Days Like These, Chapter Five
: : CHAPTER FIVE : :
September 29, 2010… FBI Headquarters, Washington, DC
Dean sat on the edge of the table as he scribbled in his ever-present notebook. The old-fashioned paper kind. The spiral bound, college ruled kind. He left the electronics to Charlie and Kevin. And Sam. He liked paper. Paper he could hold onto and cut up and move around.
He peered over his glasses hearing more activity around him. He took another bite of his second sandwich because Sam was Mother-Henning him. After swallowing he pivoted around to Charlie, “Those other dates I gave you?”
Charlie nodded, “I’m working on them. It’s going to take a bit of time, but I’m doing a search for all unsolved cases fitting the timelines.”
“You sure about this, Dean,” Rufus followed Garth into the room, “you don’t want to expand the search to other dates?”
Dean pinched the bridge of his nose and rocked his head back over tired, tense shoulders. He could hear the grinding of tense muscles luckily no one else could. “We can, but we need to keep track of which victims fit our current profile. Plus,” he looked back at Charlie, “we’re going to be hit with every victim that fits the timeframe not just the ones that fit our profile.”
Rufus nodded, “True, but you know, we shouldn’t…”
“Leave any stone unturned,” the team finished for him.
He cracked probably the first smile that room had seen that day. Or in the few days preceding it.
“So far all of the victims we’re attributing to this unsub,” Charlie spoke from behind her console of computers, “have been found in a cemetery or on church grounds.” Rufus looked up for the first time at the calendars displayed on the screen. “That’ll make it easier for us to cull out other victims found elsewhere.” He pointed to the screen, “What’s this?”
“The other dates, the other possible kill dates,” Dean answered.
Rufus swept the toothpick that was present whenever he was working a case from one side of his mouth to the other. The tiny stick had replaced cigarettes for him years ago. The War Room boasted a steady supply of them in strategic places. It did the same with chocolate for Garth and Dean as well as Gummi Bears and Worms for Sam, Gabe and Charlie. Kevin was the non-snacker in the bunch and got ribbed for it mercilessly.
“Charlie,” Rufus turned back to the Tech, “where are we with that?”
“I’ve got matches coming up,” Charlie clicked away at the keyboard and pushed a screen toward Kevin who jumped in on the other side.
He shook his head and typed in another string of code and grimaced at what was coming up on his screen. He moved Dean’s display to alternate screens on the side of the room and put up what he and Charlie were getting on the new search parameters.
“Guys!” Kevin and Charlie called out together, “You’re not going to like this.” A string of possible victim’s names matching the dates that Dean gave came up. They also matched some of the dates and locations of the victims they’d already uncovered.
Garth and Benny’s partner, Gary, let out low whistles as the list populated. Dean slid from his perch on the table and dropped into his chair as he scribbled notes in his book.
“That’s not all,” Kevin added as he activated another screen, “based on the victim sites we know, take a look at who was there that matches our TOD dates.”
“That’s an impressive list,” Sam’s voice held a note of dismayed awe as he took a chair next to Dean. “It’s going to take forever to get through these.”
“Who are The Poison Darts,” Benny asked as he looked over the list.
“Indie rock band,” Gabriel said from the doorway. “Hey, sorry I’m late. Was talking to the papers.” At Rufus’ silent inquiry, he nodded, “They’re being good.” He looked at the screen, “Poison Darts, goth rock band out of some Godforsaken place in South Dakota. The other group up there, Galactic Genesis, Christian rock band out of, surprise, surprise, Alabama.”
Dean smirked, “How in the hell do you know this?”
Gabe shrugged with a good-natured smile as he slid into a chair, “The same way you, my friend, know such esoteric info on religion. Bands are a thing and the names just stick with me.”
“So, Galactic Genesis?”
“They’re not that bad,” Gabe frowned slightly as he looked back up at the screen, “but definitely not our unsub.” He glanced over at Dean, “First, they’re kids. Second, they travel small, and third,” he pointed to one of the side screens, “catch me up, that list,” he nodded to the one behind Dean, “are some of the locations?”
“Yeah.” Dean looked back at his colleague, “What about the third thing.”
“Oh, right,” Gabe put down his coffee, “they’d never play somewhere like Minnesota. Mostly they stay local, they’re still really new on the scene. So, they only match part of your timeline.”
“But they did,” Kevin piped up from behind his computer. “May 14 to 17 in 2007.”
Gabe shook his head with a frown, “Dig deeper. That’s graduation time, I’ll bet one of them’s an alum or has family or something. I don’t like them for this.”
“Based on what,” Charlie asked.
“My gut,” Gabe answered.
“I think the circus,” Benny swiveled toward the screen, “is a better bet.”
“I agree,” Sam said as he swallowed a fresh sip of his leftover drink from lunch, “the rock band is also too small. They’d all have to be in on it. Chances are they’re their own roadies so that means they’re traveling light. But this circus, Bright Thorn Big Top, great place for kids, lots of people. Kid could go missing easily.”
“Just as easily as from the Crown of Heaven Evangelical Ministries,” Dean added as he scribbled in his notes. “Charlie, Kev, can you narrow down the distance parameter.” He looked back at the two techs, “Make it five miles.”
In a few clicks, the two bands fell off the list, as did the three larger and more well-known rock bands. Still on the list were the traveling ministry and the larger circus.
“Can that be a coincidence?” Sam’s query went out to the table at large, but he’d just asked the question on everyone’s mind.
Rufus nodded, “It could. One could be following the other or steering them. I mean, why not, the circus comes to town, a big draw for everyone. Who doesn’t want to go to the circus?” He switched his toothpick around for a second, “The ministry follows, capitalizing on the hype the circus has already generated.”
The team nodded as their chief put forward his observations.
“Plus, gives our unsub more cover, right?”
“Okay, so then,” Sam chimes in, “we’re looking at the ministry which fits our profile.”
“The circus fits it, too,” Dean added as he looked up from his notes.
“Yeah, but, Dean, c’mon,” Sam cajoled, “the circus? Elephant riders, clowns, trapeze guys, lion tamers. These guys aren’t killers. And not really known as religious zealots!”
“Really?” Dean looked at his partner with his you’re-kidding-me-brows. “Most circuses’ core performers are gypsies and I’m not talking the traveling kind, although that fits too. I’m talking about Romani Gypsies, very religious, very Catholic, and very superstitious.”
“Well, shit,” Garth let out the small expletive. “That changes the way I’m gonna look at circuses for, well, forever.”
Dean gave their youngest member a wry smile, “I know, huh?” He looked around the table, “I’m not saying either or, but we’ll have to look closely at both.” He looked back at the dates he’d amassed and turned to Rufus, “We have to be careful in tracking the movements of both the ministry and the circus. It’s possible there’s a connection other than the one using the other as tack and drag.”
Rufus nodded as he examined the data they had so far. “There’s nothing more we can do tonight. It’s late and I know we all want to keep going, but we also need to rest. Come at this fresh in the morning.”
:::: :::::: ::::
Sam glanced over at his partner and shook his head a bit as he realized that he’d been, virtually, talking to himself. He doubted if Dean had heard anything he said. He didn’t even flinch when one of the waiters or someone dropped a considerable number of dishes with a jarring crash on the thick tile floor of the Italian bistro they both liked.
He gently kicked his partner under the table. He kicked him again with a little more force.
“Hmm,” Dean’s eyes focused on Sam. They lost the hazy glaze that had clouded his usually clear green eyes. He pulled himself up straighter in the chair, “So, the Patriot’s game?”
Sam chuckled and smiled, “Yeah, well, I had that conversation with myself more than fifteen minutes ago. I was just kind of waiting to see if you’d join me anytime soon.”
Sam’s smile grew as his partner’s face flushed with embarrassment. “I’m sorry, Sam. This case,” Dean let out a sigh, “I just,” he shuddered and dropped his fork that had yet to eat anything substantial of the Gnocci al Forno that was one of his favorite dishes.
“It’s hard to leave it, even for a little bit,” Sam nodded, “I get that. It is for me, too. But,” he took a sip of his beer, “you gotta admit that fresh eyes, a fresh head, you could do more. You need to get some sleep, man.”
Dean nodded as he threw a bit into his mouth, “I know. I will.”
“And eat.”
Dean forked another helping into his mouth, “Happy, Mom?”
“Very.”
:::: :::::: ::::
Sam could feel the tension radiating off his partner as they both tried to sleep. They were both strung tight over this case, but Sam hadn’t seen Dean this tense since the first case they’d worked together. Then he put it down to being with a new partner.
But this case was really tying the man in knots. He played possum and didn’t let Dean know that he was keeping him awake. Usually he could sleep through anything. It was a standing joke with the two of them that a tornado could sweep across Sam and he’d not flicker an eyelid.
Finally, Sam felt the weighted compression of the mattress and knew Dean had, at last, succumbed to the sleep he needed. Letting out a relieved sigh he turned and wrapped himself around his partner. He felt Dean’s body relax a bit more as he fell deeper into slumber. For the first time in days, Dean’s muscles were lax in his arms. Pulling the comforter more closely around them, Sam allowed himself to follow.
“Oh, sonovabitch!” Dean jack-knifed awake, breaking free of Sam’s arms and only realizing when he heard his partner groan. “Sam! Sorry!” He swung his legs from the bed.
“What the hell, man,” Sam’s sleepy moan held all the derision it could given the hour and rude awakening.
“I’ve been an idiot!” Dean pushed off the bed and padded to the bathroom.
Sam sat up, albeit reluctantly, hearing the shower run. Scrubbing the sleep from his eyes, he looked at the clock expecting to see that only a few minutes had passes since they both fell asleep. He was more than surprised to see the clock announcing that it was already ten after six. He padded into the bathroom and after taking care of his morning business, leaned against the double sink counter, “You mean about the Angel Boy Killer,” he grimaced as he used Garth’s name for their unsub.
“Yeah,” Dean called from the shower. Sam saw he was almost finished as his partner tipped his head back to get the shampoo out of his hair. Dean took some of the shortest showers. Sam liked to linger but he knew that would not be an option today.
A minute later Dean stepped out toweling off as Sam stripped off and stepped under the still streaming spray. “So, how were you an idiot?”
“It’ll be better, clearer, if I show you, but I’ve been looking at the timeline wrong,” he picked up his Braun shaver and ran it over his groomed stubble leaving just enough to be shy of a beard but mitigate his sometimes too boyish face. As he finished brushing his teeth, Sam was out of the shower and taking up his spot at the second sink.
“How, wrong,” Sam asked lathering up for a razor shave.
“I’ve got the year wrong,” Dean answered as he finished his morning routine, “remember yesterday the dates were bugging me? I said the calendar was off, messy?”
“Mmhmm,” Sam rinsed his razor and continued shaving as he listened.
“I can’t believe I was this dense,” Dean stepped into his boxers and then sat on the toilet to pull on his socks. “I was looking at the Gregorian year, you know the regular year, January to December.” He reached into the built in drawers where they kept underclothes and pulled out a fresh tee-shirt, “she’s, he’s, using the Ecclesiastical calendar. At least, I think so. Looks right in my head, have to see it on paper.”
Sam wiped his face down with a wash cloth and slapped on some aftershave as he looked at Dean in wonder. “You know, you might be right, since the unsub’s using the Easter calculation as a base. At least, as far as you’ve thought it out. And the dates seem to fit the profile we’ve got, as meager as it is.”
Dean nodded as he passed through into the walk-in closet, “I need to see it. There are a couple things that just don’t jive for me.”
:::: :::::: ::::
Charlie was her usual fresh-as-a-daisy self as she powered up her system as Dean and Sam came through into the War Room. Kevin slogged in behind them looking barely dressed.
“Dude,” Kev groused as he took his place in front of his computers, “do you not know about the eight hours a growing boy needs?”
“If you’re a boy, then I’m Methuselah,” Dean shot back as he opened up his laptop and notebook. “Charlie those calendars from yesterday…”
“Commmiiing up, now.”
The screens that had been resting silently and restfully blank came to life with an explosion of monthly and yearly calendars.
Dean studied them again for the umpteenth time. “And there it is!” He pointed to the March calendar. “Look!” He pointed to the same month in successive years, “It’s always empty. She’s, ah, fuck! The unsub…”
“Oh, hell, Winchester,” Kevin grumped, “just call her, it, what the fuck ever, the Angel Boy Killer. Genderless and accurate. Simple.”
Dean snorted at Kevin’s crankiness, “Okay, well, our Angel Boy Killer is using the Ecclesiastical calendar NOT the Gregorian!” He heard Charlie lightly gasp in surprise. “If you look at the calendar from Lent to Lent or Easter to Easter, the dates start to make better sense.” He glanced over at Charlie, “Can you do that? Arrange them from Lent to Lent?”
“On it!” Dean watched as Charlie and Kevin ripped apart the calendars electronically.
“Winchester,” Rufus growled as he ambled in, “please tell me there’s a reason I’m here at this un-Godly hour!”
“There is.” Dean didn’t stop in his explanation as the rest of the team straggled in, “remember yesterday I said the calendar was off.”
Heads nodded. Dean explained why. “And look, here, see,” he pointed to March, “there’s no activity.”
“There isn’t any in July either,” Garth pointed out after noisily sipping from his coffee cup.
“No,” Dean agreed, “I don't think that's the anomaly it appears to be. Not sure what it is yet, But, this,” he pointed to Easter, “is the start of her year as it is for all Christian churches.” The excitement in his voice was one of triumph and wonder that he’d found what he was missing.
“Wait,” Rufus’ voice boomed from the table behind Dean, “Christians use the same calendar as everyone else.”
“No,” Dean turned to his chief, “well, yes, Christian people do, but the churches don’t. Easter is the start of the Ecclesiastical year, and so, our unsub is, basically, using it as the first day of the year.”
Rufus nodded as he looked over Dean’s calendars.
“Hey, Kev,” Dean called over his shoulder, “can you mark off all the Ash Wednesdays?”
“No problem.” In a few clicks the five calendars, from 2006 through 2010 were marked with an ‘X’ over the date Dean requested.
“See.” Dean pointed to the gap between Ash Wednesday and Lent, “there’s no activity at all in any year during Lent.”
“I guess that’s what our unsub gives up,” Gabe chided.
“Oh, seriously,” Charlie groaned. “Poor taste, bub!”
“A little levity can be a good thing,” Gabe retorted as he examined the calendars and the time gap. “So,” he turned his attention to Dean, “what does this mean for us? Does this make more sense to you based on what was bugging you yesterday?”
Dean stepped back and leaned against the table. He scrutinized the display again. Suddenly, the team heard a low chuckle coming from their Supervising Agent.
“Dean?” Benny interrupted his former partners private comedy interlude.
“She’s clever. And fuck, she’s meticulous!” Dean chuckled dryly again as he looked from calendar to calendar.
“What?” Rufus interrupted this time, “Care to share with the class, Winchester?”
“It’s making more and more sense,” Dean explained as he perched on the table, “the dates were off to me yesterday. I knew the ones I had were correct, I’d checked and re-checked. But there were too many and then not enough.”
“You said last night that eight was too many,” Sam reminded, “that it should have been three or seven. You were really stuck on the seven, right?”
Dean nodded, “Exactly.” He looked around at his team, “Benny, you’re a Catholic. You’d know this. Why three or seven?”
Benny shrugged with a small smile, “Three, it’s a good Holy Number for the Trinity. Seven is a Biblical number.”
“Okay, hang on, Dean,” Garth chimed in, “educate the Baptist here. What’s with the seven? I get the three, Father, Son, Holy Spirt.”
Benny swept his arm toward Dean, “The floor, cher, is yours.”
Dean rocked his head from side-to-side on tense shoulders, “Okay, a bit of trivia. You know why seven is a lucky number?” Head shook and shoulders shrugged.
“Oh, wait!” Charlie giggled, “The seven virtues.”
Dean grinned, “Give the little lady a cigar!” The team chuckled and it WAS good to have a bit of levity when they’d all been working so hard on figuring out their newest unsub’s motives and moves, visiting morgues and interviewing victim’s families. “But,” Dean continued, “there’s more so much more. Let’s start with the seven days of creation. The seventh day being held separate for the Sabbath. And here is where seven starts to be the number of completion and of divine perfection. The number seven is all over the bible. For easy stuff there are the Seven Holy Gifts, Seven Venal Sins also known as the seven Deadly Sins.”
Nods of understanding surrounded him. “There’s so much more,” Dean continued pacing in front of the screen, “Exodus, animals must be seven days old before sacrificing. Second Kings, Naaman, the leper, is cleansed after bathing seven times in the River Jordan. Joshua is commanded to march around Jericho seven days and to make seven circuits on the seventh day while seven priests blow seven trumpets,” he looked at his team, “I’m sure we all know what happened there.”
He pushed his hands into his pockets but then withdrew them to use his fingers to tick off more examples, “In Genesis, seven pairs of each clean animal are on the ark. Exodus, there are seven stems on the tabernacle’s lampstand. Also in Exodus, Egypt is plagued for seven years counter-balanced with seven years of plenty. Isaiah, seven qualities of the Messiah, seven signs in John’s gospel, and seven things the Lord hates in Proverbs, seven parables and seven woes in Matthew also seven loaves of bread into fish,” Dean paused to chuckle, “there’s a discrepancy with that one, earlier in the text its five loaves and 2 fish, still a seven though.”
“And then,” he continued, “in John, Jesus is the seven-fold ‘I am’. Seven in multiples is just as important. It’s in Daniel, 490 years, 7 times 7 times 10. Jeremiah, Babylonian captivity would last seventy years, Leviticus, the Year of Jubilee begins after the passing of each 49th year. Again, in Matthew, Jesus tells Peter to forgive seventy times seven. In Revelations it’s very prevalent, and I’ll bet our unsub knows this chapter backwards and forwards, seven spirits before God’s throne, seven gold lampstands, seven stars in Christ’s right hand, seven seals of God’s Judgment, seven angels with seven trumpets…”
“Shit!” Garth and Gabe exploded interrupting Dean, “they do not teach this in Sunday school!”
“They do in some,” Dean muttered and brows rose in unasked question. “Suffice it to say, the number seven appears in the Bible more than seven hundred times.”
“So, then,” Sam enters the fray feeling a bit shell shocked at hearing Dean’s whispered confession and the sheer amount of information he’d just rattled off, “it’s safe to say, that our Angel Boy Killer is big on the number seven.”
“Yeah,” Dean shot him a grateful smile, “I think so.”
Sam sucked in a deep breath and looked up at the calendars soon to become seared into his memory for all time. “What about this,” he walked toward the screen, “what’s going on here? Why the shift from this February date, Candlemas, to this one in January.”
“Oh, hell, that’s easy,” Rufus piped up, “those years, there,” he pointed out 2006, 2007, and 2009, honoring Candlemas falls during Lent and our unsub’s not deviating from the plan that’s already been mapped out.” He turned toward his Supervisory Agent, “That right?”
Dean nodded, “On the nose, sir. On. The. Nose.”
“She plans,” Sam sighed, “and plans well.”
“And long term,” Gabe added.
“Yeah,” Dean finally sank back into his seat and scrubbed his hands over his face.
“She’s going to hit again,” Rufus mused looking at the screen, “on November 28 and December 26.”
Dean looked at his chief glumly and gave him a slow nod.
“Now we just need to know where,” Benny added as he took a folded message from his partner who’d been trouble-shooting on one of their cases at home.
:::: :::::: ::::
Sam looked up from putting the remainder of their dinner in the storage containers. He kept an eye on his partner from the distance of the kitchen. Dean had been even quieter at dinner than he’d been in the last few days. Their silence broken by halting bits of conversation on nothing important.
He flinched as Dean poured another bourbon, neat, and took a healthy swig. This was his second, at least as far as Sam knew. Two beers with dinner followed by Woodford for dessert was not a good way to end the night. Wiping his hands off with a dish towel he was relieved when Dean finally quit staring out the window and plopped onto the sofa except that he’d downed his glass and had already poured a third.
Sam could see the tension in his partner. Hell, he could feel it. He could see Dean reviewing the material he and the team had amassed on their latest unsub. Padding over to the sofa, he took the glass from Dean’s hand, and downed it himself. Climbing up on the sofa, he sat on the back and threw his leg over Dean.
“Jeeze, Sam, what the hell…”
“Shh,” Sam settled himself, his legs on either side and started to massage his partner’s shoulders. “Man, you are so tense.”
“And you’re not?” Dean leaned into Sam’s strong hands. “God, that feels good.”
“I am tense, but,” Sam worked on the knots riddling his lover’s shoulders and neck, “you need to talk to me, man. I’ve seen you tense. I’ve seen you involved in other cases, some more than others. But this one? This is tying you up,” he pushed Dean a bit away from him to get better leverage on Dean’s delts, “talk to me.”
Dean let out a sigh, equal parts frustration and relaxation as Sam’s hands worked their magic on his bunched muscles. “We’ve got two months, Sam. Fifty-nine days to find this sonuvabitch. And you know we’re not going to get this bitch until more kids have died.” Sam could hear the defeat and exhaustion in his partner’s voice. “And that just kills me, Sam. That this bitch, is going to ruin more lives, end another child’s life. And we can’t do a damn thing about it.”
He felt Dean tense under his hands again. “And it just makes me nuts what people will do in the name of God. You drag your kids to church to teach them that God is good, be a good person, do unto others and all that bullshit.” Sam quietly kept kneading his partners tensing muscles. “And it’s all bullshit in the end, ‘cause that praying thing never worked for me, but this bitch… this bitch is preying on these boys luring them into being an Angel in God’s army, I’ll bet money on that one.” Dean snorted and tried to reach for the bourbon.
Sam pulled him back. “These people,” Dean’s voice was gruff and strained, “they promise these kids all kinds of shit if they’ll be good, good soldiers for God. What a fuckin’ joke! And they get it from everyone, their parents and grandparents, aunts and uncles have told them all about being obedient and kind, trusting in the Lord, fuckin’ crock of shit!”
Sam leaned down and wrapped his arms around his partners trembling shoulders, “Dean, man. I’ve never heard you like this.” He laced his fingers with Dean’s and rested his chin on his lover’s shoulder. It was the first time he’d realized that Dean’s expertise in religious iconography was more than just academic knowledge.
“In the War Room,” Sam’s voice was soothing and quiet, “when you muttered, ‘some of them do’, you were talking about your Christian education, hmm?”
Dean leaned into his partner, “You have no idea.”
“Mmmm,” Sam nodded against Dean’s shoulder, “I don’t. But, maybe after that little tirade and today’s efficient quoting of Bible passages, your aversion to organized religion, I’m going to take a stab that you were raised in the church?”
Dean let out a dry huff, “The evangelical, traveling, Bible thumping, be good or God won’t love you, church, yeah.”
“Mmm,” Sam hummed as he squeezed his partner’s hands in his, “that’s too bad. Shouldn’t be that way. Should have been comforting not threatening…”
“Well, it wasn’t,” Dean let out a long breath, “and at the end of the day, it’s not that way for these boys.” Dean let his head hang back against Sam. “And it just kills me, Sam, that this Holy Rolling bitch is going to get more innocent boys. It just fuckin’ kills me. Worse, I need for her to kill again just to be sure that we’re after the right person. And I, we, can’t do a thing to stop it.”
“No, we can’t,” Sam kept up his ministrations, “and it kills me, too. Here’s the thing, though, we may lose more boys, but we’ll save more in the end. We’ll get her. Him. Whoever.” He leaned down to look at his partner as he massaged his neck, “Dean, your success rate is some of the best in law enforcement, you won’t fail.”
“I can’t Sam,” Dean leaned into his partner, “I can’t. No more Sammy’s, Sam. I can’t have any more Sammy’s.”
Shit, his brother? Fuck! I should’ve known! Sam kept his voice as even as possible, “What’s this got to do with Sammy?”
Chapter Six