Daughter of Cain
Disclaimer: I do now own Supernatural
Trigger Warning: This chapter mentions suicide.
Chapter 22: Paint it Black
Vivian's POV
Sam was not feeling well for another case. Not that I can blame him, when out of self-defense, he killed a marine to protect the man's wife. Desert Worms…. I'll give Eve credit for creativity in creating natural balance amongst beasts. However, I wonder if she ever thought about those who were affected by the aftermath? Then again, she held a vendetta against God and thus went after his prize possessions…his mortal children despite those mortal children coming from her bloodline.
A whole lot of gray, Cain would say.
Anyway, Dean caught wind of another case. Three deaths in Worcester, Massachusetts. One would think that was normal. However, three deaths in two weeks that appeared to be suicides. Oh, and all three victims have one thing in common…they were members of the same congregation.
Religion…. I thought bitterly.
One would say I'm an atheist…. however how can I be an atheist knowing I'm the daughter of Cain, angels, demons, and all that jazz. Then again, God did not do much for my family. He practically destroyed my family. Sent my grandmother to purgatory. Allow Lucifer to corrupt my uncle, in which my father had to literally make a deal with the devil to save him. Oh, and since the dawn of Creation, my father lived to near murderous madness.
Yeah…I think I have a good cause.
I remember Cain grabbing a bible and telling me what truly happened. Blaspheme, one in the faith would say. At least all the other cultures and their religions have a better imagination. Then again, Deities were a creation of humanity. Similar to Tulpa, but far superior. Cain explained that God was enraged by this, yet decided to use the deities as a scapegoat and created more before leaving. Allowing humans to morph these deities into their own imaginations…. with a bit of cannibalism.
Shaking my head, I decided to go with Dean to get out of the Bunker. Also, hearing as Dean put it, it doesn't sound like we are hunting a living being. I still keep my promise to Colette to not kill a mortal being. Either they are man or beast, with the exception of animals. And I have kept to my promise.
However, Dean made it seem like this is either a cursed object or a ghost. That seemed possible.
So, we were driving through the country road, heading to Massachusetts.
"All right, so, I'm thinking, uh, curse, maybe," Dean suggested.
"I'm betting on ghosts," I countered. "Vengeful, maybe, with three suicides in two weeks. All being men."
"Yeah, they gutted themselves," he agreed. "And they took their sweet time doing it. I mean, that had to be incredibly painful. I can't seem to find any link between the victims, either."
"Other than being in the same congregation," I reminded.
Dean snorted, "Curse object."
"Or ghost," I challanged.
"Want to make it a bet?" he offered.
I scoffed, "What do you wager?"
Dean paused, thinking about it, "If it is a cursed object, you have to bake me a homemade pie."
"A pie?" I asked.
"Oh yes, I know you can cook and bake." He answered. "I'm sure you can bake me a pie."
I chuckled, shaking my head, "Very well, if it is a cursed object, I'll bake you a pie. But if it is a ghost…"
I paused, thinking about the reward I would receive. It can't be cruel since Dean is only asking for a pie. So, what holds the same value as a pie. I know Dean can cook, yet he is more on simple meals.
"All right, if it is a ghost, then you will…." I paused, thinking about it. "You have to let me drive the Impala on the way back."
Dean scowled, "No."
"You let Sam," I reminded.
"Only when I have to," he grumbled. "You are not driving Baby."
I gave a dramatic sigh, "Very well…you let me choose the music on the drive back."
Dean opened his mouth to counter. He barely let anyone choose the music. Something about Driver picking the music and shotgun shutting his cake hole or something. He practically listens to the same music from the seventies or what is the classic rock station on the local radio. It is nice to listen to something different. At least put on eighties music or something.
"Deal," Dean agreed.
I nodded and paused, "What pie flavor?"
"Apple," he answered with a small smile.
I nodded before resting my head against the window, watching the rain.
.o0o.
When we made it to Worcester, Massachusetts, late into the night. We found a motel to stay at and rested for a bit. Both of us slept in our own separate beds. Luckily, Dean did not have any nightmares. Once we were well rested, Dean changed into his suit while I morphed my clothes into a professional suit for women and pulled my hair up into a neat bun.
Dean somehow got me a badge as I glanced at my I.D. and gave him a look. "Clarice Starling?"
"What?" Dean replied casually.
I rolled my eyes, "Get in the car, Will Graham."
Dean chuckled as he drove us to the police station. The first time I stayed with the Winchesters, Sam took a picture of me in case they ever needed badges. I told him I could create a badge out of thin air, yet Sam said to humor him. Although, Sam wouldn't be cruel to give me the alias. So, this was all Dean.
Anyway, we made it to the station to gather as much information as possible. Dean was in his element as he gathered much information. I merely stood there, taking the information in. We were taken to the morgue, where we examined the body, seeing the damage that the victim did to himself. I sensed no magic on him or any traces of demon essence. Not even the scent of sulfur. Afterward, we went through the evidence on Terry Sloane's person. Especially the candle stick with a four-inch spike. There wasn't much that the cops could give us.
Therefore, we made our way out with Terry Sloane's cellphone. Dean convinces the cops we will take it to the bureau's crime lab to see if there are any leads.
"You do that in every case?" I asked.
"All the time," Dean confirmed.
"So…what do we get?" I continued. "Terry Sloane is an ordinary hermit with no enemies and no connections to the others."
"Well, not necessarily," he reminded. "He's catholic, and so are the other two."
"Dean, we're in Massachusetts. The majority of the population is catholic." I said. "By any chance, this is just a case of normal suicides."
"Who kills himself with a candlestick, all right?" he countered. "There's about a billion better ways."
True. Then again, most modern suicides would be drugs or inflicting bodily injury.
"But he did kill himself," I clarified.
Dean thought about it as we continued to walk, "All right, so it was not a witch. There was nothing they found on him. Up, possession? Could it have been a demon?"
"No," I shook my head. "The point of a demon possessing a living thing is to keep the vessel alive. More damage to the body, the body becomes useless."
We reached the Impala. Dean was getting frustrated as well, sensing something was not adding up. "Okay. Call Sam, and he will help us hack into that cellphone. And, uh, we'll figure out what's going on with Terry Sloane."
I glanced at the evidence bag in my hand. "You know I could alter reality without a password."
Dean couldn't help but smirk.
.o0o.
There was another death last night. However, it was not another suicide. Instead, it was a homicide. The victim's name was Frank McCarthy, who was stabbed to death by his wife, Lisa…with a pair of scissors. We went to the station to take a look at it. When we examined the body, I paused, for I thought I smelled a fragrance out of this sterile room.
Frankincense, myrrh, and…paint.
Not just any paint made out of chemicals. No. I could barely make out the scent of animal glue and linseed oil. Something I would identify in…. renaissance paintings. Dean did the interrogation with Lisa McCarthy, and from what I could see, this woman was possessed. She had no memory, as the last thing she remembered was making a confession, waiting for her husband, and then standing over his dying body.
It is a shame for this one victim to murder her own husband. Even though Dean and I might be able to stop the entity that is causing it…Lisa will be placed in prison for a crime she did not commit. We have more than enough information that concludes we are dealing with possession. And as we concluded, it had to be at the church all four victims attended.
Four men of the faith. Three committed suicide, while one was murdered by his wife. All from the same church. But seeing Frank's body, it was not a self-defense kill nor a straight-on murder kill. This was personal, like a vendetta.
A scornful vendetta.
I thought back to last night while exploring Terry Sloane's phone. It seemed clean, minus the fact that Terry's girlfriend was accusing him of cheating. The man constantly denied it, yet as I examined further into the phone, finding pictures of nude or partially naked women along with dick picks. Irritation stirred inside me when I searched the phone, wondering how someone could cheat so easily and act so innocent.
Dean asked Lisa if, by any chance, her husband was having an affair. The woman sat there mortified, saying Frank would never cheat on her. They were happy with their families. She then sobbed about her children.
An affair.
Sounds about right to kill one's husband, yet Lisa stated she couldn't have killed her husband. She loved him.
Dean held the same suspicions. But we did not confirm it until we talked to the priest of the church.
We made our way to the church. However, out of respect, I called ahead to ask for an appointment with the priest or whoever was in charge of the church due to an investigation. When we arrived, we found the priest, Father Delaney, and explained the situation. He was baffled by the news as he led us inside the church. The moment we stepped on it, I shuddered, sensing the presence of spirits. There were many of them, but not like ghosts, indicating a burial ground was nearby. Dean noticed this but didn't say anything.
"I just can't believe Lisa McCarthy would murder her husband," Father Delaney said, baffled while walking down the aisle.
"Unfortunately, evidence led to believe so, with the blood on her person and her fingerprints on the murder weapon," I explained.
"That's terrible," the priest said.
I merely nodded.
Dean stepped in, "Now, we also have some questions. Um, for starters, she has no memory of it. The last thing she remembered was being here. Frank had gone to confession."
"By any chance, did he say anything in confession about marital problems?" I asked.
Father Delaney stopped to face us, "I'm sorry. The nature of confession is confidential."
Of course, I thought bitterly.
"Father, all the victims attended your church." Dean reminded. "Um, could you at least tell us if they had recently been to confession?"
"Yes," the priest confirmed with sorrow. "These men were fairly regular, but them, so are the majority of the folks here."
The sound of footsteps approaching us caught my attention. I glanced to see a nun in gray attire approach us. She appeared to be in her thirties, with vibrant blue eyes and natural dark auburn hair peeking out of her veil. I sense power from her, one of spirituality and those psychic abilities. A medium.
"Father?" the nun greeted.
Dean's eyes widen when he sees the nun. The way he looked at her had me unsettled, yet I kept a neutral expression.
"Agents, Sister Mathias is our director of social services," Father Delaney introduced her. "I asked her to show you around and answer any questions."
"Sure," Dean said.
"Thank you," I added with a nod.
The priest nodded as he excused himself. There is no doubt to pray and mourn for his fallen members of the congregation. We turned our attention to Sister Mathias. She stepped forward.
"Sister," Dean greeted.
"Agents…?" She replied
"Allman," Dean smiled. "And this is Agent Starling."
She gave a welcoming smile and paused, staring at me, no doubt sensing my gray aura.
"Sister, you're aware of the recent string of deaths?" I asked, hoping her abilities were that of seeing dead people rather than identifying a demonic presence.
"Yes, a terrible tragedy," She confirmed sadly, then stared at Dean curiously. "But I'm confused as to why you're here. These were all suicides, weren't they?"
"There's a possibility they weren't," I answered.
Her blue eyes widen in disbelief, "Murders?"
"Well, the actual method of killing was all identical," Dean explained.
"Ah, the M.O.," she murmured.
Dean nodded with a chuckle, "Yes, indeed. The M.O."
I did not like how he was looking at her. As if he had gotten a crush. Doesn't he realize she is a nun? Her attire says it all.
I cleared my throat, "I'm going to look around."
Before I puke or do something I'll regret, I thought.
"Excuse me, Sister," I added, which she nodded; those gave me a concerned expression.
Dean nodded as I stepped aside to stain glass windows and pulled out an EMF reader. I don't need it, yet Dean wanted me to have it to confirm any suspicions of ghosts. The lights were going off as I walked along the church with a small hum. Even though I can sense a spiritual present, it doesn't feel like a poltergeist or specter. Yet there was a ghostly presence. Not the violent kind, just those waiting on a reaper or choosing limbo. However, as I walked around, I caught that scent of paint again.
I glanced around to see if there were any paintings from that time frame, yet all artwork appeared to be modern replicas. As I continue to walk, I listen to my surroundings. There were people here, yet they seemed attuned to their prayer to notice anyone. Yet I could hear Dean's conversation with Sister Mathias.
"Uh, sister, d-did you notice, um, any change in the – in the McCarthy's lives? You know, fighting, drinking, cheating? You know, the usual."
"The usual." She replied, amused. "A bit cynical, agent?"
"Well, you know, scissors to the gut really, uh, bring out the Grinch in me." He explained.
Sister Mathias chuckled.
"So…oh… Now, Lisa McCarthy said that they were devoted to each other. Was that true?"
"That always appeared to be the case."
"But…?"
She was hesitant, then said, "We're looking for a motive, aren't we?"
"We are," he assured. "An earlier victim's cellphone showed some angry texts between him and his girlfriend 'cause he had been fooling around. "
"There were rumors." She confirmed.
"So, Frank cheated on Lisa. So, she lied to me." He said, then paused. "Oh, she didn't know."
"My sources are excellent." She said. "And you didn't hear it from me."
Dean chuckled softly.
Somehow, that irked me. This should be nothing. Dean and I are merely friends who are connected through the mark. I kept telling myself it was just the mark messing with my emotions. Ensuring I stayed close to protect Dean so he wouldn't go on a rampage again. Nothing more. And nothing less.
A nun came by. She was petite with olive skin, dark hair, and dark eyes. I nodded to her out of respect, standing by the votive candles. Until the scent of paint caught my nose. I looked around to see any painting in the area I was in and found nothing. Only replica art, not authentic paintings from that time.
The nun stood at the other side of the room as she spoke with an Italian accent, "Are you all right."
I took a deep breath, "Forgive me, sister, thought I…. never mind."
"You have your own demons," She noted. "Someone had hurt you."
I inhale sharply, "Something along those lines."
Her dark eyes stared at my left hand, seeing it bare, then back at me, "Was it your… boyfriend?"
I snorted, "No. I do not have a boyfriend."
She gave a sincere smile, "Good. Protect your heart."
I was about to respond when my phone began to ring. I apologized to the nun as I quickly grabbed it to see it was from Sam. When I glanced up, the nun was gone. I blinked, seeing no one by the door. Only to assume she left to give me privacy. The call was forwarded, and I texted Sam, telling him, I was occupied. Another violent shuddered through me. There were too many spirits here, and they were messing up my senses.
Finding nothing, I went back to the nave of the church where Dean and Sister Mathias stood.
"Sister Mathias," I greeted, ending their conversation.
"Yes, Agent Stirling," she replied.
"Is there a cemetery nearby?" I asked.
"You could say that," she started, figuring out her words. "The entire church is built over burial crypts."
"Interesting," I said. "Have you experienced any unusual occurrences?"
"Unusual, how?" she asked, glancing at Dean to be sure I was serious.
"Like, uh, spots in the building that suddenly get cold or, uh – or maybe you feel like you're not – not quite alone?"
"Rattling chains and teacups that fly across the room?" She sarcastically replied, amused.
"Sister, are you making fun of me?" Dean asked, seriously with a hint of humor.
"Really?" she countered, raising her brows.
We stood there meaning it.
Her humor vanished. "Really? The FBI believes in ghosts?"
I shrugged.
"I'm afraid I don't," she answered." If you'll excuse me, agents. I have to get back to work."
"Mm," Dean responded, with a nod, watching her leave. Until his green eyes stared at me. Quickly, he corrected himself before heading out.
I followed him as we left the church. I gave another violent shudder, sensing we were being watched and it wasn't the members of the church.
"Tell me you didn't think that nun was hot?" Dean joked.
I scowled at him, "Seriously."
I don't know if he meant it or was pulling my leg.
"I think she had a little thing for me, too." He continued.
"Dean, she is married to god," I reminded as we continued to walk.
Dean noticed the bitterness in my voice, having a slight smirk before changing the subject, "All right, so Frank cheated on his wife, Lisa, all right."
"And Terry cheated on his girlfriend," I added.
"You know, the whole theme of this case seems to be about guys doing their women wrong," Dean concluded. "Notice that?"
"Yeah," I agreed. "Lisa McCarthy had no idea whatsoever she had killed her husband. And the other three offed themselves…in the chest…. where the heart is."
Dean nodded, "Basically stabbed in the heart."
"What did Sister Mathias say about Lisa?" I asked.
"Oh, hot nun said that Lisa had no idea he was cheating on her." He answered. "So, maybe she was controlled by someone who did."
"Possession. One that is temporary." I suggested glancing at the church and then at Dean. "I sensed a lot of spirits in there, but not threatening. More docile, waiting for a reaper or limbo."
"You can sense ghosts?" he asked baffled.
"Yes, but not what you are thinking," I answered. "Besides, the church is built on a burial ground."
Dean gestured a finger between me and the church, "You know that all the victims recently went to confession?"
I paused, "You think Father Delaney's has something to do with it?"
"Or maybe something surrounding the confessional?" he suggested.
Could Father Delaney be using some sort of charm to control the lost spirits in there to kill these cheating men? But why? From what I recall about Catholicism and the Catholic church, the men who serve that practice devote themselves to the church and perform celibacy. Similar to the nuns but more devoted. Why would Father Delaney be interested in killing members of his church? And why after adulterers. If it was one man and he had feelings for the woman, that is one thing. But it wasn't.
Unless he was going after sinners and found adulterers an easy target.
"Viv, how long has it been since my last confession?" Dean asked.
I choked on a laugh, "You and confession?"
"I'll take that as never," he guessed to himself.
"Are you even Catholic?" I asked, heading back to the parking garage where the Impala was kept.
"No," he answered. "Are you?"
I snorted, "What do you think?"
Dean paused, thinking about it. I was the daughter of Cain. My family goes back to Creation. Hell, my father has witnessed many events in all Judeo-Christianity and Islamic. Let me say his perspective in all of history would put the religious books to shame.
We grabbed something to eat before heading back to the motel. I pulled out my laptop to do more research on the church and those buried there. See if there was a ghost that could have the motivation to be an adultery killer.
Dean did his research on the couch but, on occasion, glanced at me now and then. When I caught a glimpse of him, I noticed he would rub his right arm, where the mark was.
"Is it hurting again?" I asked.
This snapped Dean out of his thoughts, "Huh?
"The mark?" I repeated. "It's hurting again."
Dean paused and shook his head, "Nah…just thinking about what to say to Father Delaney."
"Anything that will piss off a woman," I said.
Dean nodded, then asked, "Have you ever been cheated on?"
I blinked a few times, "What?"
"I'm curious. Have you ever been cheated on?" he asked.
I sighed, adjusting myself, "Not really. Cain..." I took a deep breath. "When I came of age, Cain warned me of the struggles I'd have when it came to a relationship. I am a Cambion. I aged ever so slowly that I had watched people I care for live their lives while I stayed the same. Being prepared…I never had a committed relationship. I made sure all the men I was with understood I could give them a moment, never a lifetime."
Dean took that information in.
"But I was probably cheated on with," I guessed. "At least those who weren't married. I tried to avoid men who were in a committed relationship."
"And the longest relationship?" he asked.
I paused, thinking about my past lovers, "James, during the Vietnam war. I had volunteered as a nurse and met a soldier named James. Part of the transportation unit as he flew helicopters. We probably lasted five months before his orders sent him off to Japan."
"And what happened to him?" Dean asked.
I gave a sincere smile, "He got married. Had three kids and runs a family-owned car dealership."
"So…you never thought about seeing him again?" he asked.
I shrugged, "I liked him, but never loved him."
"You never loved someone?"
I thought about it, "I loved my friends. I mourn for them as time took them away or I had to remove myself. But I never experienced true love. For I never want to risk that pain that my father felt."
I prevent myself from falling in love. I will accept love as a friend…. but I could never love someone…unless they aged like me. I need to remind myself of that. And it doesn't help with the bond that the mark is making between Dean and me. Yes, I care for him, but as a friend. Once the mark is settled, I will disappear. Neither of us wants to be a constant reminder of what happened between us. All the things we did or experienced because of the mark.
Not be reminded of what Cain made us do.
The fate and torment because of him.
Dean merely nodded as he sighed.
And I wasn't sure what it meant.
.o0o.
Dean's POV
Dean and Vivian made their way back to the church. The moment they entered, Vivian shuddered again. No doubt the ghost was near. Until she said, "Do you smell linseed oil?"
"What's that?" he asked.
"It's like flaxseed oil," SHe explained.
Dean shook his head for all he smelled was murky air and incense. Vivian sighed, as she took a seat in the far corner, giving the impression of prayer. Although, he doubts Vivian would do such a thing. Especially when angels listen to all prayers, and none would dare help a cambion.
Anyway, he made his way into the confessional, taking a seat. He knocked on the screen, getting Father Delaney's attention.
"Yes?" the priest called out, opening the screen.
"Hiya, Father," Dean greeted casually.
This baffled the priest, or what Dean could see through the woven screen.
"Pardon me?" the priest replied, probably stumbled to see him here.
"Pardon you? I thought it was the other way around," Dean said playfully, with a chuckle. "Just…it…" he cleared his throat. "So, uh, I'm here to – here to clean house. I need to get some things off my chest."
"Oh. All right," Father Delaney murmured. "Continue."
Dean paused, trying to think of what to say. This was his first Confessional. "Um… It's the women, father. Where do I begin?" he gave a slight chuckle.
"' Bless me, father, for I have sinned,' is usual," Father Delaney instructed.
"Right. Good. Yeah. So, that, and, um…." Dean agreed, feeling all nervous. "So, the women. Uh, and this is not something that I'm proud of, but I let them think that we have more of a future than we do, you know?" He took a deep breath and went with his script. "Ah, Gina."
"Gina?" the priest asked.
"Well, now, don't get me wrong. I mean, she was – it was good times." Dean scripted in his asshole charisma. "I mean, you know how it is – the sex, the lasagna – but I was not honest with her. And sometimes, I was seeing two, maybe three girls at the same time, sometimes on the same day." He gave a force chuckle. "You get the picture."
Dean could sense judgmental eyes on him.
"And it wasn't just Gina. It was endless. It's making me sick." Dean forced out, not believing the crap he was saying. Sure, he slept with countless women. But never seeing multiple women all at the same time. Except in high school. But that is a whole other story. Unless you count the threesome back in his early twenties.
"And you wish to be forgiven, my son?" the priest asked.
"I do," Dean confirmed eagerly. "I need to clean up my act."
Damn, this feels so wrong.
"As penance, you shall say 'Hail Mary's," two "' Our Father's' and reflect on your transgression." Father Delaney instructed.
"And then, that's it?" Dean asked, dumbfounded at how simple that was. "Then I'm good to go?"
"One would hope some…inner exploration might occur," the priest explained. "The prayers are just beginning to some serious soul-searching."
"Hmm," Dean replied, taking that into consideration.
"Is there anything else on your mind, Agent Allman?" Father Delaney asked.
Dean was lost in thought before heaving a soft chuckle, "What if I said…said I…I didn't want to die…yet. You know that I wasn't ready?"
He began to rub his right forearm, contemplating this for many months.
"Are you expecting to?" the priest asked with concern.
Dean gripped the mark with a slight chuckle, "Always." Then, he grew serious. "You know, the life I live, the work I do…I pretty much just figured that…that was all there was to me, you know? Tear around and jammed the key in the ignition and hall ass until I ran out of gas. I guess I just thought sooner or later, I'd go out the same way that I live – pedal to the metal, and that would be it."
He thought about all his deaths. The first was when he sold his soul to a Crossroad demon to save Sam after he was killed by Jake. One year to live, and at the stroke of midnight, the hellhounds came, tearing him apart before dragging his soul to hell, where he was tortured for what felt like an eternity. The second is when he is shot in the chest by Roy and Walt in their revenge for starting the apocalypse. The third time, he injected himself with a solution to stop his heart so he could talk with Death after discovering Sam had no soul and wondering how to get it back. And his last death, the most recent, was when Megatron stabbed him in the chest, right in the heart.
Unfortunately, he did not die the same way as before. Not drag to hell, or travel through heaven, or even in limbo to talk with the reaper. Instead, he became something dark, darker than being a torturer with Allister. A demon. He's a hell knight with no remorse. Killing humans and demons with pleasure so the Mark of Cain could plenish. The memories haunt him. How he treated Sam, abusing him to the point of nearly killing him. How he beat up Cole. And most of all, acted around Vivian…wanting her in many ways, alive and dead.
Followed by what Cain said. How Crowley's death will be nothing. The guilt if Castiel dies because of him. Along with the internal suffering when it comes to Sam. But Vivian…the mark will never let him hurt her since she was sired by the mark. However, his demon would spend eternity tormenting her.
He had feelings for Vivian but knew not to dwell on them. Any woman he loved either ended up hurt, tortured, or dead. As his thoughts linger on Lisa Braedon and her son Ben. How he hurt Charlie, a woman he loved as a sister.
But he had already hurt Vivian as a demon…and he was afraid to do it again, even as a human. Yet…he doesn't want to die again.
"But now?" Father Delaney asked, breaking his train of thought.
Dean licked his lips, "Now, um…recent…events, uh…make me think I might be closer to that than I really thought. And…I don't know. I mean, you know, there's - there's things, there's…people, feelings that I-I-I want to experience differently than I have before, or maybe even for the first time."
"Go a little deeper, perhaps, than with Gina," the priest advised.
Gina Dean thought, confused. Then, he realized it was his cover story. Yet a part of him thought about Vivian. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm just starting to think that…maybe there's more to it all than I thought."
"Learning there's more to the universe than your tiny world can be a frightening discovery." The priest said sincerely. "Do you truly believe in God, Agent? Because that can be a comfort."
Dean stared at Father Delaney through the woven screen, "I believe there is a God. But I am not sure he still believes in us."
After all the shit he went through. From the War of Angels and Demons. The Apocalypse. And all the chaos in the world. God had allowed it. The only time he stepped in was to save him and Sam when Ruby tricked Sam into opening the final seal to release Lucifer. And the last when reviving Castiel twice. Otherwise…God truly has abandoned them.
With nothing else to say, Dean got out of the Confessional. He made his way over to the pew where Vivian sat. She was on her phone, texting. Probably, Sam is giving an update. He stared at her, seeing how hard she was trying, but he could sense she was done with all this. That is not about the case. Just the mark in general. But stayed because of the mark.
The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her again.
And all he does is hurt her.
She finished her text, having a violent shudder, then looked up. No doubt she sensed the ghost that was causing all this trouble. She put her phone away and stood up.
"You think our eavesdropper heard ya?" She asked in faint, using her country accent.
"Hope so," he replied quietly, as they both left the church.
"Ya know you placed a target on yer back," she said, trying to lighten the mood. "If we're right, bastards like you are what our ghost is looking for."
Dean could only nod.
.o0o.
Vivian's POV
Dean and I got back to the motel and changed. Wanting to test our theory, we set traps in the room, getting rock salts in the shotgun, iron rods, and the essentials. Two rings of salt were set as Dean sat in one while I the other.
"Say, does this count as killing?" Dean asked.
"Pardon?" I replied.
"You say you don't kill?" He reminded me. "Does killing a ghost count?"
I paused, thinking about it, "No. They are already dead."
"Ah," he said as he twiddled with an iron rod.
Time passed on as we continued to wait. Then, all of a sudden, my cellphone began to ring. I pulled it out of my pocket, expecting to be Sam calling for an update. Instead, it was the church's number. I was confused, scrunching my brow.
"Who is it?" Dean asked.
"The church?" I answered and then accepted the call. "Agent Starling."
"Agent Starling," it was Sister Mathias. "Are you with Agent Allman?"
"Wait one moment," I said, putting her on speaker. "He's here, Sister."
"What's going on, Sister?" Dean asked.
"…I know you two are hunters. I know about the ghost that is tormenting members of our congregation. Please come to the church, and I'll explain everything." Sister Mathias explained.
"Are you in a safe location?" I asked.
"She won't harm me," she answered. "Hurry."
"We're on our way," Dean assured.
Hanging up, we grabbed our gear and rushed to the church. After twenty minutes, we parked outside, where Sister Mathias waited for us at the side door and led us down to the basement. She was explaining that the ghost was an Italian nun named Isabella.
"Wait, you said Italian?" I asked.
"Yes," Sister Mathias confirmed.
I glanced at Dean, "I think I saw her. She asked if I was hurt by my boyfriend."
Dean scowled at that.
Sister Mathias continues to explain that Isabella was once a Lady from a noble family in Florence. Her father had commission a portrait of his daughter, and a local artist named Piero did the order. Over time, the two fell in love. However, it turned out to be one-sided, as Piero loved his art more than women. This broke Isabella's heart, and her father sent her to a convent, thinking God could mend her broken heart. However, Isabella ran away, wanting revenge against Piero, returning to his studio to destroy the portrait. Except, she finds Piero coupling with another woman and kills him in a blind rage.
We entered what appeared to be a storage room with artifacts and relics. The scent of paint that has been haunting me filled the air. Sister Mathias was stuttered in frazzled by the information she had.
"I never mentioned her to you because it didn't occur to me she was connected with the murders," she explained, fiddling with her rosaries. "Ever since I've been here, I've come across restless spirits of all sorts. They're all kind of…sad, harmless. And eventually, the poor things go to their final rest."
"You're a medium," I confirmed.
She nodded, "As a spiritual person, I've accepted many planes of existence. And as I said, they've all been harmless."
Dean was going to say something but held his tongue.
Sister Mathias looked down, ashamed, "Isabella was my friend. We had a lot in common, including…painful love lives. I wanted to protect her."
"You said she showed up about three weeks ago when stuff from her home arrived?" Dean asked.
"Yes, part of a shipment from a monastery in Tivoli." She answered, "Her family's treasures found their way to the church, as with many of the great houses of Europe."
"How did you not realize the murders started after she got here?" I asked, dumbfounded by this.
"I finally realized that," she sighed, ashamed. "And then I heard the two of you, and it made me wonder. That's when I read her journal." She walked over to the table of artifacts and picked up a leather-bound journal. "It was given to her father right after her death."
Dean looked at me, "Vengeful spirit. Just like you thought."
"Yes, but she is from 16th-century Florence," I corrected. "She's probably buried in Florence. I can teleport there, but it will take me days or a week to find her grave."
"I assume." The nun started gesturing to the journal and handed it to me. "The – The journal ended right after her trial. Piero's death was so horrific she was convicted of witchcraft. They sentenced her to burn at the stake."
I unraveled the string and started flipping through the pages to see if there was any part of her body's essence in the pages. Like hair clippings, blood from a paper cut, or blood used as ink.
"Okay, well, if she burned, then so would her bones," Dean concluded.
"Something here is the tether that ties her to this place," I said, not seeing any bodily essence. I stared at Sister Mathias. "Are there any relics that contain any of her body parts? Ashes, bones, or hair."
"No," she said. "Based on the inventory log, nothing of the sort."
"It's probably the journal where she wrote her life," Dean suggested.
I shook my head as the scent was stronger, "Damn that smell."
However, I was surrounded by paintings from the 16th century. Dean could sense something was bothering me. How I have been smelling the old-fashioned paint every time I enter this church. Most ghosts have a faint, crisp scent of their previous life. But Isabella. She smelled like minerals, lead, linseed oil, and…blood.
"Something here has her blood," I announced. "I need to find it."
Dean could sense this was going to bother me and looked at the nun, "Why don't you see if we can't find Isabella, try to slow her down."
Sister Mathias nodded.
"Viv, burn all this stuff," Dean said.
This shocked the nun, "Her…journal?"
Dean was surprised by this. Seeing as the journal could hold a piece of Isabella's soul.
"Is that necessary?" She asked.
"Believe me, it's necessary," he answered.
"I don't know, Dean," I told him. "I'm not smelling blood on this. There might be details in the journal that can help us. "
"Viv, burn it," Dean became frustrated and glanced at Sister Mathias. "Let's go."
He stormed off.
She glanced at me in question, causing a violent shudder through my body. I stare at her, wondering if she is possessed. As I glance at her aura, I can tell she is not possessed but has had many encounters. Shaking my head, I glance at the fireplace and warp reality to create a fire. I started with the smaller items that could contain possible saliva from cups. As they were being melted, I read through the journal. It was written in Italian, fortunately I knew the language.
I skimmed through until Piero was mentioned.
She was truly in love with Piero.
And as the days passed, my love for Piero deepened, as did his belief in my power as his muse. He said he wanted something from me, something he could barely give voice to. He thought the effect I had on his work was profound. He had never painted so well before. He asked if he might have a bit of my blood. To mix into the pigment. Piero was so afraid he would hurt me. I told him, on the contrary, it was a great joy to do this.
But it wasn't enough.
I told Piero to grind the flesh, blood, and bone into the pigment. I had completely become one with the painting and with Piero.
The painting, I thought.
That is why I kept smelling linseed oil. She must have cut a piece of her finger to create a red and white pigment for Piero. I turned around, trying to see if any of the paintings that had been opened were of a woman. However, all were men or interpretations of Jesus Christ. Therefore, I rushed to the boxes, warping reality to vanish the cases as I scavenged to find them.
Suddenly, I could hear a ruckus upstairs.
"The priest had to die," Sister Mathias said, yet her dialect changed to that of someone from Italy.
Damn it, she must have gotten possessed.
"He made it his business to forgive you pigs – forgive you when what you do is unforgivable."
"Viv, burn the journal!" Dean strained out as he yelled.
Adjusting some packaging fluff, I found the portrait of Isabella. The same nun I saw the other day asking if someone had hurt me. Quickly, I grabbed the frame and carried it to the fireplace. Tossing it in as the fire consumed the painting. I stood there watching a naïve girl who was tormented by a man's manipulation become a monster and then a vengeful spirit.
Since Isabella had killed many men as a human and ghost…her soul was bound for hell.
I could hear the screams from upstairs.
Once the painting was burned away while the frame was charred, I ran upstairs to see Dean and Sister Mathias on the ground panting.
"Both of you alright?" I asked.
"Yeah," Dean breathed. "What took you so long to burn the journal?"
"It wasn't the journal," I explained. "It was her portrait. Isabella gave a piece of her finger to Piero to make a pigment."
Dean took a moment comprehending this, then shook his head, "Fricken humans."
I chuckled before coming over and helped Sister Mathias up, followed by Dean. She was still disheveled after being possessed. Unfortunately, Father Delaney was Isabella's last victim. However, with all that has transpired, another murder could close the church. Dean showed us where one of the spare rooms used for bible study. The nun gasped as she started praying. I came over to see by any chance he was still alive, except he wasn't. Taking a deep breath, I placed my hand on the wounds and altered reality on the vessel to seal them shut and inflict damage to the heart. Afterward, adjust the body on the ground to give the illusion of a heart attack.
Dean realized what I was doing but didn't say a word.
Sister Mathias gasped, seeing the blood vanish and clothes mended, "You have been touched by God."
I snorted, "Doubt it."
"No, you have." She insisted.
I doubt she wants to know that I am the daughter of Cain. The Father of murder.
Anyway, we said our goodbyes, though quick it was. We got in the Impala and rushed back to the motel to collect our things. Even though Sister Mathias assured us, there are no security cameras in the church. It would be better if we left as soon as possible.
It started to rain again as we started our drive. Dean was still sore, so he allowed me to drive the Impala. I tried not to grin as I drove.
"I thought the bet was music," I teased.
Dean grumbled as he adjusted himself, trying to get comfortable.
"Who mixes their blood and bones into paint?" Dean grumbled. "No woman's ever done that for me?"
He chuckled.
I smirked, "Are you thanking me for not listening to you?"
"You know, if you had burned the journal, then we wouldn't know how to kill it, would we?" he said.
I chuckled, "You're welcome, Dean."
He chuckled again.
We remained silent for a while until a thought came to mind. "You were in that confessional for a long time."
Dean remained quiet.
"If you need to talk to me about anything…just know I'm here for you," I offered.
Dean nodded as he whispered, "Okay."
I reached out and took his hand, "We will find a way. It will take time, but we will find a way. Just don't give up just yet."
He entwined our fingers together, "Okay, Viv."
Although, I can tell he did not mean it. Dean has given up and living like a dying man. All I can do is make sure he doesn't die. And made sure he didn't kill someone.
Only time will tell.
Any episodes you think Viv should be in?
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