Key Harbor Act I: Our Kinda' Case
Sam barely glanced up from his laptop as Dean opened the motel room door. Although he was the younger brother, Sam was big, almost too big to fit at the small nondescript table in this cheap room. The décor was supposed to be whimsically nautical, but it came off looking like an old lady’s shell-themed bathroom. “So get this,” he began, turning the screen around toward the doorway and his brother, “there have been two more patients admitted to the psych ward with amnesia.”
Dean struggled through the front door with the key, bag of food, a large coffee, and some sort of chai iced tea. He dropped the food on the table and fished his brother’s vegetable egg white omelet off of his sausage breakfast burrito. “More freak thunderstorms?” he asked. For once, wearing a black tee shirt without his father’s leather jacket, he looked almost like any other young man headed to the Jersey shore for a few days of fun. But it had been a long time since Dean Winchester had last taken a day off. He peeled the wrapper off his breakfast and took a bite, finally glancing over the information on the screen in front of him.
“No, that’s just it. There’s no evidence of anything like that this time. The bank manager, Fredericks, takes her yacht out. Witness reports say there was ‘blue lightning’ just after she finished docking at the marina, and suddenly, she doesn’t remember she’s married. Ran away and called the cops because some stranger is in her house. But now we’ve got two more, no demonic omens. I’m thinking we’re looking for something else.”
“So now you don’t think this has anything to do with us breaking the final seal? So what, like some kind of freak that eats memories? No such thing. Are you sure this is even our kinda’ case?”
Sam cut him off with a shake of his head, and took a sip of the tea before continuing. “I still think so, Dean. This kid, Pete Fulton, his dad called the cops when he attacked his mom. He keeps saying his little brother has disappeared, and he seems to think his mom had something to do with it.”
“So mom eighty-sixes the ankle biter and now big brother’s in the nuthouse?” He spoke through his sandwich, but the younger brother didn’t seem to have any difficulty understanding him.
“No, no! Pete doesn’t have any siblings.” Sam paused for another drink. “But according to the psych reports, he’s convinced he has a seven year old brother named Ryan, and is desperate for anyone to go out and look for him. Hasn’t slept in two days. And,” Sam cut a piece of his omelet with his fork and speared it, stabbing it in the air for emphasis. Dean rolled his eyes. “According to hospital records, seven years ago, Mrs. Fulton gave birth. But her second son was stillborn.”
“Okay.” The older brother swallowed before continuing. “So we’ve got the kid, Mrs…” he double checked the name on the computer screen “Donna Fredericks, bank manager,” he smirked. “And who else?”
“Cop. Officer Damon Carlson; lived in Belmar all his life. Called into the station to report that he was going to check,” Sam turned the computer back towards himself and minimized the open window, revealing a digital copy of an official looking report, “quote, ‘blue lights on the water,’ and was found two hours later trying to break into his parent’s old house.”
“So the kid, he see these ‘blue lights’ too?” Sam nodded, his fork to his mouth. “Dammit. Here’s a hint, you see weird freaky shit, you stay the hell away, people!” Sam inclined his head in acknowledgement. “Alright, so what do they have in common?”
“Near as I can tell, our best bet is here.” Another click of the mouse and Sam was showing Dean a new screen. “Key Harbor Marina, owned by Mrs. Ellen Johnson.” The website displayed pictures of different boats to rent, and advertisements for tours, fishing trips, just about anything you could do on the water. “Pete worked there, Mrs. Fredericks owned a boat…”
“And it’s right on the bay,” finished Dean. “Okay. So what do you think? If it’s not a demon?”
Sam cleaned up his breakfast and threw out the trash. “I don’t know. Maybe some kind of ghost. Or a cursed object.”
“Hey, maybe it’s a mermaid,” said Dean, smiling.
“Yeah Dean. It’s a mermaid,” Sam deadpanned.
~*~
By nine o’clock, the boys were stepping out of the black Impala into the salty air of Belmar, New Jersey. Seagulls swarmed the trash bin on the sidewalk a few feet from the car. A curious gull limped over to check out the intrusion, but Dean shooed it away. Sam pushed his brown hair out of his face and straightened his suit jacket, checking to make sure that his pistol was stuck in the back of his belt. He glanced at Dean who was wiping sweat from his brow already.
“Damn feds need a new uniform. It’s the middle of freaking August here.” He jealously glared at the other beach goers in their short sleeved shirts.
“Well, let’s get this done and maybe we can get out of here before it gets really hot. You ready?” Dean grumbled something, but checked that both his gun and the machete hidden down his trouser leg were in place before leading the way into the marina.
“Hi, welcome to Key Harbor. How can I help you gentlemen today?” The woman who greeted them was a little over forty years old, with a professional pink smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Even in her short sleeved gray blouse, she was sweating already, but a wipe of her brow barely managed to stir her heavily hair-sprayed brown curls. Her lack of a ring pegged her as a perpetual bachelorette.
“Agent Fogerty, FBI. This is my partner, Agent Clifford.” The brothers flashed their badges. “Can you tell us anything about what’s been going on here?”
The woman wrung her hands. “It’s so sad. Peter has been working for me for two years now, going out on fishing trips as an assistant, cleaning our fleet after they came in, you know? He’s always been such a good kid. And Mrs. Fredericks not remembering Mr. Fredericks? They come out here every other weekend for a night out together, just the two of them. Honestly, I’m not sure why I even have this place open today, except it’s tourist season. I feel like I should be doing something, I don’t know.”
“Ms. Johnson,” began ‘Agent Clifford,’ pushing his long hair from his face again, “other than what’s been happening to Peter and Mrs. Fredericks, has anything unusual been going on in the marina? Anything new? Is there anyone who would want to hurt your business?”
“I don’t…No. We get customers that moor their boats here for a few days and leave again, but that’s pretty routine. I can’t think of anyone that would want to hurt the business. It brings in plenty of tourists, and it’s not like we have any local competition.”
“Thank you, Ms. Johnson,” said the other agent. “Do you mind if we have a look around?”
“Of course.”
‘Agent Fogerty’ scanned the room. The front wall was a series of large windows keeping the room brightly lit. There was a door in the back behind the desk that appeared to lead to a small office, and a second door on the side of the building that was propped open to the bay. No wonder it was so hot in there. He headed into the office taking something black from his jacket pocket.
“Ms. Johnson, I would feel much safer if you went home for a while. Just until we can be sure there’s no gas leak, or something else in the building that might be causing these symptoms.” The woman gasped, but nodded. “Tell you what? You head on home, and I will personally give you a call when we finish up here.” She nodded again.
While Sam dutifully took down the owner’s home phone number, Dean began their work in earnest. He looked at the homemade EMF reader in his hand, and slowly walked around the room, well-practiced green eyes searching. The first few LEDs lit up on the top of the device when he brought it near the computer, but he ignored the background noise. Steady hands ran up and down the desk, the bookshelves, and molding, looking for movement or bumps that might hide voodoo, charms, or hex bags. The clean lines of the ultramodern office furniture made quick work of the room, and he headed back out to the front.
Leaning over the front desk, head deep in the crisp new ledger, Sam didn’t notice Dean come back in. “Anything?”
Sam looked up and shook his head. “It looks like they rebuilt this place recently. Some kind of fire. But I’ve got nothing else out of the ordinary. You?”
Dean began to search the outer room for electromagnetic waves. “Got me. No sulfur, no creepy-ass sigils, and EMF is coming up empty. As far as I can tell, monster’s maybe choosing his vics here, but it has nothing to do with this building.” He turned off the EMF reader and put it in his jacket pocket.
Sam pulled his eyes from the ledger long enough to stretch his back and turn to his brother. “Alright. I’ll stay here, look over the books. Maybe I can find something. Why don’t you head to the hospital and see if you can get anything from the victims?”
Dean was about to reply when a blue flash appeared at the front door. “You see that?”
“Yeah.” Both brothers drew their pistols, and Sam moved to the middle of the room. A few feet apart, the boys stood back to back, keeping visual track of the whole space. Eyes wide, adrenaline pumping, they looked for something to fight. Silently they waited, watching. Ten seconds. Twenty-five. A minute. Sam put up his gun, still wary. “What was that?”
“Damned if I know.” Dean pointed his gun down, but kept his finger near the trigger. Wouldn’t do for someone to pass by those big windows and see two grown men, guns drawn, aiming at nothing. He risked a glance at his brother but only saw similar confusion reflected back at him. “You forget anything yet?”
Sam shrugged. “I don’t know. Don’t think so. You?” Dean mimicked the gesture, and moved to holster his gun.
Again, the front door lit up, as if a tube of blue neon had been turned on around the frame, and transparent blue waves shimmered between the moldings. The boys’ eyes followed as the neon arced from the front door to the windows, to the office door, and back, chasing itself around like a string of Christmas lights until it settled on the open bay door. Dean approached slowly, gun in his right hand, his left hand gesturing for Sam to stay back. Without warning, the lights jumped again, this time outside to a gate in front of a large boat.
Sam followed Dean out, both watchful. Seagulls cawed, but no one noticed the sound. Gentle waves buoyed the quiet form of the Amphitrite II, gently thrumming its keyhole trim decorations against the dock. On board, a tall man stood in a hood despite the heat, his face contorted into a grimace as he faced the blue lights. He brought his hands together, as the lights cracked and faded, and Dean broke into a run, sprinting up the ramp toward the man. Dean fired a shot, hitting his mark. Unfortunately the man hardly shuddered from the impact, and continued his spell work. Holstering his pistol, Dean drew the machete from his belt, the sheath still hidden beneath his dress slacks. Arms above his head, he heard “Dean, no!” as he swung the blade down. The man’s head severed from his shoulders and rolled to the deck.
“I got this,” said Dean, amused that his brother was warning him and turning toward the sound. He was too distracted to catch the bolt of power that emanated from the upraised hand of the creature before it crumpled to the ground. The fireball scorched a hole through Dean’s suit jacket and dress shirt, and singed his back. He turned and hissed in pain, watching the head settle for another second. Free from the hood, Dean could see that the monster he had killed had two faces, one on each side of its head. He poked it cautiously with the machete until he was certain it wouldn’t try anything again, the nodded with a pleased smirk on his face. “Dude, I killed Quirrel!” he said, holding up the head to display to Sam. A moment later, the head facing Dean opened its gold eyes, frowned, and disappeared, along with the body. “What the hell?!?”
“Dean, get back here.” Sam didn’t stop looking around, waiting for a golden eyed, two faced man to come jumping out at them. Dean walked down the ramp, sheathing his machete. Eyes still scanning for the monster, he didn’t notice the blue lights line the gate to the dock that he was about to walk through.
Sam shot a glance at his brother just as he broke into the blue waves between the lights. Dean seemed to shimmer in the air for a moment, and shrink before stepping through. Bright green eyes scanned Sam’s shocked face. “Jesus, Sammy. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” But the voice was too high pitched for Dean. It belonged to a young woman in a gray dress suit, dark blonde hair pulled back in a tight bun, although wisps were falling out around her face. She wore no jewelry except a ring on her right hand, a simple silver double band.
In a single breath, Sam lifted his gun again. “Who the hell are you?”
“Dude, what the hell?” asked the girl. She knocked the gun out of Sam’s hand and it skidded across the boardwalk. Sam grabbed her arms and tried to hold her, but she apparently knew how to fight a man bigger than her. Twisting, she brought her knee up into Sam’s groin and used his moment of pain to sweep his feet from under him, forcing him to the ground. Not willing to use a weapon on him, she pulled a zip tie from her skirt pocket and tied his hands behind his back. One knee on his back, she looked down into his face. “Let’s try this again, little brother. You forget anything yet?
