Chapter Four
While Trixie and Dean were canvassing the upstairs, Honey finished looking through the desk in the study. All of the bills were addressed to Beatrix Belden. All were paid on time, in full. The utility amounts for each month were roughly the same. The desk lacked anything personal, just harbored a stash of dried up pens, heavy paper with matching envelopes and a small can full of old keys.
There were no photographs tucked away in the drawers. No scribbled notes or personal letters. An empty checkbook register filled out in a shaky hand could have been kept by a female or male.
Sam moved his search to the dusty living room. The lack of light and the dark walls made the room appear even drearier. He methodically searched each piece of furniture, patting down the lumpy sofa cushion, hoping to find money, or better yet answers. The strong young man inspected the portraits and paintings carefully, looking behind each one for wall safes. He carefully tested each step for creaky or loose floorboards, and tapped on walls looking for secret places.
“I think we may have to do some real research on this house,” he commented, returning to Honey’s side. “We haven’t even discussed the possibility that this spirit could be the original owner. Beatrix may have just been driven mad over the years by the spirit heckling her.”
Honey nodded. “That sounds plausible; not that I watch a lot of horror movies or anything.”
Sam laughed. “I wish it were as easy as they make it out to be in the movies.”
Honey thought for a moment, thinking about his lifestyle and what it had to entail. “Do you like what you do?” she asked with more than a hint of apprehension.
Sam hesitated before answering. “It’s not easy, and it’s thankless. We’ve had some bad run-ins, ended up in the hospital well, Dean has, a couple of times. Both of our parents and my first girlfriend were killed by the things we hunt. We don’t get paid, and we’re always on the go. No homestead to come home to at the end of a long day.”
His tone was wistful, and she saw the longing in his eyes.
“Would you—could you tell me about the thing that…took your family?” she asked timidly. Obviously this event had a profound effect on the family, and she hated the thought of the boys growing up without a mother. Her mother had been cold and distant until she was a teen, but she at least she was alive. “Not right now, but maybe later? If you don’t mind?”
Sam did mind, but he nodded anyway. He couldn’t find it in himself to say no to her, to her big hazel eyes and pretty smile. “Sure.”
***
Gun raised, Dean stepped into the closet, letting his flashlight illuminate the room. “Definitely a staircase. Looks like stone or concrete.”
“Right behind you, Winchester, so keep moving,” Trixie answered. Dean smirked. This was a lot more fun than investigating with his geek brother. He enjoyed hanging out with her. Trixie was pretty and feisty, and sharp minded. Dean thought she’d make a good Hunter with the right training. She was in shape, handy with a gun, and fearless. He enjoyed working with her and happily formulating his plan to get her in bed before this little adventure was over.
They made their way down the stairs. Dean moved slowly and cautiously, gingerly testing steps to see if they were strong enough to hold.
Trixie hesitated. “The air should be really stale.”
He nodded. “Someone’s been down here in recent months. If this had been closed up for years, we would have passed out already.”
“Well, that’s a happy thought,” Trixie retorted, giving Dean a poke in the back.
The stairs ended at a door. Dean glanced back at Trixie, who nodded. He handed her the sawed-off shotgun.
“If it moves, shoot it,” he ordered. She nodded, aiming. He liked that she didn’t flinch and held the gun securely, and hoped Sam could rely on Honey as well. She looked a bit delicate to him, but he knew better than to underestimate someone by physical appearance. He stepped aside, hand on the door. The knob twisted, but didn’t give. Sighing, Dean stepped back and gave the door a solid kick. It gave, and he stumbled, the momentum carrying him forward into the room.
They were in the small room they had seen from the stairs. Dean moved around the room, running him hands over the walls. “There doesn’t seem to be any way out other than that door.”
“Dean,” Trixie said softly, “do you think it’s possible someone was held down here against their will?”
Dean nodded. “It’s starting to look that way. Now the question is, who?”
***
After a brief regroup that included a walk through of the mysterious room by Sam and Honey, Dean and Trixie headed out to locate the delivery boy, while Sam and Honey went to the library to sift through records for any information on the original owner of the house.
Trixie sighed as she explained to yet another store manager who she was and why she needed to speak to the boy who had delivered Aunt Beatrix’s groceries. Three managers turned out to be the charm, and Trixie and Dean finally left with the information they needed and directions to the boy’s home. They found him working on his truck, a scrawny young man named Johnny.
He had no useful information. He had never actually seen Beatrix; when she called in her order to the store, her instructions were to leave everything on the porch. He repeated the tales Trixie had already heard about how Beatrix was a witch, and eventually the town came to boast of its “celebrity” to those who passed through town.
“That kid just doesn’t know his head from his butt,” Trixie grumbled as they got into the Impala to head back to the hotel.
“Room temperature IQ,” Dean agreed. “I didn’t think he would have much information anyway. We need to talk to some old folks who might remember her from long ago.”
They detoured to a retirement home where Trixie repeated the tale of “who, what, when and where” to several more administrators before gaining permission to interview some of the residents who may have known her great aunt.
There were only a few residents who were lucid enough to understand them, and they all had the same story to tell. Beatrix had arrived by herself, a pretty young blonde, and worked for Mr. Grislan and his wife, who became pregnant not long after. The wife, Eugenia, barely survived childbirth and never fully recovered. Beatrix took on the responsibility of caring for the child as well as her regular housekeeping duties. No one knew much about Beatrix; they always assumed she had “gotten herself in trouble”, inferring a pregnancy out of wedlock, and ran away from home. The child died young, and then Eugenia died when an epidemic of small pox swept through the town. Mr. Grislan had been traveling, and somehow Beatrix didn’t catch it or had survived it.
As time went on, Mr. Grislan was seen less and less by the town residents, and as the years crept by, so was Beatrix. The car grew rusty, the property was neglected, and eventually the only contact they had with the outside world consisted of the phone orders called in to the store. When Beatrix was spotted over the last ten years, she was always in black from head to toe, as if in mourning. The house had been willed to her by Grislan upon his death, and put in her name in the seventies.
“Your great aunt was quite the little scandal maker,” Dean commented as they walked back out to the Impala.
“So it seems,” she chuckled. “The women in my family tend to be a bit…vivacious.”
“Oh, I bet,” he answered, raising his eyebrows. She glanced over at him, noting the strong jawline and vivid eyes, and found herself grinning despite herself.
“But what happened to the boy she ran off with?” Trixie wondered out loud. “I wish we knew who and where he was. My dad has no idea, and Grandma and Grandpa Belden died years ago.”
“Maybe she whacked him first,” Dean suggested as they got into the car. “Sold Grislan a sob story, sets up home in this nice big house. Get jealous of the wife, offs her and the kid, eventually Grislan.”
Trixie stared at Dean. “I don’t think she was a murderous lunatic, Dean!”
“Just a theory, Curly.” He turned the key in the ignition.
Trixie wasn’t sure if the butterflies in her stomach were from the revving of the engine or the dashing grin he gave her as they left the parking lot.
***
Sam sat next to Honey as she worked on the library computer. He had scooted the chair as close to hers as he could, just so he could be closer to her. He could smell the perfume of her hair, and resisted the urge to reach out and touch the shiny strands. Absent of rings, her pretty fingers flew over the keyboard as she searched through the newspaper archives.
Last night, Sam had spent some time doing a little of his own research on his laptop, looking up Honey and Trixie. Articles went back to their teen years, where they apparently had helped catch a number of thieves, con men, and gun smugglers. He had discovered that Honey’s father was a Wheeler, in fact, Matthew Wheeler, billionaire. Trixie’s father was a banker and she came from a seemingly idyllic middle class family. They had had a club mentioned in the newspapers: The Bob-Whites of the Glen. Kind of a silly name, he thought. He had read numerous articles about how they did fundraising and charity work, and both had brothers in the club, as well as two other friends.
Her friendship with Trixie was one of the things he found endearing about her. There was a long, entwined history there, and Sam was curious enough to want to find out more about it, more than what the articles reported. Their history spoke volumes about both her character and loyalty.
It made Sam regret his childhood even more. They had never stayed in one place long enough to develop close friends. As his father, John, took care of one demon or spirit, they would pack up and go after the next one. Once the boys were old enough for school, Dad left them in the care of friends, Pastor Jim and Caleb—both Hunters, both who had paid with their lives because of the Hunting. Bobby Singer was still alive and safe thankfully, and had stepped into a fatherly role with the boys. As good a Hunter as John had been, if not better, he looked fondly on the boys as his own.
John had been furious when Sam wanted to play soccer instead of learning to bow hunt. It was a lonely childhood, but he had always had Dean to look out for him, and to break up the arguments with John. Then Sam had taken off to Stanford, after a bitter argument with John, who told him if he left, to stay gone. Sam had, and he hid his Hunting life from everyone.
Fast forward two years, Dean had shown up needing his help to find their dad. Jessica, his girlfriend, had died right after—again, at the hands of the same Yellow Eyed Demon who took their mother. House burned, girlfriend dead, Sam hit the road with Dean, ready for revenge and giving up his law degree at Stanford. Run-ins with the law, and the FBI, and the other Hunters soon followed.
His life was about as different from Honey Wheeler’s as it could be.
Glancing at her, he never would have suspected she was a millionaire’s heiress. Her clothes were high end and her SUV was top of the line, but she wasn’t flashy about it. She wore no jewelry except a pair of small gold hoops in her ears and a delicate watch. He knew from his research she had gone to fancy boarding schools, but she didn’t strike him as a rich, bratty girl. She definitely wasn’t a partier. She was the shy, quiet half of the duo, much like him. They even had similar coloring, he thought.
“This might be of interest,” Honey said suddenly. “Right before Bea’s body, well, the presumed body,” she corrected, “was found, a long-time housekeeper went missing.”
“Housekeeper? In that heap?” Sam asked, leaning closer. Honey nodded.
“Ella Bradelin. She worked for Bea for a number of years, apparently came in every week and did some dusting and such…she disappeared a couple years ago. Went to work, never came back. According to the police report, Bea called Ella’s house that evening to make sure Ella got home. She mentioned that she had seen a strange man walking down the road earlier in the day. Ella’s son reported her missing and a search began. Ella was never found. The woods around Grislan Manor are so thick the sheriff finally gave up. But with only two deputies in this tiny town, how hard could they really look?” she muttered. “Drifters pass by all the time.”
“You think. . .” Sam didn’t want to say it. Honey sighed.
“Well, if Bea whacked her, that means Bea was alive and able to move around quite well. Which means it was likely Bea’s corpse they found after all, and she was alive. Ruling out Mr. Grislan. But tell me how a frail old woman was able to kill someone?”
Sam shook his head. “You know, I’m starting to wonder if we have more than one case here.”
Honey raised an eyebrow. “That’s not funny, Sam.”
“It’s not meant to be. We have a corpse, but we can’t be sure of the identity. We have at least one, if not two spirits who don’t know the identities of, and now a missing caretaker,” he pointed out. “Maybe they’re not all related. The caretaker might just be a coincidence.”
Honey chuckled. “Sam,” she said as covered his hand with hers, “how many times in your line of work have you run into coincidence?”
Sam smiled at her, her soft hands cocooning his. “None.”
“Then we’d best keep looking.”
Honey turned her attention back to the computer screen. “There’s nothing coming up on him other than a death announcement,” Honey murmured, printing it out.
“No note of the wife or baby?” he asked, leaning over her shoulder.
His soft voice brushed her ear and she became acutely aware of how close he was.
“No. They must have moved here after they were married, but I’m not even finding a death date or certificate for her.” She turned her head as she spoke, and discovered their faces were only a couple inches apart. Their eyes met and Honey closed hers, sensing him moving in. His lips touched hers gently, and Honey responded, pressing hers back against him, wondering why he was invoking a heady, dizzy feeling in her.
He abruptly pulled away, and she opened his eyes to find him staring intently into hers.
She blinked twice and realized he was almost blushing.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t—I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I don’t normally do such things.”
She shook her head. “You didn’t and I’m not sorry,” she assured him. “I’ve been wanting to kiss you.”
“Really?” He was genuinely surprised. What the hell did a girl like Honey Wheeler want with him?
“Yes,” she admitted. He smiled at her and she noted the way the corners of his eyes crinkled up. He had the most adorable smile, she thought, and such beautiful hazel eyes.
“Then I’m glad and not sorry after all.” He proved it by leaning in and brushing his lips against hers again.
It was impossible to concentrate after that, though they tried to focus on their research. Honey had never been so eager to kiss someone, and having him so close made her warm and jittery. Yes, she was attracted to him, but it was something more. She was sure that he was the real deal and she knew that she would be safe in his hands.
“Here’s news of the smallpox epidemic,” she said. Sam glanced over from the computer he was using. “It wiped out half the town. Most of the victims were buried in a mass grave for fear of contamination. Only a privileged few were buried in family plots, including Eugenia and Viola Grislan. Viola was the baby. She was four when the epidemic hit.”
“Sixty or seventy years is a long time to stew about something,” Sam figured. “It could be the child, angry about being cheated out of its life. I mean, what we’re dealing with is definitely angry.”
“I think there’s more to it,” Honey murmured. “Why she would be so angry? Having died young? It wasn’t uncommon back then, especially a small child. And what would a young child know about death?”
Sam studied her. “You’ve got a hunch,” he countered. “You don’t think it’s the child.” Honey blushed slightly.
“Maybe,” she admitted. “But I can’t quite put my finger on it.”
They continued their search without success. Going through court records was tedious work. Sam got up to stretch his long legs and paced around the room, finally coming to stand behind Honey. Absently, he touched her shoulders, running his hands over them, distracting Honey from her reading. Honey took a deep breath. Jumping him in the library wouldn’t be very lady-like, but boy, it was tempting. What the hell was wrong with her? She didn’t throw herself at any man. Ever.
“I say we throw in the towel,” Sam sighed giving her shoulders a squeeze.
“Probably best. There’s nothing here that we don’t already know. Hopefully Trixie and Dean had better luck.” Honey sighed. She stood up and stretched, then turned to Sam standing directly behind her. She smiled hesitantly and he reached for her. She let him draw her into his arms for a slow, long kiss that left her weak in the knees.
“I don’t know what it is about you,” he whispered. “I’m not like Dean, picking up women all the time, but I can’t stop thinking about you.”
“I can’t seem to get you out of my head either,” she murmured, standing on her tiptoes to meet him in another sweet kiss. Their moment was interrupted by the disapproving sound of a throat clearing. They turned to see the librarian glaring at them.
“Oh, um, we’re finished.” Honey giggled nervously, grabbing her purse and Sam’s hand. They retreated out the door, bursting into laughter as they cleared the entrance.
***
“So, we still have three suspects for the spirit.” Trixie sighed. The foursome had regrouped at the local pizza joint to compare notes and get dinner. Two large pies sat on the table, dents made in each one, and several empty beer bottles were cluttered between them.
“Well, two really. If the child died so young, she wouldn’t really have the power to become this… thing, would it?” Honey asked Sam.
“Probably not, but I wouldn’t rule it out,” Dean answered, chomping on a large slice of pizza. “This is a really pissed off spirit. Lots of anger here. Which makes me think whoever it was, was murdered. When spirits hang around like this, it’s an indication of a violent crime.”
“But that makes me think it’s Beatrix,” Trixie added. “Women are way more personal about revenge. She wants us out of her house.”
“But, there’s more to it than that,” Sam said, leaning back against the booth and slipping his arm around Honey, a move that caused a eye roll from his brother, a snort from Trixie and a small blush from Honey.
“So the old man kicks it, leaves her the house, she gets scared of leaving, and hides in that little room?” Dean asked, shaking his head. “That’s not really enough to warrant this kind of angry behavior. Something happened there.”
“What if she killed him?” Trixie asked. “Maybe Beatrix fell in love with Grislan, offed the wife, then the old man.”
“You’re forgetting the epidemic,” Honey reminded her bursting Trixie’s bubble.
Trixie considered that for a moment. “Maybe the epidemic was just an excuse!” she exclaimed. “Maybe Bea did off the wife. With so many people dying, who’d notice one more?”
Dean chuckled as he sipped his beer. “And you thought I was heartless earlier.”
“Suicide, maybe?” Sam said. “The kid dies from smallpox, Eugenia gets so distressed she kills herself. We’ve encountered a lot of spirits that can’t move on after they kill themselves. They get hung up between the astral plane and our plane; they don’t understand and can’t move on.”
“With no death certificate,” Dean continued, grabbing another piece of pizza, “it gives cause to speculate that there could have been murder or suicide.”
“Too many ifs,” Sam commented, taking a swig of beer. “And we haven’t been to the courthouse yet to find the actual death certificate.”
“But it’s all we have. You said yourself we can’t really get rid of this thing until we know who it is. If it was Beatrix’s body, the body was cremated. If it was anyone else, they were cremated, meaning we have to find Beatrix’s body somewhere, if it’s her to begin with, and if she’s the spirit,” Honey said.
Dean stared at Honey, perplexed. “Do you have any clue about what you just said?” he asked.
Honey giggled and Trixie broke out in a grin.
“Yeah. It made perfect sense to me,” Trixie answered with a laugh.
Dean just raised his eyebrow and went back to his beer. Sam was still stuck to Honey’s side and he wasn’t taking his eyes off her. Yep, his little brother was smitten, and glancing at Honey, the feeling seemed to be mutual. Dean didn’t do smitten. He preferred to act on his attractions to the opposite sex and there was much to be attracted to in the petite blonde tornado sitting next to him. Dean wanted some action with Trixie. After all, they were done for the day; it was time for some night fun.
“Wait a minute,” Trixie interrupted Dean’s thoughts, which had swayed significantly from the investigation. “Dean, remember the smell of that one room, the one where they found the body? The man’s room?”
“Nothing like rotting flesh first thing in the morning,” he answered cheerfully.
“What if there’s another body?” She deduced, “That smell should have dissipated in the last few months since they took out Aunt Bea’s body.”
“We looked in the closet,” Dean reminded her.
“Yeah, but we didn’t look under the bed.”
“There would have been insects like mad in that place, roaches, maggots, you name it.”
“Not if the decomp was complete and there were only bones left,” she said working through her thoughts. “The stench would still linger.”
“Good idea,” Dean said approvingly. “There could even be another secret passage.”
Trixie’s blue eyes sparkled. “Exactly. Let’s go look!”
“Hold up there, sweetheart,” Dean interrupted, taking in Honey’s look of dismay at Trixie’s enthusiasm. “We’ve been drinking pretty heavily for the last two hours and it’s late. Not a good time to go ghost hunting.” Honey was tipsy, he noted. Her face was flushed and she was leaning against Sam. As he had suspected, the slender girl had no tolerance for alcohol. She was used to her sweet, frou-frou drinks, he’d bet.
Trixie’s face fell, but Honey looked relieved. The last thing Honey wanted was to go back to that creepy house at night. She enjoyed sitting with Sam, snuggled next to each other, his arm around her. Her head felt light and she was aware she had been leaning against him for a while. He didn’t seem to mind.
Trixie attempted to argue with Dean for several more minutes, who refused give in and return to the house that evening. In frustration, Dean finally challenged her to a drinking contest. If he won, they waited until morning, if Trixie won, he would take her back to the house that evening.
“Please,” she replied with a sniff and toss of her curls. What the hell, she thought, it was worth a try. She didn’t think she had much of a shot, and normally she wouldn’t resort to such behavior but she had to get back to that house! but Dean was several beers ahead of her. She just might be able to pull it off. Besides, even if she did lose, it would be fun to see Dean schnockered, she told herself.
“What’s wrong, Curly?” He gave her that smile again, the one that made her stomach jump and want to smack him all at the same time. “’fraid I’ll drink you under the table?”
Trixie narrowed her eyes at the challenge. “Not in this lifetime, Winchester.”
Several beers later, Sam ascertained that Trixie was going to need some help getting back to her room. Dean staggered getting up, and Sam shook his head in disgust at his big brother. Trixie had held out valiantly for three beers and four shots, but it was a lost cause. Sam had seen Dean outdrink heavier foes and imagined that although Trixie did drink occasionally, she wasn’t anywhere near Dean’s league. Even Dean had been pushed past his limits, due to the headstart he had accumulated on her before the contest had even begun.
“You start puking, you’re on your own,” Sam warned his brother. He was enjoyed the snuggling with Honey, though he knew it wasn’t going anywhere. He felt a bit guilty about her being so tipsy but he wasn’t one to take advantage. Dean however…the older Winchester had a heavy tendency for hedonism, and it often drove Sam nuts.
“No chance, Sammy,” he slurred. “She’s going first.”
“Keep dreaming, Winchester!” Trixie managed just as she started to fall into the table.
“All right, that’s enough!” Honey snapped, catching Trixie before her head could hit the table. Her happy buzz had worn off and she was thoroughly irritated at her best friend and Sam’s hot headed brother. “Sam, can you help me please?”
“Sure.”
Honey paid the tab as Sam lifted Trixie into his arms as if she were a child. Sam noticed Dean immediately become sulky and wished it was Honey he was carrying in his arms just then. It was becoming more and more apparent that Dean and Trixie shared a lust for life, and a different sort of lust was inevitable.
“You gonna carry me too, Sammy?” Dean smirked.
“No, you can crawl,” Sam snapped, following Honey out of the restaurant.
Honey opened the door to the girls’ room and waited for Sam to gently place Trixie on her bed. That accomplished, he turned to Honey.
“I’m sorry things got a bit out of hand,” he apologized. “It’s Dean way of saying he likes her. She blew off all his other tries,” he explained.
Honey shrugged. “I don’t know what Trixie was thinking. She knows perfectly well she can’t handle that much alcohol. Looks like they both lost their heads,” she commented. She turned to check on Trixie as she moaned. “As long as I’m not cleaning up vomit all night, it will be okay.”
Sam chuckled, flashing his bright smile at her. “I, uh, guess I better go check on Mr. Invincible.”
Honey nodded, an awkward silence threatening. Sam hesitated, then stepped toward her pulling her up close for a long, slow kiss that left her breathless.
“Good night,” he murmured.
“Good night,” she whispered, watching him leave. She sank onto the bed slowly, dazed. How could she feel so good, so complete with Sam when she had only just met him?
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Author Notes
-a huge “Get me some pie!” to my editors, Mary, Jenn and Dana.
-all of my editors will be relieved to see I finally figured out how to use the emdash in Dreamweaver (b/c asking is too simple!)
-Dean likes to kick doors in and damn does he make it hot.
Word Count, 4,689
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