"Shower's free," Elizabeth states as she walks out of the motel bathroom, a towel wrapped around her head to keep her wet hair off her neck. "What are we looking at?" Both boys are sitting at the little table, Sam pouring over printed out pages while Dean focuses on Sam's laptop and printing even more pictures.

"Possibly our Mary," Dean mumbles without looking up. She moves over and looks at the picture Sam's holding, a black and white shot of a woman lying in a pool of her own blood in front of an old-fashioned mirror. The picture is grainy, but she can make out a bloody handprint on the mirror, right above the letters Tre.

"That looks painful." Sam holds up the pictures Elizabeth had taken earlier in Jill's room, both of them looking between the two prints.

"It also looks like the same handprint," he says sadly, holding them up for Dean to make the same comparison.

"Mary Worthington," Dean reads aloud," an unsolved murder in Fort Wayne, Indiana."

"In most of the legends I've heard, her name was always Mary Worth. It's weird how close everyone was to the real thing." Elizabeth nods along with him, staring at the pictures sadly. The connection is obvious now, Mary's murderer had never been caught and her spirit is taking the law into her own hands by punishing anyone who's ever been connected to an untimely death.

"Ya know," Elizabeth says after a moment," if she's really gunning for murderers, then we might all be screwed since we basically play murder time for our jobs."

"Yeah, but that's different. We kill monsters, not humans, Liza." She bites her lip, remembering the glare her older sister had sent her way every now and then while she was still alive. Elizabeth doesn't remember her mother at all apart from the stories Uncle B had told her and the pictures in an old photo album, but Dana remembered her clearly. When they were kids, Dana would tell Elizabeth all about how their mother had died not long after giving birth.

It's all your fault, she had hissed on more than one occasion, and there was part of Elizabeth that fully believed it.

"Not all the time, Sammy." He and Dean look at her curiously, but she doesn't elaborate. What's the point of telling them? Besides, she already knows how unreasonable that is. Her mother was murdered in an alley, not by Elizabeth's hands and Dana had realized that by the time they were older. "So, are we heading to Fort Wayne in the morning?"

"That's what I was thinking," Dean says with a nod, shutting the laptop and pushing it away from him. "I figure we can get five hours of shut eye, then grab some coffee and see what the cops have to say about Mary's death."

"Sounds good." As Dean gets up and digs through his bag for a clean pair of clothes, Elizabeth's cell starts to ring, Zane's name appearing on the screen. "What'cha got, Zaney?"

"Not much," he responds, voice clear over the speaker. "I did a lot of research and I found a couple girls that might fit the description. The first one, Mary Grimes is from Branson, had a mirror fall on her as she was leaving her boyfriend's apartment. Next one is from Yorkshire, named Mary-Anne Price, committed suicide in front of her bedroom mirror, a straight razor to her throat."

"Let me guess, the next one is from Indiana and she was found in front of a mirror with part of a name written in her own blood?"

"You develop psychic powers and forget to tell me?"

"Nope, Dean's done some research, too. We're all gonna head out tomorrow to talk to the cops about it." Zane makes a noise and goes quiet for a moment, the sound of papers shuffling the only noise coming from his end. "Are you pouting?"

"No."

"You totally are! You're upset because Dean beat you to it and you didn't get to have your grand reveal!"

"Sorry, Daniels," Dean says loudly, smiling," gotta be quicker than that if you want to beat me." Elizabeth shoves at him playfully, laughing along with him as he disappears into the bathroom. Zane grumbles something under his breath before letting out a deep breath. It's easy to picture him right now, completely exhausted as he leans back on the couch in his living room, one hand sliding through his dark hair.

"Look, I'll call you tomorrow to let you know what we find out."

"I'll be awaiting your call," he returns. "Until then, I'm gonna go crash."

"Alright, night."

"Goodnight, Cinderella." Smiling, she flips the phone closed and makes herself comfortable in Sam's lap. It's instinct for him to wrap an arm around her to keep her from falling in the floor, years of sitting just like this on cold nights in motel rooms. Uncle B had traveled with John for a couple years, which led to nights when it was just Sam and Elizabeth watching old cartoons and snuggling to feel less alone.

"I talked to Lilly the other day."

"Oh yeah," Sam asks, still looking at the pictures in his free hand.

"Yeah, she says she can't wait to see you again." He manages a half-smile, playing with the hem of her tank top. "She's such a good kid, Sam."

"I know she is. She's the best kid in the world." Just thinking of her niece makes her think of her sister, missing the way Dana had always been at ease in her own skin no matter what was going on around her. Dana had been around the age Elizabeth is now when she'd died, postpartum depression something that took its toll on her until she just couldn't deal with the world anymore. Sam must see the way Elizabeth is blinking back tears because he tightens his hold and keeps her close to his chest. "Lilly's just like her aunt."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Sammy."

"I was on the job for thirty-five years," the detective declares as he comes back into the living room. "A detective for most of that. I know that everyone retires with a few loose ends, but the Mary Worthington murder still has me waking up in the middle of the night." He shakes his head, running a hand over his mouth. He's a tall guy, black, with hair that's more salt than pepper, and a broad nose.

"What exactly happened to her," Dean asks, pressing for answers since the guy has been stalling ever since the three had showed up on his doorstep. Zane had texted Elizabeth the address at six-thirty, Sam able to track him down using the Yellow Pages.

"I thought reporters were supposed to do some work on their own."

"Trust me," Sam says," we've been doing research for three days, but we've only been able to find out that she was nineteen, lived by herself, and wanted to be an actress in Hollywood."

"She was murdered on the night of March twenty-ninth," Elizabeth adds, reading off the notes Sam had made," by someone that had broken into her apartment. Her eyes were cut out of her head, but she still tried to write down the name of her killer on the surface of a mirror."

"So you see," Dean finishes," we want to know what you think happened, not what the report states." The detective nods, staring at them for a moment before starting down the hall.

"Come on, I got something to show you kids," he calls over his shoulder. He leads the way into a cramped and dusty office, pulling an evidence box down from a bookshelf and setting it on his desk. "I'm not supposed to have any of this, but I'm a stubborn old goat that refuses to let this case go." He pulls out a file, flipping through the papers gathered inside until he finds what he's looking for. "See what she wrote, the letters? I think Elizabeth here is right and she tried to spell out the name of her killer."

"Careful, don't want her ego to swell much more." She elbows Dean in the side, scowling up at him. My ego isn't nearly as swollen as yours, Buddy. "Any ideas on who might have done it?"

"Nothing definite." He pulls out another photo, this one grainy and showing a middle-aged man holding up a glass of what might be champagne. He certainly isn't a George Clooney, nothing about him screaming above average. "This man, Trevor Sampson, was a surgeon and I'd bet my left foot that he's the one that cut that poor girl up."

"But why would he do it," Sam asks.

"I read through her diary and it mentioned that she was seeing a man, she always called him T like she was afraid of someone finding out. Something must have happened that pissed her off because she states in her last entry that she was planning on telling T's wife about their affair."

"But how do you know it was Sampson," Dean questions, not fully buying it yet.

"Because whoever cut her eyes out knew what he was doing. It was too clean for it to have been some kid wanting to steal her shit and he was the only surgeon around that was any good."

"Except you could never prove it."

"Nope, the only evidence we had was the way her eyes were cut out. Son of a bitch was meticulous and left nothing for us to find. He died a few years ago, still claiming he was innocent." He shakes his head again, looking sick as he leans back in his chair. "If you ask me, which no one does anymore, Mary spent her last few minutes trying to expose him and she never got the chance to finish it."

"Could you tell us where she's buried," Elizabeth asks, hoping that they can catch a break with this case.

"She was cremated."

"And the mirror," Dean asks. "What happened to it?"

"It was returned to Mary's family since it was an heirloom of theirs."

"You don't happen to have the names of her family, do you?"