Chapter Eight

Dean and Trixie headed back to the estate. Trixie repressed a shudder as they drove up. With little moonlight and no streetlights on the old road, the house looked creepier than ever, rising out of the shadows in its decay and lost glory.

She followed Dean inside cautiously, both with flashlights and salt guns. They made their way up the stairs, to the baby’s room, and down into the hidden room. A quick search under the cot-like bed and in the stray books revealed nothing.

“Odd,” Trixie muttered. “I was sure it was here.”

Dean was running his hands along the plain walls, looking for any hidden niches.

“This house is full of places to hide something small like that,” Dean said.

“But she would want to keep it close by…somewhere where she could get to it easily,” Trixie muttered.

Her cell phone beeped and she looked at it, surprised. “Honey?...Okay…yeah…what? You’re cutting out.” Trixie growled in frustration. “Well, at least she got that much through.”

“She find something?” Dean asked.

“No, she remembered she and Sam found a bunch of old keys in the desk downstairs. She thinks it may be down there.”

Dean nodded, glancing around the room. The spirit was nearby, he was sure of it. While he didn’t have Sam’s psychic gift, a lifetime of Hunting had him well-attuned to when there was something lurking nearby. The boys’ father had trained them to always have their guard up and be ready for anything. Since he had a civilian with him now, Dean was on ultra alert.

He followed Trixie back down the stairs. They found the desk easily, and it was only a moment before Trixie was looking through the keys.

“Why don’t we take them all with us?” Dean suggested. “Looks like a couple of those could be the right one.”

He glanced around, sure they were being watched. He wanted Trixie out of here, and quickly. Something didn’t feel right. He started to reach for the EMF meter.

“Good idea,” Trixie answered in response as she, picked up the can with its contents. She turned just as Dean yelled, “Trixie, duck!”

Trixie dropped to the floor immediately as she heard the shotgun blast.

“C’mon.” Dean grabbed her by the shoulder and they ran for the door. Trixie glanced back as she saw the black cloud reforming and racing after them. She’d swear she could make out a twisted face in the darkness.

Dean pulled her out the door and they hurried down the steps towards the Impala. The spirit didn’t follow.

“Thanks,” Trixie breathed once they were in the car.

“You can thank me later,” he said with a smirk, as they peeled out.

***

Sam had taken over the computer, running another search, when Honey stepped out for coffee. She was back within a few minutes and set their drinks down.

“Thanks.” He smiled up at her.

“You’re welcome.” She stepped around behind him to see the screen. “Find anything?”

“No,” he answered. Not online anyway. What he was finding was standing behind him, peering over his shoulder.

Honey couldn’t help but reach out and place her hands on his shoulders. Without all the layers of clothes, she could see how broad his shoulders really were, and she couldn’t resist touching him. It wasn’t just the muscles that made him strong; she could feel power radiating through him.

He tensed slightly, but kept his eyes on the screen. Her touch was as gentle as he had thought it would be and warm. His arms reached up and around her, resting on her back, as he tilted his head back to see her upside down, smiling.

Silently, Honey bent her head and pressed her lips against his. He kissed her gently, and then broke the kiss, pulling her around and into his lap. She moved around so she was straddling him in the chair.

“This is a little easier,” he murmured, one hand pulling her head to his.

Honey felt the room spinning as they kissed, and she felt herself melting against him as his hands slid up her back and their kisses grew deeper. Sam stood abruptly, and she wrapped her legs around him, despite his firm hold on her. He carried her slight frame easily to the bed.

Setting her down gently, he crawled onto the bed next to her as they fell into the pillows, legs entangled, hands and mouths exploring.

Only the key in the door and the arguing voices of Dean and Trixie interrupted them and Sam scrambled desperately to get off the bed, losing his balance and falling on the floor. Honey giggled nervously as she tried to straighten her blouse and smooth her hair.

The door opened, and the arguing pair strolled in. Dean was in the lead and stopped short when he saw his brother on the floor, and both he and Honey on the bed looked guilty. Dean grinned.

“You’re such a—” Trixie stopped when she saw the scene in front of her, albeit it was from behind Dean’s arm. “Oh. Um, awkward.”

“We’ll, uh, come back.” Dean chuckled, turning and pushing Trixie out of the room.

“Were they—”

Shutting the door behind him, Dean cut her off with a kiss of his own. “Probably. Let’s give them some privacy?” He grinned but Trixie rolled her eyes. She was determined not to succumb to his charms. At least, not yet, and not easily. Dean was going to have work to catch her!

Dean’s phone beeped, and he pulled it out of his pocket. It was a text from Sam that they could come in.

Trixie shook her head, and they returned to the room. Honey sat primly in a chair, hair smoothed, but cheeks tinged pink. Sam sat on the edge of the bed, clearly still embarrased. Dean just chuckled to himself.

***

Dean twisted the key gently and felt the lock give. “Yahtzee!” he said gleefully. He lifted the trunk and coughed at the dust cloud.

Trixie, on her knees next to him, eagerly reached into the trunk, but Dean grabbed her hand.

“Hold on there, Curly,” he said. “You don’t know what’s in there.” Cautiously, he blew the dust away. “Books and papers mostly, it looks like.”

“Probably journals,” Honey said, leaning over Trixie to peer at the contents. “Everyone kept dairies and journals back then.”

“Start looking,” Dean answered, handing her several books. “There are more than books in here.”

He pulled out several baby items and clothing, now tattered, and a pair of tiny shoes. Some antique pieces of jewelry followed, and an old map.

“This must have been Grisland Sr.’s,” Sam said, studying the map. “It looks like a pirate map.”

“I still can’t believe all that gold,” Trixie muttered. “All this time! Once this spirit mess is taken care of, I’m having those bricks removed and sold.”

“Remind me to put you in touch with our jeweler,” Honey said absently. She was studying the jewels Dean had pulled out. “Trix, I’m pretty sure these are real.”

“So who put all this stuff in here?” Dean asked.

“This sort of sentimental memento indicates a female,” Trixie answered. “Which lends credence to the theory that Beatrix was the last one alive.”

“Some of these are completely illegible,” Sam said, flipping through some pages. “But it looks like a captain’s log of some sort. It might be a record of the journey over here by Grislan Sr., from wherever he was before.”

“Packet of letters,” Dean mused as he lifted them out. They were tied with a faded yellow silk ribbon. He studied them. “Look at this. All from Beatrix, to a Mrs. Eunice Belden.”

“That was my grandmother.” Trixie looked up, startled. “To her?”

“Yeah, but they’re not postmarked. It looks like they never got mailed.”

“Do you think Grislan kept them? It would indicate he kept all this stuff. Maybe he didn’t want her having contact with her family.”

“Or else she wrote them as a hoax, to make the Grislans think she was in contact. Remember we don’t know what happened to the man she ran off with originally. She was alone when she turned up here.”

Dean handed them to Trixie, who opened the one on top. “This just says she’s arrived and safe. She says she’s with her fiancé, but we know she arrived alone.”

The letters revealed more of the same; she was married now, and wanted her sister to know how happy she was.

“So apparently, she spent all this time creating this fake story, but never sent the letters to her sister,” Trixie muttered. “She even says here she’s pregnant. But this is a couple of years after the Grislans had their baby.”

“I may have something,” Sam said suddenly. He was staring hard at the small, old book he had been reading. “It’s someone’s ramblings. I’m thinking the wife’s by the handwriting. She’s going on and on about how hideous her baby is.”

Honey looked up, startled. “What sort of mother thinks her baby is hideous?”

“One who hates her life,” Sam answered. “Eugenia wasn’t happy at all. If this is her diary, she hates being married, hates her baby, her husband and the housekeeper, who I think was Beatrix. If I skip a few pages here, there are more rants about Beatrix. I think she suspected an affair.”

“Which could be how Beatrix ended up pregnant,” Dean pointed out.

“That would give her motive to kill Beatrix, but it was Eugenia that died during the smallpox outbreak,” Trixie said.

“Hang on,” Dean said, lifting out a fragile, yellowed piece of paper. “Newspaper article on the smallpox epidemic. It seems they printed up a list every week. Eugenia and Viola are listed.”

“That kind of settles that,” Honey murmured.

Trixie’s face fell. “Well, phooey. I’m positive they didn’t die from smallpox. I can feel it!”

“I think you’re right.” Dean frowned as he looked at the book in his hand. “Who hides a bank ledger with birth certificates and letters that were never mailed?”

“Someone with something to hide,” Sam answered. Dean had already opened it and was scanning through the records. Trixie reached for another set of bound-together papers.

“Eugenia would have motive to kill Beatrix, if she suspected an affair, but we know the wife died first, the baby within a matter of days after her because of the old articles,” Trixie said thoughtfully, biting her lip.

“Smallpox is a great cover up for murder,” Sam pointed out.

“Think they fought?”

“Damn skippy they fought,” Dean answered. “Look, here’s the original medical record,” Dean looked up from the papers she had picked up. “Eugenia didn’t die of smallpox. She died of head trauma.”

“Head trauma?” Trixie asked. “As in, she hit her head and died?”

“Looks that way,” Dean said. “And I have a feeling she went down those stairs.”

“Both times the spirit attacked, someone was near the stairs,” Sam said. “It makes sense that’s where one of them died.”

Dean nodded. “I’d bet you ten bucks Eugenia was fighting with someone and went down those stairs.”

“Why did Grislan keep these records?” Honey asked suddenly. “These are county property. And if these are here, then the ones on public record are fake. Why would you keep the originals if you’re covering up something?”

Sam looked thoughtful. “We’re talking 1935. Were medical records even kept then? Small town like, who probably relied on either a local midwife, or a country doctor. Remember what we found on Eugenia and Viola were news articles, not official certificates. I’m sure the doctor had to fill out something, so these must be it.”

“So why did he keep them? Why not burn them, to make sure there’s no evidence?” Trixie asked.

The four looked around at each other.

“Look at the edges on this one,” Dean held it up. They’re darker. Like they were almost burned.”

“Someone stopped him? Why?” Trixie asked.

“You know, usually our cases don’t have this many questions,” Dean said grumpily. “We go in, find the spirit, put it to rest and move on.”

Trixie wrinkled her nose up at him. “Well, usually our cases don’t involve spirits and long lost relatives.”

“What about the child?” Honey asked, not wanting an argument to break out. “Is there any other documentation?”

“Yep.” Dean held up another piece of paper. “Viola’s birth certificate and death certificate. Asphyxiation.”

“She was smothered?” Honey asked, horrified.

“Apparently. So much for the smallpox claim. There’s a ledger in here. Who wants to bet Grislan paid off the medical examiner?” Dean asked.

Trixie had gone uncharacteristically silent as they discussed her ancestors. Her expression was a mixture of revulsion and fascination.

Dean quickly located sporadic payments in the ledger, to a Doctor Cornelius Burns. “One date corresponds roughly, but no reason. None of them say why the doctor was here, but there’s quite a few in the two years leading up to the smallpox epidemic. Someone was sick regularly. The last payment though is substantially larger than the others. Payoff?”

“Grislan was probably one of the few townspeople who could afford to pay the doctor, those payments could be for anything.” Sam pointed out.

“All right, so the angry spirit is Eugenia,” Honey mused. “But the thing I saw at the window…it wasn’t angry. It was sad. I could just feel it.”

“The child?” Sam suggested. “Viola?”

“Viola’s grave was the only one not affected.” Honey nodded.

“The purity of the child could have been protecting it. It takes serious nasty business to affect graves that way,” Dean said.

“Eugenia hated her kid. It’s pretty obvious.”

“But the date on Viola’s certificate is four days after Eugenia.”

“That could have been fixed as well. Grislan had the money,” Dean pointed out. “He could probably have bought anything he wanted in this town. And the smallpox is the perfect cover-up. He just had to claim it took the kid a few days to—what’s it called?—incubate.”

“You know what?” Trixie mused. “There might be a way to find out.”

“How? We don’t do séances,” Sam warned. Trixie shook her head.

“That first day we explored the house—when I passed out—Dean thought it was trying to make contact with me. But, Sam, you’re the psychic one. Maybe you could talk to it,” Trixie suggested.

Dean raised one eyebrow. “That’s not a bad idea.”

“I meant to search that room today, but we got caught up in Grislan Sr.’s story.” Sam answered.

“Well, that’s where we definitely start in the morning,” Dean said.

***

Sam and Honey stood in the baby’s room. Honey stared at the mural on the wall.

“That’s impressive,” she murmured. Sam stepped up to it, studying the style and design.

“Someone put a lot of care into this room,” he commented.

Honey nodded. Her fingers ran over the cradle frame gently. “It’s so sad in here,” she said softly. “All this love…but there’s something else.”

Sam glanced over at her, startled to see her eyes had gone funny. Stepping closer, he realized her big hazel eyes were almost white.

“Honey,” he whispered.

“Chaos,” she murmured, her hands on the crib. “Chaos, anger, love, hate. There was a baby born, but not in here.”

Sam just gaped at Honey as she moved around the room, eyes still almost translucent, hands out, touching items.

“This was hand carved,” she said quietly, coming to the bassinet. “With so much love. Oh, this child was loved.”

Sam just watched, not wanting to break her channel. She reminded him eerily of Missouri Moses, a psychic friend back home in Lawrence, Kansas. Honey was an Empath, he was sure of that much, but how did deep did her ability run?

“These were sewn with love. Love everywhere, in the very walls,” she murmured. “And yet…taint…heavy taint. Everywhere. It just hangs in the room.”

She moved towards the closet, opening the door, her hands running over the baby items. “This baby was wanted…so much anticipation, so much joy…yet there’s something lurking…” She turned, staring past Sam. “No…no you can’t have the baby!”

Sam glanced over his shoulder but saw nothing. “Honey?” he asked, worried.

Honey shrieked and threw her hands over her face. Sam bolted forward and grabbed her, shielding her with body as something cold swept over them. Pulling the rock salt gun from his jacket, he aimed wildly as he held Honey protectively. The spirit didn’t form, and he felt Honey go slack.

“Damn it,” he muttered, catching her easily. Scooping up the slender girl in his arms, he studied her. Eyes closed, body limp, he couldn’t help but notice the pretty lips. Right as he was about to take her downstairs, she began to stir. Her eyes opened, and they were back to their normal hazel.

“Sam?” she murmured.

“Hang on,” he said gently. “Let me get you out of here.”

“No,” she murmured. “Oh, Sam,” her eyes welled with tears. “There were two children. One was murdered.”

Sam held her closer as she leaned her head against his chest.

“I couldn’t see who… I just saw someone coming at me.”

“It’s okay,” he said gently, brushing her bangs back.

“Why can I see this thing?” she asked. “I’ve never seen such things before.”

“I told you, you’re an Empath,” he said, helping her get to her feet but continued to hold her. “You’re also apparently very open to receive images and messages.”

“Oh, great.” She sighed.

“This house is definitely inhabited with more than one spirit,” he continued. “Your empathy level is opening you up to it. But I don’t know why I’m not seeing anything. It’s connecting to you only. I really think it’s one of the women. It got through to Trixie beforehand.”

“I don’t know why you’re not seeing it either,” Honey sighed, not wanting him to let go of her. “But that’s never happened before.”

“You okay?” he asked, looking into her eyes. She nodded. “Let’s go find Dean and Trixie and let them know about this.”

“We’re here.” Dean said from the door. He released Trixie from his grasp, and she bolted forward to her friend, still in Sam’s arms. “We saw it all. Had to keep Curly here from rushing in and disturbing the spirit.”

Trixie shot Dean a dirty look but Sam nodded his agreement to his brother’s action. “Honey needed to see the scene play out.”

“Honey, you’re sure there were two children?” Trixie asked, reaching to touch her friend’s arm.

Honey nodded. “And there was something wrong with the one in the crib.”

“What do you mean wrong?” Dean demanded. Honey shook her head.

“I don’t know. It didn’t look right. I couldn't really see clearly.”

“There’s only one child on record,” Trixie mused. “Maybe Beatrix wasn’t lying in the letter that she was having a baby.”

“One ugly child,” Sam said suddenly. They all looked at him. “She kept going on about her ugly baby. How hideous it was. I thought she was exaggerating, but what if the baby was deformed?”

“That would make sense,” Honey said quietly.

“It could have been something as simple as a cleft palette, but of course back then, no one knew what it was. Or even Down syndrome, the way it pulls the face muscles. In that time period, the baby could have been considered deformed or mutated, or even the work of the Devil.”

“That’s good thinking, Sammy,” Dean said.

“It could explain her rants about the baby being so ugly and hating it.” Honey agreed.

“So who’s the second child?” Trixie asked.

Honey closed her eyes. “It was small. A little younger, I think. It was screaming. I think—I don’t know.”

“Viola was less than two when she died,” Trixie said. “A younger child couldn’t have hurt her. It had to be an adult.”

“What about that thing women get, it’s been on the news a lot, makes women kill their kids? Post-partum something?” Dean suggested.

“Post-partum depression,” Sam mused. “In that time period, in this small town, it probably would have been thought of as female hysteria, I bet. What if Eugenia had it? She hated her deformed child, hated her husband—is that enough to push her over the edge?”

“I think that’s going into post-partum psychosis,” Honey interjected. “And I think it’s usually closer to the birth, not two years after. I’m starting to think Eugenia was just plain psychotic. You didn’t see what I did. The look in that woman’s eye as she came nearer-”

Honey shuddered and Sam hugged her tighter.

“Jealousy makes people do crazy things,” Dean said. “Maybe Eugenia wasn’t all that stable to begin with. Bea shows up, steals her man and she cracks.”

“I’d prefer Eugenia be the crackpot than my great-aunt,” Trixie sighed.

There was silence for a moment as each was lost in thought. Sam’s arms stayed around Honey firmly, and he rested his chin on her head.

Trixie bit her lip. “If we go on the theory that Viola didn’t die after, but before, then I’m almost inclined to say Eugenia killed the baby, argued with someone, and fell down those stairs. With the money they had, a private burial could be arranged quickly, hiding any evidence of foul play. Grislan pays the doctor to change the date of death. Then he hides the real death certificates so it goes on record as the pox.”

“So who did she fight with?” Honey asked. “Beatrix or Grislan?”

Trixie shook her head. “That I’m not sure of. And if there was a second child, what happened to it?”

“I think we better read some more of those diaries,” Sam said quietly.

***

“I think it was definitely Eugenia who killed Viola.” Sam sighed. “There’s more and more going on about how she’s done something awful and she’s going to burn in Hell for what she’s done and how she’s terrified the Devil will come for her.”

Trixie had resumed reading the letters. “Beatrix goes on that she’s had a baby, also a girl. But we didn’t see any sort of birth certificate for another baby, did we?”

“No,” Dean answered, as he set aside the ledger. “I’m thinking we need to dig those bodies up after all.”

“But I’m still curious if it was Beatrix’s body they found,” Honey pointed out. “We don’t know for sure. And even if we dig up Viola, we don’t know what happened to the second child or where it would be.”

“I don’t think it was Beatrix,” Sam said. “A man lived in that house very recently. No sign of a woman.”

“You think he murdered Eugenia and Beatrix?” Honey asked, eyes wide.

“Not necessarily. At some point, he gave the house to her. I’m thinking he thought he was going to die and he had no more heirs. But what if she died first?” Dean continued.

His brother nodded.

“Then he starts dressing as her, to stay in the house, otherwise, it would go through probate, and they would have tracked down Trixie a while back,” Sam finished. “Or, as far as Grislan knew, the state could have taken possession of the house, and he’d have nothing. The man had his groceries delivered every week—he probably knew it would be a while before his body was found if he died. He was simply protecting himself.”

“But what about the caretaker, Ella?” Trixie asked, admiring the way the brothers were connected in such a way that they effortlessly came to the same reasoning.

“Again, he probably paid her off to keep her mouth shut. Or else he stayed hidden from her sight. We’ll never know now.”

“And who did kill Ella?” Honey asked.

“I’m going to guess the drifter, unless it was Grislan. And if it was Grislan posing as Beatrix, of course he couldn’t call the police about a body. So he stashed her in the cellar.”

“That’s awful.” Honey shuddered. Sam squeezed her shoulder.

“Better Grislan than Beatrix,” Trixie muttered.

Honey nodded.

“Good point.”

“It’s starting to make sense,” Dean muttered. The others looked at him. “The second baby was Beatrix’s obviously. Viola died during the smallpox epidemic. But we don’t know for sure that it was because of smallpox. I think Eugenia killed her. I think that’s the horrible sin that Eugenia is going on about.”

“No,” Trixie shook her head. “I think Viola did die of smallpox. I think Honey was on the money with Eugenia just being nuts. I think Eugenia killed Beatrix’s baby out of jealousy and anger.”

Honey covered her mouth in horror.

“Think about it. Bea goes on about her beautiful baby. Eugenia’s deformed baby dies, and even though it might have been hideous to her, she was probably infuriated that Beatrix’s baby lived, not to mention if her husband was the father of Bea’s baby as well-pure jealousy and grief drove her to it. I think she killed Beatrix’s baby, and Bea caught her,” Trixie continued.

Sam nodded and realized where Trixie was going with her chain of thought.

“Honey, I bet that’s the scene you saw in the baby’s room. Eugenia was going for the baby. Bea comes in, sees what she’s done, and they fight. Bea was enraged and grief-stricken, they struggled, and Bea tosses Eugenia—or she falls—down the stairs.”

“I’m voting for Bea threw her. Violent death, which matches the attitude of the primary spirit,” Sam reminded them. “The more violent the death, the more violent the spirit. And obviously she’s so attached to this house she can’t move on and she’s hanging around.”

“But did she recreate the scene for Honey, or is she trapped in it?” Dean asked. “And if she’s trapped in a loop, how is she appearing at the foot of the stairs to attack people?”

“Loop?” Trixie asked, confused.

“Spirits that can’t move on sometimes get trapped in a loop of reliving their death or the immediately preceding event that led to it,” Sam explained.

“I don’t think she’s trapped, Sam,” Honey said quietly. “I felt that scene I saw was very deliberate. I think she was trying to tell me what happened. I think she wanted someone to know.”

“Ten bucks we open that baby grave and find them both,” Dean said. “If they died within days of each other and since no one seems to know that Beatrix had a baby—they went two for one on the burial. Both babies get buried, no one knows about Bea’s.”

“So if we’re correct about how things played out, we still need to figure out who the spirit is. Or are,” Honey said.

“I’d bet Eugenia is one,” Dean said. “Violent death, she’d have reason to hang around and be pissed. I think the other is the baby she killed. The body found was probably Grislan. I think Bea died a while ago, but he already signed the house over to her. He’d be out of a home because the estate lawyers would have tracked Trixie down. So my money is on Bea’s baby, and Eugenia, as the spirits.”

“I think it’s Viola,” Honey said quietly. Her friends’ surprise was evident. “When we were in that room, I could still feel something warm, something, no, someone, loving. I think Viola keeps Eugenia at bay.”

“Where was she that first day when Eugenia picked me up and tossed me like a rag doll?” Trixie asked dryly. “And when did Beatrix die?”

“And who’s in Grislan’s grave?” Sam asked.

“There’s no telling. The figure in black started appearing about ten years ago, so I’d guess Beatrix died then. But where did he hide her body, if the body in the cellar was Ella?”

“Probably on the property somewhere,” Sam answered. “I’d guess fairly close to the house, and digging a deep grave would be too much for him. I’d think a shallow grave nearby. Trees or plants were often used as markers for a loved one.”

“So how many bodies are we digging up?” Honey asked.

“Depends on who’s where,” Trixie said thoughtfully. “The children died within days of each other, so they’re likely in the same grave. Eugenia is in hers. Beatrix is possibly on the property. I think Grislan’s box is going to be empty. I bet he paid the undertaker to ‘bury’ him, took over posing as Bea, refused a ceremony, and went into hiding, posing as the distraught Bea.”

Dean nodded. “That’s pretty credible, Trix. It answers some questions.”

“But why not just throw Bea’s body in the box and call it a day?” Sam asked. “Why go through the elaboration?”

“Just to cover his tracks,” Honey answered, following her friend’s line of thinking. “If anyone ever came looking, or pressed too hard, they’d have to wonder where Bea was and what happened to her. Then Grislan would possibly face a murder charge. By not burying Bea, he lowers his risk of getting caught.”

“We might be able to get around digging too,” Trixie said.

“How?” Dean asked eagerly. Grave digging was hard work. Digging up several bodies in one night would take the efforts of all four of them—and a lot of luck to not get caught.

“As the heir to the estate, it’s possible I can order the exhumation of Eugenia and Viola, under the claim that Bea’s body wasn’t properly identified. I don’t really care if the whole sordid story comes out.”

“But a proper exhumation means someone will be watching and forensics team might be called in from another county. That won’t give us the opportunity to burn the bones, not to mention bring way more authorities near us than we want,” Sam answered. “We’re going to have to dig.”

“Wait,” Honey said suddenly. “If Grislan’s coffin is empty, as you think it may be, and he was the body found that started all of this, which we can probably safey assume at this point, where’s Beatrix?”

Dean groaned.

***

Trixie stood back as the flames roared up from the graves. Her theory had been right. The child-sized coffin held two skeletons, one smaller than the other, and Grislan’s was filled with sandbags.

“For weight,” Sam muttered. “To prevent any doubts.”

Trixie was embarrassed to admit that watching Dean light and drop the match into the grave was a turn on. The intensity on his face gave her a warm shiver, and despite the fact he was streaked with dirt and sweat, she had never wanted a guy so badly.

Sam stood with his arm around Honey as the bones burned and silence descended over them.

Honey shivered, despite the warmth from Sam’s nearness. Doubts lingered that they were successful in this. Grislan’s coffin was empty. So where was Beatrix’s body?

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Author Notes - A big "Well pack your panties Sammy, we’re hitting the road." to my lovely editors, Mary, especially Dana for spotting my errors and Donna, for the final round cleanup. All mistakes are mine! Quote from Season 3, "Long Distance Call", Dean.
- Word Count, 5,097

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