Road Closed Ahead - Chapter Two
So let's get this story going...
Chapter Two
"Hunters?" Dean said innocently, despite the fact that the hair on the back of his neck was standing on end. "I have no idea what's in season, and my brother out there," he jerked a thumb toward the car, "is a card carrying PETA member. Won't even let me eat eggs when he's around. Me? I'm good with free range."
The woman's eyes narrowed and she looked surprisingly dangerous for such a little person. "You think you're the first hunters to stay in this place? We've got a headless horseman in town. It tends to get the attention of people like you."
"Oh, there's nobody like me." Dean grinned, giving her the benefit of the full lascivious wattage.
The woman snorted, but a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "Something tells me that's probably true."
"So will you give us a room?" Dean asked.
"Cash only," she said, all business. "I'm guessing the only cards you have are stolen or under assumed names. I don't need that headache."
Dean shifted uncomfortably at how quickly she had them pegged. Maybe he wasn't as unique as all that. "Cash, it is."
"And I'll require a $100 deposit. You make it through your stay without getting blood on my sheets I'll give it back to you."
"I wouldn't-"
Faster than Dean could move, she reached out and grabbed Dean's hand. Before he could jerk it back, she'd tugged up his sleeve exposing the marks around his wrist where he'd been tied to the tree waiting for the scarecrow to kill him. She pointed to the fading bruises around his eye, and then pointed toward Sam outside. "Your brother's head's killing him, too."
"Ran into a little trouble."
"And apparently got out of it," she said, releasing his hand. Dean pulled it back and ignored the urge to rub at the ligature marks on his wrists. "I hope," she continued, "that means you're smarter than you look."
Dean just nodded. He could appreciate a woman with moxie. He reached into his wallet, pulled out a pair of hundreds and set them on the counter. "Will that hold us for a couple of days?"
The woman scooped up the money and tucked it in the pocket of her apron. "Fair warning. If the horseman kills you," she pointed a finger at him, although there was a definite twinkle in her eye, "I still get to keep the deposit."
"Duly noted."
The little woman pulled a key off the rack sitting behind the counter and tossed it to him. "You should go to the library. You'll find what you're looking for there."
Dean nodded his thanks. "That pans out, I might let you keep the deposit anyway."
"Look at this," Sam said in nearly reverent tones.
Dean shoved aside the oversized bound volume of newspapers he'd been thumbing through. As near as they could tell, the sightings had no rhyme or reason. The horseman showed up seemingly at random to scare the crap out of people who also followed no discernable pattern. So far they had sightings all the way back into the mid 1700s which meant this ghost was a lot older than most of what they dealt with. The country just wasn't that old. West of the Appalachians, it was rare to find anything past the 1850s. Most native cultures took great pains to ensure the departed was at rest and didn't cause the living any grief.
"What is it?"
Sam was walking back from the section devoted to local history carrying what looked like an old leather-bound book. "Dean," he whispered. "It looks like a hunter wrote this."
"No kidding?" Dean said at normal volume, resulting in a glare from one of the librarians.
"It says here he left it 'For those seeking to solve the problem of the horseman'."
"Catchy title. What's it say?"
Sam mumbled to himself as he glanced through the pages. "Give me a minute," he finally said. "His handwriting's worse than Dad's."
Dean sighed and wandered back toward the desk. There were several librarians, most of them seniors supplementing their social security. He quickly zeroed in on the least sour looking of them, a pleasant looking blue-hair in a cheerful flowered dress. "Hi."
"Can I help you?"
"I'm a reporter with the Daily News. I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions."
"If this is about the new budget, then I'm not allowed to comment," she began, but Dean quickly held up a hand to stop her.
"We're doing a human interest story," he said. "The horseman, how the story has affected the locals, sightings, where the legend started, that sort of thing."
The woman studied him for several seconds with one eyebrow raised. "Look, if you're just here to make fun of the ignorant country bumpkins and their ghost story, then-"
Once again, Dean held up a hand. "Absolutely not. I'll tell you the truth." He leaned forward conspiratorially. "I saw a ghost once. Nobody's ever believed me. I like to look into stories like this where there are lots of people who all say they've seen the same thing."
The woman relaxed somewhat, glancing from side to side as if afraid of being overheard. "I saw him once."
"You did?" Dean asked. He'd known as soon as she got defensive about a possible story.
"He was near the cemetery."
"The one out on Barton Road?"
"Yes, that's where he almost always is."
"Did he chase you?"
She shook her head. "He was on his horse, just… standing there at the edge of the cemetery. Kind of like he was guarding it." She visibly shivered. "I don't drive past there anymore. Most people don't."
"Have you ever looked into the stories?"
She smiled wryly. "I am a librarian," she said, as if that explained everything. "There have been sightings all the way back into the late 1600s."
"Is that so?" Dean said, surprised yet again. It took a very determined ghost to hang around that long.
"It can't be proven," she leaned closer to whisper, "but local legend has it, it started during the witch trials."
Dean frowned. "Witch trials… as in the Salem witch trials?"
"They weren't actually confined to Salem. There were trials in quite a few other places, here being one of them."
"What does the story say about the horseman? How was he supposed to be involved?"
"Martha," a woman's voice snapped, "what are you going on about now?"
Dean and the nice librarian jumped at the interruption. A sour-faced, steel-gray haired woman who had "bitter old maid" stamped on her forehead had managed to sneak up on them and catch them talking about a non-Dewey-Decimal related topic.
Dean slapped on a non-threatening smile. "Martha was just helping me navigate the local history section." He nodded toward her, his smile more genuine. "Thank you for your help."
"No, thank you," she said, still looking nervously toward the other woman who was probably her boss.
Dean walked back toward Sam, ignoring the evil eye the old biddy was giving him. It was easy to ignore. He'd been glared at by the best, and it would take more than one bossy librarian to break him.
Dean slid into the seat next to Sam who still had his nose in the leather-bound book. "You ready to tell me what you found now?" When Sam didn't respond, he purposely jostled him.
Sam shot him a glare that was about as effective as the librarian's. "Dude, knock it off. Do you have to be such a jerk?"
Dean grinned. "Everybody's got to be good at something."
"I'm trying to work here," Sam griped. "Can you leave me alone for like five minutes?"
"Sorry," Dean said, his tone deceptively light. "I get confused. Sometimes there's work and you ignore it and take off, and sometimes, there's work and you just ignore me."
Sam's expression fell. "Dean, I didn't-"
"Whatever," Dean quickly cut him off. "Just tell me what you found. I got some info from one of the librarians."
Sam huffed in annoyance at the rebuff. "I'll check this out and look at it later." He stood and did a library-appropriate version of stomping toward the desk. It was so ridiculous looking, it was almost worth the silent treatment Dean knew he was going to get for the rest of the evening.
Dean headed out to the car and Sam followed a good twenty minutes later, no doubt just to piss him off. Sam got in, his eyes purposely averted, his jaw set. They both remained silent as Dean started the car and pulled away, Dean simply because silence wasn't necessarily a bad thing since when his brother started talking it would probably be explosive, Sam because he was formulating all the ways in which he was right and Dean was a jerk and preparing his rant accordingly.
Dean pulled up to a drive-thru and Sam just shrugged when Dean looked in his direction for his order. He therefore ordered anything on the menu that looked like rabbit food before adding a triple burger for himself.
Dean continued back to their motel, and parked in front of the room, still in silence. Sam got out of the car and slammed the door behind him, making Dean grimace, both for the car's sake and for his pounding head's. He watched as Sam marched to the room and threw the door open only to stop dead in his tracks, his body suddenly tense as if for a fight. Dean was beside him in an instant, his hand on the gun at his back.
"What's wrong?"
Sam just pointed. Sitting right in the middle of the bed closest to the door was a human head, and from the smell it was pretty fresh.
Dean swore. "Well, one thing's for sure… We just lost our deposit."
Chapter Three