Winchester Sister 1.19
Sam and I are sitting at a table in a bar. Sam's poring over some stuff and I'm reading Dad's journal.
"Hey," says Sam, grabbing the journal. I hold it back. "I need that."
"Why?" I ask and slide it over.
"I'm curious about something." Sam starts flicking through the pages and I sigh. I look over. Dean and a woman are at the bar. Of course.
"Are you done?" I ask Sam.
"I thought this sounded familiar," Sam pushes over some papers to me.
"Oh that's awful," I say looking at the headline. "Creepy too."
"And Dad marked some stuff in his journal." Sam gestures over to Dean. I watch as Dean's face falls but he comes over to us. He gives Sam a beer and has one for himself, he hands me a glass of coke.
"All right, I think we got something," says Sam.
Dean looks over to the bar. "Oh yeah, me too. I think we need to take a little shore leave, just a little bit. What do you think, huh? I'm so in the door with this one."
"So what are we today Dean? I mean, are we rock stars, are we army rangers?"
"Reality TV scouts, looking for people with special skills. I mean hey, it's not that far off right? By the way, she's got a friend over there. Possibly hook you up. What do you think?"
"Dean, no thanks, I can get my own dates."
"Yeah you can but you don't."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing. What you got?"
"Mark and Ann Telesca of New Paltz, New York were both found dead in their own home, a few days ago. Throats were slit. There were no prints, no murder weapons, all..."
Dean keeps looking back at the bar.
"Dean!" Sam says. "No prints, no murder weapons, all doors and window locked from the inside."
Dean takes a sip of beer. "Could just be a garden variety murder you know, not our department."
"No. Dad says different."
"What do you mean?"
Sam points at a map in front of him. "Dad noted three murders in the Same area of upstate New York. First one here in 1912, second one right here in 1945, and the third in 1970, the Same M.O. as the Telescas. Their throats were slit, doors were locked from the inside. Now so much time had passed between murders that nobody checked the pattern, except Dad. He kept his eyes peeled for another one."
"And now we got one. All right, I'm with you. It's worth checking out. We can't pick this up 'til first thing though, right?"
"Yeah."
"Good."
"Where are you going?" I ask Dean.
"Sorry Munch, your big brother has to play." Dean goes back to the bar.
"Do I even want to know what that means?" I ask Sam.
"No, you do not."
Sam and I go back to the hotel alone. We get pizza and catch the end of a The Twilight Zone marathon. We get through three episodes before Sam says I need to go to bed. I would have argued but I'm so tired by that point I don't care. I collapse in one of the double beds and Sam sits in the other on his laptop.
I don't remember falling asleep but I'm suddenly awoken by Dean stumbling in at some point. Of course, because I'm in the bed nearest the door he shuffles me. I kick him.
"Hey!" Dean whisper yells.
"You stink," I say.
"Mean," he says.
"Couch."
Dean grumbles but goes over and collapses on the couch.
It doesn't feel like I've been asleep long before I wake up to Sam coming out of the bathroom.
"Mornin' sunshine," he says to me with a grin.
I groan but get up and head to the bathroom to shower. When I come back out Sam is dressed and packed up.
"Where are we going?" I ask.
"To check out the Telesca place," Sam says.
"What about him?" I ask, nodding to Dean asleep on the couch.
"We'll drag him along."
We leave Dean in the car, front seat too. He was very rude about it. Sam and I grab the camera and EMF and Sam picks the lock.
"Are you sure it's okay to leave Dean like that?" I ask, looking back at the car. "He's kind of…out of it."
"I left the windows down," Sam says defensively.
"He's not a dog."
Sam shrugs and keeps picking.
I look at the porch, "They're very clean," I say as Sam clicks the lock open.
"Huh," Sam and I say; seeing the house is empty.
"Well…" Sam says. "They're efficient in New York."
I sigh. I walk around with the EMF and Sam takes the camera. I head upstairs. Nothing. Not just because there's no freaking furniture, but there is just nothing. Like a brand new house. Clean of spirits, clean of furniture, and just…clean. I come downstairs.
"Anything?" Sam asks.
"Not even a speck of dust. But also the house seems empty."
"Yeah, I even checked last night. Nothing. House has a clean past."
"The Telescas?"
"Nothing I could find."
"Ok… Where's all their stuff?"
"Well…" Sam says. "It's a nice place. Rich people like other rich people's stuff."
"What does that mean?"
"Estate sale."
"What the hell is the that?"
Sam smiles. We head back out to the car. Dean is still asleep in the car. I'm about to get in the car, but Sam pulls my arm.
"What?" I ask.
"Shh," he says. He goes around the car, leans in the door and honks the horn.
Dean practically jumps out of his skin.
Sam and I burst out laughing. Sam climbs in on the driver's side and get in behind Dean.
Dean adjusts his sunglasses. "Man, that is so not cool."
"WE just swept the Telescas with EMF. It's clean. And last night, while you were..." Sam glances back at me, "well...out..."
"Good times."
I kick his seat.
"I checked the history of the house. Nothing strange about the Telescas."
"All right, so if it's not the people and it's not the house, then maybe it's the contents. Cursed object or something."
"The house is clean." Sam says.
"Yeah I know, you said that."
"It's completely empty," I say.
"No furniture, nothing," Sam adds.
"Where's all their stuff?" Dean asks.
Auction House. Fancy schmancy. We also stick out like sore thumbs. I think one lady's dress is worth more money than I've ever seen in my life.
"Consignment auctions, estate sales," Dean says eating some finger food. "Looks like a garage sale for Wasps if you ask me." He takes more food.
A man comes up from behind us. "Can I help you?"
Dean looks at the man and puts more food in his mouth. "I'd like some champagne please."
I want to punch him.
"He's not a waiter," says Sam, extending a hand to the man. "I'm Sam Connors."
The man does nothing.
Sam points at Dean. "That's my brother Dean, my sister, Janie. We're art dealers, with Connors Limited."
"You. Are...art dealers." Says the man.
I try my best posh smile.
"That's right."
"I'm Daniel Blake, this is my auction house. Now gentlemen this is a private showing, and I don't remember seeing you on the guest list."
"We're there Chuckles," says Dean. "You just need to take another look." Dean takes champagne from a passing tray. "Oh. Finally."
That did not go well. I follow Sam and Dean as we hurry away from the man.
There are some weird things here. Rich people have odd tastes.
"A fine example of American Primitive wouldn't you say?" a woman says.
Sam, Dean and I turn and see a beautiful woman coming down the stairs. I look back at the painting. Creepy as all hell.
"Well I'd say it's more Grant Wood than Grandma Moses," says Sam. "But you knew that, you just wanted to see if I did."
"Guilty. And clumsy. I apologize," says the woman. "I'm Sarah Blake."
"I'm Sam, this is my sister, Janie, and this is my..." Sam starts, but Dean is still grabbing food off passing waiters, "brother, Dean."
"Dean. Can we get you some more mini-quiche?" asks Sarah.
"I'm good, thanks," Dean says with his mouth full.
"So, can I help you with something?" Sarah asks Sam.
"Yeah, actually. What can you tell us about the Telesca estate?"
"The whole thing's pretty grisly if you ask me, selling your things this soon. But Dad's right about one thing, sensationalism brings out the crowds. Even the rich ones."
"Is it possible to see the provenances?"
The man from before comes up. "I'm afraid there isn't any chance of that."
"Why not?" asks Sam.
"You're not on the guest list. And I think it's time to leave."
"Well we don't have to be told twice," Dean says.
"Apparently you do."
"Jeez dude, you want to be a bit more of an a-" I start but Sam grabs my arm.
"Okay. It's all right. We don't want any trouble. We'll go."
We get to a motel after a long lecture from Sam telling me not to rude to people. Sam doesn't care that the guy was rude to us first but that seems beside the point. We grab the bags out of the car.
"Besides," I say to Sam. "He was thinking we were the assholes, I was just the only one who was going to say it."
"We're meant to keep a low profile on jobs," Sam says. "Going around calling people assholes isn't low profile."
"What about you?" I ask. "Being all provenances and all that?"
"That was part of our cover."
I roll my eyes.
"Yeah what the hell?" asks Dean. "Grant Wood, Grandma Moses?"
"Art history course," says Sam. "It's good for meeting girls."
Dean unlocks the motel door. "It's like I don't even know you."
The room is something. It's like someone threw up every 70s movie inside.
"Huh," we all say at the same time.
We don't mention the fact and just drop our bags.
"What was...providence?" asks Dean.
"Prov-e-nance," Sam enunciates. "It's a certificate of origin, like a biography. You know we can use them to check the history of the pieces, see if any of them have a freaky past."
"Huh. Well, we're not getting anything out of Chuckles, but Sarah..." Dean snaps his fingers.
"Yeah, maybe you can get her to write it all down on a cocktail napkin."
"Not me."
"No no no, pick ups are your thing Dean."
"It wasn't my butt she was checking out."
"Why was she checking out Sam's butt?" I ask.
Sam and Dean look at me.
Sam clears his throat. "In other words, you want me to use her to get information."
"Sometimes you gotta take one for the team. Call her."
Sam has the provenances in the morning and Dean is still in disbelief. Sam is sorting through the papers, I'm reading the ones he's discarding.
"So she just handed the providences over to you?" Dean asks.
"Provenances," Sam corrects.
"Provenances?"
"Yes. We went back to her place, I got a copy of the papers..."
"And?"
"And nothing. That's it, I left."
"No coffee?" I ask. That seems to be a popular one for Dean to use with girls, 'can I get a cup of coffee?'.
"No," Sam says.
"You didn't have to con her or do any...special favors or anything like that?" asks Dean.
"Dean would you get your mind out of the gutter please?"
Dean laughs. "You know when this whole thing's done we could stick around for a little bit."
"Why?"
"So you could take her out again. Obviously you're into her, even I can see that."
"Hey, I think I've got something here."
Dean comes over and Sam hands him the papers. "Portrait of Isaiah Merchant's family, painted 1910," Dean reads.
"Now compare the names of the owners with Dad's journal."
"First purchased in 1912 by Peter Simms. Peter Simms murdered 1912. Same thing in 1945. Oh, Same in 1970."
"Then stored, until it was donated to a charity auction last month. Where the Telescas bought it. What do you think, it's haunted? Cursed?"
"Either way, it's toast."
Dean gets up and so do I.
"Woah slow down, Munch," says Dean.
"What?" I ask.
"You're not coming."
"And why not?"
"Breaking, entering, burning? No. You can hold down the fort here."
"I don't think anyone wants to come to this fort."
"Great. You'll have a super fun evening then."
I flop down on the end of my bed. "Sam?"
He shrugs. "It's not a three-person job, Janie."
"I hate you both."
In the morning Sam brings me a donut as a consolation prize. I don't say anything, but of course I take the donut. I'm not insane.
Dean rushes out of the bathroom. "We got a problem, I can't find my wallet."
"How is that my problem?" asks Sam.
"Cause I think I dropped it in the warehouse last night."
"You're kidding right?"
"I would never drop my wallet after breaking in somewhere," I say.
"You haven't got a wallet," says Dean. "It's got my prints, my ID, well my fake ID anyway. We gotta get it before someone else finds it. Come on."
We pack up quick and drive to the auction house again. We check everywhere.
"This would be easier if I had been here last night," I hiss.
"Oh shut it," says Dean.
"How do you lose your wallet Dean!" Sam says.
"Hey guys!" It's Sarah.
We all turn. Oh crap.
"Sarah," Sam says. "Hey."
"What are you doing here?" Sarah asks.
"Ahh, we...we are leaving town, and we came to say goodbye," says Sam.
I smile awkwardly.
Dean comes over. "What are you talking about Sam, we're here for another day or two."
Sam and I look at Dean. Dean pulls his wallet out of his pocket.
"Oh, Sam. By the way. I'm gonna go ahead and give you that $20 I owe you. I always forget, you know."
Sam stares at him.
"There you go," Dean says.
Sam snatches the money off him.
"You owe me twenty bucks too," I say.
"You wish," says Dean. "Well, we'll leave you two crazy kids alone," Dean puts an arm around my shoulders, "we gotta go do something...somewhere."
"We do?"
"Uh huh," Dean says and he pushes me out of the auction house.
"Jeez!" I say when we get out the door. "You want to stop to breathe?"
"Nah, I want Sammy to not breathe."
We get in the car.
"What?"
"Nothing."
I frown. "Why are you so insistent on Sam and Sarah?"
"I just think Sammy needs to learn to have a good time."
"We don't have good times?"
Dean adjusts in the seat of the car. "Different kinds of good times."
I look at Dean, he's staring straight ahead.
"What?" Dean asks, eyes flicking to me.
"You know I'm not a total idiot," I say.
"I know. It's just something you don't talk to your little sister about."
"Right…what about when I start dating."
Dean laughs. "Oh no, you are never dating."
"Why not?"
"Because…"
I sigh. "Ah yes, a fantastic argument."
"You're four. You'll always be four."
"I'm thirteen."
"What did I just say?"
Sam comes out the door and rushes in to the backseat. "The painting is back."
Dean and I turn around to face him. "What?"
"I don't understand Dean, we burned the damn thing," says Sam.
"Yeah, thank you Captain Obvious. All right, we just need to figure out another way to get rid of it. Any ideas?"
"Okay, All right. Well, in almost all the lore about haunted paintings it's always the painting's subject that haunts them."
"Yeah. So we just need to figure out everything there is to know about that creepy-ass family and that creepy-ass painting. What were their names again?"
Sam calls around and he finds a proprietor of a second hand bookshop who has heard of the family.
We go in that afternoon and go up to the table.
"You said the Isaiah Merchant family right?" the proprietor asks.
"Yeah that's right," says Sam.
The man lays down a huge book. "I dug up every scrap of local history I could find. So are you guys crime buffs?
"Kinda. Yeah. Why do you ask?" asks Dean.
"Well..." he holds up a newspaper article, the main one is about the Titanic, but there's a smaller article called, "Slaughters Family, Kills Himself."
"Yes. Yeah, that sounds about right."
"The whole family was killed?" asks Sam.
"It seems this Isaiah, he slits his kids throats, then his wife, them himself. Now he was a barber by trade. Used a straight razor."
"What a horrific way to go," I say, touching my throat.
"Why'd he do it?" asks Sam.
"Let's look. Ahh..." he looks down at his book and read, ""People who knew him describe Isaiah as having a stern and harsh temperament. Controlled his family with an iron fist. Wife, two sons, adopted daughter..."" Yeah yeah yeah..."There were whispers that the wife was gonna take the kids and leave.." Which of course you know in that day and age...so instead, old man Isaiah...well he gave them all a shave."
The man draws his hand across his throat and makes a horrible sound. Dean laughs. Sam and I glare at him. Dean stops.
"Does it say what happened to the bodies?" asks Dean.
"It says they were all cremated."
"Anything else?" asks Sam.
"Yeah. Actually I found a picture of the family. It's right here...somewhere. Right, here it is."
In a book there's a photograph of the creepy painting.
"Hey, can we get a copy of this please?" asks Sam.
"Sure."
Back at the motel Sam is adamant the painting is different. "I'm telling you man, I'm sure of it. The painting at the auction house, Dad is looking down. Painting here, Dad's looking out. The painting has changed Dean."
"All right so you think that Daddy dearest is trapped in the painting and is handing out Columbian neckties like with his family?" says Dean.
"Well yeah, it seems like it. But if his bones are already dusted, how are we gonna stop him?"
"All right, well. If Isaiah's position changed, then maybe other things in the painting did too. It could give us some clues."
"What, like a Da Vinci Code deal?"
"Ooh, fun!" I say.
Dean stares at the both of us. "I don't...know. uhh..." Dean stammers. "I'm still waiting for the movie on that one."
Sam and I smile at each other.
"Anyway," says Dean. "We gotta get back in and see that painting." He gets up from the table and lops onto the bed.
"Which is a good thing cause Sammy can get some more time to crush on his girlfriend."
"Dude. Enough already."
"What?"
"What? Ever since we got here you been trying to pimp me out to Sarah. Just back off, all right?"
I stare down at the creepy family picture.
"Well you like her don't you?" asks Dean. No answer. "All right, you like her, she likes you, you're consenting adults..."
"What's the point Dean? We'll just leave, we always leave."
I bite my tongue.
"Well I'm not talking about marriage Sam."
"I don't get it, why do you care if I hook up?"
"Cause then maybe you wouldn't be so cranky all the time."
How would that help?
"You know, seriously Sam, this isn't just about hooking up, okay? I mean, I think that this Sarah girl could be good for you….And,I don't mean any disrespect but I'm sure this is about Jessica right? Now I don't know what it's like to lose somebody like that...but...I would think that she would want you to be happy. God forbid have fun once in a while. Wouldn't she?"
"Yeah I know she would," Sam says softly. "Yeah you're right. Part of this is about Jessica. But not the main part."
"What's it about?"
Sam says nothing. I look up from the book. Sam looks sad.
"Yeah all right," Dean lies back down. "Well we still gotta see that painting, which means you still gotta call Sarah...so..."
Sam gets out his phone. He clears his throat and dials.
"Hey, Sarah, it's Sam. Good. Good, yeah. What about you?" he's practically stammering. "Yeah good, really good."
"Smooth," Dean whispers.
I stifle a laugh.
"So...so ah listen. My brother, sister and I, we were...uh...thinking that maybe we'd like to come back in and look at the painting again," says Sam. "I think maybe we are interested in buying it...what!? Who'd you sell it to? …Sarah I need an address right now."
"I still can't believe they sold the haunted painting!" I say as we pull up at the lady's house.
We get out of the car and Sarah is there in the driveway. "Sam what's happening."
Sam just ignores her. "I told you, you shouldn't have come."
We go up the porch and Dean bangs on the door. "Hello, anyone home?"
"You said Evelyn might be in danger, what sort of danger?" asks Sarah.
"I can't knock this sucker down. I gotta pick it."
Dean starts to pick the lock and Sam and I try the windows. But they all have bars.
"What are you guys, burglars?" asks Sarah.
"I wish it was that simple. Look you really should wait in the car. It's for your own good."
Dean gets the door open and we follow him inside.
"The hell I will. Evelyn's a friend," Sarah says coming inside too.
"Evelyn?" Sarah calls.
"Evelyn?" Dean echoes.
The house is nice. There's a lady sitting in a chair. I look around. The painting…I back up and crash into Dean.
"Evelyn? It's Sarah Blake...Are you all right?" she asks and reaches out to Evelyn.
"Sarah don't. Sarah!" Sam yells.
Her head moves backwards and suddenly Dean's hands are over my eyes.
"Oh my God. Oh My God!" Sarah yells.
Dean keeps his hands over my eyes, and we walk backwards out of the room. He finally removes his hands when we're on the porch.
"Bad?" I ask.
"Yeah," Dean says and pushes me to the car.
We're in the hotel, Sam making me do school work which is nowhere near as intriguing as a haunted painting. There's a knock at the door, Sam answers it and Sarah storms in.
"Hey. You alright?" asks Sam.
"No actually, I just lied to the cops and told them I went to Evelyns, alone, and found her like that," says Sarah.
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me, I'm about to call them right back and tell them what the hell's going on. Who's killing these people?"
Sam looks over at Dean.
"What," Sam says, turning back to Sarah.
"What?"
"It's not 'who'. It's 'what' is killing those people."
Sarah stares at Sam.
"I swear we're not crazy," I say.
Sarah says nothing.
Sam sighs. "Sarah, you saw that painting move."
"No...no I was..." Sarah stammers. "I was seeing things. It's impossible."
"Yeah well, welcome to our world," says Dean.
"Sarah I know this sounds crazy," says Sam. "But we think that that painting is haunted."
Sarah pretends to laugh. "You're joking." Sarah looks at each of us in turn. "You're not joking. God, the guys I choose to go out with."
"Sarah, think about it. Evelyn, the Telesca's, they both had the painting. And there have been others before that. Wherever this thing goes people die. And we're just trying to stop it. And that's the truth."
Sarah takes a breath. "Then I guess you'd better show me. I'm coming with you."
"What? No. Sarah no, you should just go home. This stuff can get dangerous and...and I don't want you to get hurt."
"Look, you guys are probably crazy, but if you're right about this? Then me and my dad sold this painting that got these people killed. Look I'm not saying I'm not scared because I am scared as hell but...I'm not going to run and hide either." She goes to the door. "So, are we going or what?" she leaves.
"Sam?" Dean says. Hed points to the door. "Marry that girl."
I get to be lookout at Evelyn's house. Which really means I sit in the car because Sarah took my spot of third wheel. Or, given the way Sam keeps looking at her, maybe Dean's the third wheel. I sigh. There's no one. This place is pretty boring. Well, except for the homicidal haunted painting, I guess.
We go to a graveyard looking for a mausoleum. Didn't even know there were that many around. But we check another graveyard. And now, we're at another one. It's getting pretty old wandering through graveyards.
"This is the third boneyard we've checked," Dean says, annoyed. "I think this ghost is jerking us around."
"So this is what you guys do for a living?" asks Sarah.
"Not exactly," says Sam. "We don't get paid."
"Well, Mazel tov."
"Over there," says Dean.
I look. A mausoleum. "Oh thank god," I say.
Dean breaks the lock and we go inside. It's a little worse for wear; cobwebby and general…filth. There are four glass box things and urns. Freaky. Like a time capsule.
"Okay, that right there is one of the creepiest things I've ever seen," says Sarah.
I look at the box she's looking at. It's a creepy doll. "Ugh," I say. "I hate those dolls." Shuddering.
Dean laughs. "Once down south some guy was messing with her, did some voodoo thing on one of those dolls, made it follow Jane around town for a week."
"That wasn't funny," I say deadpan. "But I still dream about Dad shooting that doll's face off with the shotgun."
"When was this?" Sam asks.
"Uh…few years ago," says Dean. "The guy was animating dead bodies to do his bidding, he thought we were getting too close, decided to scare the living daylights out of Jane." Dean shrugs. "Don't think he expected Dad to…" Dean's voice trailed off.
I watch him. "You and Dad still never said what you did with him after that."
"And you'll never know," said Dean.
I roll my eyes. "Well, I don't ever remember having a doll. And I think freaky looking ones like this," I point to the one in the case. "Are the reason why."
" It was a...sort of tradition at the time," says Sam. "Whenever a child died sometimes they'd preserve the kids favorite toy in a glass case, put it next to the headstone or crypt."
"Notice anything strange here?" asks Dean.
"Where do I start?" says Sarah.
"There are only four," says Sam.
"Yeah, Mom and the three kids," says Dean. "Daddy dearest isn't here."
"So where is he?"
Dean drags me into the records office. Then makes me wait in the foyer. I could kill him. I really could. When he finally comes back out I hit him on the arm.
"Ow!" he says, rubbing his arm. "What was that for?"
"Why the hell did you bring me to dump in the foyer. The chairs were all wooden."
"Sammy needed some…time."
"Seriously?"
"He doesn't meet a lot of people."
"You mean people he can…" I make kissing noise.
Dean laughs and gives me a shove out the main doors. "Sure."
Sam and Sarah are talking, sitting on a low wall.
Dean goes up to the them. "Am I interrupting something?"
"No," says Sam.
I raise my eyebrows at him.
"No, not at all," adds Sarah.
"Huh," says Dean. "Apparently."
"So what'd you get?" asks Sam.
"Paydirt. Apparently, the surviving relatives of the Merchant family were so ashamed of Isaiah that they didn't want him interred with the rest of the family. So, they gave him over to the county, the county gave him a pauper's funeral. Economy style. Turns out he wasn't cremated; he was buried in a pine box."
"So, there are bones to burn."
"There are bones to burn."
"Tell me you know where."
Since Sarah is adamant that she joins us, I get to help dig. Which is not fun. I almost immediately regret every time I complained to Dad and Dean about being flashlight girl. Thankfully, we get deep enough that I can't see over the ground, and Dean gives me a boost and I climb out and get another flashlight for Dean and Sam to keep digging.
"You guys seem to be uncomfortably comfortable with this," Sarah says.
"Well, this isn't exactly the first grave we've dug," says Sam. "Still think I'm a catch?"
"Think I've got something," says Dean. He cracks the wood, and there he his.
I go to the bags and dig out the salt and kerosene. Dean and I pour out the salt, Sam pours the kerosene.
Then Dean lights a match. "You've been a real pain in the ass Isaiah. Good riddance."
We watch the sucker burn.
I take shotgun in the car, and Sam doesn't even argue. Dean and I give each other a look as Sam climbs in the back with Sarah. Dean drives to Evelyn's house.
"Keep the motor running," says Sam, opening his door.
"I thought the painting was harmless now?" asks Sarah.
"Better to be safe than sorry."
Sarah gets out of the car. "I'm coming with you."
"You sure?"
I go to get out but Dean pulls my arm back.
"Ow!"
"Shh," Dean hisses. "Hey! Hey hey," Dean says. "I'll stay here, you go make your move."
Sam gets out of the car.
"Sam. Sam!" Dean quietly calls out my open window.
Dean turns on the stereo. Some corny love song plays. Sam turns around and glares at Dean. Sam motions to turn it off. Dean sighs but turns off the stereo. Sam and Sarah go inside. They're only in there for like a minute when the front door slams shut.
Dean and I run up to the house. Dean tries to break down the door.
"Dean! That you?" Sam calls from the other side.
"Sammy, you all right?"
Dean's phone rings and he answers. "Tell me you slammed the front door…Girl? What girl?...Wasn't the Dad looking down at her? Maybe he was trying to warn us…Well I'm trying to pick the lock, the door won't budge…Okay genius, let me just grab my battering ram… Well you're just gonna have to hold it off until I figure something out. Get some salt or iron."
I check around the porch. "The old lady was very secure!" I yell at him.
A slam inside.
"Sammy, you okay?" Dean says on the phone. "How we gonna waste her?...Then how's she still around?...The Mausoleum!"
I run like an idiot with Dean back to the car. And he drives like a madman.
"Why are we going back to masoleum?" I ask.
"Creepy doll was made with creepy girl's hair."
"That's sick."
"Get the stuff."
I undo my seatbelt and lean to the backseat, pulling up a rucksack. I dig through for salt, kerosene and a lighter.
"Uh…Dean?" I ask as we get closer to the graveyard. The locked graveyard.
"Hold tight, Munch," Dean says, and we crash through the gates.
I look back at the broken gates, "Well, those are just poorly made."
The car screeches to a halt and Dean runs into the mausoleum. I follow behind. Dean's trying to break the glass…with the butt of his gun. He turns, sees me, I look at the gun.
"Come on Dean!" he says to himself and shoots the glass. He breaks it and pulls out the doll. I quickly pour the salt and some kerosene onto the hair. I pass Dean the lighter but it refuses to light. "Come on come on!" he mutters. Finally it lights. The hair goes up in flames and Dean drops the doll.
"Ugh. Even creepier now," I say looking at the burnt head.
Dean pulls out his phone and calls Sam. "Sam, you good?"
They're good. I breathe out a sigh of relief.
We go to the auction house the next day and some workers are packaging the now un-haunted painting into a crate.
Dean pulls out some papers. "This was archived in the county records. The Merchant's adopted daughter Melanie. Know why she was up for adoption? Cause her real family was murdered in their beds."
"She killed them?" Sarah asks.
"Yeah. Who'd suspect her? Sweet little girl. So, then she kills Isaiah and his family, the old man takes the blame. His spirit's been trying to warn people ever since."
"She's psychotic," I say.
"Damn straight."
"So where's this one go?" one of the workers asks Sarah.
"Take it out back and burn it," she says.
The two workers stare at her.,
"I'm serious guys. Thanks." They take the crate outside. Sarah turns to us. "So why'd the girl do it?"
"Killing others? killing herself?" Sam says. "Some people are just born tortured. So when they die, their spirits are just as dark."
"Maybe," says Dean. "I don't really care. It's over, we move on."
"I guess this means you're leaving," Sarah says.
I figure she isn't talking to Dean and me. Sam glares between us.
"We'll, uh, go wait in the car," Dean say. "See you Sarah."
"Bye," I add.
She says nothing. Just staring at Sam. Ugh. Dean grabs my arm and yanks me away back to the car. "I'm the one that burned the doll, destroyed the spirit, but don't thank me or anything," Dean grumbles.
"I helped," I say as we go out the door.
"You see her thanking you either."
"No," I admit. "Just staring googly-eyed at Sam. Which can I add, is just plain wrong."
We wait at the car and Sarah opens the door to let Sam out.
"Come on Munch," Dean says turning to the car.
He sounds a little sad. I hear a knock and Dean, and I turn back. Sarah has opened the door and Sam kisses her.
"Ew," I say and turn away.
"That's my boy," Dean says and gets into the r.
"He just totally lost his shotgun privileges," I say, getting into the front seat.