Chapter Three
Having gone on the coffee run earlier, Dean had insisted that Sam go make arrangements with the front desk. He didn’t mind some alone time with the girls. Dean doubted that there was much risk that the motel would be overbooked; the town wasn’t exactly a hot spot.
Deviousness always on his mind, he had considered suggesting sharing a room, but thought better of it. Sam really seemed smitten with Honey. Trixie, on the other hand, would need to be reigned in. And she was just the kind he liked to reign in..
Much to the chagrin of Dean, Sam returned with a room key. The brothers gathered their things and suggested a regroup at breakfast.
“I can’t believe you didn’t at least try to convince them that the motel was booked so that we would have to stay in their room,” Dean muttered as they trudged to their room several doors down.
Sam rolled his eyes. “We’re working a case remember?”
“Doesn’t mean we can’t have a little…recreational fun,” Dean’s pout turned into a roguish smile.
Sam just shook his head.
Alone in their room, the girls finally had their moment to digest the events of the day.
Eyes twinkling, Trixie went for the topic she was most eager to discuss. “Sam sure seems nice,” Trixie commented as Honey brushed out her shiny hair.
“He is. He’s got such a . . . I don’t know,” she faltered.
“Nice body?” Trixie suggested. “I saw him take that jacket off. The guy has muscle under those baggy clothes. And some serious shoulders happening. Did you see them? Talk about a nice climb!”
Not to be outdone, Honey knew how to give as well as receive, despite her blushing at Trixie’s comment. “Dean wasn’t too bad either.”
“Oh, he’s hot,” Trixie admitted, pausing just long enough to let her friend think she had distracted her. “And arrogant and cocky,” she finished.
“Perfect match for you,” Honey retorted, laughing when Trixie smacked her arm.
“Dean Winchester is trouble, with a capital T. Even I can see that,” she answered sleepily, crawling into the bed. She wanted a good sleep; she needed to be on the top of her game when they returned to the house. But all night, a pair of intense green eyes and an enticing smirk plagued her dreams.
***
The morning fog hung heavily over the small town. Honey’s multiple and unrelenting yawns immediately ceased with the appearance of Sam’s sweet smile to warm her.
Trixie’s blue eyes contained an extra bit of sparkle which Honey attributed to Dean Winchester’s bright smile and those captivating eyes that seemed intent on taking in every bit of her friend.
“So if rock salt destroys spirits, why didn’t it work when you fired on it yesterday?” Trixie asked.
“It doesn’t necessarily destroy them,” Sam corrected. “But it can slow them down and repel them when used as a barrier on doors and windows. And it hurts like hell when you fire it at them. And there’s a chance it may have become more of a Tulpa, a Tibetan thought form or even an astral projection,” Sam finished.
“Thought form?” Honey repeated. She was sitting next to Sam in the booth opposite Dean and Trixie. Although Trixie had noticed, she didn’t comment on the uber-closeness of her best friend and Sam. Besides, she wasn’t opposed to having the solid frame of Dean so close to her. Her eyes drifted to his strong, capable hands as he played with his coffee cup. His right ring finger bore a heavy silver spinner ring. Besides the ring, she had also noticed a funny little amulet he wore. Some sort of face that she figured was probably Egyptian. For protection? she wondered. Based on what she had deduced so far about the brothers, it sounded like they needed it. She watched Dean cram a large forkful of pancakes in his mouth. He kind of chomped his food as he ate, she thought with mild amusement, and was baffled at how he could even make that somewhat sexy.
“Basically, a manifestation of an entity, brought about by belief,” Sam continued. “The more people that believe in it, the stronger it becomes.”
“So you think all these people thinking she’s a witch are making her one?” Honey asked.
“Yes and no,” Sam answered.
Trixie took the opportunity to steal another glance at Dean, aware he was only half listening to his brother. Meeting his green eyes, she became acutely aware of where the rest of his attention was centered – on her. Dean casually returned to his pancakes and eggs and she felt her face start to flush realizing that while he maybe listening to his brother, she was also on his mind.
Feeling a small kick under the table and meeting the amused grin of her friend, Trixie turned her attention back to Sam.
“People underestimate the strength of their faith. If a large enough group of people believe in something, it can be manifested,” Sam explained. “Now this Beatrix was believed to be a witch, by probably at least two generations. That’s a lot of people. If the legends get repeated enough, they can become true. She takes on the characteristics of the legend.” Sam paused briefly. “We’ve dealt with this sort of thing before.”
“Okay, that’s all well and good, but how do we stop it?” Trixie asked. “I don’t mind a ghost or two in my house, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to be putting up with one that throws me around like a rag doll.”
Dean smirked, thinking a tussle with Trixie would be very enjoyable. Finally joining the conversation he added, “We need to find her body first of all.”
Trixie shrugged, “She was cremated, as far as I know.”
“If that was her body,” Sam responded. “We still don’t know for sure if it was.”
“So where would it be if wasn’t?” Honey asked.
“That’s the million dollar question,” Dean said. “And if it was her body and it was cremated, then we might have a thought-form for sure.
“Sounds like a piece of cake,” Honey sighed under her breath closing her eyes while Trixie stared out the window.
“You all right?” Sam asked Honey.
She gave him a nod. “It’s just a lot to take in.”
Sam reached over to take her delicate hand. Dean rolled his eyes. Trixie continued staring out the window, lost in thought.
“Hey, Curly,” Dean nudged her leg with his, “why so silent?”
Trixie shot him an annoyed look, trying not to get lost in his eyes, which today she could see were the most perfect shade of green. She had long ago learned she had a weakness for green eyes, and his were intense and expressive. And sexy, damn sexy.
“Just thinking.”
“Well watch out, you might hurt yourself,” he teased her with a wink. She wrinkled up her nose at him.
“Smart ass.”
“I suggest we go back to the house,” Sam interrupted before the arguing started. “We need to look around, to see if we can find any clues as to whether or not the body they found was really Beatrix.”
At Honey’s shudder, he gently squeezed her hand.
Since Trixie refused to be delegated to the backseat of the Impala and Dean refused to be driven, two cars headed back to Grisland Manor ten minutes later. Somehow Sam and Honey had ended up back in her SUV, with Dean and Trixie in the Impala. Trixie mentioned something about ‘keeping an eye on the hot head.’ Dean had just rolled his eyes and muttered what sounded like ‘oh God, spare me’ In response to Sam volunteering to ride with Honey.
The boys carried their weapons close as the four trudged inside.
In the bright sun light the house didn’t look quite so frightening, just sadly run down.
“Stick together. Neither of you wanders off,” Dean ordered.
Trixie raised an eyebrow. “We can take care of ourselves.” She wasn’t about to let on that she kind of liked his sudden take charge attitude.
“Sweetheart, this ain’t some cheating husband we’re tracking, it’s a malevolent spirit. Sam and I are professionals. You two stay close.”
Honey just nodded. She had every intention of sticking close to Sam.
“You two search down here, Trixie and I will take the upstairs,” Dean said to Sam. His brother nodded and he and Honey headed for the study. Dean turned toward the stairs with Trixie right behind him.
“Watch out for the sixth board, I think it’s loose,” Trixie advised. Dean nodded, and when they reached the step in question, he knelt down to examine it.
“What are you doing?”
“An old house like this? Creaky floorboards are not only good for spooking, but also hiding,” he answered, running his hands along the edges. He gave it a yank. They heard the sound of splintering and the board came up, revealing a hole. Trixie swung her lantern over it illuminating the space below.
“Dean, it’s another room,” she whispered. She could see a small bed and a table. The depression in the bed signaled it had been used for a long time.
“There has to be another way in,” he commented. “Let’s keep going.”
Trixie and Dean made their way up the stairs and down the hallway, looking for any hidden buttons, tapping for a hidden door.
“It’s definitely hollow. There has to be something we’re missing,” Dean muttered.
“Why would Aunt Bea need a secret room?” Trixie asked. “She was pretty reclusive; maybe she actually lived in there. You know that fear people develop? Agro-agra-”
“Afraid of open spaces.” Dean offered.
“Yeah, that.” Trixie found it amusing he didn’t know the right word either.
“It’s possible. Let’s go upstairs and start searching. Maybe we can find a way in from above. There might be another secret passage, like in a closet.”
***
Meanwhile, Sam and Honey concentrated on searching through an old roll top desk.
“Some of these papers are pretty old,” Honey said, picking them up. “And look at these utility bills. Electric, gas, phone. No water. Makes me think the water came from the well out back. Everything is pretty well organized though.”
“Well, they say all old people have methods to their madness,” Sam replied, stepping over to a large hutch that held various china figurines. He picked one up and blew the dust off of it, creating a cascade of dust particles around him. “If nothing else, Trixie can probably sell these for a pretty penny. The antique value alone should bring in some cash.”
“It might be Beatrix’s money was tied up in this stuff. Some of this furniture could be restored for good value, and if Beatrix had old bone china or genuine silverware, she could sell that too,” Honey added, rifling through more papers. Something skittered near her hand and she gave a small shriek, jumping back.
Sam whipped around, his gun drawn, only to find Honey looking a bit sheepish.
“Sorry,” she muttered. “Bug, but it was a big bug,” she protested. “I’m not real fond of them.”
Sam grinned despite himself and stepped to her. “Sure you’re ok?”
She nodded, not quite able to meet his eyes and he reached for her, drawing her against him. Surprising both of them, Honey didn’t resist, instead melting against him as his hand gently touching her hair. He pushed her away just far enough for him to look down at her, and Honey wondered if he was about to kiss her.
Honey could see longing and confusion in his eyes and he touched her face gently. She sensed his hesitation, confusion and a touch of guilt, which made her reluctantly pull away. Sam wasn’t going to kiss her and Honey wasn’t sure how she felt about that.
“We should keep looking,” she murmured.
“Right,” his voice was soft and they stepped apart, returning to their respective tasks.
Sam began to open drawers of a large piece of furniture he didn’t recognize. It held china, and silverware. Real silver, he guessed from the tarnish.
Sam was going through the motions of a typical investigation, but he was forced to admit that this mind wasn’t 100% on the job at hand. He found his mind wandering back in time – to about thirty seconds ago. What had just almost happened between him and Honey? He never made moves on women. Dean did. Dean went after everything in a skirt. But there was something about Honey that drew him toward her like a moth to a flame. A lovely flame with honey colored hair and a sweet smile. Her gentle demeanor and elegant presence lit something in him he hadn’t felt since before Jess died.
And that kind of unsettled him. Sure, he had liked Sarah and even Meg until she went demon crazy on them. All night last night he had dreamt of Honey. Sam felt himself longing to touch her, to kiss her. He knew she was nervous to be back at the house, but here anyway, determined to help her friend. Trixie and Honey had a familiarity indicative of best friends, not to mention the short glances between them that were worth an entire conversation.
***
“Smelly old clothes,” Trixie gagged as she opened the closet. The reek of mothballs hit them both - hard. The walls were painted a listless gray that could have been white at one point. The floors were all hardwood, the furniture heavy and expensive looking, coated in a layer of dust. The air hung stale and dry.
Dean chuckled and walked to the window. Despite unlocking with relative ease, he struggled to get it open. The window groaned and creaked in protest as the strong young man wrestled with it, and the window finally relented.
“Damn. I bet those haven’t been opened since they were installed. They were probably painted shut.” He came up behind Trixie to peer into the large closet. Dean liked being near her. She wasn’t about to just fall into his arms, and he was okay with that. Dean was definitely up for the challenge.
It unsettled Trixie that she liked him hovering over her. If he was willing to put himself between her and whatever this “thing” was that was in her house, he couldn’t be all bad, she deduced. Physically he was built solid and strong, and she was pretty sure he was used to women falling all over him. She, however, wasn’t about to be one of those girls. If fate led them to a tussle, it was going to be on her timetable and terms.
“Plenty of mothballs in there,” Dean choked, stepping back. Alternatively, Trixie just moved in closer and began to rifle through the old fashioned dresses and shoes. Determined, she made a space big enough to slip through to the back.
“If I see anything that moves,” she called out to him, “I’ll scream so loud they’ll hear me in Sleepyside.”
Dean smirked, but had to give her credit for guts. She disappeared behind the clothes and he could hear her tapping along the wall.
“I don’t think it’ll be in this room,” he called back to her, rifling through the heavy dresser. More old clothes, no papers, no hidden money. “It’s not close enough to the stairs.”
“Probably not,” was the muted reply. That was followed by a muffled shriek and Dean bolted into the closet, shoving the old clothes away.
“Trixie?”
He collided with her as she dashed out. With too much momentum to stop the fall, Dean grabbed her and pulled her to him as they crashed to the floor, twisting together. A startled Trixie landed on top of Dean, her legs tangled in his. He took the brunt of the fall, landing on a pair of shoes, grunting as he hit the floor.
“If you wanted me to hold you, all you had to do was ask,” he smirked.
“Haha,” she muttered. “Let me up.”
“Aw, come on, we’re down here, might as well have some fun.” Dean flashed a smile and Trixie found herself smiling back. His hand gently brought her face to his for a light kiss, just enough to tease them both.
“Opportunist,” she whispered against his beautiful mouth.
“Hell yeah,” he chuckled. She wiggled free, crawling over him and out of the closet.
“Well, that was a bust,” she muttered. “I thought something was in there but I got tangled up in the shoes in the far corner.” Dean got to his feet, offering her a hand to help her up.
“I told you I didn’t think it was in this room,” he said.
“Yeah, yeah,” she tossed her sandy curls. “Let’s move on to the next room.”
Trixie opened the door to the next room and reeled from the stench, bumping back into Dean, who was behind her. Quickly he steadied her, his hands on her hips. She guessed he was about six feet, towering over her five foot four. She noticed he took his time removing his hands from her hips and found herself wondering what it would be like to go to bed with Dean.
The stench of the room took her out of her daydream. “This must be where they found the body,” she gagged.
Covering his mouth with one hand, Dean hurried to the window, prepared to do battle with this window as well. Much to his relief, this one opened easily.
“They should have left this bitch open,” he coughed. The cool air whipped in, carrying away the odor of death.
Trixie walked into the room, her eyes taking in the room. She stopped near the bed, where Dean joined her.
“How’d they find her?” he asked.
“Lying on the bed,” Trixie replied quietly.
“On top of the covers from the looks of it,” Dean answered.
“Who sleeps on top of the covers?” Trixie wondered. “It was early spring, way too cold for that.”
“Plenty of reasons to sleep on top of the sheets,” Dean suggested. “I bet I could demonstrate one to you.”
“I don’t think that would qualify as sleeping,” Trixie shot back.
Dean grinned. “Okay, well, we could sleep after,” he conceded.
Her lips twitched as she resisted the urge to smile. Instead she ‘hmmph’ed and turned back to the bed.
“The mattress is probably ruined,” Dean pointed out, “considering the amount of body fluid that must have seeped in. It should have been thrown away for contamination purposes. Sloppy work on the police’s part, but tells us a lot.”
Trixie scanned the area frowning. “This was a man’s room.”
Dean strolled to the closet and opened it. “Yep. These are all suits. So either your great aunt was a cross-dresser, or there was a man in the house.”
Trixie stood next to Dean, looking at the finely made suits, destroyed by moths. Shoes that were probably kept polished were now coated in dust. There was a space in the suits where one was missing.
“The original owner of the house was a man,” she said slowly. “But I think he died years ago.”
Her hand pushed the suits aside, stirring up dust.
“This room might be the right one,” she said thoughtfully. “It’s closer to the stairs.”
Dean ducked into the closet to look for a secret passage while Trixie went through the dresser, looking for clues as to the identity of the man.
Dean emerged dusty and coughing. “This isn’t it.” He paused realizing he was alone in the room. “Trixie?”
“In the bathroom,” she called. He crossed the room to the open side door.
“Look at this.”
“Nice tub.” He eyed the grimy antique clawed tub.
“Probably worth something to someone,” she noted. “But I mean this. Old fashioned shaving supplies. Antique tub. Whoever this guy was, he seriously didn’t want to be modernized. I bet running water and the electricity were all he wanted. There’s even a wood burning stove in the kitchen. No dishwasher, ancient refrigerator. And the bathroom in the other room was empty.”
“So there was definitely a dude living here.” Dean was impressed with her observations.
Trixie nodded. “The whole kitchen is old fashioned. No modernization, just like in here. In fact, other than running water for the toilet and shower, and electricity, this place hasn’t been updated in a really long time.”
“Good point.” Dean found the sparkling of her blue eyes distracting as she thought through her theories. He wondered what she’d do if he just leaned down and kissed her. Patience was a not an attribute he would apply to himself, but he could make half-hearted attempt. The chase was half the fun. “So we know there was a man alive here in recent times. But we’re looking at what could be months of missing time. The suits obviously weren’t worn, which would say the man was long gone. But if it was a man, and he was wearing the dress, then that would explain why the suits were dusty.”
“Why wouldn’t the police have noted that?” Trixie asked.
“Are you kidding? One cop town like this joint? Have you seen the police report? They left that mattress, for Pete’s sake.”
“Yes, it was faxed to us. There was no mention of this stuff.”
“Most likely,” Dean theorized, “some ace small town cop found a body, didn’t want to be bothered, figured it was Beatrix, and had the body removed. There wasn’t a lot of money tied up in this joint, and she was a recluse. Ship the body off, close the case. No reason to suspect foul play and c’mon, who’d want to open that body up?”
Trixie winced at the thought. “Good point. I think we better talk to the boy who delivered the groceries,” Trixie said. “He’s the one that found the body.”
“Most definitely,” Dean agreed. “Come on, there’s one more room up here.”
To their astonishment, it was a child’s room. A girl’s, judging from the frilly, faded decorations. The closet was stuffed with baby clothes, a good many hand-made, as was the ornate dresser. A crib stood in the corner, its once elegant decorations also faded.
“I thought there weren’t any children,” Dean said.
“If there was, I don’t think it lived past infancy,” Trixie answered.
“All right, we’re now up to three suspects for who the spirit is,” Dean sighed. “Beatrix, Mystery Man, and Lost Girl.”
Trixie drifted into the room, studying the details. A lake scene mural had been painted on one wall. Hand carved toys filled the shelves.
“Someone really wanted this child,” Trixie murmured. “Look at the detail and work that went into this room.”
Dean opened the closet to find it full of boxes. He began moving them out so he could get into the closet.
Trixie was drawn toward the crib, feeling unusually warm. Somewhere, strains of tinkling music began to filter into her ears.
“Dean?” she called out but her voice sounded distant even to her own ears. “Dean?” She began to feel dizzy and sensed herself falling.
Moments later, she opened her eyes feeling cool air hit her. Dean was kneeling in front of the window, cradling her in his arms. Nice arms, she thought. God, why did he have to be so hot? The light streaming in the window hurt her eyes and she closed them content to lie in those arms a little longer.
“Trixie? C’mon Curly, wake up. I’m not gonna haul you downstairs.” She heard the twinge of concern through the teasing. He was holding her against his chest, and she could inhale his scent, which was subtle, strong, masculine, and very, very appealing. Just like Dean himself, she thought dimly.
“Smart ass,” she muttered, opening her eyes to see the most beautiful thing she could have imagined.
He was leaned over her blocking the harsh sunlight. He had a couple days of stubble, scruffy but not scraggly. That beautiful mouth that had brushed her lips in the other room. But it was his eyes that reached into her, daring her to give in. Those vivid green eyes that held her gaze steadily.
“Welcome back, Curly,” he smirked. “Have a nice beauty sleep?”
“Haha. What happened?” she asked, tempted to kiss him. After all, it was her turn and she really doubted he would reject her.
“I don’t know. You said my name and when I turned around, you looked all funny and just hit the floor. It must have gotten too warm in here. Took me forever to get that bitch of a window open.”
Trixie knew she should get up but decided she was rather comfortable right where she was. She could feel muscle under his shirt, and briefly entertained the notion of giving into temptation. After all, she was single, and had been for quite a while.
“You sure you’re okay?” he asked.
“Yeah,” she reluctantly sat up. “I thought I heard…I could’ve sworn I heard music.”
“What kind?” he demanded, back to business now.
“Tinkling. Like a music box,” she murmured. Dean got to his feet, deliberately helping her up and keeping his hands around her to make sure she was steady.
“Was it far away? Close by? Did you notice any kind of scent?” he fired at her.
“No,” she answered. “Dean, what does it mean?”
“Something was trying to communicate with you. Usually they target Sam.”
“Why Sam?”
“He’s got the Shining,” Dean replied absently, not really answering her question. He paced around the room in thought. “Something must have happened in this room. If this child was never born, or died young, its soul might be stuck here. And if it was as long ago as I think it probably was, then it’s had plenty of time to fester and get pissed.”
“You think the angry soul of a child threw me across the room?” she asked without much confidence.
“It’s just a theory.” Dean’s gaze settled on the mural on the wall and he walked towards it, running his hands over it.
“You think the passageway is behind there?” she asked.
“Could be. Come on. Help me look.”
They had almost made their way to the end of the mural when Dean reached up towards the top, beyond where Trixie’s fingers could. His hand slid over an image of a flying bird, when it suddenly gave and depressed in.
“Son of a bitch,” Dean muttered.
They heard a rusty, slow grating noise as the back of the closet began to swing inwards.
“Holy crap,” Trixie whispered.
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Author’s Notes
-a huge “Zeppelin Rules!” to my fabulous editors, Jenn and Mary, who really helped me get this on track, and Jenn's endless hourings of bloodying it.
-Word Count - 4,435
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