"I-spy…." Elizabeth trails off, spotting the familiar flashing lights ahead of them. Dean pulls the Impala to the side of the road as they come closer to the cops and the bridge they've blocked off with crime scene tape. "I guess I-spy our job. Think it's another of whatever the hell we're dealing with?"
"One way to find out," Dean responds, reaching over Sam to get in the glove compartment, finding his box of fake ID's and tossing one at Sammy. "Get a move on." Sam looks over his shoulder at her, incredulous as she digs the old tin box out of her bag, flipping through the badges until she finds one that's nearly identical to the boys'.
"It's a good thing I keep these pictures updated." The picture was taken just last month and added to the badge by a friend, the name on it stating that she's Marian Knighton instead of Elizabeth Mayson. Zane should seriously start charging for these things, they're damn near perfect.
"He always like this," Sam asks as the two of them jump out and hurry after Dean.
"He's just enthusiastic." She shrugs, struggling a little to keep pace with her friend. It really sucks to be the short one of the group, but Wheelies are out of the question if she ever wants to be taken seriously.
A car is parked in the middle of the bridge across the double yellow line, two cops bent at the waist as they peer inside it. "This guy was dating your daughter wasn't he," the skinny black cop asks, looking concerned when the cop he's talking to nods sadly. "How's Amy doin'?"
"She's puttin' up missing posters downtown," the other guy answers. That's when Dean decides to butt in with all his usual tact and grace. He isn't the sentimental type for the most part and he has no problems with being rude if it means getting answers.
"You fellas had another one like this last month, right," he asks, cocking up a brow. The black cop straightens up and eyes the trio curiously, the other one still dusting for prints or whatever it is these guys do to make hunters' jobs harder. "I'm Agent Keith Moon, these two are my partners." Sam and Elizabeth flash their badges when the cop glances at them, Elizabeth's nervousness hidden behind a pleasant smile.
"A little young for Federal Marshalls, aren't y'all?"
"That's awfully kind of you." Elizabeth arches a brow at the statement, Dean's smile faltering when he catches her eye. Oh, he's gonna wish he'd never implied that I'm old. Knowing she'll say something she regrets later if she stays, Elizabeth moves over to the side to look down at the murky water, hands resting on the metal railing. There are cops in the river, wading up to their hips as they search for any sign of a clue or even a body. "There was another disappearance just like this one, right? I mean, my boss didn't accidentally get reports confused again I hope."
"No, your boss was right about the other one. It happened a mile or so up the road; another man, but different ages and looks. There's been more before that, too." Elizabeth turns on her heel, not moving from her spot on the elevated concrete that allows her a few extra inches of height. The urge to cough hits hard suddenly, the attempt to hold it back making her head ache. What in the hell is that about? Chosen are rarely sick once they reach adulthood, so why do I feel like I'm coming down with the flu? She rubs a hand over her forehead, clearing her throat softly.
"Did you know the victim," Sam asks.
"Dude," Elizabeth states," in a town this small, everybody knows everybody. Hell, if you don't, then you got some memory issues you should get checked out." She clears her throat, trying to make it stop itching as she faces the cop. "Any connections between the dead guys that we need to know about besides the fact that they're all male?"
"Not that we can see," the cop replies sadly. The disappointment etched into his face is something she's familiar with after doing this job since childhood. It's the same expression all cops get when they know there's a kid out there waiting to be rescued. Bobby looks like that sometimes when he thinks Elizabeth isn't watching.
"Do you at least have a theory," Sam asks as he walks over to the car to have a look. From where she's standing, Elizabeth can't even see a fast food wrapper in there, which is weird since the owner of the car is a teenager.
"Serial murder, kidnapping ring, your guess is as good as mine." At least it's not a serial crusher theory. Elizabeth hops down to join Sam and Dean, glad for her jacket as the wind picks up again.
"Well, that's exactly the kind of crappy police work I'd expect out of you guys," Dean smiles, wincing as Sam steps on his foot and Elizabeth elbows him sharply in the ribs. That asshole needs to learn what to say and how to say it.
Knowing Dean has crossed a line, Sam excuses them and they begin to walk away, feeling the cop's disbelieving gaze on their backs. Bet he wasn't used to people talking to him like that and it definitely doesn't do us any favors. When he's sure the cop is no longer watching them, Dean smacks the back of Sam's head and, without missing a beat, flicks Elizabeth's forehead.
"What was that for," Sam hisses.
"Why d'you gotta step on my foot?"
"Why d'you gotta talk to police like that?" Elizabeth rolls her eyes, hitting both their shoulders in an attempt to shut them up, but the only thing she accomplishes is getting flicked again by both of them. Dean stops in front of the other two, forcing them to stop as well or run right into him. Sam would be able to bowl his ass over, but all Elizabeth would do is hit his chest and fall backwards. Man, buff girls are so lucky.
"C'mon, they don't really know what's going on. We're all alone on this and if we're gonna find Dad, then we gotta get to the bottom of this ourselves." Elizabeth watches as three new people duck under the yellow tape, making their way towards the trio. The first one is a simple cop with the beginning of a beer gut while the other two are FBI agents, clear from how they hold themselves and their nice clothes. Elizabeth clears her throat again, discreetly nodding at the people standing behind Dean.
"Can I help you kids," the country cop asks.
"No thanks, we were just leaving." As the FBI guys walk past, Dean nods in greeting. "Agent Mulder, Agent Scully." Elizabeth snickers, hand over her mouth as she follows the boys. Dean's sarcasm is definitely refreshing after months of dealing with sourpusses like her uncle B.
They stay quiet until they're back in the Impala, fake IDs put away and the heater warming them back up. As they pull away from the curb, Elizabeth lapses into a coughing fit that seems to steal her breath away. The headache grows worse, threatening to split her skull in two as she doubles over.
"You alright back there, Liza?" She nods, unable to answer him as she tries to catch her breath. "Sounds like you need to lay off the cigarettes." She holds up the middle finger in answer. "Eh, maybe later."
"Why don't you get us a room at the motel and we can swing by to get you when we got some kind of lead or go eat," Sam suggests. That sounds like Heaven, just lying on a hard bed with a soap opera playing to keep the silence at bay, but they came here for a reason and she doesn't want to skip out just because of a cough.
"I'm alright," she manages once the coughing fully stops, wiping the tears off her cheeks. Her side hurts from the sudden strain, but it isn't as awful as it could have been.
"Nah, Sammy's right," Dean states," and it'll save us time later." She rolls her eyes and nods, knowing full well that they aren't going to back down.
The local motel is just five miles away from the bridge, allowing Elizabeth five minutes in the backseat to stuff her throw blanket into one of her bags and make sure her hair doesn't look too horrible. It may not seem like it half the time, but the blonde locks are something she prides herself on and she at least makes sure she has no split ends most of the time.
"What name are you going by," Sam asks as she gets out of the car. Elizabeth shoulders her messenger bag so she can pull her wallet out of her back pocket, showing him the fake license behind the plastic case.
"Riley MacManus, my family emigrated here from Dublin about two years ago," she answers before stowing the wallet away again. Dean shakes his head, recognizing the last name and accent from Boondock Saints. Elizabeth shrugs with a small smile, rocking up onto the balls of her feet. While he goes with the names of rock stars, she goes with movies for her fake IDs and credit cards. "I'll see you guys later."
Sam waves as the brothers take off again and Elizabeth waits until the car leaves the parking lot before she turns and walks into the office. Country music is playing in the main office and it goes along with the décor of western chic, the old man sitting behind the desk singing along to A Boy Named Sue.
"Can I help you, young lady," he asks when Elizabeth taps the bell.
"One room for about a week, please."
"Comin' right up." He drops a registration book down on the counter along with a pen, taking the American Express card from her to charge it. She signs the book, signature as illegible as it usually is, and then takes the key from the old man. "Enjoy your stay, Miss MacManus."
"Thanks." She gives him a polite smile, then hurries out of the office and over to her room. Number nine is just like all the other motel rooms she's seen in her life, cramped and smelling faintly of stale cigarette smoke covered by cheap air freshener. Still, nothing can cover up the stink drifting in from the room next door and the combination only serves to make Elizabeth's stomach churn.
She kicks the door shut and deposits her bags on one of the beds, digging through them until she can find her cell. It's a simple thing, really, one of several phones she keeps on her at all times; this one is for family and she scrolls through the contacts until she finds the name of one of her best friends. The phone only rings twice on the other end before it gets picked up.
"Zane Daniels," answers the groggy voice on the other end.
"Hey, it's Elizabeth."
"I know, sweetie, I got a little something called Caller ID. We've made such great strides with technology that we can see who's calling us before we answer the phone." Going off his snotty tone, it's safe to say he's just getting out of bed despite the fact that's it's almost noon.
"Zaney, I'm not above driving all the way to your house just to shove that phone of yours up your ass." She keeps her tone pleasant, listening to Zane's snort. "I was wondering if our kind had any sort of viruses." This will be the first time she's ever gotten sick with something worse than a cold since she turned twenty and it's worrisome to say the least.
"Um, yeah, we got a few. Why?" She can't answer him for a minute as the coughing begins again, taking her breath away just like last time as she doubles over on the bed. "Have you been doin' that a lot here lately?" He sounds wide awake now and, judging from the rustling sounds, he's looking through the papers that always crowd his desk. Zane is like the Chosens' version of Uncle Bobby, the go-to guy for any and all information.
"Yeah," she answers, voice rough and barely audible even to her own ears. "I get dizzy from time to time, it feels like I have an elephant on my chest, and I hurt everywhere." He lets out a growl of frustration, something clattering to the floor on his end. "Calm down, Zane, no need to wreck your house."
"Too early for your shit, Liza, way too early." After a moment, the rustling stops and he makes a triumphant noise. "This little sticky note says you got a bad case." She waits for him to elaborate, but the line remains silent.
"A bad case of what?"
"I haven't thought up a name for it yet, but basically everyone like us goes through it at some point in their lives at least once. Most survive considering how tough our immune systems are, though there is still a fraction that dies from it." Elizabeth groans, flopping back onto the queen-sized bed. "Good news is that only our kind gets it and it ain't contagious. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to find a way to get the guy I slept with last night outta my house." She hits the end call button and lays her phone on the bedside table, staring up at the ceiling and the stained plaster.
"This sucks massive ass..."
Elizabeth stares down at the rushing water below the bridge, Sam and Dean on either side of her and blocking the worst of the wind. She's dressed in a pair of teal skinny jeans, a black tee, and her leather jacket yet she's still shivering, glad of Sammy's warmth and loathing whatever being thought fevers was a good idea.
"So, this is where Constance took the swan dive." Constance Welch, a twenty four year old that had committed suicide in the eighties after her two kids drowned in the bathtub, was their only candidate for the thing responsible for killing all the men considering she's the only person that's died traumatically in the past seventy years.
"I give her a 6.7 for comin' back from the dead," Elizabeth quips, pulling her jacket closer to her. "Anybody else freezing their asses off or am I just special?" Sam goes to put a hand over her forehead to check for a fever, but she bats it away. The last thing she needs is for Sammy to be distracted and Dean to jump his ass.
"You think Dad was actually here," Sam asks, frowning down at the blonde.
"Well, I mean, we're all chasing the same ghost," Dean affirms, walking further down the bridge with the other two following behind. "Seems like a safe enough bet to me." He shrugs, stopping in the middle of the bridge to face them again, the fog partially hiding his face in shadow. "It might take a while, but we'll keep digging until we find him."
"I've gotta be back by Monday." It takes her a minute, but then Elizabeth remembers the conversation she and Sammy had had last week about his classes. He's a serious student in all regards and he's called her more than once to help him stay awake to study for finals, which led to Elizabeth shouting Théoden's pre-battle speech through the phone on more than one occasion. Needless to say, her neighbors always knew it was finals week and she's gotten more than one notice on her door asking her to yell the speech from Braveheart if she had to do any yelling at all.
"You're serious about that? What, you're just gonna become some lawyer and marry your girl?"
"Maybe I will. Why shouldn't I?"
"Does Jessica know about all the things you've done, what you're doing right now?" Sam and Elizabeth share a look, both of them knowing that the family business can ruin his relationship. Hell, she's Sam's best friend and she's only met Jess twice.
"No, and she never will." Elizabeth raises her hands and steps out from between the two brothers, walking quickly over to the metal railing to stay out of the argument. Those two have been arguing almost nonstop since they left Stanford and it's getting old fast. If they were arguing over something important, it would be fine, but she's seen them wrestling over who got to eat the last burrito last night. Now she's wondering how long before she pulls a Jack Torrence and tries to bludgeon them to death with a roque mallet.
Elizabeth looks down at the water again, resting her arms on the railing and her chin on her folded arms while she waits for the guys to get their fight out of their system. The river is flowing fairly fast, the sound of it crashing against the cement posts comforting as she closes her eyes. There's pressure building in her head, like her sinuses are about to explode, and she wants nothing more than to sleep for two years.
Elizabeth turns at the sound of a grunt, finding Dean pinning Sam against one of the rusted support beams by the front of his shirt. Both look pissed, but it's anyone's guess about who would win a fight between them; Sam has his size and bulk, but Dean isn't out of practice and is even stronger than he appears.
"Seriously," Elizabeth demands, taking a couple of steps closer to them. "Y'all can't go ten minutes without this shit? I'll give you both twenty bucks if you don't fight for an entire day." Dean steps away, he and Sam turning to look at the woman and their eyes going wide a moment later. "What?"
Sam's the one that points at the thing behind her and Elizabeth can see what has them so surprised when she turns around. There's a woman standing on the edge of the bridge, long, dark hair falling loosely over her shoulders and down her back, neither it or the white material of her dress blowing in the wind as she moves her arms slightly away from her body and allows herself to fall forward. The trio race back to the edge, looking down but not finding so much as a ripple on the water's surface or a white silhouette beneath it.
"Where'd she go," Sam asks, craning his neck to try and see if she had been swept under the bridge.
"To Hell," Elizabeth suggests hopefully," or Texas. There's really not much of a difference." The Impala's engine purrs at it comes to life, the headlights almost blinding after the darkness. Holding her hand up to shield her eyes from the bright light, the three of them move away from the railing to look at the car in confusion. "Who the hell's drivin' your car?" Dean pulls the car keys out of his jacket pocket, looking lost and betrayed.
And then the car begins speeding forward.