Twelve Days 5/12
Title: Twelve Days
Authors: princess_schez & mlebayre
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Someone’s been reenacting a beloved holiday song, but with a very dark twist.
Authors Notes: Set during S2. Banner by princess_schez
On the sixth day of Christmas my true love gave to me six geese a laying…
Dean didn’t have a problem finding the judge Cathy Willard was having an affair with. All he had to do was go to the closest bar, drop a few bucks on some beer, get the television station set to news and start talking about Cathy Willard’s death.
When he went to the home of the judge he found something interesting. Of all the pictures in the house, one stuck out the most. The judge was a woman.
He pulled out his phone, it was time for check in with his brother. “Hey, Sammy, did you find a name for the judge?”
“AJ, all I found was initials. None of the articles had proof. The affair, all of them, were unsubstantiated rumors. There is one judge with the first name Arleen and one with the last name Johnson,” Sam said. Dean could hear him tapping on the keyboard.
“It was Arleen. At least that is what the local gossips say and she’s the highest ranking judge in the county. I’m at her house now. I found photos of her and Cathy.”
“Yeah, if those two were hooking up, that’ll piss off a priest without having his ghost controlled by a vengeful teenage girl. Any sign of Arleen?”
“No. And I don’t like this. There is no one here, and the house was unlocked. I didn’t even get to use my lock picks.” Dean held his phone is one hand, his handgun out and at the ready in the other. “I’ll call you back in a few minutes.”
He silently moved down a hall and poked a door open. First was a bathroom, large, elegant with a tub big enough for two people. Next was a bedroom that looked like it was for guests. Next down the hall was another bedroom converted into a library. One wall was lined floor to ceiling with shelves of books. A wide screen TV took up another wall and across from that was a computer.
Dean left everything in the room alone and headed across the hall to what was clearly the master bedroom. It was bigger than the two rooms across the hall together. It looked undisturbed, the massive bed neatly made. There were two doors in addition to the entrance to the bedroom.
Opening one door revealed a walk in closet stuffed with clothes, shoes and various accessories. Dean rolled his eyes and backed out. It was beyond him why anyone would need enough shoes, purses and matching belts they could go two years without using the same one twice.
As he approached the next door he heard water trickling. What he assumed was a leaky faucet turned out to be an overflowing tub. As with the one down the hall it was big enough for two people.
Or one person in blood stained water.
“Shit,” Dean muttered. “I bet you’re Arleen.”
He called Sam, “What’s the next line in the song?”
“Geese. Six geese a laying.”
“Hang on.” Dean stepped back and snapped a picture of something and sent it to Sam. “This qualify?”
For a minute there was silence then Sam’s voice returned. “Eww.”
“Guess that means yes. Give me a ten minute head start then call the cops.” Dean ended the call, left the bathroom, and headed out of the house.
Cathy’s illicit lover Arleen was in the tub of water. Her arms sliced open, she’d bled out. Above her was a series of mobiles in the shape of a flock of geese. Hanging from the geese were egg shaped pieces of shiny metal.
-0-
Dean was a safe distance away when he heard the sounds of police sirens draw near Arleen’s house. He sighed, not even bothering to turn the radio on. They needed to find a way to get the athame from Depressed Girl and stop this madness before they got further into the Twelve Days of Christmas.
“Dean, I got to show you something,” Sam said, looking up from his laptop as his brother entered the motel.
Dean, looking over his brother’s shoulder, couldn’t help but laugh.
“An ice skating show? Really? You want to go to see that, Sammy?”
“Look at what they’re performing: Swan Lake. The seventh day of Christmas is seven swans a swimming. And look at where it’s being held.”
“Aw crap.” Dean read the info for the ice show. It was being performed on an outdoor frozen lake the next day at sundown. Somehow, that didn’t seem like the smartest of ideas, and if this was where the next murder was going down, it was worth checking out. They hadn’t gotten lucky enough to get a heads up before, and now they might be able to stop it.
Dean’s phone rang, taking his attention away from the screen.
“It’s Ellen,” he said to Sam. “Hello?”
”Just thought I’d call and check on you guys. Make sure you’re still alive and haven’t gotten yourselves killed.”
“We’re fine. The case is taking a bit longer than expected.”
“How so?”
Dean went into the gory the details of the case: from the killer spirit of Father Gregory reenacting the Twelve Days of Christmas, to the athame on the neck of a seriously troubled girl, and the gruesome deaths suffered from those in the crossfire.
“This time we may actually have a lead. If it pans out, we should hopefully be able to put this case to rest.”
“Just make sure you burn the athame in holy fire. According to some legends, that’s the only way to properly destroy it.”
“Well, we’re hoping to get our hands on it sooner rather than later.”
“Remember, if you need any help, we’re always just a phone call away.”
Closing the phone, he looked at Sam. “Ellen said that the only surefire way to destroy the athame is to burn it in a holy fire.”
“Holy fire?”
“Yeah, like we bless the fire with a sprinkling of holy water and proceed to torch to that little pain-in-the-ass piece of jewelry.”
Sam nodded. “Kinda makes sense. But we need to get it from that girl.”
“Tomorrow we strike.”
Authors: princess_schez & mlebayre
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Someone’s been reenacting a beloved holiday song, but with a very dark twist.
Authors Notes: Set during S2. Banner by princess_schez
On the sixth day of Christmas my true love gave to me six geese a laying…
Dean didn’t have a problem finding the judge Cathy Willard was having an affair with. All he had to do was go to the closest bar, drop a few bucks on some beer, get the television station set to news and start talking about Cathy Willard’s death.
When he went to the home of the judge he found something interesting. Of all the pictures in the house, one stuck out the most. The judge was a woman.
He pulled out his phone, it was time for check in with his brother. “Hey, Sammy, did you find a name for the judge?”
“AJ, all I found was initials. None of the articles had proof. The affair, all of them, were unsubstantiated rumors. There is one judge with the first name Arleen and one with the last name Johnson,” Sam said. Dean could hear him tapping on the keyboard.
“It was Arleen. At least that is what the local gossips say and she’s the highest ranking judge in the county. I’m at her house now. I found photos of her and Cathy.”
“Yeah, if those two were hooking up, that’ll piss off a priest without having his ghost controlled by a vengeful teenage girl. Any sign of Arleen?”
“No. And I don’t like this. There is no one here, and the house was unlocked. I didn’t even get to use my lock picks.” Dean held his phone is one hand, his handgun out and at the ready in the other. “I’ll call you back in a few minutes.”
He silently moved down a hall and poked a door open. First was a bathroom, large, elegant with a tub big enough for two people. Next was a bedroom that looked like it was for guests. Next down the hall was another bedroom converted into a library. One wall was lined floor to ceiling with shelves of books. A wide screen TV took up another wall and across from that was a computer.
Dean left everything in the room alone and headed across the hall to what was clearly the master bedroom. It was bigger than the two rooms across the hall together. It looked undisturbed, the massive bed neatly made. There were two doors in addition to the entrance to the bedroom.
Opening one door revealed a walk in closet stuffed with clothes, shoes and various accessories. Dean rolled his eyes and backed out. It was beyond him why anyone would need enough shoes, purses and matching belts they could go two years without using the same one twice.
As he approached the next door he heard water trickling. What he assumed was a leaky faucet turned out to be an overflowing tub. As with the one down the hall it was big enough for two people.
Or one person in blood stained water.
“Shit,” Dean muttered. “I bet you’re Arleen.”
He called Sam, “What’s the next line in the song?”
“Geese. Six geese a laying.”
“Hang on.” Dean stepped back and snapped a picture of something and sent it to Sam. “This qualify?”
For a minute there was silence then Sam’s voice returned. “Eww.”
“Guess that means yes. Give me a ten minute head start then call the cops.” Dean ended the call, left the bathroom, and headed out of the house.
Cathy’s illicit lover Arleen was in the tub of water. Her arms sliced open, she’d bled out. Above her was a series of mobiles in the shape of a flock of geese. Hanging from the geese were egg shaped pieces of shiny metal.
-0-
Dean was a safe distance away when he heard the sounds of police sirens draw near Arleen’s house. He sighed, not even bothering to turn the radio on. They needed to find a way to get the athame from Depressed Girl and stop this madness before they got further into the Twelve Days of Christmas.
“Dean, I got to show you something,” Sam said, looking up from his laptop as his brother entered the motel.
Dean, looking over his brother’s shoulder, couldn’t help but laugh.
“An ice skating show? Really? You want to go to see that, Sammy?”
“Look at what they’re performing: Swan Lake. The seventh day of Christmas is seven swans a swimming. And look at where it’s being held.”
“Aw crap.” Dean read the info for the ice show. It was being performed on an outdoor frozen lake the next day at sundown. Somehow, that didn’t seem like the smartest of ideas, and if this was where the next murder was going down, it was worth checking out. They hadn’t gotten lucky enough to get a heads up before, and now they might be able to stop it.
Dean’s phone rang, taking his attention away from the screen.
“It’s Ellen,” he said to Sam. “Hello?”
”Just thought I’d call and check on you guys. Make sure you’re still alive and haven’t gotten yourselves killed.”
“We’re fine. The case is taking a bit longer than expected.”
“How so?”
Dean went into the gory the details of the case: from the killer spirit of Father Gregory reenacting the Twelve Days of Christmas, to the athame on the neck of a seriously troubled girl, and the gruesome deaths suffered from those in the crossfire.
“This time we may actually have a lead. If it pans out, we should hopefully be able to put this case to rest.”
“Just make sure you burn the athame in holy fire. According to some legends, that’s the only way to properly destroy it.”
“Well, we’re hoping to get our hands on it sooner rather than later.”
“Remember, if you need any help, we’re always just a phone call away.”
Closing the phone, he looked at Sam. “Ellen said that the only surefire way to destroy the athame is to burn it in a holy fire.”
“Holy fire?”
“Yeah, like we bless the fire with a sprinkling of holy water and proceed to torch to that little pain-in-the-ass piece of jewelry.”
Sam nodded. “Kinda makes sense. But we need to get it from that girl.”
“Tomorrow we strike.”