Captured Soul

[serafina20]

The next morning saw them on the road early. Dean opted not to wake up, instead letting Sam drive. He sacked out in the back seat, and Rachel took the front. She was half-asleep as well, but, thanks to coffee and Sam's steady chatter, she woke up after they'd been on the road only a half hour or so.

"So what are we going to do once we get to Plumtree?" she asked after she was fully awake.

Sam hitched one shoulder. "Find where our guy's buried. We should probably hit the library first thing, see if we can dig up an obituary."

"Maybe there's a local historical society," suggested Rachel. "We should check there, first. Places that have a long history tend to keep their records more accessible than the local library. I mean, the library works, but we might find a local historian who can tell us who this is." She sipped her coffee. "What then? After we find out who it is?"

"Dig him up, burn and salt the bones," Dean said from the backseat.

Rachel glanced back. "Morning."

He opened his eyes and gave her a sleepy smile before saying, "I've got salt in my ass."

"Lovely."

"Switch with me."

"You're kidding."

"Nope. You're the reason the salt's back here. You suffer."

Rachel rolled her eyes and handed her coffee back to Dean. Unbuckling her belt, she carefully climbed into the backseat. Her elbow knocked Sam in the head, causing the car to swerve, but she kept her balance and managed to get in the back without falling on Dean.

"There." She settled onto the seat. "Happy now?"

Dean took a long swig of her coffee. "Well, I still have salt in my ass."

She laughed. "Sounds like a problem. Don't expect me to do anything about it. You're a big boy. I'm sure you can wipe yourself."

"Yeah, but sometimes, even big boys like to have ... You know what? I'm not going to finish that sentence."

"Thank God," both Rachel and Sam said at the same time. They laughed.

"Anyway, burning and salting is the way you get rid of ghosts. You should know that." Dean climbed into the front seat as he spoke, managing to make it without hitting his brother. However, once he was there, he punched Sam in the shoulder.

"What was that for?" Sam asked, shooting a glare at Dean.

"Pull over. I want to drive."

"Dean..."

"My car, bro."

"We're two hours out. It'll be faster to just keep going."

"You just want to choose the music."

"Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole," Sam said with relish. He practically beamed at his brother.

"Right," Rachel said, leaning against the front seats. "So, what are we going to do with the picture, anyway?"

"I've got two thoughts on that," Dean said, glancing at her. He gestured for her coffee again.

With a roll of her eyes, she handed it forward.

"Okay," he said after finishing it off. "First thought it, we burn them both together. No picture, no trapped soul, no bones, not ghost. Easy as pie. But, I'm also thinking, maybe it we get rid of the source, his bones, the soul will be set free, too."

Rachel thought about it. It went against every fiber in her being to destroy and antique unless it was an actual portal of evil. She'd come across them before, or, rather, her parents had. Demons sometimes got trapped in mirrors or jewels or other objects. Sometimes previous benign religious items were perverted and used to bring harm to others. Those needed to be destroyed.

The picture maybe didn't.

But she should check with the psychic before deciding anything. "What do you think, Sam?"

Sam frowned pensively, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. "I don't know. I see Dean's point, and it's not a bad one. If we reunite the captured soul with the body, maybe that'll be enough to exorcise it."

"Or, maybe we can do an exorcism," Rachel suggested.

Dean glanced at her. "Ever done one before?"

"Um, no," she admitted. "But, as part of my training or upbringing or whatever you want to call it, I've had to memorize the rituals. It was an unusual upbringing."

"Join the club," muttered Sam.

Rachel frowned at the bitterness in Sam's voice.

Dean, on the other hand, rolled his eyes and said, "Okay, Rach, you solve this for us. You're nine years old and you tell your dad that you're scared of the thing in your closet. What is his response?"

"Ward the door, give you an EMF, and tell you any time it goes off to call him," she answered. "Why?"

Dean looked at her for a long moment, his eyes narrowed like he wasn't sure what to say.

"It's better than giving them a .45," Sam said.

"Yeah, but it ain't exactly saying don't be afraid of the dark, either." Dean cocked his head. "Think it's because she's a girl?"

"My brother got the same thing. We didn't get guns until we were thirteen. And, even then, we weren't allowed to keep them in our rooms. But I grew up in the same house. My parents still live there. We had plenty of time to clean it out and ward it. I didn't have to learn how to defend myself against the thing in the closet; I had to learn to differentiate between my imagination and reality."

"Exactly," Sam said triumphantly.

Dean had a different reaction. "You are really useless, aren't you?"

"Yes, completely," Rachel agreed sarcastically. "I just don't think it's a good idea to give kids guns, that's all. It's more responsible to give them a tool like an EMF and let the adults do the hunting."

"Which is how you ended up such a fantastic hunter, I bet."

"I have to ask. Do you have PMS, or are you always so hot and cold?"

Sam laughed while Dean wavered somewhere between a glare and a blush. "So, you can do an exorcism, huh?" he said shortly, putting the conversation back on track.

"Theoretically. And, if I can't, we can toss the photograph on the fire. Right?"

Dean thought about it a moment, tossing a glance at his brother.

Sam just shrugged. "When it comes down to it, after we did the body up, burning and salting is a one man job. I can help her with the exorcism if need be and keep watch that no one sees us."

"All right, then, we'll give it a try." He drummed his hands on the dashboard, bouncing a little in his seat. "Man, I need some coffee and some food. Pull over at the next place we see."

"You just want to get me out of the driver's seat so you can drive," Sam said, rolling his eyes.

"Hell yeah."

* * *

The local historical society was an office inside the library, which was also a historical building. Rachel immediately felt like she was home when she went inside, easily identifying many of the authors on the bookshelf behind the desks as not only prominent historians, but friends of her parents. There were several books on genealogy as well as a computer in the corner with a sign proclaiming, "Trace Your Family Tree!" Pictures of Plumtree in the past adorned the walls and artifacts were kept behind glass cabinets and display cases.

The lone occupant inside was a woman who looked a little familiar to Rachel. When she and the Winchesters entered, the woman looked up from a document she was carefully cleaning and looked at them over her glasses.

"Hello. May I help you?" she asked politely.

Dean opened his mouth and took a breath, obviously preparing to speak, but Rachel stepped in front of him and said, "Hi, I'm Rachel Adams." Dean and Sam may be the hunting experts, but this was her world now.

"Dr. Margot Stern." she shook Rachel's hand.

Bingo.

"Dr. Stern, I thought you looked familiar. My parents know you. Doctors Chris and Janet Adams."

"Oh, of course. Rachel." Dr. Stern smiled and squeezed Rachel's hand. "I remember you when you were just ten years old. That was back when I was teaching at Yale. Your parents threw a barbeque. You were adorable, pigtails and pink overalls. And you carried around that stuffed bunny with you the entire day. Your parents said you'd had a nightmare the night before." She looked Rachel, who was blushing furiously, over. "You've grown."

"Yeah," Dean said, throwing his arm around Rachel's shoulder and squeezing her. "But who can forget the little girl? Got any more stories?"

Face so hot, Rachel thought she was going to melt, she said, "Dr. Stern, this Dean and Sam Winchester. We're working on a project." She glanced at Sam, who took the picture from the bag and laid it on Dr. Stern's desk. "We're trying to, um, find out what happened to this family. They're the Winston family, and..."

"Oh, yes, I know who they are." Dr. Stern crossed her arms over her chest and looked at them over her glasses again. "How did you hear about them?"

"Um, my dad. Well, sort of. He doesn't want me to get lazy during the summer vacation, so he gave me the picture and told me to gather as much information about them as I could. The boys decided to help me, because it's kind of like a treasure hunt and Dean still thinks he wants to be a treasure hunter when he grows up."

Dean hit her on the back.

"Anyway, we found out there name and that this picture was taking in 1902 in Plumtree. So, we thought we'd come down."

"So you don't know the story?"

Rachel fought to keep the smile from her face. Instead, she worked on keeping her expression innocent as she shook her head. "No, we couldn't find anything."

"I imagine you were probably looking on-line." Dr. Stern gestured for them to sit. She pulled her own chair over to a few chairs in the corner of the office and sat down. "The Winston story made a few books about infamous crimes at the beginning of the century, but I guess it isn't very widespread. It's well known here, though."

"What happened?" Sam asked, leaning forward in his chair. He had that look on his face again, the one he'd given Rachel the first day they'd met. It was so intent, so interested. He made it seem like the only person in the world that mattered was the one he was speaking to.

Dr. Stern wasn't immune to the effect of those beautiful green eyes and innocent expression. She smiled and took off her glasses, allowing them to hang by the beaded string around her neck. "Well, the Winston family had lived in Plumtree since its founding. They were a nice, well to do, family by all accounts, went to church, paid their taxes, participated in the town activities, all that. Pillars of the community.

"Andrew Winston was born in about 1884. He was, according to the research, a loner. Very smart, but intense. His brother, John, married a local woman, Victoria, in 1902. Even though Andrew was five years older than Victoria, rumor was Andrew was in love with her."

"And she had brown hair and brown eyes and he killed her with... Owe!" he cried when Rachel stomped down hard on his foot.

"Yes, that's right," Dr. Stern said, obviously surprised. "How did you know?"

Sam and Rachel glared at Dean.

Dean just shrugged. "There's a brown haired girl in the picture that doesn't look like the rest of the family. And doesn't the story usually end with the girl dead?"

"Not just the girl," she replied. "Andrew killed Victoria, John, and their three month old child. He had gone over for supper and, afterwards, took an ice pick from his pocket and killed them all. He didn't even try to deny it. They found him with Victoria's dead body in his arms, blood all over him."

"He didn't do anything to the body, did he?" Dean asked, lips curling.

Dr. Stern frowned at him. "Young man, that's a very inappropriate question."

Rachel snorted, covering it as best she could behind her hand.

"Um, well," he stammered, "I'm just asking so, you know, our research is complete."

"No," Dr. Stern said icily. "He didn't do anything to the body."

"What happened to him?" asked Sam.

"He was hanged and buried in Plumtree cemetery, although not in the family plot. And, as the story goes, he now haunts the plot, pining for Victoria." She smiled and shrugged. "Not romantic in the least, but it gives the local teenagers a thrill. They go out there around Halloween, hoping to see him."

"Has anyone?" Dean wanted to know.

She shook her head. "No."

"Anyone else ever been killed with an ice pick?" asked Sam.

"Um, no, thank goodness." She glanced over at the portrait. "I don't suppose you'd be willing to donate the picture to the town?"

Rachel rose. "Um, I'll ask my dad. But we'll have to see. You know how much he likes objects with ghost stories attached to them."

Dr. Stern nodded, standing as well. "Of course. Tell him to give me a call sometime. I'd love to hear from him."

"I will. Thank you for your help."

They were silent until they were outside once again.

"Okay, we need to find his grave," Sam said. "We'll put the photo near it and, Rachel, you can exorcise it. But you can't start until Dean's lit the body." He put his hand on Rachel's shoulder. "It's going to keep going after you, you know. You think you can do it? Because you can get a room for the night and I'll do the exorcism."

Rachel shook her head. "No, I can do it. No way I've come this far only to hide safe in some hotel room."

Sam grinned and squeezed her shoulder. "Good girl."

Dean put his arm around her again. "Do you need your bunny?"

"Fuck you."