Supernatural fic

[serafina20]

Here's the Supernatural fic that I'm not writing

TitleGhost in the Photo
Author Serafina
Pairing None
Rating PG
Summary A series of mysterious deaths lead the boys to an inn in New Haven.

Feedback is Love.





It was a little bar in the middle of nowhere. Bad jukebox, two pool tables, drunk truckers, and desperate women. They were easy to hustle and, by the time Dean made his final push, too drunk to really get what was going on. Dean cleaned them out in less than two hours and, almost four hundred dollars richer, swaggered back to where Sam was nursing a beer and pursuing the hot sheets for their next job.

"Find anything?" Dean asked. He plopped on the stool across from his brother and snagged Sam's beer, taking a swig.

Sam shook his head, but said, "Yeah, I think so." He rubbed the nape of his neck and slid the paper across the table.

"Connecticut," Dean read.

"New Haven, to be specific." He tapped the paper. "There's a bed and breakfast that's having some problems keeping their patrons alive. Six people murdered in the past year."

"Six?"

"All couples."

"There a pattern to it? You know, were they all married, or were they all there with the all cheating, or on their honeymoon or what?"

Sam shook his head again. "Paper didn't say."

"The door was locked from the inside, no signs of forced entry, blah, blah," Dean read, skimming the details. "Cause of death... ice pick in the ear. Yuck."

"Yeah. Unusual and disgusting."

Dean frowned. "They're sure that no one working at the inn did it?"

"Pretty certain," Sam replied. "There's no motive or evidence. And nothing was stolen or missing from any of the victims. They were killed in the middle of the night, nothing taken, nothing disturbed but them. I mean, yeah, it could just be some psychopath who gets of on it or something, but it feels like one of ours."

Dean looked at him sharply, eyes narrowing. "You having dreams or something?"

"No. No, nothing like that." Sam was obviously troubled, his forehead furrowed, eyes shadowed by his overlong bangs. "It just... there's something that jumps out at me. I can't explain it."

"Yeah well, one day, you better learn." He growled softly and drained the beer. "Well, let's hit the road; we're going to Connecticut."

* * *

The inn was one of those froufrou little bed and breakfast things that were supposed to be romantic and cute. Dean had never found them cute; he just found them creepy. Motels he understood. The only interaction you had with anyone who worked there was when you checked in and out, and, sometimes, the maids. It was all impersonal. You did your thing and they let you do yours.

Places like this, though, were too nosy for Dean's taste. It was like staying in someone's house, only you didn't know them, but they were still interested in everything about your life. They were always run by overly friendly women or really gay men, and all the other guests seemed to feel like they had an open invitation to pry into your life. The few times Dean had had to stay in one, he'd almost worn his teeth from the incessant grinding. It wasn't just the constant questions about his life that got to him; it was that fake ass happiness and bubbly demeanor that made him want to puke.

"Looks deserted," he said as he climbed out of the Impala.

Sam closed the door, nodding. "The paper said they'd been closed since the murder. Makes sense; I mean, I wouldn't want to stay in a place six people had been killed and no suspects found."

Dean shook his head and started for the front door. With any luck, it'd be easy to get inside and they could look around without running into anyone. They'd have to question the manager eventually, but if they could get a sense of what happened without them, so much the better.

The front door was closed, but unlocked. The brothers exchanged looks and stepped inside.

"Do people who run these places have any taste?" Dean asked, nose wrinkling at the overabundance of flowers and lace decorating the main lobby.

Sam snorted. "It's supposed to be romantic."

"Yeah, nothing says romance like a lace pillow and an ice pick through your ear." He went to the front desk and rang the bell. "Hello? Anyone here?"

"Hello?" a voice called.

The boys turned to see a young woman walk out of a connecting room. She was wearing a pair of jeans that hugged her body nicely and dark blue sweater that cut low over her bust.

Well, hello gorgeous, Dean thought giving her a slow once over.

The girl stopped behind a sofa, her eyes traveling over both Sam and Dean. She seemed to dismiss Sam quickly, but lingered on Dean, her eyes narrowed. After looking him over, she crossed her arms over her chest and seemed to stand a little stiffly. "Can I help you?" she asked coolly.

"Hey," Sam said with a friendly smile. He did friendly and sincere a lot better than Dean did. Dean figured it was because of his baby face and innocent eyes; Sam said it was because he didn't drool over everything with a good pair of tits. "I'm Sam and this is Dean."

"We're reporters," Dean added; that cover usually worked a helluva lot better than saying they were cops. Harder to check, too. "We're doing a story on the murders that happened here?"

"Uh-huh," she said warily.

Dean glanced at Sam, then added, "The manager, Amanda Wycott, said that someone would be here to give us a tour, tell us what happened? I assume that's you, right?"

A look of something like panic crossed her face, but it quickly faded and was replaced with a smile. "I guess she forgot to tell me. My name is Rachel. I'm the… receptionist slash maid." She came around the sofa and held her hand out to shake. "I'm surprised Amanda is letting reporters in. She's so afraid that the place will be closed and she'll lose her job. She loves this place."

"Well," Sam jumped in quickly, shaking Rachel's hand quickly, "she said that she hoped that our article would make it clear that people didn't have anything to be afraid of by staying her. You know, Dean and I like solving mysteries like this. Maybe we can help stop the killings."

"Yeah, that's us." Dean gave Rachel his best and most charming smile and squeezed her hand gently. "Investigative reporter sleuths. Just like Superman."

"Which one of you is Lois Lane?"

"That's me," Dean replied. He hadn't let her hand go yet. "You know, I’m all in touch with my feminine side and stuff. Sensitive, considerate, caring."

Rachel laughed. "Right," she drawled, extracting her hand. "Just like Lois. Anyway, um. So, what do you want to know?"

"We'd like to see the rooms, if possible," Sam said. "Get a feel for the place, that sort of thing."

"Okay. The first murder happened right through there, in the room I was just in." She led them through the lobby into what looked like a living room. There were about four sofas and a few overstuffed chairs. There was more lace and a lot more flowers, plus some dead bark and stuff in little pots on every surface. The floor was hardwood, covered with thick, pinkish rugs. There was a fireplace, empty now, which made the room look colder than it really was.

"This is the common room, where the first murder happened," Rachel said once they were inside.

"Not a bedroom?"

She shook her head. "The second two were in bedrooms--two different bedrooms. The first one happened here." She hesitated, then pulled out some index cards from the back pocket of her jeans. Referring to them for a moment, she said, "It happened some time after midnight. The couple, Jill and James Rogers, had come in late from sightseeing. They'd already eaten dinner, but Charlene, the woman managing it then, brought out some of the pie from dessert. They were alone in here for about… forty-five minutes. Charlene was in her office. When she came out, she found them both dead."

"Did she hear anything?"

"No." Rachel shuffled the index cards, shifting her weight back and forth. "She did say later that she might have heard something like a cry, but she had music on, and her office really isn't close to the common room. There was no break in, but nothing could be pinned on any of the guests or workers."

"What happened to Charlene?" Sam asked.

"She quit about three months later. She said the place gave her the creeps and she always felt like someone was watching her. Besides, she was having nightmares and panic attacks." Rachel shrugged and shook her head before turning away. "They redid the room after it happened. It'd already been sold to someone, they were just waiting for escrow to close. They'd originally said they weren't going to change the décor, and they didn't, except for down here. It was a real shame. This place didn't use to look like a tea cozy threw up in here."

Dean snorted. "Are you sure one didn't? I find it hard to believe someone did this on purpose."

"Well, you don't know the owners. Apparently, they really like their flowers and lace."

"Apparently?" Sam seized on that word before Dean had even finished processing that Rachel had a nice smile to go along with her body. Luckily, one of the Winchester boys was always on his toes.

Rachel looked uncertain for a moment, then said, "Yeah. I haven't met them yet. Amanda hired me. That's why I have these." She held up the index cards. "Just in case someone asks about the murders you know?"

"Then how do you know what it looked like before?" Dean asked. Something weird was going on here.

She didn't answer, only open and shut her mouth a few times uncertainly. The arms of the sweater she was wearing covered her hands; as she stood there, she tugged on sleeve all the way over and twisted the opening around, covering her hand completely.

"Look," Sam started, but Rachel suddenly said, "I stayed here when I was a kid, about ten years ago. My parents are historians and there's a lot of history around here. When we stayed, it was classy and comfortable. There were still a lot of antiques, but it didn't look like an enchanted forest on crack."

Sam glanced at Dean, who shrugged. He still thought something was up, but it wasn't anything in their field. Unless this chick was summoning some ghost, in which case, they better keep a close eye on her.

His brother seemed to be thinking the same thing. "Okay, so, it's different now. Do you have any pictures of the room from before?"

Rachel hesitated. "The police probably do. Aren't you going to talk to them?"

"They just have pictures of the crime scene," Sam answered, smoothly sidestepping the question. "I wanted to look at the differences between the room then and now."

"I'll see what I can do," Rachel said, her voice kind of distant and thoughtful. She looked down at the cards and shuffled them. "Anyway, they were found on the floor next to the couch. There was blood on the floor, and the fire was out."

"It'd been going?" Dean said.

"Um... yeah. Apparently, at the time, Charlene was... using the common room to study when no one else was around." She looked at Dean and smiled crookedly. "You know how it is when you've got a paper due."

He shot a look at Sam, who looked amused. "Yeah," Dean said. "Late nights, pots of coffee, all that crap. So, did the police ever say what they thought happened?"

"They almost pinned it on Charlene, but it fell through due to lack of evidence. She quit a few months before the second murder."

"Was that in here, too?" Sam asked. He was prowling the room, touching the walls. There was a look of concentration on his face, brows lowered, mouth turned down in a frown as his hands lightly walked over the walls and he studied the grains of the wood.

"No," Rachel answered. "It was down the hall, in one of the bedrooms."

"Same one as the murder the other day?" said Dean.

She shook her head. "That was upstairs."

"Three different rooms," Dean mused. "Any connection between them?"

"They're all in the same inn. Other than that, no." She tucked a strand of hair behind her head. "Ready for the next room?"

"Let's go."

Rachel led them out of the common room and down the hall. The door was locked, but she pulled a key from her jeans and opened. "After you, gentlemen."

Unlike the lobby and common room, this place was not an absolute disaster. The bed was big enough for two people to really have some fun in, and it wasn't so frilly to make you feel like you were in some old person's bed, either. The flowers were at a minimum since the whole theme of the room looked like it was a seascape or something. Dean couldn't really see himself being happy there, but, given the right chick, it might be worth it.

"Nice," Dean commented. He leapt on the bed, landing on his butt and bounced a few times. Leering at Rachel, he said, "Now *this* is a fun room."

She rolled her eyes, but leered back. "Yeah, well, two people died in that bed."

"Eeuch! This bed? Really?" He slid off it.

"That very one." She glanced at her cards. "Grant Addison and Kimberly Russell. They were here celebrating their second anniversary."

"Married?" Sam asked, prowling the room again.

"No. But the had gotten engaged the night before. He proposed to her while they were out on some kind of cruise. When they came back, he bought champagne for everyone and proposed a toast. They went walking after dinner, then went to be early. When they didn't come out of their room, they finally knocked. No one answered, so they opened the door and found the couple dead. Ice pick in the ear, no sign of forced entry, nothing missing, no motive, no suspect."

"Did this room change after?" Sam asked, head in the closet.

"I don't... think so," Rachel said slowly. "The rooms are one of the popular things of the inn. The new owners mostly did the common areas, the halls, the dining room, that sort of thing."

Dean crossed the room to his brother. "Getting anything?" he murmured

"The closets are huge." Sam closed the door. "Last room?"

Rachel led them upstairs to yet another room. It as basically the same as the one below, only green. This time, Dean didn't jump on the bed, just turned to their tour guide with a raised eyebrow. "Well?"

"Kendra Nichols and Cecilia Kent," Rachel said. They were celebrating their sixth anniversary. Two kids, one adopted, one from Cecilia's previous marriage." She shook her head, frowning. "They've been here before, I guess about three years ago. Stayed in this room." Rachel reached up and straightened a photograph that was hanging crookedly on the wall. "They'd been hiking that day, came back in the early afternoon. Spent the rest of the day on the grounds, reading and whatnot. Another guest said they thought they heard a scream, but when they didn't hear anything else, figured they were hearing things. Next morning, they were found dead. Same thing as the others."

"And they didn't have any problems in this room before?" Sam asked.

"No. No one has."

"Any changes to the room?" Sam pressed. "Any other deaths? Any... problems with the plumbing or sounds in the night or anything?"

Rachel looked at Sam like he had another head growing from his neck. "I don't know about the room, but as for the other stuff, no. No problems at all."

"Can you get us the registry for that day?" said Dean. "So we can interview some of the other guests."

"Well, I think the police..."

"Yeah, but we're here now," Dean replied with a smile. He turned on extra charm and could see her responding to it.

"I guess..."

"And, while you're at it, can you give us the registry for the other murders, too?" Sam suggested. "Maybe there's a connection, something no one's seen."

"I don't," but then she sighed and raked her hand through her hair. "Yeah, okay. I'll print a copy for you. "

"What about pictures for all the rooms?" Sam said. "I'd like to see the differences, if there are any."

"Yeah," Rachel said slowly. She looked around the room again, eyes narrowed, as if she were seeing everything for the first time. "That might take a day or two.

"That's fine," Sam assured her. He glanced at Dean, who nodded; he was ready to get rid of her. "Mind if we wander the grounds for a bit?" asked Sam. "Get a feel for the place?"

"Go ahead. I'll go get the registries. Don't, you know, take anything."

"Ah," Dean whined, picking up some ugly ass sea creature from the mantel over fireplace. "But I really was hoping for a souvenir. What the fuck is this, anyway?"

Rachel laughed and turned to go. "Some kind of shell, I think. I'm sure no one will ever notice it's gone, but I will question your taste forever if it is." She shot him a bright smile, then left the room.

Once she was gone, Dean turned back to his brother. "What do you think?"

"I think we're going to need to come back at night," he said. "There's something going on here, but the ghosts only come out to play then."

"All right. Let's get some dinner then head back. We've got a killer to find."


* * *

Comments

[mylenn.livejournal.com]

This is a really great start! I can't wait to read the next part. Sorry this comment, is so short, but I'm a wee bit tired. ;)

[serafina20.livejournal.com]

Thank you!! I hope I can post more soon. I know what's going to happen, but it won't come out for some reason. stupid words. :)

I'm glad you enjoyed it!

[revelininsanity.livejournal.com]

Spooky. I like the evil bed and breakfast so far.