Patience and Fortitude, Part I of II
Title: Patience and Fortitude, Part I of II
Rating:PG-13 for language
Fandom(s): Supernatural
Pairing: None
Warnings: Spoilers up to season 3.06
Disclaimer: Kripke won't play fair, so they're still his.
Summary: Sam finally has a chance to fulfill a lifelong dream. Unfortunately he has to go on a hunt to get it.
Daniel Thompson helplessly stared at his son’s bedroom door, listening to his only child openly crying. It wasn't long before the gut-wrenching sounds forced him to confront his son.
“Jason, please, talk to me,” he pleaded weakly.
“Why the hell should I?”
“I know you…”
“I told you what I saw!” Jason exploded, his anguished face crumpling up further in distress. “And you told me to get my head out of my ass!”
“I know, and I’m sorry. I really am.” Daniel stood with his hands in front of him in a gesture of supplication. “But you have to admit it’s hard for me to believe what you’re telling me.”
Jason wiped his face, “I’m not high. I know what she is, Dad - a ghost. Everyone at work knows about her. Hell, they’re thinking about making her a theme for next year’s Halloween party!”
“How can you be so sure?”
“She was dressed like those actresses from the black and white movies you like so much. The hair, the clothes, it all matches the stories I've heard.”
Thompson cautiously sat on his son’s bed. “How many times have you seen her?”
“Five times including tonight,” Jason whispered. “And every time it gets worse.”
“Does she look scarier? Is that what you’re saying?”
“No, I feel worse. Tonight, tonight I felt like I had nothing to live for. It was like I was fifteen all over again.”
“Did you want to … kill yourself?” Thompson asked hoarsely.
Jason nodded, “I don’t want to go back there, Dad. I know you’re all proud that I work there but I can't go back!”
“No, no way are you going back,” Thompson shook his head firmly. “If what you’re saying is true, there’s a huge problem and we’re not equipped to deal with it.”
“Who is?” Jason asked. “There are other pages working there, and if she turns on them it’ll only be a matter of time before one of them dies.”
Thompson looked at his son, “I know somebody who had a similar problem. We served in ‘Nam together. Let me call him.”
Jason followed his father into the living room like a scared five-year-old unwilling to be left behind. Thompson put a reassuring arm around his shoulders while dialing.
“Hello? This is Daniel Thompson calling from Astoria. I’m an old buddy of Deacon. Is he home?”
Sam's heart nearly stopped when a Jaguar just managed to swipe by without scratching the Impala. Dean thanked its driver with few choice words and two one-fingered salute. Sam once again re-examined the map in his hands, the frown on his face growing exponentially.
“Dude, please tell me you found the goddamn street!” Dean hollered at his brother. “‘Cause this is the fourth time we circled that store!”
Sam glanced up and saw Dean wasn’t exaggerating. Cringing a little he returned his focus on the map in front of him. “We’re on Broadway, right?”
“Yes, for the third goddamn time we’re on Broadway!”
Sam looked at the street sign when they hit the red light. “Okay, turn right at the next stoplight.”
“You realize I’m going to have to cut across this insane traffic.”
“You asked, Dean, so I’m telling you, right at the next stoplight.” Sam replied, finally letting his irritation show.
Dean gave a sharp glance at Sam before gunning the car. Predictably, horns blared and curses were thrown freely as Dean somehow managed to make the right without killing any of the nimble pedestrians dodging through moving traffic. Sam continued to give directions until they finally found the address given to them by Deacon.
Dean managed to park the car in what seemed like the only available spot in the entire block. With a weary sigh he closed his eyes.
“I hate New York.” Dean hissed as he massaged the back of his neck.
“We’re in Queens,” Sam corrected.
“I hate the entire friggin’ state is what I meant,” Dean snapped. “Let me call Thompson. He damn well better be home or I might just set his house on fire to make myself feel better.”
Luckily for all concerned Thompson was not only home but had genuine Greek food waiting for his guests. Dean’s mood improved dramatically after his third helping of psarosoupa.
Sam watched in shock. He didn’t think Dean would touch the fish soup but his brother dove into it with huge relish. Sam loved it personally but not with the Rabelaisian delight Dean was displaying. Thompson capped off the meal with very strong and sweet coffee. Sam wisely stayed with one cup, figuring he’d be wired for three days if he took two. So, when Dean looked like he was angling for a second Sam gently nudged his brother’s foot.
Dean managed not to pout.
The Thompson family waited until they settled in the small but comfortably furnished living room. Then Daniel retold the conversation that brought the Winchesters to his doorstep.
"So you think she's a ghost?" Dean asked.
Thompson looked at Jason with encouragement. The young man gave a small nod, “Yeah, she is. I know she is.”
“I’m sorry to say this, but how do you know it’s not some elaborate prank?” Sam asked.
“Because every time she shows up it's freezing. The stacks isn't the warmest place in the library but it was like Alaska every time I saw her. And there’s the part where she disappears right in front of me.”
Sam began writing, “So you only see her in the stacks? Nowhere else in the library?”
Jason nodded, “Yeah, and she never shows up when there’s someone with me. It’s like she waits until I’m alone.”
“Do you have any idea why she latched onto you?”
“I don’t know: ‘cause I’m black?” Jason joked weakly.
Sam gave a small but genuine smile, “Anything else?”
“Yeah, she looks like she’s crying, like something really bad happened to her. And what’s worse is I feel it too.”
“Feel what?” Sam asked, giving Dean a glance.
“I feel her pain.”
“So you know why she’s grieving?”
Jason shook his head, “It’s not like that. I get overwhelmed with grief … and it makes me want to do awful things to myself.”
“You mean suicide?” Dean asked.
“Yeah, I think she might have killed herself.” Jason said, “I think something or someone made her do it.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because the first time … I didn’t feel bad, you know? I actually felt happy, like I found something wonderful, something perfect. But then it became ugly and twisted and … just bad.”
Dean and Sam shared a look. Sam firmly said, “We believe you, Jason. Honestly, we do.”
“What do you think is happening?” Thompson asked.
“I think this spirit has latched onto your son,” Sam answered. “But it’s incapable of haunting him outside the library.”
“So, as long as he stays away from there, he’s safe?”
Sam nodded. “We can’t be positive so we have to make sure it never harms you, Jason.”
“How do you do that?”
“Well, we need access to the stacks,” Sam answered. “I know it’s going to be…”
“That’s not a problem,” Jason answered fervently. “Hell, that should be piece of cake.”
Sam paused for a moment. “You can sneak us in without rousing suspicion?”
Jason nodded, “Yeah. When do you want to go?”
“Of all the jobs in all the states, we end up here,” Dean said, looking at Patience and Fortitude guarding the New York Public Library.
“Suck it in, Dean,” Sam said smiling. He couldn’t believe it. They actually had a hunt located in what was probably one of top five library in the entire world. And Sam couldn’t wait to explore its long-forgotten treasures.
“Sam, please tell me you’re not masturbating to the thought of all those books.” Dean’s drawl interrupted his happy musings.
“Shut up.” Sam replied, unable to cool his eagerness. “This is going to be amazing.”
“You really are a girl, aren’t you? And a geeky one at that.”
“And you’re still overcompensating.”
“Well, at least it’s not the Metropolitan Museum.”
Sam turned to Dean. “What?”
“The Metropolitan Museum,” Dean repeated.
“I got that part, and I still say what?”
“You don’t remember?” Dean asked, smiling. “Man, one of these days you really should check that memory filter of yours.
“When you were like seven years old you read a book called the mixed … up … something and something.”
“Oh my God,” Sam whispered. “You remember that?”
“How could I forget? You were determined to run away to New York and live out the rest of your days in a friggin’ museum.” Dean’s smile broadened, “Man, you were one whiny bitch when Dad caught you trying to catch a Greyhound to the Big Apple.”
Sam shook his head, “I totally forgot about that. That was a great book.”
“I wouldn’t know,” Dean dryly said. “You wouldn’t let me anywhere near it.”
“That was because of your pyromaniac tendencies. And the fact your books almost always ended up as coasters.”
Dean rolled his eyes and shook his head. Sam just pretended Dean wasn’t his brother as they entered the beautiful building. Jason was already waiting for them in the grand foyer, practically rocking back and forth on his heels like an overeager fourth grader.
“You came,” he said softly.
“Of course we did,” Dean replied gruffly. “Wouldn’t want to miss this.”
Sam gave him a sly look of disbelief before following Jason as the young man took the marble stairs. Dean sharply elbowed Sam out of irritation but the Beaux Art building soon distracted his attention.
“Man, this is something else,” Dean whispered to Sam. “This took some serious money.”
“A lot of money,” Sam explained. “It’d be impossible if they tried to build something like this now.”
Sam came to a skidding halt when Jason led them into the reading room on the third floor. It was gigantic: decorated with massive chandeliers, solid wood furniture, and rows of computers resting on top of narrow reference desks. And because of the holidays, the entire place was festooned with wreaths, swags, and garlands.
Dean gave a shallow whistle of admiration and a big nod of approval. “Now this is a library,” he said to Jason.
"It really is something else, isn't it?" Jason whispered.
The young man’s obvious pride was heartening to see. Gone was the tremulous, terrified boy from the night before. Sam asked, “You sure we can do this without attracting attention?”
“Oh yeah, not a problem,” was the confident reply.
Jason marched to an enclosed area and entered without hesitation. He gave a nod towards a librarian whose work station was located right next to the entrance. Her only response was an anemic smile. Jason opened a gate that guarded a dangerously narrow stairs leading down and quickly disappeared from view. Dean and Sam followed, trying not to attract too much attention. Unfortunately, from the buzz rising with their departure, Sam wryly noted it was too much to hope for.
Jason’s happy demeanor vanished quickly when they reached the floor below. “These are the stacks.”
Sam looked around. “Can we use our equipment now?”
“Yeah, some of the pages are around, but we’ll be able to hear them if they’re close.”
Dean quickly began scanning the area, “I’m getting a reading but it’s weak.”
Sam walked halfway down the other end of the floor before scanning. He responded, “Same here.”
“Jason, where did you see her first?” Dean asked.
“First time was on this floor, the other times … when it got worse … few floors below.”
Sam joined them, “This place is huge.”
“It runs the entire city block and has more than five floors just for storage. There are sections where people haven’t visited in years.” Jason explained. “I was in one of those areas when I saw her the last time.”
“Why did you go?” Sam asked. “Was it because you had to retrieve a book?”
Jason shook his head, “No, it was stupid. There's a jackass who's also a page. He took my iPod and hid it as a joke. He knows about the ghost, most everyone who works here does. But I never told him I've been seeing her around.”
“If she’s already a local legend, she’s been around for a while,” Dean said thoughtfully. “Do you know if anyone actually died down here?”
“I asked about that already and nobody died here. And people tell me The Blue Lady's a friendly ghost - nothing bad ever happened to anyone who saw her. Well, besides being scared to death,” Jason added sheepishly.
“Until you came along,” Dean said slowly.
Sam knew what Dean was thinking and decided to ask before Dean started making accusations and pissing off their only ally in this hunt. “Jason, you have to tell us everything. Did you do something down here? Something you’re not suppose to? Something you’re ashamed of, even?”
Jason shook his head firmly, “No, nothing like that. You two are the first guests I brought down here. I never stole anything. I never destroyed a book, I swear.
"You don't understand ... I have a sheet, okay? I did a lot of stupid stuff when I was a kid and it's hard for me to do anything now without people treating me like shit. So I know I have to tread carefully, especially in a place like this.”
“Have the other pages reported seeing her too?”
Jason gave a nod, “Millie did back in October, right before Halloween. She quit the same day.”
“Did it hurt her?” Sam asked.
“No, just rattled her real bad. She comes from a family that has some heavy background on this stuff. Her mother wouldn’t even let her come back to pick up her paycheck. They had to mail it to her.”
“Did Millie say anything to you?”
“To me, no. But she said something to Adam who worked the same shift as her. She said that the ghost wouldn’t leave because of some unfinished business. And it was nasty business.”
Dean’s face darkened, “That doesn’t sound good.”
“No, it doesn’t.” Sam agreed. “Jason, I’m going to ask you to do something you won’t like. We need you to lead us to where it was the worst. Do you think you can do that?”
“Yeah, but if she appears I am so out of there. I know when to run and when to fight.”
“Brave doesn’t mean stupid,” Dean agreed with an affable smile. “Let’s get this over with.”
Jason took them to another staircase with even more treacherous stairs. Sam warily eyed the walls as they made their way deeper into the library. Many of their hunts led them into decrepit buildings and their basements, but he never felt so anxious as he did now. He feared they would not only be entombed by the library but by the entire city block.
Dean bumped his shoulder and Sam turned to him. Dean wiggled his eyebrows comically and Sam had to smile in response. Obviously his big brother wasn’t laboring under the same stress he was. Jason turned a corner and led them to a section where broken furniture was piled up high, halfway to the ceiling. Even more disheartening, there were small puddles of water scattered all over the place.
“Holy damn, this looks bad,” Dean said. “What happened here?”
“Not enough money,” Jason answered simply.
Sam felt his heart break a little. It looked like the basement from the friggin’ tulpa hunt. He began scanning the area and the readout definitely pointed to supernatural activity.
“Yahtzee!” Dean said as his EMF meter also went haywire. His happiness soon dampened as he realized what was to follow. “Does this mean we’re going to have dig through this shit?”
Sam sighed and shook his head, “It is.”
“We could just set the stuff on fire…”
Both Jason and Sam turned to Dean with gaping mouths. Sam sputtered, “We’re in a fucking library, Dean!”
“I'm not talking about a bonfire!” Dean wilted under Sam’s anger. "And they probably have a sprinkler system or something."
“This is the New York Public Library,” Jason's anger was even greater than Sam's. “Don't even think about it!”
“All right, all right. Sheesh,” Dean said, taking a step back. “So, what are we going to do now?”
“We’re going to wait until the library closes. Then we’re going to start sifting through all this,” Sam gritted out. “And I swear you even go near a match and I’ll hogtie you.”
Dean scraped up a hurt look before sitting down on a wobbly chair.
“Could you get our bag?” Sam asked. He saw the boy's eyes flare with fear and quickly added, “Do you want one of us to come with you?”
Jason shook his head. “No, I’ll be fine.”
Sam watched the boy walk away with his shoulders proud and firm. However, when he turned the corner Sam distinctly heard running footsteps. He turned to Dean with a smile.
“Brave kid,” Dean said.
Sam nodded in agreement. He walked towards the nearest stack and began perusing. The volumes looked old, with gilded covers. The entire collection seemed to focus on the textile mills in Waltham, Massachusetts, during the Industrial Revolution. As didactic as the material was, the writing was bright with wit and sharp observations. It wasn’t long before Sam began reading in earnest.
Which was why it took him a little while to notice Dean flipping open each book in the collection and carefully checking the endpapers.
“What are you doing?”
“A lot of the rich people in the old days went crazy at the end. They would hide money in between the cover and the endpaper.”
Sam managed to hold in his laughter. However, his voice was definitely hoarse when he said, “Dean, these are reprints and probably came directly from the printers. I really doubt they hid money in the books before shipping them off.”
Dean flushed dully as he reshelved the book he was examining. To Sam’s great amusement Dean started on another shelf of what seemed like genuine antique books when Jason returned.
“Do you need anything?” Jason asked as he watched Dean go through the heavy duffel.
“Nah,” Dean shook his head. “We’re good. Are you going back to work?”
“I got a shift in the Reading Room, so I won’t be down here.”
Sam checked his cell and noticed it was dead. “I’m guessing we’re too far below ground to get a signal.”
“Yeah, you won’t get any until you’re topside,” Jason explained. “The walls are way too thick.”
“What is that sound weird whirling sound I heard earlier?” Dean asked. “I’ve heard it for a while.”
“That’s the conveyor belt that takes the books upstairs. We’re not a lending library like the others. Books have to be requested through proper channels.”
“A library that doesn’t loan out books?” Dean said, turning to Sam. “Dude, that’s just wrong.”
“Don’t worry, Dean. I’m sure the rest of the libraries in this city are more than happy to lend their collection.”
“Sarcasm makes you look bitchy,” Dean remarked in irritation.
Sam just gave a small sigh at Jason who was openly smiling at their verbal sparring. The young man gave a nod of farewell before leaving. After making sure Jason reached the stairs safely Dean pulled out a deck of cards from his pocket. Sam took his usual place and soon the two of them began playing Winchester Poker. A card game full of deceit, sleight of hand, and other cheating techniques taught to them by their father.
The game went on for hours, with the two of them sharpening their skills on each other. Then the lights began flickering. Sam quickly reached for the EMF meter while Dean grabbed the shotgun. Then noises began reverberating above them. Sam checked his watch.
“They’re closing up,” he said.
“Man, it sounds like they’re shutting down missile silos.” Dean said, wincing at the clanking.
“Dude, we have reading.” Sam said then deliberately turned to face his brother in order to witness Dean slipping into hunter mode. Sam always prized the moment when Dean suddenly turned from a loudmouth playboy into the Hunter that so many of their kind speak of in admiration, respect, and a healthy dose of fear.
Dean suddenly whirled to his right, his shotgun aimed at the darkness marching towards them from the other end of the floor.
“I don’t think that’s happening because they’re turning off the lights upstairs.” Sam said.
“No, I don’t think so either,” Dean coolly agreed.
Sam pocketed the EMF meter and took out his gun. The darkness ended six feet in front of them. It felt eerie, their corner the only lit area on the entire floor.
“Come out come out wherever you are,” Dean softly hummed under his breath.
Sam forced himself not to do another eye roll in honest fear that they were going to be permanently stuck in that position.
Death by testicular homicide. I bet that's what the Coroner's going to write on Dean's autopsy report. Sam thought with a mental smirk.
Dean had little to want when it came to bravery. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for caution or common sense. In fact, the plain truth was Dean’s balls held the leash and his brother was usually more than happy to let them lead. This should have guaranteed Dean’s death early on but, somehow, the older Winchester boy managed to continuously dodge the Reaper with a crooked grin and the classic one-finger salute.
“Sam, it’d be nice if you paid attention?” Dean said, eyeing his brother with great annoyance.
Sam forgot about his previous worry and did an eye roll. The two continuously scanned the floor, expecting something to make a grab for them. Minutes ticked by with nothing happening save Dean’s belly rumbling in protest.
“Well, this is anticlimactic,” Dean said, relaxing his grip on the shotgun. “And weird.”
Sam nodded in agreement. “Yeah, it is.”
“Do you think she’s playing us?”
“Maybe, or she knows why we’re here and doesn’t want to show.”
“A shy ghost,” Dean said. “That’d be the first.”
“Or a smart one,” Sam corrected. “She might be up to something.”
“With our luck, she’s probably planning to bring down the entire library on our heads.”
“That’s not funny, Dean.”
“I wasn’t joking.”
Before Sam could afford a comeback Dean whirled to his left, his shotgun aimed at the darkness. Sam followed without question, and in the next breath he was only too glad he was trained to follow Dean’s lead. The ghost appeared, her shimmering figure outlined by the darkness. Sam could definitely understand why Jason had compared her to the actresses from the 40’s. By modern standards her evening gown was positively chaste but it accentuated her lush figure. And she moved gracefully, as if having guns aimed at her was an ordinary annoyance.
Dean frowned, “Something’s not right.”
“What makes you think that?”
“I don’t know - it feels off somehow.”
Sam’s eyes widened. How could he have forgotten Jason’s story about his emotional rollercoaster ride whenever he met up with the ghost?
“Dean, listen to me. Remember what Jason said? Remember how she nearly drove him to suicide?”
“That’s not what I mean, you dumbass!” Dean snapped, his focus still on the The Blue Lady. “I mean she’s not wary, not scared, but she isn’t acting totally batshit crazy either. Unless she’s got no clue that she’s a ghost.”
The emergency water pipe half-embedded into the wall next to them exploded, drenching both Winchesters within seconds.
“Fuck me!” Dean shouted just before the pile of broken furniture launched itself at them.
Sam barely managed to duck a chunk of wood aimed at his head before dragging Dean away from the corner and into the darkness.
“I guess she had a plan,” Sam panted.
“A damn good one too. I’m going to so waste the bitch.”
“Dean, we left our bag back there. It’s got everything, including the extra ammo.”
Dean snarled, “I’m still going to waste her.”
“Nuh-uh,” Sam said. “You’re not setting anything on fire.”
He heard Dean’s sharp intake of air and braced himself for a tirade. It never came as lights suddenly flooded the entire floor. Both men squinted and blinked, trying to get used to brightness again.
Sam looked at Dean and gasped. His brother’s face was covered with blood.
“What?” Dean asked.
Sam wordlessly grabbed Dean’s head and began checking for wounds. He found a large gash and tried to stymie the blood flow with paper napkins he always carried around. Dean winced at the pressure and fumbled as he took off his wet jacket. He then peeled off the equally soaked flannel shirt and ripped it apart for Sam to use as bandages.
The two cautiously made their way back to find their duffel gone.
“What now?” Sam asked as he made half-defeated movement to shuffle aside the scattered pieces of broken furniture.
Dean sighed and eyed the catastrophe. “We have to find the bag. We can’t afford to leave it behind.”
“Not to mention it’ll probably end up in the hands of Agent Henriksen,” Sam said. "And the last thing we need is to give more fuel to feed his psychosis."
“But first we better catch this bitch and find out what she wants.”
Sam turned to Dean in surprise. “You’re actually curious?”
“Yeah, so what?”
“It’s just that you’re usually salt-n-burn when it comes to poltergeists.”
“I don’t think she is one,” Dean said. “Yeah, she does the whole whirly-gig thing but that emotional manipulation stunt is something extra.”
“Vengeful spirit?”
“Maybe, maybe something else. I hate to say it but I think Jason had something when he said she’s haunting him because he’s black.”
“A racist ghost?” Sam said with a small grin. “Are you serious?”
“With what happened to Cassie? Hell yeah.”
Experience made Sam refrain from offhandedly dismissing Dean's speculation. And the truth was even the racial angle, though weak at best, was still better than nothing, which was what they currently had.
“Why do you say that?” Sam asked.
“She tried to get rid of us but enticed Jason,” Dean answered promptly. “If she wanted to scare him he would’ve left this place way before. Instead, she lured him in before finally hitting him with the suicidal whammy.”
Sam paused for a moment to digest the idea. “Okay, that makes sense. So she’s targeting Jason for a reason.”
“And I think that reason is his race,” Dean explained. “She ignored the other pages except for Millie.”
“And Millie came from a family that’s steeped in this stuff, so she knew when to take off and save her own skin.”
Dean glanced around the brightly lit floor. “I think she’s playing with us, but that won’t last long. Not when she realizes Jason won’t be coming around anymore and we’re to blame for it.”
“The big question is what does she want with Jason?”
“Considering the fact she tried to drive him to suicide - nothing good.”
“Dean, what are we going to use as backup?”
“Don’t worry about that … much. I’ll scrape up something. It’ll just take me some time.”
And Sam believed him one hundred percent. By experience he knew knives get lost, ammo get spent, bags containing additional weaponry get tossed out of reach, and when that happens Dean turns into a berserker with a creative streak. He’d grab anything he could get his hands on and convert the material into weapons.
The more memorable ones were a kitchen sink, a German Shepherd puppy, its mother, jars of salsa, an entire shelf of antique Limoge plates, one-of-a kind killer stiletto heels from a designer named Manilo something, and fourteen gallons of used fryer oil.
Then there was Fenway Park, which had to be the most spectacular stunt Dean had ever pulled off. His brother would have passed all these off as lucky coincidences but Sam knew better. When it came to the Hunt Dean was at times as supernatural as the creatures they hunted. Sometimes, Sam thought a higher power had a direct link into Dean’s brain, giving him helpful points when they were cornered.
And wasn’t that a scary thought?
Sam always carried extra clips for his gun. He figured Dean must have at least half-dozen shells for his shotgun and probably an extra clip for his Glock.
“Dude, she’s back,” Dean whispered to him, pointing at the wisp-like figure standing less than ten feet from them.
Sam studied her intently, trying to anticipate the next attack. A full minute passed as the two parties stared at each other. Finally Dean asked,
“Why are you here?”
The ghost began weeping silently, her tears leaving a bright trail down her face. Sam, emboldened by Dean’s behavior, asked, “What can we do to help?”
The woman turned to the corner where the pile of broken furniture lay. Dean sighed, “I guess we’re gonna have to dig after all.”
They cautiously approached the corner and began working without losing sight of the ghost. Because they had to examine everything the work was going as a snail’s pace. However, the ghost seemed to be more than willing to wait.
Sam was halfway done with his pile when he saw the missing duffel bag. He gave a mental sigh of relief and cautiously set it next to him where he could have immediate access if the need arose. Then Sam noticed under the bag there was what used to be a small writing desk. He thought it must have been a beautiful piece of furniture long time ago, but now it was only a wreck with no legs and three out of five drawers missing. He picked it up to put it aside when a small book slipped out from the desk.
Sam saw the ghost’s immediate reaction and grabbed the book from the floor. Its cover was that of the Holy Bible but when he opened it, it turned out to be a diary. Dean peered over his shoulder as Sam began reading. Sam flipped to the last entry and read backwards. After reading fourteen entries Sam knew this was why the ghost was hanging on.
He turned to her and firmly said, “I’ll take care of this. I promise.”
The woman gave a solemn nod and vanished.
“Sam, what’s in it?”
“Jason was right. She committed suicide,” Sam explained.
Dean shook his head, “I guess we’ve got our reading material. How much longer before we can get out of here?”
“Another five hours. I’ll probably be done with this by the time the library opens.”
Dean nodded and made himself comfortable, using the duffel bag as a pillow. “You know the drill. Head injury - every hour on the hour.”
Sam didn’t bother to respond as he began reading. In a few minutes Dean’s snores began but Sam was already lost in the diary.
Conclusion
Rating:PG-13 for language
Fandom(s): Supernatural
Pairing: None
Warnings: Spoilers up to season 3.06
Disclaimer: Kripke won't play fair, so they're still his.
Summary: Sam finally has a chance to fulfill a lifelong dream. Unfortunately he has to go on a hunt to get it.
Daniel Thompson helplessly stared at his son’s bedroom door, listening to his only child openly crying. It wasn't long before the gut-wrenching sounds forced him to confront his son.
“Jason, please, talk to me,” he pleaded weakly.
“Why the hell should I?”
“I know you…”
“I told you what I saw!” Jason exploded, his anguished face crumpling up further in distress. “And you told me to get my head out of my ass!”
“I know, and I’m sorry. I really am.” Daniel stood with his hands in front of him in a gesture of supplication. “But you have to admit it’s hard for me to believe what you’re telling me.”
Jason wiped his face, “I’m not high. I know what she is, Dad - a ghost. Everyone at work knows about her. Hell, they’re thinking about making her a theme for next year’s Halloween party!”
“How can you be so sure?”
“She was dressed like those actresses from the black and white movies you like so much. The hair, the clothes, it all matches the stories I've heard.”
Thompson cautiously sat on his son’s bed. “How many times have you seen her?”
“Five times including tonight,” Jason whispered. “And every time it gets worse.”
“Does she look scarier? Is that what you’re saying?”
“No, I feel worse. Tonight, tonight I felt like I had nothing to live for. It was like I was fifteen all over again.”
“Did you want to … kill yourself?” Thompson asked hoarsely.
Jason nodded, “I don’t want to go back there, Dad. I know you’re all proud that I work there but I can't go back!”
“No, no way are you going back,” Thompson shook his head firmly. “If what you’re saying is true, there’s a huge problem and we’re not equipped to deal with it.”
“Who is?” Jason asked. “There are other pages working there, and if she turns on them it’ll only be a matter of time before one of them dies.”
Thompson looked at his son, “I know somebody who had a similar problem. We served in ‘Nam together. Let me call him.”
Jason followed his father into the living room like a scared five-year-old unwilling to be left behind. Thompson put a reassuring arm around his shoulders while dialing.
“Hello? This is Daniel Thompson calling from Astoria. I’m an old buddy of Deacon. Is he home?”
Sam's heart nearly stopped when a Jaguar just managed to swipe by without scratching the Impala. Dean thanked its driver with few choice words and two one-fingered salute. Sam once again re-examined the map in his hands, the frown on his face growing exponentially.
“Dude, please tell me you found the goddamn street!” Dean hollered at his brother. “‘Cause this is the fourth time we circled that store!”
Sam glanced up and saw Dean wasn’t exaggerating. Cringing a little he returned his focus on the map in front of him. “We’re on Broadway, right?”
“Yes, for the third goddamn time we’re on Broadway!”
Sam looked at the street sign when they hit the red light. “Okay, turn right at the next stoplight.”
“You realize I’m going to have to cut across this insane traffic.”
“You asked, Dean, so I’m telling you, right at the next stoplight.” Sam replied, finally letting his irritation show.
Dean gave a sharp glance at Sam before gunning the car. Predictably, horns blared and curses were thrown freely as Dean somehow managed to make the right without killing any of the nimble pedestrians dodging through moving traffic. Sam continued to give directions until they finally found the address given to them by Deacon.
Dean managed to park the car in what seemed like the only available spot in the entire block. With a weary sigh he closed his eyes.
“I hate New York.” Dean hissed as he massaged the back of his neck.
“We’re in Queens,” Sam corrected.
“I hate the entire friggin’ state is what I meant,” Dean snapped. “Let me call Thompson. He damn well better be home or I might just set his house on fire to make myself feel better.”
Luckily for all concerned Thompson was not only home but had genuine Greek food waiting for his guests. Dean’s mood improved dramatically after his third helping of psarosoupa.
Sam watched in shock. He didn’t think Dean would touch the fish soup but his brother dove into it with huge relish. Sam loved it personally but not with the Rabelaisian delight Dean was displaying. Thompson capped off the meal with very strong and sweet coffee. Sam wisely stayed with one cup, figuring he’d be wired for three days if he took two. So, when Dean looked like he was angling for a second Sam gently nudged his brother’s foot.
Dean managed not to pout.
The Thompson family waited until they settled in the small but comfortably furnished living room. Then Daniel retold the conversation that brought the Winchesters to his doorstep.
"So you think she's a ghost?" Dean asked.
Thompson looked at Jason with encouragement. The young man gave a small nod, “Yeah, she is. I know she is.”
“I’m sorry to say this, but how do you know it’s not some elaborate prank?” Sam asked.
“Because every time she shows up it's freezing. The stacks isn't the warmest place in the library but it was like Alaska every time I saw her. And there’s the part where she disappears right in front of me.”
Sam began writing, “So you only see her in the stacks? Nowhere else in the library?”
Jason nodded, “Yeah, and she never shows up when there’s someone with me. It’s like she waits until I’m alone.”
“Do you have any idea why she latched onto you?”
“I don’t know: ‘cause I’m black?” Jason joked weakly.
Sam gave a small but genuine smile, “Anything else?”
“Yeah, she looks like she’s crying, like something really bad happened to her. And what’s worse is I feel it too.”
“Feel what?” Sam asked, giving Dean a glance.
“I feel her pain.”
“So you know why she’s grieving?”
Jason shook his head, “It’s not like that. I get overwhelmed with grief … and it makes me want to do awful things to myself.”
“You mean suicide?” Dean asked.
“Yeah, I think she might have killed herself.” Jason said, “I think something or someone made her do it.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because the first time … I didn’t feel bad, you know? I actually felt happy, like I found something wonderful, something perfect. But then it became ugly and twisted and … just bad.”
Dean and Sam shared a look. Sam firmly said, “We believe you, Jason. Honestly, we do.”
“What do you think is happening?” Thompson asked.
“I think this spirit has latched onto your son,” Sam answered. “But it’s incapable of haunting him outside the library.”
“So, as long as he stays away from there, he’s safe?”
Sam nodded. “We can’t be positive so we have to make sure it never harms you, Jason.”
“How do you do that?”
“Well, we need access to the stacks,” Sam answered. “I know it’s going to be…”
“That’s not a problem,” Jason answered fervently. “Hell, that should be piece of cake.”
Sam paused for a moment. “You can sneak us in without rousing suspicion?”
Jason nodded, “Yeah. When do you want to go?”
“Of all the jobs in all the states, we end up here,” Dean said, looking at Patience and Fortitude guarding the New York Public Library.
“Suck it in, Dean,” Sam said smiling. He couldn’t believe it. They actually had a hunt located in what was probably one of top five library in the entire world. And Sam couldn’t wait to explore its long-forgotten treasures.
“Sam, please tell me you’re not masturbating to the thought of all those books.” Dean’s drawl interrupted his happy musings.
“Shut up.” Sam replied, unable to cool his eagerness. “This is going to be amazing.”
“You really are a girl, aren’t you? And a geeky one at that.”
“And you’re still overcompensating.”
“Well, at least it’s not the Metropolitan Museum.”
Sam turned to Dean. “What?”
“The Metropolitan Museum,” Dean repeated.
“I got that part, and I still say what?”
“You don’t remember?” Dean asked, smiling. “Man, one of these days you really should check that memory filter of yours.
“When you were like seven years old you read a book called the mixed … up … something and something.”
“Oh my God,” Sam whispered. “You remember that?”
“How could I forget? You were determined to run away to New York and live out the rest of your days in a friggin’ museum.” Dean’s smile broadened, “Man, you were one whiny bitch when Dad caught you trying to catch a Greyhound to the Big Apple.”
Sam shook his head, “I totally forgot about that. That was a great book.”
“I wouldn’t know,” Dean dryly said. “You wouldn’t let me anywhere near it.”
“That was because of your pyromaniac tendencies. And the fact your books almost always ended up as coasters.”
Dean rolled his eyes and shook his head. Sam just pretended Dean wasn’t his brother as they entered the beautiful building. Jason was already waiting for them in the grand foyer, practically rocking back and forth on his heels like an overeager fourth grader.
“You came,” he said softly.
“Of course we did,” Dean replied gruffly. “Wouldn’t want to miss this.”
Sam gave him a sly look of disbelief before following Jason as the young man took the marble stairs. Dean sharply elbowed Sam out of irritation but the Beaux Art building soon distracted his attention.
“Man, this is something else,” Dean whispered to Sam. “This took some serious money.”
“A lot of money,” Sam explained. “It’d be impossible if they tried to build something like this now.”
Sam came to a skidding halt when Jason led them into the reading room on the third floor. It was gigantic: decorated with massive chandeliers, solid wood furniture, and rows of computers resting on top of narrow reference desks. And because of the holidays, the entire place was festooned with wreaths, swags, and garlands.
Dean gave a shallow whistle of admiration and a big nod of approval. “Now this is a library,” he said to Jason.
"It really is something else, isn't it?" Jason whispered.
The young man’s obvious pride was heartening to see. Gone was the tremulous, terrified boy from the night before. Sam asked, “You sure we can do this without attracting attention?”
“Oh yeah, not a problem,” was the confident reply.
Jason marched to an enclosed area and entered without hesitation. He gave a nod towards a librarian whose work station was located right next to the entrance. Her only response was an anemic smile. Jason opened a gate that guarded a dangerously narrow stairs leading down and quickly disappeared from view. Dean and Sam followed, trying not to attract too much attention. Unfortunately, from the buzz rising with their departure, Sam wryly noted it was too much to hope for.
Jason’s happy demeanor vanished quickly when they reached the floor below. “These are the stacks.”
Sam looked around. “Can we use our equipment now?”
“Yeah, some of the pages are around, but we’ll be able to hear them if they’re close.”
Dean quickly began scanning the area, “I’m getting a reading but it’s weak.”
Sam walked halfway down the other end of the floor before scanning. He responded, “Same here.”
“Jason, where did you see her first?” Dean asked.
“First time was on this floor, the other times … when it got worse … few floors below.”
Sam joined them, “This place is huge.”
“It runs the entire city block and has more than five floors just for storage. There are sections where people haven’t visited in years.” Jason explained. “I was in one of those areas when I saw her the last time.”
“Why did you go?” Sam asked. “Was it because you had to retrieve a book?”
Jason shook his head, “No, it was stupid. There's a jackass who's also a page. He took my iPod and hid it as a joke. He knows about the ghost, most everyone who works here does. But I never told him I've been seeing her around.”
“If she’s already a local legend, she’s been around for a while,” Dean said thoughtfully. “Do you know if anyone actually died down here?”
“I asked about that already and nobody died here. And people tell me The Blue Lady's a friendly ghost - nothing bad ever happened to anyone who saw her. Well, besides being scared to death,” Jason added sheepishly.
“Until you came along,” Dean said slowly.
Sam knew what Dean was thinking and decided to ask before Dean started making accusations and pissing off their only ally in this hunt. “Jason, you have to tell us everything. Did you do something down here? Something you’re not suppose to? Something you’re ashamed of, even?”
Jason shook his head firmly, “No, nothing like that. You two are the first guests I brought down here. I never stole anything. I never destroyed a book, I swear.
"You don't understand ... I have a sheet, okay? I did a lot of stupid stuff when I was a kid and it's hard for me to do anything now without people treating me like shit. So I know I have to tread carefully, especially in a place like this.”
“Have the other pages reported seeing her too?”
Jason gave a nod, “Millie did back in October, right before Halloween. She quit the same day.”
“Did it hurt her?” Sam asked.
“No, just rattled her real bad. She comes from a family that has some heavy background on this stuff. Her mother wouldn’t even let her come back to pick up her paycheck. They had to mail it to her.”
“Did Millie say anything to you?”
“To me, no. But she said something to Adam who worked the same shift as her. She said that the ghost wouldn’t leave because of some unfinished business. And it was nasty business.”
Dean’s face darkened, “That doesn’t sound good.”
“No, it doesn’t.” Sam agreed. “Jason, I’m going to ask you to do something you won’t like. We need you to lead us to where it was the worst. Do you think you can do that?”
“Yeah, but if she appears I am so out of there. I know when to run and when to fight.”
“Brave doesn’t mean stupid,” Dean agreed with an affable smile. “Let’s get this over with.”
Jason took them to another staircase with even more treacherous stairs. Sam warily eyed the walls as they made their way deeper into the library. Many of their hunts led them into decrepit buildings and their basements, but he never felt so anxious as he did now. He feared they would not only be entombed by the library but by the entire city block.
Dean bumped his shoulder and Sam turned to him. Dean wiggled his eyebrows comically and Sam had to smile in response. Obviously his big brother wasn’t laboring under the same stress he was. Jason turned a corner and led them to a section where broken furniture was piled up high, halfway to the ceiling. Even more disheartening, there were small puddles of water scattered all over the place.
“Holy damn, this looks bad,” Dean said. “What happened here?”
“Not enough money,” Jason answered simply.
Sam felt his heart break a little. It looked like the basement from the friggin’ tulpa hunt. He began scanning the area and the readout definitely pointed to supernatural activity.
“Yahtzee!” Dean said as his EMF meter also went haywire. His happiness soon dampened as he realized what was to follow. “Does this mean we’re going to have dig through this shit?”
Sam sighed and shook his head, “It is.”
“We could just set the stuff on fire…”
Both Jason and Sam turned to Dean with gaping mouths. Sam sputtered, “We’re in a fucking library, Dean!”
“I'm not talking about a bonfire!” Dean wilted under Sam’s anger. "And they probably have a sprinkler system or something."
“This is the New York Public Library,” Jason's anger was even greater than Sam's. “Don't even think about it!”
“All right, all right. Sheesh,” Dean said, taking a step back. “So, what are we going to do now?”
“We’re going to wait until the library closes. Then we’re going to start sifting through all this,” Sam gritted out. “And I swear you even go near a match and I’ll hogtie you.”
Dean scraped up a hurt look before sitting down on a wobbly chair.
“Could you get our bag?” Sam asked. He saw the boy's eyes flare with fear and quickly added, “Do you want one of us to come with you?”
Jason shook his head. “No, I’ll be fine.”
Sam watched the boy walk away with his shoulders proud and firm. However, when he turned the corner Sam distinctly heard running footsteps. He turned to Dean with a smile.
“Brave kid,” Dean said.
Sam nodded in agreement. He walked towards the nearest stack and began perusing. The volumes looked old, with gilded covers. The entire collection seemed to focus on the textile mills in Waltham, Massachusetts, during the Industrial Revolution. As didactic as the material was, the writing was bright with wit and sharp observations. It wasn’t long before Sam began reading in earnest.
Which was why it took him a little while to notice Dean flipping open each book in the collection and carefully checking the endpapers.
“What are you doing?”
“A lot of the rich people in the old days went crazy at the end. They would hide money in between the cover and the endpaper.”
Sam managed to hold in his laughter. However, his voice was definitely hoarse when he said, “Dean, these are reprints and probably came directly from the printers. I really doubt they hid money in the books before shipping them off.”
Dean flushed dully as he reshelved the book he was examining. To Sam’s great amusement Dean started on another shelf of what seemed like genuine antique books when Jason returned.
“Do you need anything?” Jason asked as he watched Dean go through the heavy duffel.
“Nah,” Dean shook his head. “We’re good. Are you going back to work?”
“I got a shift in the Reading Room, so I won’t be down here.”
Sam checked his cell and noticed it was dead. “I’m guessing we’re too far below ground to get a signal.”
“Yeah, you won’t get any until you’re topside,” Jason explained. “The walls are way too thick.”
“What is that sound weird whirling sound I heard earlier?” Dean asked. “I’ve heard it for a while.”
“That’s the conveyor belt that takes the books upstairs. We’re not a lending library like the others. Books have to be requested through proper channels.”
“A library that doesn’t loan out books?” Dean said, turning to Sam. “Dude, that’s just wrong.”
“Don’t worry, Dean. I’m sure the rest of the libraries in this city are more than happy to lend their collection.”
“Sarcasm makes you look bitchy,” Dean remarked in irritation.
Sam just gave a small sigh at Jason who was openly smiling at their verbal sparring. The young man gave a nod of farewell before leaving. After making sure Jason reached the stairs safely Dean pulled out a deck of cards from his pocket. Sam took his usual place and soon the two of them began playing Winchester Poker. A card game full of deceit, sleight of hand, and other cheating techniques taught to them by their father.
The game went on for hours, with the two of them sharpening their skills on each other. Then the lights began flickering. Sam quickly reached for the EMF meter while Dean grabbed the shotgun. Then noises began reverberating above them. Sam checked his watch.
“They’re closing up,” he said.
“Man, it sounds like they’re shutting down missile silos.” Dean said, wincing at the clanking.
“Dude, we have reading.” Sam said then deliberately turned to face his brother in order to witness Dean slipping into hunter mode. Sam always prized the moment when Dean suddenly turned from a loudmouth playboy into the Hunter that so many of their kind speak of in admiration, respect, and a healthy dose of fear.
Dean suddenly whirled to his right, his shotgun aimed at the darkness marching towards them from the other end of the floor.
“I don’t think that’s happening because they’re turning off the lights upstairs.” Sam said.
“No, I don’t think so either,” Dean coolly agreed.
Sam pocketed the EMF meter and took out his gun. The darkness ended six feet in front of them. It felt eerie, their corner the only lit area on the entire floor.
“Come out come out wherever you are,” Dean softly hummed under his breath.
Sam forced himself not to do another eye roll in honest fear that they were going to be permanently stuck in that position.
Death by testicular homicide. I bet that's what the Coroner's going to write on Dean's autopsy report. Sam thought with a mental smirk.
Dean had little to want when it came to bravery. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for caution or common sense. In fact, the plain truth was Dean’s balls held the leash and his brother was usually more than happy to let them lead. This should have guaranteed Dean’s death early on but, somehow, the older Winchester boy managed to continuously dodge the Reaper with a crooked grin and the classic one-finger salute.
“Sam, it’d be nice if you paid attention?” Dean said, eyeing his brother with great annoyance.
Sam forgot about his previous worry and did an eye roll. The two continuously scanned the floor, expecting something to make a grab for them. Minutes ticked by with nothing happening save Dean’s belly rumbling in protest.
“Well, this is anticlimactic,” Dean said, relaxing his grip on the shotgun. “And weird.”
Sam nodded in agreement. “Yeah, it is.”
“Do you think she’s playing us?”
“Maybe, or she knows why we’re here and doesn’t want to show.”
“A shy ghost,” Dean said. “That’d be the first.”
“Or a smart one,” Sam corrected. “She might be up to something.”
“With our luck, she’s probably planning to bring down the entire library on our heads.”
“That’s not funny, Dean.”
“I wasn’t joking.”
Before Sam could afford a comeback Dean whirled to his left, his shotgun aimed at the darkness. Sam followed without question, and in the next breath he was only too glad he was trained to follow Dean’s lead. The ghost appeared, her shimmering figure outlined by the darkness. Sam could definitely understand why Jason had compared her to the actresses from the 40’s. By modern standards her evening gown was positively chaste but it accentuated her lush figure. And she moved gracefully, as if having guns aimed at her was an ordinary annoyance.
Dean frowned, “Something’s not right.”
“What makes you think that?”
“I don’t know - it feels off somehow.”
Sam’s eyes widened. How could he have forgotten Jason’s story about his emotional rollercoaster ride whenever he met up with the ghost?
“Dean, listen to me. Remember what Jason said? Remember how she nearly drove him to suicide?”
“That’s not what I mean, you dumbass!” Dean snapped, his focus still on the The Blue Lady. “I mean she’s not wary, not scared, but she isn’t acting totally batshit crazy either. Unless she’s got no clue that she’s a ghost.”
The emergency water pipe half-embedded into the wall next to them exploded, drenching both Winchesters within seconds.
“Fuck me!” Dean shouted just before the pile of broken furniture launched itself at them.
Sam barely managed to duck a chunk of wood aimed at his head before dragging Dean away from the corner and into the darkness.
“I guess she had a plan,” Sam panted.
“A damn good one too. I’m going to so waste the bitch.”
“Dean, we left our bag back there. It’s got everything, including the extra ammo.”
Dean snarled, “I’m still going to waste her.”
“Nuh-uh,” Sam said. “You’re not setting anything on fire.”
He heard Dean’s sharp intake of air and braced himself for a tirade. It never came as lights suddenly flooded the entire floor. Both men squinted and blinked, trying to get used to brightness again.
Sam looked at Dean and gasped. His brother’s face was covered with blood.
“What?” Dean asked.
Sam wordlessly grabbed Dean’s head and began checking for wounds. He found a large gash and tried to stymie the blood flow with paper napkins he always carried around. Dean winced at the pressure and fumbled as he took off his wet jacket. He then peeled off the equally soaked flannel shirt and ripped it apart for Sam to use as bandages.
The two cautiously made their way back to find their duffel gone.
“What now?” Sam asked as he made half-defeated movement to shuffle aside the scattered pieces of broken furniture.
Dean sighed and eyed the catastrophe. “We have to find the bag. We can’t afford to leave it behind.”
“Not to mention it’ll probably end up in the hands of Agent Henriksen,” Sam said. "And the last thing we need is to give more fuel to feed his psychosis."
“But first we better catch this bitch and find out what she wants.”
Sam turned to Dean in surprise. “You’re actually curious?”
“Yeah, so what?”
“It’s just that you’re usually salt-n-burn when it comes to poltergeists.”
“I don’t think she is one,” Dean said. “Yeah, she does the whole whirly-gig thing but that emotional manipulation stunt is something extra.”
“Vengeful spirit?”
“Maybe, maybe something else. I hate to say it but I think Jason had something when he said she’s haunting him because he’s black.”
“A racist ghost?” Sam said with a small grin. “Are you serious?”
“With what happened to Cassie? Hell yeah.”
Experience made Sam refrain from offhandedly dismissing Dean's speculation. And the truth was even the racial angle, though weak at best, was still better than nothing, which was what they currently had.
“Why do you say that?” Sam asked.
“She tried to get rid of us but enticed Jason,” Dean answered promptly. “If she wanted to scare him he would’ve left this place way before. Instead, she lured him in before finally hitting him with the suicidal whammy.”
Sam paused for a moment to digest the idea. “Okay, that makes sense. So she’s targeting Jason for a reason.”
“And I think that reason is his race,” Dean explained. “She ignored the other pages except for Millie.”
“And Millie came from a family that’s steeped in this stuff, so she knew when to take off and save her own skin.”
Dean glanced around the brightly lit floor. “I think she’s playing with us, but that won’t last long. Not when she realizes Jason won’t be coming around anymore and we’re to blame for it.”
“The big question is what does she want with Jason?”
“Considering the fact she tried to drive him to suicide - nothing good.”
“Dean, what are we going to use as backup?”
“Don’t worry about that … much. I’ll scrape up something. It’ll just take me some time.”
And Sam believed him one hundred percent. By experience he knew knives get lost, ammo get spent, bags containing additional weaponry get tossed out of reach, and when that happens Dean turns into a berserker with a creative streak. He’d grab anything he could get his hands on and convert the material into weapons.
The more memorable ones were a kitchen sink, a German Shepherd puppy, its mother, jars of salsa, an entire shelf of antique Limoge plates, one-of-a kind killer stiletto heels from a designer named Manilo something, and fourteen gallons of used fryer oil.
Then there was Fenway Park, which had to be the most spectacular stunt Dean had ever pulled off. His brother would have passed all these off as lucky coincidences but Sam knew better. When it came to the Hunt Dean was at times as supernatural as the creatures they hunted. Sometimes, Sam thought a higher power had a direct link into Dean’s brain, giving him helpful points when they were cornered.
And wasn’t that a scary thought?
Sam always carried extra clips for his gun. He figured Dean must have at least half-dozen shells for his shotgun and probably an extra clip for his Glock.
“Dude, she’s back,” Dean whispered to him, pointing at the wisp-like figure standing less than ten feet from them.
Sam studied her intently, trying to anticipate the next attack. A full minute passed as the two parties stared at each other. Finally Dean asked,
“Why are you here?”
The ghost began weeping silently, her tears leaving a bright trail down her face. Sam, emboldened by Dean’s behavior, asked, “What can we do to help?”
The woman turned to the corner where the pile of broken furniture lay. Dean sighed, “I guess we’re gonna have to dig after all.”
They cautiously approached the corner and began working without losing sight of the ghost. Because they had to examine everything the work was going as a snail’s pace. However, the ghost seemed to be more than willing to wait.
Sam was halfway done with his pile when he saw the missing duffel bag. He gave a mental sigh of relief and cautiously set it next to him where he could have immediate access if the need arose. Then Sam noticed under the bag there was what used to be a small writing desk. He thought it must have been a beautiful piece of furniture long time ago, but now it was only a wreck with no legs and three out of five drawers missing. He picked it up to put it aside when a small book slipped out from the desk.
Sam saw the ghost’s immediate reaction and grabbed the book from the floor. Its cover was that of the Holy Bible but when he opened it, it turned out to be a diary. Dean peered over his shoulder as Sam began reading. Sam flipped to the last entry and read backwards. After reading fourteen entries Sam knew this was why the ghost was hanging on.
He turned to her and firmly said, “I’ll take care of this. I promise.”
The woman gave a solemn nod and vanished.
“Sam, what’s in it?”
“Jason was right. She committed suicide,” Sam explained.
Dean shook his head, “I guess we’ve got our reading material. How much longer before we can get out of here?”
“Another five hours. I’ll probably be done with this by the time the library opens.”
Dean nodded and made himself comfortable, using the duffel bag as a pillow. “You know the drill. Head injury - every hour on the hour.”
Sam didn’t bother to respond as he began reading. In a few minutes Dean’s snores began but Sam was already lost in the diary.
Conclusion