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Chapter Five
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It was quiet for some time after that. I sipped at my coffee and mulled over everything I'd been told. Can't tell you why, but I didn't actually find it all that hard to believe that ghosts were real, but still, it was crazy to think there was a whole world out there I'd never thought of or believed in before today.
Something was tickling the back of my mind, and I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to pinpoint what it was. Instead I ended up just savoring the smell of my coffee and listening to the soft comforting sounds of someone else in the room…something I hadn't realized how much I missed until this very moment. A tear inadvertently slipped out, and I impatiently swiped it away. Embarrassed, I looked over hoping it had gone unnoticed. It had not, but the look of pity I feared wasn't there. Instead, it was one of understanding. "How long?" Dean asked softly.
"My Dad passed away a year ago next week." I shared, in almost a whisper. "It was just the two of us, for as long as I can remember. Mom left when I was little, and Dad was caregiver, confidante, and best friend all rolled into one." I smiled sadly, acknowledging again the ache of emptiness his passing had left. "I've been completely alone ever since. Oh, I have friends…"
"I understand." And I could tell he did. It was comforting, as many of my friends tried to fix the problem by telling me to date someone, or get a roommate, anything but just providing a solid quiet understanding and acknowledgement of grief. I smiled gratefully and used my sleeve to brush away the tears that had continued to fall as I shared. All of a sudden, I realized what my brain had been trying to tell me. I hopped up, muttering a quick "right back," and headed into the disused study that had once been my Dad's oasis. Turning in a circle, I finally located the stack of photo albums that had been dumped on a chair in the corner. Swiftly searching through the pile, I found what I was looking for and hurried back to where Dean was waiting curiously.
I perched on the arm of the couch (I was not really kind to my furniture, and there was no longer anyone nagging me not to) and found the picture I had been remembering. It was a photo from maybe ten years ago, of a neighborhood block party before the neighborhood fell apart. One of our neighbors had been into photography - had in fact taken my graduation pictures - and she had enthusiastically pushed us all together for a group photo. I took the picture out of the album and handed it to Dean. "The guy on the right, second row. Is that your ghost?" I asked. His eyes flashed up to me in surprise, then peered at the photo. A hand entered his vision, and seemingly unsurprised he handed the photo over to Sam, who was clearly now awake again. Sam looked closely at the photo and nodded. "That's him. Who is he?"
I settled back in my chair, smiling and feeling inordinately pleased that I had something to contribute. "His name is Don Sagemont, and he lived in the neighborhood until he was murdered. Shot."
"He lived next door?" Dean questioned, even as Sam was asking "Do they know who shot him?"
"No, and not really." I held up my hand to stall their next questions and tried to explain. "He lived a few houses down, with his brother." The brothers in front of me exchanged looks at that. Hmm. "No one has lived next door in forever, at least since I've lived here, and we moved here when I was four. At the time of the murder, I know Don's brother Charlie was a suspect, but he claimed there was a burglar. There wasn't enough evidence to ever determine the killer for sure, so the case went unsolved."
"Do you know where Don was buried?" Sam asked. I stared at him, wondering why that would matter, but responded, "Pretty sure he was cremated."
Dean pulled my questioning glance over to him. "What about Charlie, what happened to him?"
"About 3 or 4 years ago when the housing market got really bad, a bunch of the neighbors bailed and left town. He was one of those, as far as I know."
"So his house has been empty ever since?"
"Most of the houses in this neighborhood are." I said simply. Dean's glance again acknowledged the solitary existence I was apparently living and conveyed sorrow at my situation, again without pity. Not sure how he could do that, but boy was it comforting! I happened to look over at Sam just then, and found him to have a similar look. I had to wonder what experiences these men had in their lives that allowed them such understanding for my situation. I found myself sorry they had to experience whatever they had gone through, but so grateful to find people who actually understood me. It's a unique and precious thing, and I knew suddenly I would miss them terribly when they left…which was ridiculous considering we were effectively strangers. Was I crazy to feel this way? I rolled my eyes at my inner musings and was pulled back to the subject at hand by the conversation going on between the brothers.
"So say Charlie killed Don and covered up the murder…" Dean began.
"Yeah, but why would Don appear in a different house?" Sam mused, "And what is he tied to?"
"And why would Charlie return and try to kill him again?" Dean continued.
"We've got to talk to those boys." Sam concluded.
I had been silently observing their back and forth, but at that statement made my presence known again, interjecting, "I can help with that." They both looked expectantly at me, and I smiled. "I don't know them personally, but I do know their baby-sitter. My best friend, Caroline."
It was determined, after a very fierce but mostly whispered argument, that Dean and I would go see Caroline who would be watching the boys this afternoon. He reluctantly fetched the laptop for Sam in compromise, so he could at least do some research since he'd been outright forbidden from going anywhere. Sam was clearly unhappy with being benched, but acknowledged that he was still weak from his injury and that we could handle the interview. I was vibrating with excitement but trying to contain it as Dean and I walked out the door and over to the car, where he smirked knowingly at me and ushered me into her. He climbed in and smiled proudly over at me as I caressed the dash and took in the worn (well loved) but clearly well cared-for interior. I smiled back, appreciating him refraining from teasing me for my excitement, although he outright laughed as I bounced in place when he started her up. I was going for a ride in the Impala!