Supernatural Presents: Jensen Ackles

Friday, October 17th, 2008

Rock Ridge, Colorado

Skye stood out in the motel's parking lot, doing her best to resist the urge to lean against the Impala's hood. If Dean caught her doing that, he was sure to freak out, and that was the last thing they needed.

She and Sam had spent the better part of the night trying to get Dean to calm down. Every little thing panicked him. Driving the car was too scary because they could get into an accident. Sam driving the car was unacceptable because he, apparently, couldn't be trusted. He only relented to Sam, driving them back to the motel after Skye offered to do it. When Skye asked why she was a worse choice of driver than Sam, Dean didn't answer her, but she had a feeling it was rooted in stereotypes about Asian female drivers. Never mind the fact that she just incited a road rage incident that almost got them killed.

Sam drove them back to the motel's parking lot, but when they got there Dean refused to get out of the car. It was too dark out, he said, anyone could be lurking in the shadows waiting to kill them. Obviously, Sam disputed this point, but Dean remained impassive. The argument went on for so long that Skye eventually gave up on listening to it and laid down across the back seat. When she opened her eyes again, it was morning. Dean was still sitting anxiously in the front seat, but Sam was nowhere to be found.

After a brief conversation with Dean, Skye got out of the car and decided to wait out there for Sam to get back from calling Bobby. She needed the fresh air, which was particularly refreshing this morning. Summer was finally releasing the tight grip it had on the country and relaxing back into a cool Fall. The chill breeze invigorated something in Skye and put her at ease. If only it could do the same for Dean…

By the time Sam came into view with his new cellphone, a tray of coffees, and a box of donuts in hand, music had started to rumble out of the Impala's speakers. Skye had made suggestions to Dean on ways he could try to calm himself, but she didn't expect him to take her up on it.

"What the hell's going on?" Sam asked as he approached.

"I told him that listening to music could help ease his anxiety," Skye explained, raising her voice slightly to be heard over the noise. "Didn't expect him to start blasting 'Eye of the Tiger' at eight in the morning, though."

"I don't think that's really going to do much." Sam handed her one of the coffees. Skye shrugged.

"It's worth a shot," she said. "I mean, it's a scientific fact – music can reach parts of the brain that words can't." She frowned, wondering how she knew that.

Regardless, it seemed to be working. Dean was the calmest she had seen him in hours – lying across the front seat and air-drumming along to the song. Of course, Sam had to disturb this by slamming his palm against the roof of the car. Dean sat up with a start, but relaxed as soon as he saw it was his brother. Turning off the music, Dean was out of the car and on his feet within seconds.

"Dude, look at this," he said, holding out his arm to show them something. Sam and Skye came closer to see that Dean had developed some kind of rash on his arm. It was mostly pink but had three particularly harsh-looking red lines running through it. Skye couldn't tell if it was part of the rash itself or if Dean had hurt himself trying to scratch it. Nonetheless, it was a disturbing new puzzle piece to their mystery and neither of them were particularly thrilled about it.

"I just talked to Bobby," Sam told Dean.

"And?" The stress in Dean's voice was evident. In a seeming act of condolence, Sam held out the coffee tray and the box to him.

"Um, well, you're not gonna like it." Dean took his coffee before tossing the box of donuts through the Impala's open window.

"What?" Sam sucked in the corner of his mouth, hesitating.

"It's ghost sickness," he finally admitted. Dean looked at him incredulously.

"Ghost sickness?" Skye had to hold back a snort.

"That can't really be its name," she said.

"Well, Bobby said it can also be referred to as 'Yellow Fever…'" Skye cringed.

"Yeah, let's just keep calling it ghost sickness."

"What the hell even is it?" Dean asked. "I mean, I've never heard of anything like that before. 'Ghost sickness.'"

"Okay," Sam said as he started to explain. "Some cultures – eastern cultures, apparently, I guess – believe that certain spirits can infect the living with a disease, which is why they stopped displaying bodies in houses and started taking them off to funeral homes."

"That's a western thing, though." Before anyone could go off on a tangent about eastern vs. western cultural practices, Dean waved them off.

"Just get to the good stuff!" he urged.

"Symptoms are, you get anxious," Sam explained.

"Yeah," Dean said.

"And scared…" Dean continued to nod along. "Then really scared, then your heart gives out." Dean froze. "Sound familiar?"

"Yeah, but Sam, we haven't seen a ghost in weeks," Dean pointed out.

"Well, I doubt you caught it from a ghost," Sam said. "Look, once a spirit infects that first person, ghost sickness can spread like any sickness through a cough, a handshake, whatever. It's like the flu. Now, Frank O'Brian was the first to die, which means he was probably the first infected. Patient zero."

"Our very first outbreak monkey," Dean remarked.

"Right," Sam agreed. "Get this – Frank was in Maumee over the weekend. Softball tournament, which is where he must have infected the other two victims."

"Were they Gamecocks?"

"Cornjerkers." Surprisingly, Dean didn't laugh this time. Skye raised her eyebrows but did not comment.

"So, ghosts infected Frank," Dean said. "He passed it on to the other guys, and I got it from his corpse?"

"Right," Sam said.

"So now, what, I have forty-eight hours before I go insane and my heart stops?"

"More like twenty-four," Sam admitted.

"Super," Dean remarked. "Well, why me? Why not you? I mean, you got hit with the spleen juice."

"Yeah," Sam said. "Uh, you see, Bobby and I have a theory about that, too. Turns out all three victims shared a certain, uh, personality type." Dean gave Sam a look that told him to get on with it. "Frank was a bully. The other two victims – one was a vice principal; the other was a bouncer."

"Okay," Dean said, not sure where Sam was going with this.

"Basically, they were all dicks." Dean blinked.

"So, you're saying I'm a dick?"

"Yes." Both brothers shot Skye a look.

"No, no, no," Sam said. "It's not just that. All three victims used fear as a weapon, and now this disease is just returning the favor."

"I don't scare people."

"Yes, you do."

"Skye." Crossing her arms, she frowned.

The one chance I get to say what I really feel…

After the reprimand, Sam turned right back to his brother.

"Look, all we do is scare people," he explained. Dean rolled his eyes at that argument.

"Okay, well, then you're a dick, too," he said. "And so is Skye."

"Apparently, we're not."

"Whatever," Dean said, growing frustrated with the whole conversation. "How do we stop it?"

"We gank the ghost that started all this," Sam explained. "We do that, the disease should clear up."

"You think Frank's wife?" Sam shrugged.

"Who knows why she killed herself, you know?"

Dean sighed sharply, reassured that they had at least one direction to go in. Sam, meanwhile, changed the subject.

"What are you doing waiting out here, anyway?" he asked. Dean nervously looked over to the hotel.

"Our room's on the fourth floor." Sam looked at the building and looked back, not quite getting it. "It's – It's high."

"Plus, four's unlucky in China," Skye added. Dean's expression grew alarmed.

"Did you hear that, Sam?" he said. "Four's unlucky in China!"

"We're not in China." That did nothing to reassure Dean. Sam sent a glare Skye's way for adding fuel to the fire, but she could do nothing but grin.

That's what you get for not letting me say my piece.

Realizing Dean wasn't going to calm down and that he was going to get no help from Skye, Sam scoffed.

"I'll see if I can move us down to the first," he said.

"Thanks," Dean said.

"Sure." With that, Sam headed in the direction of the hotel's main entrance. Dean lingered where he stood for a moment but eventually moved to get back in the car. Skye thought he was going to turn the music back on, but then he started ripping into the box of donuts.

"Hey, you're supposed to share those!" She opened the door and tried to reach over Dean to get at the box, but to her surprise he didn't resist her. Instead, he just pushed the box into her chest before shoving her out of the car and slamming the door. He looked at her as if she had just mugged him; "you've got what you wanted, go away now." Skye let out a breath.

"Shit."

Sam was able to get them a room on the first floor. Room 108 to be exact. Skye turned to Dean with a grin when she saw that.

"See," she said. "That's eight! Eight is lucky in China!"

Dean was only momentarily reassured. In seconds his expression flipped back to an anxious one and he passed Skye to go into the room. She frowned. After that little incident with the donut box in the car, she'd started taking this whole "scared to death" thing more seriously. She didn't know what long-lasting effects this might have, and if he was afraid of her now, she could only imagine what he would think if he found out about her powers.

Swallowing down a lump in her throat, Skye resolved to make sure that the image he had of her remained a positive one. That way he might go easier on her when it all comes out.

Yeah, right.

Skye set her laptop up on the couch while Dean got settled at the dining table with a book. Likely, he was going to try to research some more about ghost sickness. That was all fine with her. Skye, meanwhile, was going to look to see if she could even find the tiniest thing about Jessie O'Brian online. She wasn't expecting much, but maybe just maybe Frank said something about her, or she could find some clue as to where she might be buried. It was a long shot, but she wouldn't know until she checked.

The room was silent as the two of them worked. Skye glanced up every so often to make sure that Dean was doing okay. He seemed slightly shifty but nowhere near full-panic attack levels. It was enough to get her to leave him alone, but not enough to kill her concern entirely. She redoubled her efforts in searching online. There had to be something…

As she laid across the couch with her laptop balancing on her stomach, Skye started noticing a light buzzing noise. At first, it was only in her right ear, but it soon moved on to both. She put her hands over her ears, but the noise didn't diminish. It was inside her head, or rather, her ears.

Great, now I'm going deaf, too.

Skye looked over at Dean again. He had his back to her, so she couldn't see exactly what he was doing. However, it didn't escape her notice that his tense shoulders were shaking. She couldn't hear too well because of how loud her ears were ringing, but she could guess that he had started coughing.

Moving her laptop off to the side, Skye had just started to sit up and ask Dean if he was okay. Before she could fully get the question out, he did something that surprised her. He jumped up from his seat on the table, ripped a star-shaped analog clock off the wall, and threw it on the ground. The sound of the glass protective cover on the clock's face smashing into a million pieces completely banished the ringing in her ears and caused her to nearly jump out of her skin.

"What the hell?!"

Dean said nothing, just went to the fridge to get a beer. Skye stared at him as he opened the bottle and sat down on the couch – taking a long pull. She didn't know what to do about any of this, and eventually just gave up and began to look for something she could use to sweep up the broken glass.

Yeah, this being nice thing is going to be a lot harder than I thought…

In a closet, she found a little handheld broom and a dustpan. She had thrown the main body of the clock into the trash bin and was sweeping up tiny shards when Sam walked in. His eyes went from Skye to the clock, to Dean, and back to Skye.

"What happened?"

"I don't know," Skye said. "Ask David Banner here."

Sam's eyes went back to Dean. He took another pull from his beer and shrugged.

"Everything's just peachy." No one bought that for a second, but that was the best they were going to get from him. Sighing, Sam put the plastic bag he was carrying down on the table. "Find anything?"

"Yeah," Sam said. "Jessie O'Brian's body was cremated, so I'm pretty sure she's not our ghost." Skye frowned as she carefully poured the glass into the trash.

"With Sorrow you guys said that ghosts can attach themselves to objects," she said. "Think that could be the case here?"

"Unlikely," Sam said, sitting down in an armchair. "It didn't seem like Frank kept much of anything that was Jessie's at the house. No jewelry, no clothing, no nothing."

Skye hummed at this, thinking maybe they should go back and check Frank's house again. After all, there could have easily been something Sam overlooked. While she considered this, Sam bumped his foot against Dean's legs.

"Hey," he said at the same time. "Quit picking at that."

Dean looked up from his arm, forcing fingers to quit probing at the rash. From where Skye was standing, it looked like it had gotten bigger.

"How are you feeling?" Sam asked his brother.

"Awesome," Dean said. "It's nice to have my head on the chopping block again. I almost forgot what that feels like."

Sam muttered a word of agreement before looking away. Skye didn't know much about what happened before Dean went to Hell. She knew it involved a demon deal and Dean trading Sam's life for his, with a one-year time limit. That was it, though. The manuscript didn't go into much further detail than that. She could only imagine what happened during that time and what it must have felt like…

Dean took another sip from his beer but quickly pulled the bottle away from his face as he began to cough. At first, Sam and Skye thought that he had just swallowed wrong, but then they became more intense. As Dean stumbled forward to put down his beer, they realized that he was choking and rushed to his side.

Dean wasn't going to make it easy on them, though. As soon as they came near, he got up from the couch and rushed to the sink. Skye couldn't remember where she had set down her new cellphone, and she didn't know the Heimlich Maneuver. Distressed, she looked to Sam for help, but he looked just as clueless as she did. The most he could do was hover anxiously as his brother retched in the sink. Frustrated, Skye did a lap around the room, found Dean's cellphone on the table, picked it up, and started dialing 9-1…

Just as she was about to dial the final '1,' Dean brought up whatever it was he needed to bring up and the coughing started to die down. Skye let out a breath of relief and hit the 'end call' button. Setting the phone back down on the table, she joined Sam and Dean over by the sink.

When she walked up, Dean had just picked whatever he had coughed up out of the sink. Whatever it was, it was small and coated in red-tinged bile. The sight almost made her want to throw up, too.

"What is that?" Dean turned on the water and started to clean the object up. Once the blood was cleared away, it became obvious that it was a piece of wood with something printed on it. Turning it over in his hand, Dean started to say something to express his confusion when something finally clicked into place for Sam.

"We've been completely ignoring the biggest clue we have," he said, looking to Dean. "You." Dean's face scrunched into a frown.

"I don't want to be a clue," he protested, but Sam was already on a roll.

"The abrasions, this – the disease, it's trying to tell us something."

"Tell us what?" Dean questioned. "Wood chips?" Sam let out a mirthless laugh.

"Exactly."

Turns out, on the outskirts of town, there was an old lumber mill. Sam knew about it because Jessie O'Brian's obituary had mentioned that she had worked there. It had been shut down in 1989 and hadn't been touched since. Since Dean had coughed up a wood chip and there was a link to the O'Brians, Sam decided it was worth checking out.

Sam was the one driving the car on the way there. Dean was still acting panicky, and it would take forever to get to the other side of town if he drove. Despite the sound reasoning, Dean was not happy about it. He spent the entire ride complaining about Sam's driving. Sam tried putting "Eye of the Tiger" back on, hoping that would settle him, but it had no such effect this time.

Once they pulled up to what looked like the back entrance, they all got out of the car and started looking around. Already the sight of the derelict building surrounded by rust-covered machinery was too much for Dean. He looked right at Sam and said, "I'm not going in there." Sam shrugged.

"Fine," he said, heading towards the trunk. "I'll take Skye."

Dean's brows raised in alarm.

"No, not happening." Both Sam and Skye turned back to look at him. They had the same angry tinge to their glares.

"Why not?" Dean sputtered.

"'Why not?'" he repeated. "'Why not?' She doesn't even know how to use a gun!"

"Yeah, I do," Skye retorted. "I remember what you guys showed me."

"Yeah, what we showed you," Dean said. "You've never fired one before or carried one around for more than a few minutes." Skye was unbothered by that reasoning.

"Okay then," she said. "Give me my gun. I'll show you that I know how to handle it."

"Alright," Sam said, moving to open the trunk before Dean could object, and object he did.

"No, this is too dangerous," he said. "Too scary. We really shouldn't let her…"

The only thing that had stopped Dean was catching sight of the number of weapons they had in the trunk. All of them sharp, pointy, or in some way explosive. All of them capable of ending a life in seconds. It caused him to freeze right on the spot. He didn't dare try to stop Sam from taking out the gun and handing it over to Skye. Apparently, that deathly potential was too much for him in his current state.

Sam placed the gun in Skye's hands, and she immediately took a proper hold of it, pointing it to the ground. The first thing Sam and Dean had taught her was to never point a gun at something you don't intend to destroy. It was the very first and most important rule of gun safety, and she took it to heart.

The gun they had given her was a Smith and Wesson Model 910. They explained that this was the kind of gun typically used by law enforcement and thus it should be easier for her to learn how to use it. Skye wasn't sure how true that was, but she wasn't the gun expert.

"What do you want me to shoot?" she asked. Sam nodded to something behind her.

"That sign over there looks as good of a target as any." Skye turned around and saw a red and black sign denoting that this place was the Cassity and Sons Lumber Mill. She nodded.

Skye took a few steps to her right, so she was properly lined up with the sign. The entire walk she held the gun so that way it was still pointed at the ground, but at an angle that would keep her from shooting herself in the foot if something went wrong. When she felt she had found a good enough position, she glanced back over at Sam and Dean for reassurance. Dean had pulled Sam behind the Impala. He had clearly wanted a physical barrier between them and Skye in case a bullet went in the wrong direction. Sam, though, didn't seem worried. While rolling his eyes at his brother's antics, he gave her a nod to indicate that she should go ahead.

Taking a deep breath, Skye looked down at the gun's sights. Slowly, she raised it so that it was level with the sign.

"If anyone's standing behind that sign, move or you'll get shot!" After shouting that warning, Skye waited a moment to make sure no one was in the way. Once she was sure, she began to run through the procedure in her head.

Her gun hand was gripping the gun high on the backstrap. Her support hand was pressed firmly against the exposed portion of the grip not covered by the gun hand. All four of her fingers on the support hand were under the trigger guard with the index finger pressed hard underneath it. She made sure that her thumb was pointing forward, below where the slide met the frame. This grip felt comfortable, so she knew she had to be at least mostly correct.

She moved her feet, so they were shoulder-width apart and bent her knees slightly. The stance felt firm and balanced. Aiming with her dominant eye, she made sure her sights were aligned before focusing on the sign. It was a rather big target, making it unlikely she'd miss it. Still, she wanted to be sure before she took any action. Another deep breath in and out, and she pressed the button to release the safety.

Click! Clack!

Skye looked down. She had felt something fall out of the gun. Between her feet, she saw a magazine full of bullets on the ground. Carefully, she flipped the gun around to get a look at the butt. She found the cartridge empty. Giving a nervous smile, she turned to look back at Sam and Dean.

"Bang?"

Dean smacked his palm to his forehead and Sam shook his head. Feeling disappointed in herself, Skye picked up the magazine and walked back over to the Impala's trunk. She put her gun back where Sam had got it from.

"How about this," she said when she caught sight of something else in the trunk. She picked it up and held it to her chest, so the top of the device was pointed at her face. "I'll man the flashlight!"

The joke didn't go over as well as she hoped, but at least no one objected.

Skye held the flashlight in one hand and an iron crowbar in the other. It was heavier than the iron rods they'd used to dispatch the Witnesses before, but it wasn't too much for her to handle. Sam led the way, sawed-off shotgun held at the ready. Skye kept a step behind him and aimed the flashlight's beam over his shoulder. At first, all they had found were dirty floors, abandoned machinery, and complete rubbish strewn about the place. Then, a good twenty to thirty feet inside, Sam's EMF meter started warbling.

Sam took the device out of his pocket to look at it. The meter was all the way in the red zone and the red lights on top were flashing consistently. Skye took this to be a clear indication of ghost activity.

"So, there is something here." Skye took a step forward, but Sam held out a hand to stop her. Before she could ask, he bent over and picked something up off the ground. Holding it up to the light, they found it was a silver ring. Sam spun the piece of jewelry around between his fingers and found an inscription.

"'To Frank. Love, Jessie.'" He clutched the ring into his palm. "Frank O'Brian's ring."

"Is that what caused the spike in EMF?" Sam held the ring up to the device's sensors, but it didn't have much reaction. He shook his head and Skye frowned. "What was Frank doing here, anyway? Why'd he take off his ring?" She remembered that Dean had pointed out the mark the ring had left behind at the coroner's office.

"No idea," was all Sam could offer.

After a moment of contemplation, the two of them moved on to one of the side hallways. It, like the rest of the place, was dank, dark, and dirty from years of disuse. Skye held the flashlight steadily while Sam swept his gun from left to right.

At one point, they heard a noise coming from a room off to the side. They went inside and found that it was an employee locker room, and the noise had been coming from inside one of the lockers. Sam put a hand on the handle but didn't pull it open right away.

"On three," he mouthed. Skye nodded in understanding. She heard him whisper the numbers "one, two, three," before he swiftly pulled the locker open. A stray cat jumped out from inside, startling Skye momentarily. However, she only took a step back and tracked the animal with the flashlight's beam as it walked away. She softly laughed to herself, thinking of what Dean's reaction might have been had he been the one to go in with Sam.

Exiting the locker room, they continued down the hallway. They ended up in what looked like it was an old recordkeeping room. A bookshelf was knocked over and there were yellow papers strewn all over the floor. Sam went in one direction while Skye went in another.

She walked over to a piece of machinery which, like the floor, was covered in yellow and brown pages. Unlike the papers on the floor, however, they didn't seem to be outdated, useless documents. They seemed to be drawings. Picking a couple up, Skye realized they were drawings of a familiar face. Just to check, she pulled the obituary out of her pocket and compared the picture there to the drawing before her. The faces were almost identical.

"Hey," she said, calling Sam over. "These are drawings of Frank's wife."

In a few strides, Sam was standing over her shoulder.

"Plot thickens," he commented. "I found this." He handed over a card for Skye to look at. Despite being laminated, it too had yellowed with age. Still, all the information on it was still discernible.

"'Luffer Gardlan?'" she read.

"Luther Garland," Sam corrected. Skye frowned.

"Who's he?"

"Dunno," Sam said. "But it can't be a coincidence that this was left here with the drawings."

Skye hummed, turning her attention back to the drawings. The artist had paid very close attention to detail. It was almost as if he had traced a photograph of Jessie's face. Carefully, she tried to pull the drawing up from the machinery, but the paper got caught in something. Skye yanked it out but was startled by a noise and ended up tearing the paper.

"Skye."

She didn't know how exactly it happened, but the machine in front of them began to roar to life. Startled, she stepped backwards into Sam and threw a hand in front of her. She stopped short of sending a vibrational blast into the machine, realizing that it could only make things worse. It didn't stop with just that machine, though. Like a domino effect, Skye could feel several other machines around the mill awakening from their slumber and firing up for the first time in twenty years. It was a bit overwhelming. So much so that she almost didn't notice another shift in vibrations that happened in the room at the same time.

Almost, though. Skye was nothing if not perceptive.

Regaining her balance, Skye turned around and pointed the flashlight into a corner of the room. There, she found the form of a large, intimidating man standing there, his face to the wall.

"Sam!" He reacted quickly, pointing the shotgun directly where she shone the light. The man didn't seem to react to either of them, though. He just remained in the corner, still and silent.

"Hey!" Sam called, and the man's figure jolted a bit. Slowly, he turned around, revealing a beaten, bloody face and scraped up knuckles. Despite the injuries, Skye found his face to be recognizable, too. The man was Luther Garland, the lumber mill employee whose ID they just found.

At first, Skye didn't think he looked too threatening. Sure, he was a large man – if he lived in Hell's Kitchen, he might've had a career going for him as a drug kingpin – but his demeanor seemed sadder and more wounded than anything else. That was, until his face twisted into a snarl, and he started to charge towards Sam. Then he became threatening.

With a single shotgun blast, Sam dispelled the ghost. Luther Garland disappeared into a puff of smoke and woodchips. Skye let out a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding. Before she could fully relax, however, a scream from outside caught her off-guard.

Instantly, she and Sam locked their eyes. They didn't need to be told. That was Dean's scream they had heard.

Without even discussing it, they ran back out into the direction they had come from. Hopefully, they'd be able to get there before it was too late.

Oh, if I can figure out how to get links to work in the AO3 author's notes, that top author's note is going to link to the blooper from this episode. You know the one! ;) If you're on FFN, though, sorry. :(

If the timeline for Frank and the others getting infected doesn't make sense with the dates I've given, I'm sorry. I need something very specific in this story to happen on October 18th and that's a little inflexible for me. Besides, I don't think the writers even gave that much consideration to the timeline given that the Sherriff got infected on the weekend when he went to the softball game but didn't die until several days after Frank when the disease is only supposed to last forty-eight hours.

The "four's unlucky in China" exchange was paraphrased from the second episode of NCIS, for no reason other than I thought it was funny.

The gun Skye uses in this chapter is the same type she uses in Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. Season 1, Episode 4 "Eye Spy." (Smith and Wesson Model 910.) I'm not sure of the exact caliber of the weapon, though. The MCU Wiki didn't specify that, so bear with me here. The part where Skye accidentally ejects the magazine is also from that episode.

At this point I would like to disclaim that I know nothing about guns. Yes, I have family members who have served in law enforcement and the military, but we haven't had guns in the house since my mom was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. Even when we had them, I wasn't allowed anywhere near them. I'm also currently not mentally healthy enough to be around them either, so my only way to learn is from second-hand information on the internet. None of this is ideal, so if I ever write anything that's wildly inaccurate to real-life guns and gun safety, please let me know and I will try to correct it. This site and WikiHow were my sources for this chapter.

Remember kids, it is a scientific fact that music can reach parts of the brain that words cannot. At least, that's what Stranger Things told me.

Originally uploaded on 4/17/25.