AN: Thanks again to Shazza19, iwokeuponthewrongsideoflife, Dargur and Colby's Girl for their kind reviews. I hope you like this chapter.
Jane and the Hungry House
The Easy Rest motel was exactly the kind of place Sam expected a hunter would stay. It was little more than a nondescript row of numbered doors, the original blue faded to a sad slate colour. Sam had spent his childhood shuttling between places that looked very much the same. There were only a few cars in the parking lot as Dean pulled in, the low-rent vibe ensuring even families traveling on a budget were likely to keep driving. Jane had directed them to number 14, the room farthest from both the office and the pawn shop advertising it's wares next door.
As Dean parked, the curtain twitched. Not for the first time, Sam wished he could remember more about the woman. She'd followed him into battle, risked violent death at his direction and he wasn't sure they'd exchanged a single word. He hadn't even realized she and Jerry were a couple. Sure, he'd had a lot on his mind that day, but it was still a terrible way to treat her, especially after she'd saved his life. Hopefully helping out on this case could do a little towards making amends.
Before he could knock, the door swung open. Inside was nothing but shadow compared to the bright noon sunlight.
"Hey, Sam," she said out of the darkness. It wasn't exactly a warm invitation, but he hoped he was imagining the coldness in her tone. He took a step into the room anyway, glad to have Dean at his shoulder and his Taurus tucked into the back of his jeans.
It only took a moment for his eyes to adjust. Jane had retreated to sit on the bed. One arm was encased in plaster so fresh he could smell it. The other was holding an ice pack to the side of her head. Only the shotgun that lay beside her suggested she had any concerns about two armed men coming into her room.
"Hey," he finally replied as Dean shut the door behind them. "You remember my brother, Dean?" he asked, waving in his direction.
"Sure. Hey." She gingerly tossed her chin in greeting. The side of her face was heavily bruised, just starting to darken and she was moving with a careful deliberation. Likely her face wasn't the only part of her body that was bruised.
"I hope the other guy looks worse," Dean joked. A hint of a smile crossed her battered face.
"You'll have to ask the staircase when you see it." She dropped the ice and stood with a wince, gesturing towards the small table covered with papers. There were some bundled together, some taped to the wall and others piled on the worn carpet. "This is all my research, police reports, land titles, victim profiles, anything I could find."
Right to business then. Sam sat and started sorting through the stacks of documents. From what he could see, her work was not only well organized, but incredibly comprehensive. Jane lowered herself into the chair across from Sam.
"So, what do you know?" he asked while Dean leaned against the counter in the compact kitchenette.
"Not much. Figured it was a vengeful spirit. We couldn't find a likely suspect to salt and burn, but Bryce thought it might be related to the first victim." Jane tapped on a specific file and Sam quickly flipped it open, scanning its contents as she explained.
"Nicole Allen, 16. Lived in the house with her parents and brother. Cops questioned her boyfriend but declared her a runaway."
"But you don't think that's what happened?" Sam said, stating the obvious. He flipped through contemporaneous police notes and more recent handwritten notes that must have been from Jane.
"No. I contacted her brother. Things were good at home and at school. She was looking forward to the homecoming dance - bought a fancy new dress and everything. He said she wasn't the type to sneak out. Because he was only twelve at the time, no one took his statement seriously. Bryce thinks she never left the house. He thinks her dad killed her and stuffed her inside a wall or something"
"Hmmm." Sam made a noncommittal noise as he considered the evidence. He tended to agree, but it didn't explain the rest of the victims who ranged from age 9 to 54 and crossed race and gender lines. If Nicole's spirit was haunting the house, why would she target the others who were missing. And more importantly, where did she take them?
"Yesterday, we were at the house, looking for EMF, cold spots - you know the drill. We were upstairs checking out the bedrooms when Bryce…disappeared. He was there one minute and gone the next." Jane sounded both weary and worried.
"Then what happened?" Sam prompted. She rolled her good shoulder in lieu of a shrug. "Something - some force pushed me - hard."
"Did you see the ghost? A shape or shadow or anything?" If they were going to solve this mystery, they needed more details.
"No, nothing. Of course, I was busy bouncing down the steps. When I came to, I was pretty messed up. I made it out to the lawn where a neighbor called for an ambulance. Told the cops I was mugged." She dragged a hand across her mouth. "Look, I can fill you in on everything, but right now we need to go back and find Bryce."
Sam empathized; he really did. Judging by the single queen bed, he figured Bryce was more than another a hunting buddy. No wonder she was stressed. They both knew exactly what a vengeful spirit could do, and Jane was obviously more injured than she was letting on. But he also thought it was best to think things through and develop a plan. If a malevolent force of significant strength was in that house, they needed more than some rock salt or iron bullets.
"We will," he agreed. "But I think we should wait until it gets dark. Meanwhile we'll review all this," he indicated her research, "and see if we can figure out where the ghost is taking folks." It was a reasonable plan, so Sam was shocked by the cold look she gave him.
"Bryce's been missing for almost 24 hours. We don't have time to wait and see. If you don't want to help me, I'll go find him myself," she spat, standing so fast her chair fell backwards with a loud thunk. Her head obviously didn't like the swift change in elevation. The blood drained from her face and she staggered. She would have fallen except Dean was only a few steps away. He grabbed her shoulders to keep her upright before Sam could get to his feet.
Turning her back on him, Jane appealed to Dean. "We need to go now," she implored, anxiety and pain cracking her stoic facade.
Dean turned and smoothly maneuvered their host to the edge of the bed where he gently set her down. Leaving Jane rubbing her head, he stepped over to speak quietly.
"Sammy?"
"I just don't think we should go into this blind. We don't know what's going on and you're…" he stopped at Dean's frown.
"I'm what?" Dean asked with a sharp undertone.
"You're not at 100%." There, he said it. Sam knew it pissed Dean off to suggest he wasn't fit to hunt, but he didn't care. His brother was the most caring person Sam had ever known. Dean would willingly put himself at risk to save anyone, but he needed to be reminded he was human sometimes. More so now that there was no one pulling their strings or gifting get-out-of-dead-free cards. Dean deserved some time to heal before throwing himself headlong into danger.
"I'm fine Sam," Dean insisted with a scowl.
Sam wasn't convinced. There was a tightness around Dean's eyes and despite the air conditioning, he looked a little sweaty. But he could see he'd wounded Dean's pride which meant there was no way he could convince his brother to sit this one out. They were going to that house no matter what he said. Sam sighed in frustration.
"Fine!" he conceded sourly. "We can go over there now and do some scouting. But anything hinky happens and we're out of there."
xxxxxx
Number 273 Daisy Street looked like every other house in the characterless sub-division. It only differed from its neighbors by the absence of flower gardens and toys strewn across the lawn. The house was a modest two-story with light blue siding. Hardly the spookiest house Dean had ever seen, especially in the daytime with kids racing by on bikes. He parked Baby under the shade of a white oak tree across from the property. Jane had already played the role of real-estate agent, so there was no need for stealth at this point.
"Oh, hi!" shouted a woman waving at them from the yard next door. She hurried over, tutting as she pointed at Jane's cast. "Oh my goodness. Should you be out of the hospital?" Despite the dark sunglasses she had on, Dean saw Jane's expression go from hardened hunter to warm and friendly realtor. He was more than happy to let her deal with the civilian, so he hung back a few feet with Sam.
"Not to worry, Kim, I'll be fine. Thank you so much for all your help yesterday. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't called for an ambulance." Jane gushed.
"Oh, of course! I just can't believe you got mugged on our street!" The woman shook her head dramatically. Dean couldn't tell if she was frightened about a mugger or simply offended something so scandalous could happen in her neighborhood.
"Well," Jane leaned in conspiratorially, "you didn't hear it from me, but the police have arrested some poor, mentally ill drifter. It's sad, but at least he's in custody."
Kim absorbed this information with a knowing nod. "Oh, of course," she stage-whispered. Her eyes flicked a curious glance at him and Sam. Jane must have caught the look because she gave an airy wave in their direction.
"That reminds me. I've hired these guys to do some structural work on the house before we put it on the market." Kim frowned and Jane pulled a business card out of the depths of her voluminous leather tote and handed it to her. Dean had to admire how smoothly she did that without exposing the sawed-off shotgun and canister of salt he'd seen her put into the bag before they'd left.
"Please, if you hear anything or have any concerns, give me a call." The woman took the card and tucked it into the pocket of her shorts. Jane gave her another broad, professional smile and lightly squeezed her arm. "Forgive me, Kim - it's been so nice to chat, but I'm terribly behind after yesterday." Before Kim could respond, Jane breezed past her towards the haunted house, the image of a busy real estate agent. They fell into step behind her and the neighbor went back to watering her begonias.
"Nice job," Dean offered as the three of them stood outside the front door.
"Thanks, I used to be a realtor back before…" Jane trailed off.
No one became a hunter because of the great dental benefits and 401K. Almost everyone had a horror story of some kind or another that set them on this path. Generally it was best not to ask.
"Anyway, it's a good cover," she finished as she unlocked the door. "We were able to copy the key from the actual listing agent." All signs of the sociable salesperson disappeared and Jane was once again a serious, flinty-faced hunter. She cautiously pushed the door open.
It swung wide to reveal a whole lot of nothing. The entry stretched out into a long hallway leading to what was probably a kitchen. On the right was an opening into a living room and on the left the bottom of a set of stairs. Stepping inside, Dean was alert and focused. Sam shut the door, blocking out most of the mid-day sun and reducing the light to what filtered in through the dusty windows. The house was stuffy and airless and the collar and pits of Dean's t-shirt were already damp. Sam skimmed past to take the lead. Digging into the weapons bag he carried, he handed Jane their EMF meter and passed him a shotgun.
"You said Bryce went missing upstairs?"
"Yeah," Jane replied, removing her dark sunglasses. She looked pale and a little sick in the gloom, but also grimly determined. Concussions were a bitch and by rights she should have stayed back at the motel. Dean had half a mind to try and send her back to the car to wait for them. Of course considering he wasn't doing 100% himself, that would have been hypocritical. He'd have to do his best to keep an eye on her while they explored the house.
"Okay, let's start there." Sam shouldered their weapons duffle and leading with his weapon, began to slowly make his way up the stairs.
Dean rolled the tightness from his neck and tried to ignore the headache building behind his eyes. Gesturing for Jane to follow Sam, he scanned their surroundings before bringing up the rear. Maybe Sam was right and he wasn't at his best, but he was perfectly capable of covering their six.
The EMF was as silent as the house. Even the stairs didn't creak despite their combined weight. In fact, there was nothing the least bit creepy about the place. But it was even hotter upstairs. A trickle of sweat ran down his temple. Of more concern were the creeping tendrils of pain that were beginning to radiate across his back and shoulders. Sam stopped at the landing and crouched to look carefully at the floor. Dean scanned their surroundings, ready and able to pump rock salt into anything that looked like it might take his brother.
Apparently satisfied the hardwood didn't hide anything dangerous, Sam moved forward and the three of them huddled in the small area. Dean poked his head in the first room. It was sparsely staged to look like a nursery, one wall covered in wallpaper adorned with cheerful monkeys. Like some awkward three-legged race, together they cleared the room. Considering the house was snatching people into thin air, it made sense to stick close to each other. Shuffling across the hall, they examined the next bedroom and the main bathroom in a matter of minutes. There was nothing suspicious to see. Sam led their group into the main bedroom.
It was substantially brighter here. Sunshine poured through a large window and bounced off the mirror strategically positioned on the other side of the room, illuminating the dust motes that floated in the air they disturbed.
"Gah," moaned Jane, scrunching her eyes shut. Dean knew light was murder on a concussion. His own head didn't like the brightness much either and the dull throb blossomed into a more insistent pounding between his temples.
Blindly stumbling past him, Jane hurried to the small ensuite and shut the door. The sound of retching did little to benefit Dean's own queasy stomach and he sighed. He'd promised Sam he would ask for help if the curse came back. With Jane indisposed, now seemed about as good a time as any. Sam was prowling around the other side of the room, poking his head into the closet.
"Uh, Sam?" Dean called.
"Yeah?" Sam was still distracted by his investigation of the walk-in.
"I need a hand," he said quietly. It irked Dean to be so friggin needy, but it was probably better to take care of the curse before it got too bad. Sam glanced his way with a look of confusion that swiftly turned to concern when he realized what was actually being asked. Dean cleared his throat and shoved the sleeve of his over-shirt up his forearm.
"Oh, yeah, sure." Sam took a step closer, already extending his hand when two things happened simultaneously. A gauzy, grey shadow passed between them, like a puff of barely-there smoke and suddenly Sam vanished. Before Dean could say or do anything he was hurled across the room by an invisible force. He slammed against the wall hard enough he heard the drywall crack beneath him. Like a flash fire, the pain in his head burst into being, overwhelming his senses and drawing him into darkness.
