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Chapter 3 - Initial Impressions
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Sam peeked back at their erstwhile travel companion, watching him stare out the window, his thoughts clearly a million miles away. Glancing over at his brother, then back at the map in his lap, he pointed to an upcoming driveway, framed by crumbling stone columns. Dean eased the Impala off the pavement and slowly drove up the indicated driveway, carefully navigating his precious car around the many potholes. Passing through a grove of pines, they emerged onto what at one time must have been an incredibly impressive circle drive in front of an enormous plantation house. Now derelict and neglected, the house almost seemed to stare back at them with a sinister air.
"Welcome to your ancestral home." smirked Dean as they exited the car and stood gazing up at the imposing edifice. Hoyt, though trying to mask it, had become increasingly jittery the closer they got to the plantation, and when Dean glanced over at him again he noticed he seemed quite pale. "You all right?" he questioned.
"Huh? Uh, yeah. Creepy pile, ain't it." His tone fell short of the jovial rejoinder he had intended, and he could tell both noticed, even while returning their gazes to the house. Time to change the subject.
"How the heck is this locket supposed to be a key?" Hoyt queried. Startled, the Winchesters turned back to see Rawlings holding the locket, one handcuff open and dangling from the one still encircling his left hand. Sam quickly felt his empty pockets, while Dean growled a threat under his breath and took a step towards Hoyt, who immediately held the locket out and hands up. "Fellas, truce? Seriously, I'm not in the mood for running, and although y'all are clearly fruit loops, I might as well stick around for whatever comes next. Plus, it is MY necklace." Sam put a hand on Dean's arm, and again there was a silent conversation between them before Dean shrugged and backed up slightly.
"Give me the necklace, and the cuffs can stay off." Sam negotiated.
"Explain why you wanted to destroy it - and promise you won't - and I'll consider it."
Sam sighed, glancing again briefly to Dean before responding. "Spirits are tied to this world either by their bones, or sometimes by objects that were important to them. We already learned that Grant Walker was cremated, so no bones left. My research led me to believe that the Walker necklace, an heirloom from Ophelia and Grant's marriage, might be the item Grant's ghost is tied to."
"Why on earth would it be this? The necklace was from Charles."
"True." Sam replied, "But I was not able to uncover all the history you just shared with us. It's now likely NOT the tether, but it does sound like it will at least lead us to more information. Any guesses as to where your Dad might have hidden things?"
"Nope."
"Let's head in and see what we can find." Dean cocked his shotgun and turned towards the house. More action, less talking!
"Yeah, show me these ghosts are real, man." Hoyt swallowed, ignoring the jittery feeling in his stomach. Then, indicating the shotguns, "I get one of those, right?"
Sam just shook his head no, and started toward the sagging front porch. Dean took the handcuffs (which Hoyt had finished removing with the key he'd picked from Sam's pocket), and tossed Rawlings a small box with an antenna, which he caught, puzzled. "EMF - electromagnetic frequency reader" he said, filling in the blanks, "It will go haywire around ghosts." Nodding, Hoyt clicked the on button and heard a low clicking whine start. I am SO going to regret this, Hoyt thought.
Entering the main hall behind the brothers, Hoyt had time to appreciate the near military precision they had as they moved around the space, guns at the ready, checking for anything abnormal. Clearly they were not novices, and he could tell each knew where the other was at any moment without needing to look. He felt a pang for the thought of what it would be like to have someone in his life who knew him that well, then chastised himself for the momentary melancholy lapse. He was good! Self-sufficient...didn't need nobody...especially when the only trustworthy person he knew was himself! He followed slowly behind, just watching, listening with one ear to the whirring of the EMF reader, until his interest was piqued by a portrait on the wall in the room to his right. It appeared to have been a parlor at one time, now covered in layers of dust and grime, the furniture broken and in tatters. Striding closer to the frame, he looked up at what was clearly an oil painting of Grant & Ophelia Walker. Grant was handsome enough, but his stern, arrogant face gave viewers a window into the real personality of the man. Likewise, the clearly talented artist had captured Olivia's tragic beauty and heartbreak on canvas majestically, even down to the fact she was leaning ever-so-slightly away from her husband, who towered over her.
"Wow," breathed Sam, startling Hoyt by his near proximity, "I can see the family resemblance." Frowning, Hoyt looked again at Olivia, surprised by Sam's comment. Her hair was of similar coloring, true…and her eyes… "Huh." he said, shivering slightly and wondering when it had gotten so cold. It makes sense I guess, we are related. Suddenly the EMF meter in his hands screamed out and the lights flashed red.
"Heads up," said Dean, who somehow had materialized at his other side. "Incoming!" Suddenly both Winchesters were flung in opposite directions, hitting bookcases and walls and sliding down. Horrified, Hoyt looked wildly around as he backed away, dropping the EMF meter as he suddenly saw the man from the portrait he had just been perusing standing directly in front of him. "Sam! Dean!" he cried, continuing to retreat until his back hit the wall. The specter advanced until they were mere feet from each other.
"Come to try to kill me again Jonathan? Was being robbed of your revenge so unsatisfying that even in death you must try to avenge your stupid bitch of a mother for her cheating and betrayal?" The ghost of Grant Walker reached out a hand toward Hoyt, but a loud shotgun blast filled the air and the ghost disappeared in a cloud of mist.
"Wha - ! How - ! I, uh - " babbled Hoyt. Dean grabbed his arm and pulled him along behind him.
"Stay with me, keep your eyes peeled," he ordered. Rawlings meekly followed, thoughts swirling. Why had the apparition addressed him as Jonathan? Quickly glancing through the lower rooms, the three headed up the sprawling grand front staircase. Upstairs they encountered a series of rooms clearly once belonging to Ophelia. Sam hurried over to the bookcase, while Dean wandered the room in a seemingly random pattern. Hoyt was confident by this point, though, that nothing Dean did was ever random, and watched curiously. He saw him pause by the large four-poster bed, and step back and forth, making the floorboards creak. Then he whipped out a pocket knife, and kneeling down pried up a section of floorboards. "Sam." was all he said, but immediately Sam was at his side, reaching for whatever Dean had found. Entranced again by how in sync they were, Hoyt glanced up briefly, only to yell out as Walker appeared again in front of him, and then suddenly he was flying through the air to collide with the bookcase. Shaking his head as he began to pick himself up off the floor, he heard the boom of a shotgun and watched as Walker once again dissipated.
"Dean, we need to get out of here." Sam cautioned tensely, "regroup, do some more research. I don't think we're going to find anything more today, and we're more than likely going to end up hurt if we stay." Nodding, Dean led the way towards the stairs, but the doorway was suddenly filled by another ghostly form. Raising his gun, Dean prepared to pepper the latest apparition, but paused. He glanced over to Rawlings, then said to the ghost, "Jonathan?" It nodded. "Help us. What is keeping Grant here? What is keeping you here?" The ghost simply pointed behind the boys, and they whirled to see a third ghost, Ophelia. An angry roar sounded from the hallway, and both spirits vanished. Rushing headlong out of the room, Dean fired quickly, hollering for them to follow, and led the way out of the house and back to the car. Seated once again in the Impala, they all took a moment to catch their breath, which unfortunately also brought with it the realization of aches and pains from their unwilling collisions.
"I need a drink." Hoyt stated emphatically. "Maybe six."
"Now you're talking!" Dean responded. Sam rolled his eyes but said nothing as Dean started the car and headed to find the nearest bar.