given you all the time I have." She tucked her notepad and phone back into her purse as he impatiently hustled her toward the door. It was frustrating, but at least she had more to go on.
xxxxxx
Palmer's Tavern was a typical small town watering hole. One wall was a row of well-worn booths, crowned with a variety of neon beer advertisements and faded pictures. A long wooden bar flanked by stools dominated the other wall. There were a few scarred tables in the middle of the dimly lit room and the whole place had a shabby comfortable vibe. A Rockies game was playing on a TV hung above the rows and rows of bottles. It was fairly early so there were only a few old-timers in the place, nursing their drinks and openly staring at Kira as she let her eyes adjust.
The bartender was a burly woman wearing a leather vest over a hot pink t-shirt. Her arms were covered with tattoos including a large, bright blue graphic of the genie from Disney's Aladdin.
"What can I get you, hon?" she called, slinging a towel over her ample shoulder.
Kira slid onto a stool. "Can I get a Fat Tire?"
The bartender cracked the cap off the bottle of beer and put it in front of her before going back to drying and stacking glassware. Generally, Kira preferred a crisp chardonnay, but when in Rome, right? Taking a sip of the cold, amber ale she contemplated the frustration that had brought her here tonight.
She'd been unable to get in contact with the doctor who had treated the citizens of Monument the day of the explosion, the one who had called Roger Glenn. You'd think with a name like 'Liparulo' that he'd be easy to find, even if he'd moved out of Colorado, but she'd hit a dead end.
She also was unable to speak with Carla Jackson, widow of Sergeant Joe Jackson. Apparently she had remarried and was impossible to track down. Still, Kira wasn't at this bar just to drown her sorrows. No, from what she had gleaned, this bar was where many of the affected townspeople were before the strange events of that night. She cleared her throat and the bartender glanced her way.
"Hey, were you working here back in '08?" No point in beating around the bush.
"Sure was," came the amiable reply. "I've been serving the folks of Monument for almost 22 years now, hon."
"So, were you here when the big explosion happened?" There was no need to be more explicit than that. Just like in her hometown, everyone in the community kept time in relation to that event. Things happened either before the blast or after. The woman stopped her mindless cleaning and came closer.
"Yup. Now why are you asking?" There was nothing unfriendly in the question, but Kira sensed that the wrong answer would get her politely ignored for the rest of the evening. So she chose the truth.
"I'm an author. And I'm writing a book about Monument, the disaster, and how it affected people." The bartender peered at her for a stretched-out moment before breaking into a smile.
"An author! Well isn't that a kick? And you think what happened here will make a story?" She went back to wiping down the already clean counter.
"Actually, I write non-fiction - "The older woman cut her off abruptly.
"Wait! I know you!" She leaned over to peer at Kira more closely. "You wrote Carnage in Carthage and Rivergrove Infection. Kira…." Genie paused snapping her fingers as she searched for her surname.
"Prail," Kira offered. This was perfect. It was always nice to meet a fan and that might make the bartender a little more loquacious.
"I thought you looked familiar. I've read your books!"
"Yeah, that's me."
The woman wiped her hand on her vest and stuck it out. "I'm Imogene Cook, but everyone calls me Genie." Kira accepted the handshake.
"You're writing a book about Monument? How can I help?" Ten minutes ago, Kira was at a dead end and now she had a very enthusiastic interviewee. Taking a sip of her beer, she pulled out her notebook and pen.
"Just tell me what happened that night - in your own words." Genie picked up her bar rag and resumed her work, mindlessly wiping up non-existent spills as she spoke.
"It was Tuesday. We were pretty busy because we used to host trivia on the first Tuesday of the month. The owner thought it would attract a younger clientele." She shrugged. "It was still early, but the place was filling up. Then, one minute I was pouring a pitcher of draft right here." Genie gestured towards the taps. "The next, I was waking up on the floor of the police station."
"And you have no memory of how you got there?"
"Nope, nothing. It's a complete blank." Genie shook her head.
"What happened when you woke up?" Kira probed.
"Well there was a bunch of us. I saw people who had been here at the bar with me. We were all really disoriented and everything's a bit fuzzy. I do remember a guy I didn't recognize helped me up off the floor." She paused and squeezed her eyes shut. "He was tall and good looking and he asked me if I was okay. Seemed really sweet."
Based on what she already knew, Kira figured that had to be one of the fugitives that had been killed along with the police and FBI agents. Funny how a criminal was the one being kind. Genie opened her eyes and slapped her towel over her shoulder with a sigh and began chopping up a couple of limes that had been waiting on the counter.
"Did you smell anything, hear anything?" The whole gas leak aspect of the event was still seriously vague.
"Yeah," Genie mused, pausing with her knife in the air. "It smelled like matches and rotten eggs." She resumed chopping. "The whole place was a mess, papers everywhere, broken glass, spray paint on the floor. Everyone was milling around. Phil and Nancy were patching up some folks who had gotten hurt somehow."
"Were you hurt?" Kira flipped back to some previous notes. After all, some of the affected people had ended up at the clinic.
"Not really. But I'll tell you, I was sore the next day. I had bruises like a bad banana. Still, I was lucky. Trevor Martin almost lost an eye, Melanie Chang had a broken collar bone and I heard that Collin Yanez got hit with some kind of salty buckshot." Genie went back to her chopping. "That's not even counting people like poor Jenna."
"Are you talking about Jenna Rudner?" The official report had listed some of the witnesses the FBI had interviewed and her name had stood out.
Genie shook her head glumly. "Such a shame. Jenna was never the same after that night. Talk is that she's suffering from some kind of PTSD. I don't know much about that, but her life took a real sad turn. She lost her job, her fiancé broke it off and she started ranting and raving. Her folks finally sent her over to Cedar Springs mental hospital."
The door behind Kira opened with a jingle and a group of noisy young men entered, breaking the doleful mood. Genie excused herself to go take their orders and Kira used the opportunity to jot down a few notes and finish her beer. Tomorrow she would see about visiting Ms. Rudner.
xxxxxx
The grounds of Cedar Springs were quite lovely, lush and green with a scattering of chairs, tables, and benches beneath some sprawling shade trees. The sun was out and if it wasn't for the fact that everyone was wearing the same uniform of loose grey scrubs, it could pass for a community park. Kira followed the nurse down a pathway, passing by a small group of patients painting on easels. As they walked the nurse provided instructions.
"Now it's important that you stay neutral, no matter what she says. We don't want to encourage her illness, but if you challenge her delusions Jenna can become agitated. And I'm sure we don't want that, do we?" The last was said with a stern look from the nurse and Kira quickly shook her head.
"Do the doctors have a diagnosis?" Kira wondered exactly how ill the woman she was about to visit was.
"I'm afraid I can't talk about that. Patient confidentiality, you understand. But I can tell you that Jenna is generally a sweet, non-violent girl."
They rounded a small grouping of Adirondack chairs where a man was having an animated conversation with himself and came to a quiet woman sitting at a table, reading a book.
"Jenna?" The woman put her book down and looked up. "You have a visitor." And with that introduction, the nurse left Kira.
"Hello," said Jenna. For someone in a mental hospital, she looked very sane. A petite woman with red hair, she had a pleasant smile. "Do I know you?"
"Uh, no." Kira admitted. "My name is Kira. May I sit?" Jenna gestured towards the chair across the small table and waited agreeably until she got settled. Kira cleared her throat.
"Your parents said it would be okay to visit and speak with you. I'm an author and I'm writing a book about the explosion in Monument."
Like a cloud passing in front of the sun, Jenna's expression grew shadowed. She clasped her hands tightly over the novel she had been reading, but not before Kira noticed them tremble.
"What do you want to know?" Jenna asked tentatively.
Kira chose her words carefully. "I understand that you have…unique memories from that day. I just want to hear what you remember." She kept her tone light. Jenna frowned.
"You won't believe me," she said in a soft voice.
"I can't say what I believe until I hear about your experience."
Jenna stared at her for a long moment. Her expressive blue eyes probed from some hidden motive, but Kira kept her own expression as open and friendly as she could under such scrutiny. Eventually she nodded, apparently satisfied, and then glanced around quickly to confirm that no one was within earshot.
"I was possessed by a demon," she whispered.
"Okay," Kira said, proud of how neutral she kept her tone. She got out her notepad and pen. "Was that before the explosion or…?"
"Yes. I was just closing up work. I locked the door and was walking to my car when this weird black smoke came at me."
"Smoke, like from a fire?" Kira asked.
Jenna shook her head. "No, there was no fire, just this smoke was headed right for me out of nowhere. And then it forced its way down my throat and I could feel it inside of me." Her eyes were wide and frightened. "It was old and evil and powerful and it kind of shoved me into a corner of my own mind." She shuddered.
"And that was a demon?" Kira asked. She remembered similar stories from some of her neighbours back when she had been a teenager. A sliver of disbelief must have crept into her question because Jenna sat back, crossing her arms across her chest with a scowl.
"I told you that you wouldn't believe me."
"I'm not saying that," Kira soothed in her best interviewer voice. "I'm just trying to understand your experience." She held her breath as Jenna pursed her lips and debated her veracity. Finally, the redhead relented and began again, her face taking on a bleak aspect that was far too old for a woman her age.
"You can't understand. It was horrible, feeling this…thing inside me, controlling my body." She huddled down, arms wrapped around herself as if she was cold despite the warm, sunny day. "It drove us to the police station where there were lots of other people. I recognized some of them, but they were being possessed by demons too."
"How did you know?" Maybe she wasn't a particularly religious person, but Kira found herself slightly creeped out. She could buy the idea that evil existed in a tangible, active sense but to think of something so foul forcing itself inside of you - well far-fetched or not, it was scary.
"Their eyes - they all had black eyes, like pools of oil." Jenna's voice was soft, horror etched into her expression. Kira found herself speaking in a hushed voice too.
"What did they want?"
"To kill Sam Winchester."
That name was familiar to Kira. Sam Winchester and his older brother Dean were the fugitives that had brought the FBI to Monument in the first place. The two were wanted for a list of crimes the length of her arm, including murder and desecration of a body. Frankly the death of two heinous criminals was the only positive thing about this terrible tragedy. But why would a demon care about a lawbreaker, no matter how wretched? Of course, this whole conversation was crazy as a soup sandwich, but she had to ask.
"Why?"
Jenna met her eyes with a pathetic gratefulness that made Kira squirm. Apparently she wasn't used to people who went along with her delusions.
"Because Lilith ordered it." She said as if that made any sense at all, but Kira just rolled with it, jotting a few notes to try and hash through later.
"So uh, the demons blew up the station?"
"No, no. Our orders were to get inside and kill Sam." Hearing Jenna use the term "our" only added to the eerie, insane vibe of this conversation. "But the doors and windows were salted. Eventually we felt the barriers break and we attacked." She got a haunted, far away look for several minutes and then took a deep breath, smoothing down the front of the light sweater she was wearing. "And that's all I remember until I woke up."
Kira suspected that she likely had more memories from that time, but Jenna was done telling her tale. Whatever she had experienced had certainly traumatized the poor woman. Tucking her notebook back into her purse, Kira was about to offer her goodbyes when Jenna spoke again.
"People have told me that I need to move on. To shake off what I went through. But they don't understand. Sometimes - I can still feel the evil crawling beneath my skin. When I look in the mirror, I'm always afraid that my eyes will be black. And at night…when I try to sleep..." She drew in a ragged breath. "Demons are real and they're out there, watching, waiting."
Falling silent, Jenna lapsed into a vacant thousand-yard stare and she didn't respond when Kira thanked her for her time and left. During her walk to her car, she briskly reminded herself that Jenna was mentally ill and that demons were the stuff of mythology and religion. But she still felt a flutter of fear and she found herself checking every shadow despite the sunny day.
xxxxxx
The window was deep set into concrete, offering a small picture-frame view of Pennsylvania Avenue. To stop her nervous pacing, Kira was leaning against the wall watching the Metrobus and D.C. traffic pass by. She supposed that she should be grateful to be in a boardroom not a cell or interrogation room. Although there was no lock on the conference room door, she doubted that she'd get very far if she tried to leave. So, she waited, watched the cars and tried not to chew off her fingernails.
"Ms. Prail?" She jumped and spun when a man in a clichéd government dark suit and tie entered the room, closing the door behind him. He was about her dad's age, and he had an air of authority that only those used to being obeyed could project. Offering a handshake, she confirmed her identity.
"Call me Kira, please." Just because she was freaking out inside didn't mean that she couldn't fake polite professionalism with the best of them. And until she knew if she was in some kind of trouble, she certainly didn't want to seem hostile.
"Hello Kira, I'm Calvin Slivers, assistant director of the Criminal Investigative Division. Please have a seat." They both settled on opposite sides of the long table and he laid the thick file he'd been holding on the surface in front of him. Reading upside down, Kira could make out the "Top Secret" label.
"I'm sure you're wondering why you're here," he began.
Wondering was an understatement. She folded her hands in her lap and tried to calm her nerves.
"Yes, I am. I presume it had to do with the Freedom of Information Act request I submitted a few weeks ago?"
He smiled at her but ignored the lead she had offered him. "Ms. Prail, I understand that you are writing a book about the events in Monument, Colorado." It was phrased as a statement, but Kira could read the question buried in the innocuous words. For a second, she debated denying it, but if he already knew that much about her work, there was no point.
"Yes, I am. I'm an author."
"I'm aware of your work. You write about violent mass tragedies, do you not?"
Kira found herself bristling a little at that. "Actually, I focus my writing on the aftermath of such events - the impact on those who survived, the effects of grief and the resilience of a community. I don't write to sensationalize the losses or exploit the victims."
Slivers gave her an intimidating, probing look, but Kira held his gaze. She had done nothing wrong and was immensely proud of her work.
"And is that the approach you are taking for the book you're currently writing?"
"Yes," Kira answered, slightly confused. "I've been interviewing survivors, family members and witnesses. I came to Washington to speak with the families of the fallen FBI agents."
"And is that because of your experiences in New Harmony?" At her look of shock, Slivers smiled again. "The FBI is nothing if not thorough, Ms. Prail. We investigated your background." Kira found herself uncomfortable, she didn't have any skeletons in her closet, but the idea of the government snooping around in her past was a little freaky. Still she'd be lying if she said her experiences back home didn't influence the direction her work had taken.
"Yes. When I was 16 my town also experienced a violent incident." In the case of New Harmony it was a murderous home invasion that had rocked the community, but the similarities with what had happened in Monument were undeniable.
He gave a slight nod, perhaps acknowledging her honesty and flipped open the file in front of him. Kira couldn't read what it said from her side of the table, but she recognized a photograph of Special Agent Victor Henriksen paperclipped to the file cover.
"Your request for information was received and provisionally denied. The events surrounding the deaths of Deputy Director Groves and Special Agents Henriksen and Reidy are particularly sensitive."
Disappointment washed over Kira. She knew the request was a long shot - the FBI wasn't exactly known for its transparency, but she had hoped to fill in a few of the blanks from the report she already had.
"However, I have some personal discretion here and I am inclined to answer some of your questions." Her surprise must have shown on her face because he smiled briefly, suddenly looking almost friendly. "Don't get too excited, everything I say today is completely off the record. You cannot quote me or the FBI directly in your book other than what's in the official report." Kira nodded reluctantly; anything was better than nothing and she wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. It wasn't ideal, but hopefully she could still get some much-needed context that she was missing.
"Agreed." She quickly pulled her notepad out of her purse and thumbed to the right page, skimming her list of questions.
"What was the last contact you had with the agents who died that day?" Kira had her pen hovering over a fresh page. A pained look crossed Slivers' face.
"I spoke with SA Henriksen. His call was forwarded to me when he phoned to report the deaths of Groves, Reidy, and the helicopter pilot. Then I called the Colorado Springs Field Office and ordered them to go help control the situation and secure the scene. By the time they got there, the whole place had exploded. They were good agents; it's not very often the FBI suffers a loss of this magnitude."
Kira felt a pang of sympathy for Assistant Director Slivers. She had seen the Wall of Honor as she was escorted to this room, the row upon row of faces a somber reminder that law enforcement put their lives on the line every day.
"I thought all the agents died in the explosion?" This was the first she'd heard that there had been fatalities prior to the blast that leveled the station. Slivers flipped through his report and she could see him consider how much to share. Kira doubted she'd ever get 100% of the truth, but she couldn't pass up the opportunity to ask.
"Henriksen did, but Groves and Reidy were killed before. According to what Henriksen reported, the Winchesters were attempting to escape." Slivers referenced the file, eyes skimming several paragraphs of text as he summarized.
"Groves was shot by one of the brothers in the attempt. Then the fugitives tried to hijack the helicopter with the sheriff and his deputies in pursuit. The helicopter pilot was taken hostage, but was killed in the ensuing gun battle. Apparently, most of the local law enforcement were shot by the Winchesters. Eventually the brothers were pinned down with nowhere to go. When it became obvious that they were about to be taken back into custody, the Winchesters blew up the helicopter, killing themselves, Reidy and the sheriff.
"Whoa," was all Kira could say scribbling furiously.
"Of course, you cannot repeat any of what I've told you." Slivers dashed cold water over her excitement and she regretted agreeing to keep these details off the record. But this was the FBI. She had no doubt that if she didn't keep to her end of the bargain, there would be unpleasant consequences. Certainly her book would never see the light of day. She sighed but looked for another question.
"Based on eyewitness accounts, a number of the citizens of Monument have large, unexplained gaps in their memory. Do you know what caused those gaps? Or how those people ended up at the station between the shoot out and the explosion?" That was probably the biggest mystery of them all, the one that haunted people like Jenna Rudner.
"Not entirely. Due to the loss of evidence, our analysts were unable to completely confirm, but we believe those people were suffering from the effects of a novel neurotoxin."
"A neurotoxin!" Kira exclaimed.
"Our working theory is that a local man named Perry Nevin and Sergeant Joe Jackson were secretly working to develop, produce, and distribute a neurotoxin, probably for a large criminal organization. Nevin appears to have released the substance at a local bar and nearby gas station as some kind of test. Evidence came forward after the disaster that Jackson killed his partner Nevin in some kind of dispute."
Well, that tidbit tracked with what Roger Glenn had told her. It was nice to get some corroboration even if she couldn't name her source. She penned a few more notes as Slivers continued.
"The poison caused memory loss, hallucinations and violent behavior among other side-effects."
"So did Joe Jackson blow up the sheriff's office?" The Agent across from her paused and gave her a shrewd look, likely wondering where she'd heard that rumor. She could see him pick and choose his next words with precision.
"Officially, there was a gas leak. In a strange coincidence, a rare combination of methane and carbon dioxide leaked to the surface through a crack caused by nearby construction. Stray embers from the helicopter explosion seemed to be the point of ignition."
Kira nodded and jotted down some details. Feeling emboldened by his candor up to this point, she pushed her luck.
"But unofficially…?" she asked. Waiting for his response was both thrilling and terrifying.
"Unofficially, we don't know for sure. There was speculation that Jackson tried to destroy evidence of his crimes and caused an accidental detonation of some illicit material. Another theory is that unknown criminals who were in league with the Winchesters were coming to rescue them and blew up the station in retaliation for their death. The reality is we may never know exactly what happened." He shrugged, and Kira sensed he'd revealed all he was going to about the incident. Before her window of opportunity closed, she had one more clarification she hoped to get.
"Assistant Director Slivers, according to the official report, the Winchester brothers reportedly died that day. But, in less than four years later they were added to the FBI's own most wanted list for a string of extremely violent robberies and mass murders. How is that possible?"
He snapped his file closed with a frown and Kira worried that she had crossed a line. She stammered an apology. "Sorry! I'm… I'm not suggesting that the FBI did something wrong, I'm just confused."
"The real Dean and Sam Winchester were criminals, but they died in the helicopter explosion in 2008," he said sternly. "When the killings happened in 2011 there was ridiculous conjecture that the Winchesters had somehow faked their deaths. Or worse that they had come back from the dead. The truth is that the psychopaths responsible for those heinous crimes simply stole the identity of the dead brothers - most likely in an attempt to gain notoriety, frustrate law enforcement, and elude capture."
With a gesture of finality, Slivers pushed back his chair and stood, scooping up the file. Kira shoved her notes into her purse and jumped to her feet too.
"Just one more question, please!" she begged. He paused and waited two steps from the door.
"I know it's off the record, but why even talk to me?"
It was the white elephant that had been in the room since the beginning of this interview. Truly there was nothing to gain by sharing what he had with her and a lot to potentially lose if she broke her word. Of course the FBI would simply deny anything if she spilled the beans about what she'd been told, but it would still be a messy situation for them. So why the risk?
"Victor Henriksen was my friend," Slivers said simply. "He was a good man and he died too soon. I've read your other books and I appreciate how you treat the victims and community with compassion. I was hoping you'd do the same for Victor." Then with a sad smile, he opened the door. "Agent Pickering will escort you out of the building. Good day, Ms. Prail."
xxxxxx
The site of the old police station was set back from the road. Kira had seen pictures of the structure from before the explosion. At one point it had been a low brown building constructed of brick and wood siding with a parking lot in front and an impound lot around the side. After that day, all that was left was part of the facade, some fencing, and a large, scorched crater. The fire had burned so hot that they had been unable to retrieve any of the bodies of the victims.
Pulling into a parking space, she had to marvel at just how different the place looked now. On one side of the parking area, where the police had once stored towed and confiscated vehicles, now was a large park, complete with play structures, grassy areas, and a decorative pond. On the other side, where the building itself had once stood was a modest memorial with a wall of thick black marble. Around the stone marker were carefully groomed flower gardens, and a number of benches. On the bench facing the front of the memorial sat a woman.
Mary-Ellen Fitzgerald was a tall woman, long and lean in her mid-sixties. Despite the warm day, she was wearing a cardigan over top of a rather austere blue dress. In fact, as she approached, Kira sensed that Mrs. Fitzgerald was a sober person in general. Her shoes were sensible, her graying hair was bundled neatly into a bun, and she wore no jewelry that Kira could see beyond a simple gold band on her left hand. Although she turned her head to watch Kira approach, she made no move to stand or wave or draw her attention.
"Mrs. Fitzgerald?" Kira asked.
"Hello, you must be Ms. Prail." She was invited to sit, and Kira perched beside the woman.
"Thank you so much for meeting me this morning."
"Of course, I'm always happy to talk about my Nancy." The corners of her mouth turned up, but her smile was one of sorrow and loss. There was a restrained, quiet dignity to this woman that could be felt. Kira found herself speaking more quietly and deliberately than usual.
"Perhaps you could tell me about Nancy?"
"Well Nancy was our miracle. Thomas - that's my late husband, and I had hoped for a large family, but despite our prayers, that wasn't God's plan for us. Then just when we had accepted that we would be childless, I found out that I was expecting Nancy. We were so happy." Mrs. Fitzgerald paused, looking over wistfully at the children squealing with joy as they ran around and played on the other side of the parking area.
"I know every mother thinks that their child is special, but Nancy truly was. She was a good student, well behaved and kind. Everyone loved her. As a child she was always doing selfless things for others. She baked cookies for the men at the local firehouse; she hand-made get-well cards for all our neighbors; instead of presents for her birthday or Christmas she would pick out gifts to donate to the less fortunate. Then when she got older, she taught Sunday school at our church, volunteered at the hospital, and spent time with the residents of the senior's home. Nancy was always helping people."
Everyone Kira had talked to had confirmed that Nancy Fitzgerald was a sweet girl; quiet and thoughtful; a good friend. Not a single person had a negative thing to say about her. Which led to Kira's biggest question about the young woman.
"How did Nancy come to work for the sheriff?" she asked.
The older woman took a well-worn Bible out of her purse and stroked it tenderly as she spoke.
"This was hers," she said, indicating the Bible with a loving pat. "Nancy was a woman of faith, Ms. Prail. She believed in a loving God. Her favourite verse was from Luke where Jesus says, 'Do to others as you would have them do to you.' Nancy saw working at the sheriff's office as a way to serve the community and maybe provide some kindness and compassion to those most in need."
Kira wasn't sure what to say. She wasn't very religious herself, but she had a lot of respect for the truly faithful as Nancy and her parents seemed to be. Her heart broke for this woman who had lost both a daughter and since then, her husband.
"When was the last time you saw Nancy?" Kira felt a pang of regret for causing Mrs. Fitzgerald pain.
"That morning before she left for work. But I spoke with her that evening, just before the uh, before the accident." The older woman's face crumpled slightly as she fought to keep her composure.
"Nancy called to tell me that she was okay, and to apologize for being late. She said that there had been some trouble at the station, but that everything was okay now and she would tell me all about it when she got home. I never saw my daughter again." Her voice broke and she swallowed hard, tugging her sweater closer around herself.
"I'm so sorry for your loss." Despite having interviewed the families of dozens of victims of tragedy for her books, Kira still found it difficult to keep a professional distance in the face of such profound grief.
"Thank you." Mrs. Fitzgerald visibly straightened her shoulders and cleared the emotion from her throat. "I try to remember that Nancy and her father are together and in a better place. They'll be waiting for me when my time comes. Until then, I like to come here. It makes me feel close to Nancy somehow."
The two women lapsed into silence for a moment and Kira's eyes strayed to the marble wall in front of them. The sunshine made it sparkle with flecks of gold deep in the inky surface. Idly she read the names carved into the stone. Nancy was the only woman listed; the other names were those of her fallen colleagues and the FBI agents. Also listed were Dean and Sam Winchester. It seemed odd to commemorate their lives when the FBI implicated them in the explosion and resulting deaths. Kira was compelled to cross to the wall and run her hands lightly over the cool marble. Mrs. Fitzgerald joined her.
"The town council voted to turn this land into a park, but Thomas and I felt that we needed something else to honor everyone lost that day. So, we donated the money we had saved for Nancy's future to have this installed. That way people will remember what happened here for generations to come."
Kira thought it was an admirable, albeit expensive gift to Monument. Her fingers drifted over the names of the two criminal brothers and the older woman must have sensed the question Kira didn't ask.
"We felt it was important to include them. Who knows, maybe someday, someone who loves and misses them will find comfort here, the way I do. These men may have done bad things, but they were some mother's sons, and still two of God's children."
xxxxxx
Something dreadful and shocking happened in Monument on that February day, and it shook the community to its core. In this town, there is a time before the explosion and the new, less comfortable normal that formed afterwards. Even more than fourteen years later, the lives of the people who live here are still impacted by the death and destruction. Some people have found a way to move past the incident. Others, like Jenna Rudner, are still grappling with the traumatic effects of their experience. Some, like Mary-Ellen Fitzgerald, have risen above their grief and loss to inspire and bring hope. Like most tragedies, there are no easy answers, and for some questions, no answers at all…
"Hey, we're almost there," Dean said from his left and Sam looked up from his book, tucking the gas receipt between the pages to mark his place. "Are you sure you wanna do this?" Dean asked, shooting him a concerned glance. Sam wasn't entirely sure, but he nodded.
Dean swung the big car into the parking lot, going slowly to watch out for a mother with three kids who were scampering out of an SUV. The park on the right was busy. The playground was bustling with children running around like overgrown squirrels. There were a couple of old people feeding ducks at the pond and beyond them a happy dog chasing a frisbee. It was a cheerful, lively place. Bringing the car to a stop, they sat for a moment listening to the engine tick, and Miracle pant in the warm back seat.
Pushing open his door with a familiar creak, Sam stood and stretched his back. There was a time when five hours in the car was hardly noticeable, but now he felt it. It didn't seem to bother Dean, who was snapping a leash onto Miracle's collar and offering the dog some water. Over the roof of the car and Dean's shoulder, the black marble monument on their left sparkled in the sunlight. This was what they had come to see, but now that they were here, he found himself reluctant to walk over. He felt Dean's eyes on him and he appreciated that his brother was letting him take the lead. Sam huffed out a breath - he was being silly.
As they made their way between the tidy flower gardens, the playground noise faded. Sam tried to remember the details of the building that had stood in this spot, but his memories of the place were fuzzy. Instead, he remembered faces. Henriksen's smug expression when he taunted that Sam and Dean would never see each other again, then the respect and gratitude in the man's face when they survived the demon attack. The sheriff's surprise and shock when he was shot. Nancy's fear despite her selfless offer to die for them all. Dean's anger when he found out that Lilith considered Sam a rival.
It wasn't until Dean bumped his shoulder in silent solidarity that he came back to himself, standing in front of the marble wall listing the names of the dead. While Miracle snuffled softly amongst the flowers at the end of his leash, they stared at the monument. The events of that night seemed like several lifetimes ago.
"A lot has happened since then, hasn't it?" Dean asked. Sam nodded, but didn't bother answering. It was strange to see their names carved in the marble, like some overgrown tombstone. He wasn't sure what he was expecting to feel; grief, regret, nostalgia. He ran his thumb over Nancy Fitzgerald's name. Maybe all of the above, especially for the innocent people who died that day and their families. But to his surprise, mostly what he felt was relief. He and Dean were alive, here, together. They had beaten Chuck and were still standing. This memorial served a purpose for Monument, but wasn't for them.
"Hey, we're not far from Denver. What do you say we swing by and get some Mountain Pie or green chile?" Sam asked, shaking off his contemplative mood. Food was always the best reward for Dean and despite the heartburn both dishes promised, Sam wanted to make his brother happy.
"Hell yeah! Don't have to ask me twice." Dean slapped Sam's arm, a move more affectionate than violent and headed back to the Impala, Miracle bounding ahead. With a last look at the engraved names, Sam followed him, eager to leave their past in the stone and look forward to their new uncharted future.
The End
Rivergrove Infection references the events of episode 2.09 Croatoan which took place in Rivergrove, Oregon.
Genie is an oblique reference to the djinn bartender Brigitta in 6.01 Exle on Main St.
Kira grew up in the small town of New Harmony, Indiana where the events of 3.16 No Rest for the Wicked took place. With a population of 1,000 she likely knew some of the people killed or traumatized.
The FBI Wall of Honor is a real thing and can be viewed virtually if you google it.
Bill Black (William Arthur Black) was a reference to a famous expert helicopter pilot from New Zealand.
The full Bible verse that Nancy loved was Luke 6:27-36.
Kira's book that Sam is reading is called Mayhem in Monument. Note that authors don't always get to choose their own book titles.