Author's Note: Second times the charm, I had a mistake to fix, thanks to Mystique Aqua, for kindly pointing it out. I do not own the characters. I made a few up though, obviously, so brace yourself. Go me!
Dean Winchester slammed the trunk of his car shut. Another day, another job. He looked over at his younger brother, Sam, and frowned, tightening his tie. "Are you sure this is a case worth looking into? We could be doing so many other things right now, you know."
"I'm positive, Dean," Sam replied, unfolding the newspaper clipping he'd read at least ten times on the drive to the suburban house they'd parked in front of. "All the signs are there: repeated brutal murders of the parents of local teenagers. Three times and only in this month. All the victims have a fifteen year old and no other siblings. The crime scene is unbelievably clean of any leads. The kids were never home at the time of the murders, all of them are presumed innocent."
"Right, well I'm still a skeptic." Sam sighed and shook his head, thrusting the newspaper in front of Dean. He took it from Sam, and laid it out on the trunk of the car, glancing at it as Sam pointed at several "key" points.
"That's not all that I've found. This has happened two other times. In this town only, ten years apart. And get this, the murders happened in succession of the kid's birthdays. The original three birthdays were in January, then in February and March. The next time, ten years later: April, May, and June. And this month?"
"Let me guess, July, August and September." Dean sneered in distaste.
"Sounds like a serial killer to me, Sammy."
"Listen, there is no way a serial killer could get away with something like this, the crimes were too dirty to be free of evidence in the way they are. And what about the children?"
"Why don't we just go check it out now then." Dean smirked and put his gun in the back of his pants, pulling his blazer over it to conceal it. He followed Sam's lead over to the large white house that stood out in the gloomy weather of the day. Tall and foreboding, the house had the appearance of being both well-lived in and impeccably manicured. "Sheesh...what a place," he said, and shot Sam a meaningful glance. Once they got up to the door, he hesitated to ring the doorbell. He wondered what kind of people lived in the house, and, for a moment, it occurred to him that they probably wouldn't be the friendly type.
Sam shrugged and hit the button.
Moments later, a tall, elderly woman opened the door a ways, and peered out of them from behind small rimless glasses. "Yes?"
Sam stepped forward. He was always the nicer one, after all. "Mrs. Wheaten?"
"Can I help you gentleman?"
"Yes, we are running an investigation on the Heavenbone murders and we would like to ask you a few questions about your neighbors across the street."
The old woman didn't look surprised, but her old eyes searched theirs in suspicion. "You from the FBI or something? You don't look like cops."
Dean stepped forward this time, nodded, and he and Sam flashed their badges. "I am Detective Brown and this is my partner, Detective...Jensen," he replied, gesturing to Sam, who smiled. Mrs. Wheaten nodded back and after opening the door a few inches wider, led them into the foyer. Then she left them in the dinning room, going into the kitchen that adjoined.
"Can I get you boys anything," Mrs. Wheaten asked, prattling with dishes, poking her head in the room, as the fridge door slammed.
"Oh no...maybe a beer," said Sam, smiling.
She smiled back, handing two beers to Dean, who was closer to the door. He thanked her with a nod and handed one to his brother, who nodded too. Then, the old woman waddled into the room, and sat herself at the front seat of the large oak table. She sipped her tea slowly, then looked up at them, waiting. "Now, how can I help you boys?"
"Have you lived here long," asked Dean, then took a swig of the beer.
The old woman grimaced, then her expression softened. She nodded. "My whole life, all 70 years of it."
"So you know the neighborhood well?"
"Oh yes. It was always such a nice, quiet place to live. I brought up my five children here, we never worried. And then..."
"Then what," asked Dean, sitting next to her at the table. Mrs. Wheaten looked at Dean sharply. She grimaced again and looked down at her tea.
"Then...the murders happened. Out of the blue, no warning, you know?"
"Did you know any of the victims?"
"I didn't know any of the first few victims, no. I was too old to have met them by then, all my children were out of the house by then, and I was already retired."
"And the second set?"
"Well, I did know one of the families who were affected, they lived about three houses down," Dean and Sam exchanged looks, and the looked at them again and smiled, already guessing Sam's next question. "But they moved away pretty soon after their loss."
"And what about the second set?"
"Well no, but I knew their children."
"Oh well they were all wonderful girls, girl scouts and the like. But one stood out, Lizzie, she ran the paper route, and she always stopped in for cookies and milk."
"How did they handle the murders?"
"Devastated, absolutely devastated. Especially Lizzie. She lost her mother, who was really more like another best friend. Her older brother became her guardian. She didn't want to leave, but he moved them across the country. He thought she would be happier, safer as far away from here as he could get her."
"Does Lizzie still live around here?"
"No, she moved away a few years ago, but her best friend's daughter now lives in her old apartment."
"Do you know the address?"
"Yes, Hailey Beckett lives on Merrill street, about a block from here, number 17."
Dean and Sam stood up simultaneously, and smiled at the old woman, and headed back to the door, placing their beer bottles on the counter for her. She followed them, cheerily.
"Okay, well thank you for your help, Mrs. Wheaten. We may be back tomorrow with a few more questions, would that be alright?"
"Oh yes, you two come back anytime, now," she replied, and shut the screen door behind them.
As soon as they were back to the car, Dean took off his blazer and threw it in the back of the car. Sammy didn't follow his lead, but placed the newspaper in the back instead. "Aren't we going to check out the girl today?"
"Yes, but as its hot out, I don't want to wear that thing any longer than I have to."
"Oh, okay then, Dean, but we're supposed to look like detectives."
"Well this will have to do," Dean replied and led the way to Merrill, and Sam had no choice but to follow. Once they reached the apartment labeled 17, Dean brushed his fingers through his short brown hair, to the dismay of Sam, who sighed dissaprovingly. "What," asked Dean innocently.
"It's just that she wouldn't be your type, and more close to my age."
"So you think this girl will like you better, huh?"
"Er, well, yeah. I do."
"Haramph," replied Dean and rapped sharply on the door in front of them. The door whipped open, and a young woman with long brown hair and shocking green eyes appeared. Dean raised an eyebrow at her outfit; as she didn't look like the kind of girl who would sport jeans and a white t-shirt.
"Can I help you," Hailey asked, looking at Sam and Dean quizzically.
"Well, we hope so," said Sam, cutting in just as Dean was about to speak. He frowned slightly, then looked back at the vision in front of him. "I am detective Jensen and this is detective-"
"Save it, Sam. I know who you two are, come on in." Hailey smirked and gestured for them to follow her inside. Sam smiled, confused, and followed her, but Dean hesitated, staring at her, wary of foul play.
"Um...wait, you know who we are?"
"Of course I know who you are, Dean. Now, get inside quickly, we have a lot to discuss." She leaned forward and grabbed his hand, pulling him inside with a smirk, and Dean hardly knew why he let her. But something made his brain ignore the signals that told him instinctively to force her hands off him. He had to admit though, that holding hands with a pretty girl in front of Sam amused him to no end. "I heard your father died, I'm sorry."
"Its...fine, thanks," said Sam, cringing slightly as they sat on the black stools in front of the island in her kitchen. Dean sat next to Hailey, who had released his hand as soon as they'd reached the room. "So how do you know us?"
"My parents were hunters, they came across your dad a few times in their work. My dad always talked about the Winchester boys, so I always knew you'd come here eventually."
"And you? What do you do for a living?"
"I'm a hunter myself, kind of, anyway. I haven't done that much work since my parents died and my brother left. We were partners, but he never could quite get the hang of it."
"Excuse me for asking, but how old are you," asked Dean, unable to contain himself any longer. Sam cringed again and rolled his eyes.
"I'm twenty-one, Dean," Hailey replied, smirking, then turned to Sam. "So you're here to solve the murders?" He nodded. "Good, I could use the help. I have a few ideas," she said, then looked suddenly out the window, and got up. "How about we go to the living room?"
Dean and Sam exchanged a look, but followed her into the living room, which was artificially lit; all the windows had the curtains closed.
Then, as Dean went to sit on the love seat at the same time as Sam did, there came the crash of broken glass.
A/N: I know...I haven't gotten into much yet. Reviews please? I'll take any criticism you've got.