Fic: Rule of Thirds (4/6)

[firesign10]

Back to Part 2, Chaper 1



“Yeah, baby! Ride that dick!” Dean hollered as Piper squealed and writhed above him, her hips gyrating as she straddled Dean's cock. He gave her ass a smack before gripping her thighs to keep her locked on firmly against his upward thrusts. “So hot and tight, sweetheart! Damn!” She moaned loudly, nails scratching his chest, boobs bouncing deliciously. Dean couldn't resist releasing one hand and reaching up to play with those jiggling tits, relishing their round, soft weight in his palm. He tugged a pebble-hard nipple and Piper squealed again and came, squeezing his cock and pulling his orgasm from him. He gasped as he pulsed into the condom, his balls tight and his brain short-circuiting into a blissful haze.

After Piper had rolled off him and Dean had disposed of the condom, he cuddled her briefly before making his excuses. She pouted, but kissed him goodbye enthusiastically all the same. Getting into the Impala, Dean was already thinking about telling Sam all about it. Of course, Sam would bitch, saying he didn't want to hear about Dean's sordid conquests-Sam's words-but Dean knew that was a crock. By the time he'd finish recounting it to Sam, his brother would be hard as nails and ready to go.

Dean already couldn't wait.



Sam lay on his side, propped up on one elbow as he ran his fingers through Shelly's long blond hair, watching it fall to fan out in silky strands across the pillow. “So pretty,” he murmured, bending down to kiss her sweet pink lips. She made throaty 'mmm' sounds, winding her finger through his hair and tugging on it, licking teasingly at his lips. He turned her around and held her against his chest, his cock snugging into the cleft of her lush ass. Running his hand down her body, he savored the curve of her hips and the swell of her breasts, adding a little pinch to one nipple, flushed dark pink against her fair skin. His cock pressed against her ass, his hips moving of their own volition. Her skin felt smooth and soft against his dick, her body plush under his palms, so different from what Sam was used to. So much like Jessica.

“Come on, Sam. I'm a big girl. Fuck me-I want it. I'm ready, baby.” Shelly rolled her hips hard against him, opening her thighs in invitation, and he slipped his dick in to find her pussy already slick. She reached down and guided him into her; they moaned simultaneously as his thick cock nosed its way up her channel. “Come on,” she urged. “God, you're so big, wanna feel all of you.”

Sam growled, tightening an arm around her ribs, his conscious thoughts receding under pure lust. Shelly gasped when he began pistoning his hips, fucking hard into her damp pussy while he nipped and bit at her shoulders and neck. His free hand roamed across her breasts, roughly squeezing the soft pale flesh, landing random hard pinches on her nipples, relishing the ripe globes.

Shelly whimpered, but still pushed back against him to meet his thrusts. She arched her back, pushing her tits into his grasp, uttering broken moans at every squeeze and pinch. Sam left off fondling her, instead sliding his fingers between her legs, rubbing over and around her tender clit as he kept fucking her. She came quickly with a release of wetness over his fingers and balls, her muscles tightening through her climax and then lax as Sam continued to drive in and out of her, lost in his own need.

She came twice more before Sam was done; he fucked her through one more orgasm on his dick, this time pushing two fingers into her alongside his cock to massage her G-spot, and again when he licked her clean after he'd painted her pussy and belly with his come. She was asleep in minutes, leaving Sam able to silently dress and slip out of her room. He didn't have anything to say to her-he'd given her everything he could.



Victor felt unaccustomedly nervous shutting the motel room door behind him. Dennis looked around and then turned to Victor, one eyebrow raised. “Uh, yeah, this isn't my usual, uh, style,” Victor said, seeing the shabby room anew. “Drink?”

“Sure,” replied Dennis, sitting down at the foot of the bed.

Victor poured them both a shot of tequila. “Afraid I don't have any salt or limes here.” He handed a glass to Dennis.

“That's okay, sugar. I've got something else in mind for a chaser.” Dennis dropped one eyelid, and Victor almost choked on his shot.

Dennis gracefully shot the liquor down, replaced his glass on the table, and sank to his knees in front of Victor before he quite knew what was happening. “Since this is new for you, let's just take a little edge off first, shall we?” Dennis purred, opening Victor's fly. Pushing his jeans and boxers just past his ass, Dennis cooed at Victor's cock, already erect by the time it was freed.

Victor felt dizzy from his blood going south so fast, and he fumbled at the edge of the table to lean back against. Dennis wasted no time, his mouth effortlessly sinking down on Victor's dick, tongue running its iron length while Dennis' hands roamed over Victor's thighs. “Mmmmmmmmmmm,” crooned Dennis, cupping and massaging Victor's sac, and between those wicked hands and the vibration on his cock, Victor promptly came.

Gasping and with boneless legs, he felt like a raw teenager, but Dennis was unfazed. “See, I knew you were ready to pop right off,” he said, standing up and wiping his mouth delicately. “Now we got a little time to play around more.” He quickly undressed, then chuckled at Victor still standing dumbly. “Here, baby,” Dennis said. He held Victor's face between two soft hands and kissed him before helping him also undress.

That's me, Victor thought, tasting the bitter-saltiness on Dennis' tongue. I'm tasting come. My come. It was almost a little gross, but also exciting, and he grabbed Dennis back and kissed him harder, sweeping his tongue around until Dennis was moaning and rubbing his cock against Victor's hip.

“I think you're getting' it, darlin',” Dennis drawled seductively. “Now let's get in this bed and have a little fun.”

Victor's body was totally on board with that suggestion, his skin tingling and his dick already starting to fill again. He couldn't help hesitating though. “Uh, I'm not sure if I-if I'm ready for--”

Dennis grinned as he pulled Victor down onto the mattress. “That's no problem, sugar. We don't gotta fuck to have fun. I'm gonna show you a thing or two and we'll both have plenty to scream about.”

He pushed Victor onto his back and slid over him, kissing him messily while teasing his nipples, hips slotting together so their dicks rubbed against each other. No woman in Victor's life had ever touched his nipples during sex, and he was astounded at how sensitive they apparently were, little zings skittering over his skin with every rub and pinch. He didn't even know how to make sense of feeling another cock against his, except that it was fucking amazing, and he never wanted to stop.

Dennis...was not a liar. There was a good bit of screaming.



Victor felt uncomfortably self-conscious the next morning as he slid into the Impala's back seat. Did Sam or Dean know? Had they seen Dennis go in or out of Victor's room, or heard them through the thin wall? Did it show somehow?

He started when Dean hollered at him. “Vic! Earth to Victor!” Dean looked at Victor in the rear view mirror. “What is up with you this morning?”

“Sorry, sorry. What's up?” Victor pushed thoughts of last night aside. “What do we have?”

“Not sure yet,” replied Sam. “Couple of missing people, which could be anything. Have to look into it when we get there.”

Muscular planes beneath his hands instead of soft breasts. A man's body pressed against his, chocolate and cocoa skin decorated with white spatters and lines. Soft, deep voice talking him through new acts and sensations.

“Okay.” Victor sat back, gazing aimlessly out of the window.



Victor marveled at how flat Iowa really was. He'd been in the state before, but just via plane, touching down briefly in airports and then moving on. Driving through the state was a whole different experience; mile after mile of flat, green fields, punctuated by water towers that looked like giant tin men and faded billboards proclaiming the best corn and pork products around.

When they pulled in to the motel-the Corn Husker Inn, a painted wooden sign bristling with cobs-Sam got out and arranged for the rooms. Victor went through the bright yellow door of his single room and plopped his bags onto the bed. A quick look around showed that the décor lived up to the name-yellow and green dominated the room, with the bedspread featuring jumbled corn cobs accented with husks, and bad oil paintings of cornfields on the walls.

While they had driven to the town of Early, the three men had decided that they would suit up and talk to the police first, get the official reports and look them over. They could better plan how to proceed after that. Victor hoped they were still looking for missing people, but knew they had to be ready to shift into a murder investigation. Somehow death seemed so much more personal now that it was when he was an FBI agent. Back then, there'd been so much procedure and technology and pressure from the agency that he'd lost touch with the actual humanity of it. Being a hunter seemed to have reset him, scraped away that insulating calcification and brought him back in touch with people-victims and others--in a much more personal way.

It was more painful this way, more wearing on him, but he also felt...connected. Like he himself mattered, the victims mattered, everyone mattered--a great web of interconnected human strings. And that felt right, even in the crazy world in which he now moved.

Putting on a suit felt kind of strange to Victor nowadays. Funny when he considered how that had been his daily uniform for so many years. Now he was more likely to be in jeans and a t-shirt or Henley, although he drew the line at the plaid flannels Sam and Dean favored. Pulling on the thin navy dress slacks, feeling the weight of the jacket, the constriction of a boldly striped tie-he'd come a long ways from that.

Driving to the police station, Dean said, “I'll take point, get things rolling. Sam, you be ready to handle any teary relatives and line up the research, and Vic, you keep an eye out for anything hinky.”

“Got it,” both Victor and Sam replied.



Three people were missing that the Early police were aware of. Twenty-six-year-old Bridget Henderson, history teacher at the local high school. Thirty-two-year-old Anselm Wagner, area carpenter and handyman. Seventeen-year-old Natalie Trotter, average high school student. The obvious link seemed to the high school; Bridget taught at Natalie's high school, and invoices had revealed that Anselm had done renovation and repair work there.

That was as far as Karl Middleton, detective, had been able to get. A big man with a ruddy face and a clear appreciation of food, his brown suit was well-worn and wrinkled. He rummaged around on his untidy desk and dug out the pertinent files from a sloppy stack, handing them to Sam, Dean, and Victor. Karl was clearly frustrated at having such a strong connection between the victims, but still being unable to put together anything beyond that.

“Any other weird things going on?” asked Sam. “Animal mutilations, grave desecrations, anything like that?”

“Even unusual weather, like lightning storms, cold snaps?” added Dean.

“You think it's some kinda would-be serial killer?” Karl shook his head. “No animal bodies anywhere. But now that you mention it, there was a couple of graves disturbed at the Pleasant Repose cemetery, other side of town.”

The three hunters exchanged looks. Dean said, “If you don't mind, we'll take a look at that. We'd also like to check out the homes of the missing people.”

Karl nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sure, sure. I can give you the addresses. Bridget and Anselm each lived alone, but Natalie lived with her dad still. Her mom passed five, six years ago.” He shook his head sadly. “Man's a wreck now.”

“Thank you, Detective. You've been a big help already,” Victor said, shaking the man's beefy hand. “Please know we're going to do all that we can to solve this.”



“Okay, let's split up. Someone's got to head over to, uh, Pleasant Repose and look at the disturbed graves. Then we have Bridget's apartment, Anselm's house, and Natalie's dad. Sam, you take the dad. Victor, why don't you start with Anselm, and I'll take the cemetery and Bridget's place.” Dean drew a little map on a napkin. “Nothing is real far from each other, so this way we can cover more ground and decide on what's happening.”

Victor couldn't help feeling a little pleased that he had a solo interrogation to do. The days of him running his own team seemed a lifetime ago. This felt like being a rookie advancing to the big leagues all over again. “I'm on it.”

“Everyone text the others soon as you learn anything.” Sam checked his phone. “Signal seems pretty good here. Rendezvous at the motel by five p.m., if we don't confer sooner.”

They all chimed agreement and headed off their separate ways.



Victor walked up the path leading to Anselm Wagner's front door. The house was a beige bungalow with a tiny porch, but it looked very well-cared for. “Guess if you're a handyman, it wouldn't do to let your house get shabby,” Victor commented to himself. He admired the well-pruned bushes, the sturdily-built steps, and the decorative woodwork around the door frame. Clearly the man had regarded his house as an advertisement for his skills.

Unlocking the door with the key Detective Middleton had provided, Victor entered the bungalow and began to look around. The inside of the house was as tidy as the outside-no sloppy bachelor living here, Victor thought. Nothing appeared missing or out-of-place, including in Anselm's bedroom, where the bed was made and no laundry lay on the floor. Victor opened the dresser drawers, where neatly folded shirts and socks lay. “Okay, now this guy's getting creepy,” he said aloud with a laugh.

Moving to the nightstand, the bottom drawer revealed some skin magazines, but all mainstream titles like Playboy. “Dude, you gotta live a little, only I guess it's too late for that, huh.” Victor shook his head.

He went back downstairs, giving one last look around. He noticed a shed in the back yard and decided he'd better check that out too. Crossing the well-manicured lawn, he quickly broke the cheap lock on the door and swung the door open. Lawnmower, leaf blower, weed whacker, all rust- and dirt-free. A pile of tarps lay in one corner, and Victor nudged them with his foot.

A hand, severed messily at the wrist, fell out onto the floor.



“I'm so sorry to bother you. This is a terrible thing.” Sam modulated his voice to be soft and sympathetic. He genuinely felt for the bereaved father sitting before him; the man's face was pale with grief, his eyes darkly shadowed. “Mr. Trotter, anything you can think of would be helpful. We all want to find Natalie.”

“I expect she's already dead,” Ed Trotter replied in a hollow voice. “I know the statistics. Been gone over forty-eight, she's already dead.”

Sam sat quietly, giving the man a moment before pressing him further. “We're hoping for the best still, and that's why I'm asking you to tell me about the last day before Natalie disappeared.

Ed rubbed his face with his hands, sighing deeply. “Pretty much normal. She went to school, came home, did her homework. I made dinner, she did the dishes.” His face creased in obvious distress. “She asked to go to her friend Pam's house, and I said no, stay and finish your homework.” A tear trickled down his cheek. “Maybe if I'da let her go when she asked, she wouldn't have snuck out later.”

Sam leaned forward. That hadn't been in the police report. “She snuck out? How do you know she didn't run away?”

Ed shook his head. “Didn't take anything with her. And Pam admitted that Nat had snuck out, gone over there. She only stayed half an hour and left to come home. Only...she never made it home.” More tears dampened his face.

Sam made appropriately commiserating noises, reaching to nab a box of tissue and offering it to Ed. He was eager to get back to the motel and compare notes with his partners, especially now that he had a lead, small as it was.



Bridget Henderson had lived alone in a second story, one bedroom apartment in an old house. Apparently her taste ran to stuffed animals, particularly pigs and ducks, judging by the assortment arranged on her bed. Dean looked at the plushies sourly. “And this, my friends, is a woman who never got laid.” He shook his head and gave the bedroom a final glance. He'd already gone through the drawers, the closet, and under the bed, but had found nothing more ominous than a pirate duck, complete with its own parrot on its shoulder.

Returning to the living room, he sighed as he surveyed the room. Here too, he had gone through and under every piece of furniture-nothing. At least the rug and sofa were more neutral colors, but the pig and duck assault still made their presence felt. Dean shuddered, thinking that pink and yellow-never his favorites to begin with-were now permanently ruined.

“Bridget, Bridget, Bridget, where is your diary? Your innermost thoughts written in perfect cursive with a feather pen? I know you had to have one,” Dean swiped a couple of pigs off the couch to sit down, snorting as they bounced on the floor.

Except the one that went thud.

Dean grabbed the too-heavy pig and crowed with delight when he felt the notebook inside. Of course she'd kept it in one of the rotund animals. He found the zipper and-as he liked to think of it-eviscerated the pig, extracting a pink journal from its fluffy innards.

He skimmed the entries, thumbing through the pages. A lot about her job as a high school history teacher, dealing with kids who didn't care that much about history or school, the few gems that did. She'd been active in the town, participating in church and charity events. A small town like this, community events were frequent and a big deal, comprising most of the social life. No hint of a significant other/boyfriend/girlfriend. Not an unhappy life, but perhaps a bit lonely in the personal sense.

Dean closed the journal, thinking over what he'd read, visualizing Bridget as she moved through her days. Re-opening it, he flipped to the last couple of entries.

The Methodist church's Under the Sea charity dance is this weekend. I'm chaperoning, of course, but I wonder...perhaps there'll be something more this time. I don't want to even write it in case it jinxes things. Just...hoping. Maybe I'll find a treasure for myself under the sea.

And the next one-the last one.

I'm walking on air. I was asked to dance--me! It was...wonderful. Strong arms, his Polo cologne (my favorite!), following his lead around the floor. I'm going to meet him tomorrow for a date. A DATE! I'm already looking forward to writing about it afterward! A little starfish with hearts around it dotted the last sentence.

Dean shut the journal, musing over what he'd just read. Who had Bridget's mysterious date been? And was he the suspect for these disappearances? And was it just some crazy-human shit, or something supernatural?

Standing up, he replaced the journal and zipped the pig shut. He took a minute looking around again; while he still loathed the stuffie-palooza, he could feel sympathy for lonely Bridget, who'd just thought she found someone, only to disappear. Dean vowed to find her...he just hoped she was still alive.

He shot off a quick text and headed back to the motel. They could check out the cemetery after a quick pow-wow.



“Okay, pizza order first! I'm starving!” Dean announced when he got back to the motel. “I can't do any planning without food.”

“Yeah, yeah, and beer, right? Let's just get everything all at once. I think we all have some info to share, so let's get supplies and hunker down.” Sam stripped off his suit jacket and started unbuttoning his cuffs. Dean allowed himself a leisurely look-he always appreciated Sam in a white dress shirt, sleeves rolled halfway up his muscular forearms.

Victor cleared his throat, and Dean flicked his eyes away. Knowing that Victor was aware of Dean and Sam's relationship made things a little easier, but it didn't mean they had a license to blatantly ogle. He took off his jacket as well, carelessly throwing onto the floor. Sam picked it up with a frown, glaring at Dean while he hung it up next to his own suit in the tiny closet.

“Okay, I'm already changed, I'll go pick up food and beer and be back in a few.” Victor paused at the door. “No funny business either! I don't want to be struck blind when I get back!”

The door shut loudly behind him. Sam and Dean looked at each other in surprise; Victor had never been so open about them. Dean repeated, “Funny business? What are we, twelve?” and they both cracked up.

It felt good to laugh in the middle of the case's misery.



The atmosphere was much more serious when they pooled their results. The two pizzas were mostly gone, and they were into the second six-pack of beer before they got down to work. Dean told Sam to take notes of everything so they could look it over.

What they ended up with was the common link of the high school, with three separate events that stood out. Natalie had wanted to go to Pam's late and never returned; Bridget had had a mysterious date; there was a severed hand in Anselm's shed.

That last one provoked a round of head-shaking. Victor couldn't help feeling proud of bringing in the most disturbing fact, like they'd had some contest of the macabre. Then he remembered seeing the dismembered hand plop onto the floor, and just felt rather ill. Maybe he shouldn't have had that last piece of meat lover's pizza.

Sam weighed in first. “Well, this all is significant, but we don't have enough yet to tie it all together, or identify our killer. I think we should still go ahead and visit the cemetery, check those graves out.”

“I agree, but I also think we need to look at the school. Talk to the principal, maybe a couple of other teachers-Bridget's friends, for instance, and Natalie's. Something there is the key to this, and we need to find out what it is.” Victor had no problem speaking up now and offering his viewpoint to the Winchesters. He felt like he was back up to par with his FBI days, and that he and the Winchesters were operating much more as equals now. His apprenticeship was nearing its end.

“Okay, so let's split up again. Dean and I will take the cemetery, and Vic, you talk to the principal and see how the school looks.” Sam looked at his watch. “I suggest we go early in the morning, when we have daylight to examine the area, but not have a lot of people around.”

“I don't think there are a lot of people in this town that will be cruising the graveyard,” said Dean dryly. Sam rolled his eyes.

“I'll plan to be at the school by eight in the morning. Guess I'll turn in now.” With those words, Victor stood up and bade Sam and Dean goodnight, so that everyone could be ready early in the morning for phase two of their investigation.



Sam and Dean walked down the concrete path that wound through the Pleasant Repose cemetery. It looked pretty much like the average cemetery: the odd stone mausoleums dotted randomly around; rows of headstones large and small, recent and ancient; big graceful weeping willows and wide-spreading old oaks. The lawn was mostly green, with some browning showing a need for rain. Sam always found the surface of cemeteries peaceful, although he hated the underside of them. At least they didn't have to do any digging at the moment.

“Everything's looking pretty copacetic here, dude. Not sure what those reports were about,” Dean said, looking around as they strolled.

“Yeah, I have to agree. We're not done yet though, the map shows some plots around that clump of trees.” Sam referred to the print-out they'd gotten from the police department, showing the lay-out of the cemetery. “Let's just check that out to be sure.”

“You got it! But I call a coffee run after that, I'm dry.” Dean tossed his empty cup into a nearby trashcan.

They walked to the clump of trees and then past them, following the path as it curved to the left. A large section of lawn was only half-filled with headstones and two mausoleums, showing it to be a newer section. Sam and Dean split up to comb through the sites, looking for any signs of disturbances.

Dean called to Sam, and he looked up from the grave he was checking out. The serious look on Dean's face was all Sam needed to see. Dean had found a disturbed grave. He nodded back at Dean and hurried to finish looking over his area. He was almost done when he saw it-a grave that had to have been dug up and re-turfed. The edges were slightly raised from the rest of the lawn, and the grass itself had a rumpled appearance from being sloppily relaid.

Sam took his phone out and clicked a picture of the headstone and another of the grave itself. He pulled out the student list from the high school that Middleton had given them. Running his finger down the page, he stopped at Royce, Steven. Looking up, he read Steven Royce, b.1995 d.2011. Be at Peace with Our Lord.

Dean looked over Sam's shoulder, having come over from his disturbed grave. “High schooler?” Sam nodded, and Dean sighed. “Mine too. Let's go see what Vic's turned up.”

He marched off across the lawn, ignoring the path. Sam turned to follow, but turned back for a moment. He laid a hand on the crest of the stone, letting himself feel the sorrow that, even dead, someone had had to be accosted like this. The stone was cool and rough under his fingers.



The front entrance to Robert Lucas High School was a massive set of double doors. Victor noted the lack of metal detectors, so prevalent in larger city schools. It gave the school an old-time feel, like they'd jumped back to the 'fifties. He pulled one door open and strode into the lobby, where a sign immediately directed him to the main office on the right. He entered it and spoke politely but authoritatively to the woman on the other side of the tall counter. “I need to speak to Principal William Bennett, please.”

She regarded him with an air of authority, her crisply permed hair and sensible dark blue dress conveying that she was not to be trifled with. A brass desk plate read “Diane Foster”, with “Senior Administrator” beneath it. “Do you have an appointment? What is this regarding? I don't recognize you as a parent here, and we have a no-sales policy in the school.” Her pale hand tapped on the counter's brown mottled laminate surface, and Victor thought of the hand lying on the floor of Anselm's shed. It lent a little added steel to his voice.

“No, I do not have an appointment. Detective Karl Middleton of the Early police department sent me over. I'm working on the investigation of the missing residents, including a teacher and a student at this school.” His eyes bored into her. “Now, may I please see the principal?”

She visibly wilted, the stiffness draining from her spine. Picking up the phone in a slightly shaky hand, Diane said, “I'll buzz Principal Bennett right now.”

“Thank you.” Victor moved away from the counter to let her regain her composure. He crossed to the opposite wall and looked at the obligatory glass case full of shiny trophies. Every school had one, a metallic tribute to past glories frozen in time. It was both triumphant and a little sad. A colorful, clearly hand-painted poster extolling the Lucas Lions--playing a home game tonight at 7:30 p.m.--was posted on the wall at one side of the case.

“Principal Bennett be right here.” Diane materialized at Victor's elbow. Touching his arm hesitantly, she asked, “Will you find them? All of our students are family, and Bridget-she was a friend.”

Victor could see the sheen of unshed tears in her eyes. He took her hand with both of his. “We're going to do our best. I promise.”



Principal Bennett's blue and brown plaid sport coat stretched over shoulders that said former high school quarterback, while the straining waistband of his khaki pants boasted his love of beer. His wispy hair still showed a ginger tint atop a ruddy scalp. He approached Victor and shook his hand in a hearty manner, his voice resonant. “Good morning! Hendrikson, is it? Pleasure!”

“Good morning. It's Henriksen, actually, no 'd'. Karl Middleton sent me over, I'm assisting in his investigation.” Victor disengaged his hand from Trotter's beefy paw, warm and faintly moist. “All three missing persons are connected to the high school, so I wanted to see if there was anything you'd noticed during the last month or so, anything out of the ordinary.”

Bennett ran his hand over his scalp, leaving a wake of ginger strands going every which way. “I can't say that I did. We run a pretty tight ship here-I won't tolerate disruption or talking back. Since I'm the principal, it runs my way. I'm the boss!” He walked out of the office and started down the hallway, beckoning to Victor. “We're a small town, everybody knows everybody else. There's not a lot of strangers coming through, and crime is pretty non-existent around here. Mostly things like lawnmowers gone missing, mailboxes knocked over, petty stuff. Kids getting beer and partying in someone's field, maybe a little rough-housing.” He grinned broadly, pink cheeks underneath small eyes. “Guess we all had our hi-jinx when we were kids, huh?”

Victor looked at Bennett with some distaste. The brashness of the man was mildly offensive to him; Victor could easily picture Bennett pushing smaller kids around in the locker room, swaggering down the hallway regardless of who was in his path. He'd seen the type a thousand times.

“Well, thank you for taking the time to speak with me. The Early PD will keep you posted.” Victor quickly shook Bennett's hand, repressing the desire to wipe his palm on his pants afterward. At least where the man could see it.

“Good luck, Hendricksen!” Bennett walked off, and Victor shook his head. He headed back to the office, where he stuck his head in to let Diane know he was leaving, but instead entered when he heard a muffled sob.

Walking up to the counter, Victor looked over its mottled surface to see Diane sitting on the floor, knees pulled to her chest with her skirt draped over them. She clutched a couple of tissues, swiping at her eyes and dabbing at her nose as she tried to stifle her crying.

“Ms. Foster! Are you all right?” Victor ducked under the pass-through and knelt beside her. He saw the tissue box lying nearby and handed it to her.

She looked at him with red, wet eyes, her nose pink and raw. “It's just-Bridget was my best friend. We did everything together. At first they said she went somewhere, but she never would have done that without telling me. And now it's been a couple of wee-ee-eeks!” She warbled the last word with fresh tears. She took a fresh tissue and wiped her eyes. “She's dead now, isn't she? It's been too long?”

Victor's chest tightened. He hated to break her heart, but he didn't really have any false hope to give. “We don't know anything for sure yet, but...I think you should prepare yourself,” he said softly, one hand gently stroking her hair.

Diane nodded, lips pressed tightly together. Victor said, “I have to ask you a couple of questions, if I may. I'm sorry that there isn't a better time, but we've got to keep investigating.”

She nodded again. “I understand.”

“Is there anything you've seen, or heard, or noticed? Anything that seemed...off, kind of strange. Any strangers around, weird noises, cold spots?”

She stared at him, head tilted. “Cold spots? What on earth?”

He gave her a half-smile. “Never mind. Here, let me give you a hand.” He slipped a hand under her elbow and helped her to her feet. “Can I do anything for you? Call anyone? Principal Bennett?”

“Pfft, that blowhard!” Victor couldn't help laughing at her unexpected reaction. Diane tossed her head. “He has his head up his ass half the time. Forget academics, it's all about the sports. Everything's football, basketball, baseball. No manners either. His clothes are god-awful, and he's always slopping on them. Just the other day, he came in with a big red streak down his tie! Said it was barbecue, but I never saw barbecue that color. A real deep red, you know? I thought maybe it was wine, like he went out drinking at lunch.”

Victor stared at her while she nattered away, readjusting her hair and wiping her face with a clean tissue. A red streak down his tie? Come on, Vic, it probably was just barbecue, or maybe ketchup, he tried to tell himself. But combined with the unpleasant feeling Bennett had already given Victor, he couldn't brush it off. It was like a low-grade alarm buzzing in his head. The buzzing had saved Victor a lot of times-he wasn't about to ignore it now.

“Thank you, Diane. I am so sorry again, and I'll hope to have news for you soon.” She waved good-bye as he left, his pace quickening until he was practically running down the front steps of the school.



“A red stain on his tie? Really?” Dean looked at Victor, eyebrows raised. “I mean, that's not a lot to go on.”

“I know, but he just-the man is off. I can't explain it, I just know it. I can feel it. I've been around enough creepy bastards to know one when I meet one. When you add in the stain-it's not a lot, I'll admit it, but it was out of character enough for Diane to comment on.”

Sam mused, “We add in the hand and the disturbed graves, I think we have a viable candidate. I think we're possibly looking at a ghoul.”

“Fuck!” yelled Dean. “Those things are repulsive! If the flesh-eating or blood-letting isn't gross enough, there's the charming way they wear meatsuits of their victims.” He shook himself and made a face of disgust. It almost made Victor laugh.

He looked between Sam and Dean. “What's a ghoul?”

“Like a revenant-a dead being. They feed off corpses, sometimes draining the blood before they eat the flesh, and then they take on the appearance of their last victim.” Sam shuddered. “Creepy is right. I hate those things.”

Dean came over and sat next to Sam, rubbing a hand on his back. “Sammy here got nabbed by a couple of ghouls once. They tied him up and were bleeding him out when I got there.” He thumped Sam's back. “Good thing he's a big strong boy, he wouldn't have made it.”

Victor leaned forward eagerly. “Okay, so suppose it-Bennett--is one of these ghoul things. How come he's always Bennett? Wouldn't Bennett go missing too, after he ate someone else?” His body thrummed, the thrill of the chase possessing him. He could sense that they were close.

“You'd think so,” said Dean. “I think we should check out what's happening at the Bennett house. Anyone know when he won't be around?” He looked between Sam and Victor.

“Yes!” Victor jumped right up off the bed, standing in the middle of the floor. “I saw posters at the school today! There's a football game tonight, a home game. Diane-the office lady-said Bennett is a huge sports supporter, so he's bound to be at the game.”

“Okay, we have a winner! What time is the game, Vic?” Dean stood up, rubbing his palms together briskly. “We get this guy tonight, drinks are on me!”



Sam crouched in the azalea bushes lining the back of Bennett's yard. It wasn't too cold yet, there was just a nice seasonable coolness in the air. He thought about all the high school football games he'd attended, usually sneaking away since John Winchester would think they were a colossal waste of time. In fact, they were a nexus of teen social activity, where players, fans, and cheerleaders met and mingled in a burst of band music, kleig lights, and the dull clump of shoulder pads and helmets running full tilt into each other.

He'd never really been involved, but he'd enjoyed it all the same.

Now he was just waiting for the all-clear from Victor. They'd decided Victor would knock and see if Bennett was home under the guise of further investigation. Leaving out, of course, that it was Bennett himself who was under investigation.

The back porch light flashed twice. That meant Victor had determined the coast was clear and picked the lock. Dean was one block over in the Impala.

Sam ran around the yard's perimeter as silently as possible, ducking in the back door once Victor swung it open. “Good job, man,” Sam said, clapping Victor on the shoulder. Moments later, Dean entered as well.

“Split up and search. No stone unturned here, all right?” Dean ordered, and they all nodded.

Sam went for what must be Bennett's home office. Computer, a little file cabinet, printer, monitor. He looked around; without hacking into the computer itself, there wasn't a lot to see. Only...something was wrong. He looked again, more slowly this time, noting everything that his eyes fell on. Computer. Monitor. Printer. File cabinet. A couple of wall shelves with magazines and trophies.

Computer. Monitor. Keyboard. Covered with a fine white patina of dust.

Who doesn't use their computer to the point there's that much dust on it? The computer itself was pretty new, so Bennett certainly had invested some money into it. Then why the dust?

Sam went back into the living room, then the kitchen. Victor was already there, jotting notes down on his phone. “What's up? Find anything?” Victor asked.

“There's dust all over his computer, like he hasn't used it on a long time. Just strikes me as...weird, you know? It wouldn't be such a thick layer if he's using it regularly.” Sam scratched his head, puzzled. “You?”

“Nothing really. He has a brand-new Food-sealer-the box is still here. Guess he likes to keep foods fresh.” Victor made a face. “His closet is a fucking mess though, clothes flung everywhere. He probably just needs a maid, but still-what a sty.”

Sam poked at the Food-sealer. “Hey we just saw that on an infomercial the other night. Pretty swanky. Seems a little out-of-character for a bachelor like Bennett.”

Dean leaned in from the door frame. “Okay, I think I might have something. Come on down to the basement with me.” He turned and led Sam and Victor to the door that opened onto the basement. They tromped down, their steps echoing on the unfinished wooden stairs.

The basement was semi-finished; half of it was carpeted in faded swirly green, with a couple of big chairs and a couch positioned on it facing a low-end flat-screen television on a very dated cabinet.

In the un-carpeted area, a wide stainless steel counter ran across the wall, ending at a utility sink bolted into the concrete. At the head of the counter stood a black and red metal tool chest, about three feet high with a multitude of narrow drawers. 'Sears Roebuck' was stamped into the metal top.

“Okay,” said Sam. “It's...a tool chest.”

“It's a locked tool chest. In his basement. In No-Crime Small Town.” Dean crouched down. “And look at this.” He pointed to a red smear on the lip of one drawer.

Victor said, “It could be he just nicked himself with a screwdriver. Or...”

“Or he's a slice and dice maniac.” Dean straightened up. “We need to see what's in here.” Taking a screwdriver out of his pocket, Dean popped the lock out in under a minute. “Okay, here we go.”

He reached out to the drawer with the smudge and pulled it open. They all fell silent.

Inside the drawer were an assortment of cutting devices. There was a small saw, a couple of cleavers, and a pair of kitchen shears. Dean quickly opened another drawer. This one had a dozen scalpels and a bone saw. One more, this time filled with hammers and pliers.

All of the tools had red smeared over their metal surfaces. Strands of hair were stuck on some of them. The drawer with the hammers and pliers had some loose teeth rolling around in it. The conclusion was easy to draw.

Sam had seen a lot in his day, and this wasn't the most horrific thing by a long shot. Nonetheless, he felt a little sick at the thought of these implements at work on innocent, helpless people.

“Back upstairs,” he choked out. “Gotta be something else up there.”

“Wait!” Victor had wandered under the stairs, and was calling them to join him. “He's got a freezer.”

They paused, each of them drawing a deep breath and sharing a tense look. Sam already knew what they were going to find inside.

Victor pulled the freezer door open. It looked like a butcher's paradise inside. Big cuts of meat were wrapped and sitting on the bottom shelf. The next two shelves were piled with plastic packages of meat, juicy red in their clear vacuum packaging. On the top shelf, plastic cylindrical containers were filled with thick red fluid. Everything was labeled with Sharpie. Sam saw 'Bridget' among the smaller packages. A number of them were labeled 'Bennett'.

Victor paled, turning ashy under his rich dark brown skin. Sam thought he might puke, and when he glanced over at Dean, he noted how pale his brother was. This was...appalling. Cold-blooded. And yet, methodical in a way Sam wouldn't expect of a ghoul. “Maybe we're wrong. Maybe it's something else. I've never seen a ghoul do anything like this before.”

Victor replied, “Why are they labeled like that?”

Dean's voice was hoarse. “So he knows who is who. This is how he managed to stay Bennett when he wanted. He could eat whoever, but then have some...Bennett and be back in character.”

Sam was aghast, feeling his stomach churn. He could see that the other two felt as horrified as he was, but there was no time to talk about it. A rattle of keys and a door banging open announced that William Bennett had returned home early from the football game. The three men raced upstairs to confront him.

Apparently Bennett had picked up a snack at the football game. A member of the Lions marching band was slung over his shoulder, hanging limp and quiet. The teenager's yellow and brown uniform was wrinkled, and his hat was missing. Bennett had one arm keeping the kid in place, and he held the other held out towards the hunters, hand open. “Hey! Hey! What's going on here? Why are you in my house?”

Dean advanced a couple of steps. “What are you doing with that boy?” he asked belligerently. He sniffed. “Anyone smell something piney?” He leaned closer to Bennett and sniffed again. “Pine, a hint of tobacco--is that...Polo?”

“Oh, Lennie? He wasn't feeling well, so I thought I'd bring him here, let him rest a bit.” Bennett shuffled sideways away from Dean.

Sam said, “Dean, I think we have more important issues that his cologne right now.”

“No, we don't, Sam. Because Bridget mentioned it in her journal! Polo cologne. Which means you, Bennett, were her mystery date before you butchered her!” Dean's voice rose to a roar by the end of his words.

“What? What are you talking about?” Bennett's eyes flicked nervously between his three accusers. “Hey, you broke in here, you dicks! I know I locked up when I left.”

“Yeah, why is that? I thought this was a town without robberies and crime,” Victor asked. “And why didn't you just take him home? Wouldn't he be better off with his parents?”

“Uh, his parents are out-of-town.” Bennett started edging down the wall toward the basement door. “I'm just going to take him downstairs, he can lie down on the couch.” The hand holding Lennie kept twitching, the sausage-like fingers squeezing the boy's back.

“Aw, fuck this,” said Dean resignedly. “We know about your little butcher shop downstairs, you fucking ghoul, so no way is Lennie going down there. You, on the other hand--” With that, Dean leaped at Bennett, knocking Lennie to the floor as Dean shoved Bennett against the wall.

Sam and Vic yanked their guns out, training them on Bennett. Dean and Bennett struggled, Dean raining punches on him. What Bennett lacked in fighting skills, he made up for in supernatural strength, landing clumsy punches of his own and shoving Dean into furniture and the wall. Sam cursed--the wrangling made it impossible to get a clear shot in.

“Head shot! Gotta be a head shot!” yelled Dean.

“I know, Dean!” Sam yelled back, cursing again as Dean and Bennett crashed around the room.

A gunshot sounded and Bennett dropped like a stone, red pouring from one side of his head. Dean stared at Bennett, giving him a resounding kick in the gut to make sure he was dead. Sam whirled to face Victor, who was just lowering his gun. “What the hell! You could have killed Dean!” Sam yelled, gesticulating angrily.

“But I didn't. And if I thought there was any chance I would have, I wouldn't have fired.” answered Victor firmly.

“That was a helluva shot, man. I think we underestimated your sharpshooting skills.” Dean stepped over Bennett's lifeless body. “Shut up, Sam. He did the right thing and he did it better than either of us.” He patted Victor's chest. “And trust me, I don't say things like that lightly.”

Part 2, Chapter 3