Episode Three: Stasis

By Kittsbud

Part Two

As he turned, Dean realized he should have owned the voice. Across the room, standing in the doorway, was Sam. He flashed a badge and introduced himself as Detective Sergeant Jagger from the Barstow police department.

Dean almost couldn’t keep a straight face and had to stifle a bout of laughter. It wasn’t that Sam’s façade was a bad one, it wasn’t even that he’d used the name Jagger after Mick Jagger from the Stones- it was the fact that Sam now sported a rather large moustache.

Worrell hadn’t picked up the fact that neither the name nor the moustache were genuine. “You got here pretty quickly. And I rang the San Bernardino police, not Barstow?”

Sam nodded. “Yes, Sir, but I’ve been tracking Winchester here and I was pretty close when your call came through. If you’d like to check me out, and check out Winchester’s record…” Sam pointed to Worrell’s desktop.

Worrell nodded and took a seat. He quickly pulled up police records and typed in the name Winchester. Various files appeared until he found the relevant one with Dean’s picture. “This says deceased…but it’s obviously our man here.”

Sam agreed. “We obviously got it wrong about his demise. You might want to check me out while you’re on there.” He reeled off a badge number which Worrell promptly typed in.

Dean leaned forward, amazed at his brother’s audacity. To his amazement, a picture of a cop who looked pretty much like Sam appeared onscreen- complete with moustache. He shot his brother a look that said ‘how the hell?’ but remained silent.

Worrell seemed satisfied. He scratched his head. “Do you have jurisdiction to take this guy off my hands?”

“Yes, Sir,” Sam nodded, producing a pair of cuffs. “I think eventually they’ll want him back in St Louis, but for now I have a few charges of my own.” He smirked at Dean, and as he tugged on the cuffs, leaned in and whispered, “Like twenty bucks for starters…”

Dean grimaced, but eyed the disc now sitting on the edge of Worrell’s desk. They really couldn’t leave without it, or the gig was over. He shot Sam a look and then glanced at their target.

Sam indicated he’d spotted it and then yanked at the cuffs for good effect. “Let’s go, Winchester.”

“Not really!” Dean pushed at Sam and made a dash for the door, hands still manacled behind his back. Sam gave chase, knocking Dean sideways right beside Worrell’s desk. When the scuffle was over, the disc had found a new home in Sam’s pocket.

“Need a hand to your car?” The guard asked, eager to join the fray. Sam shook his head. He really didn’t need company.

“Guess you’re not exactly Houdini after all, are you, Bucko?” Worrell sniggered as Sam yanked Dean roughly back to his feet, hoping desperately not to jar his scars.

“Don’t bet on it, Grissom.” Dean smirked back cheekily as Sam pushed him quickly through the door and out into the corridor.

A minute later, they were exiting the main entrance, and Sam was sweating like mad. So mad, his moustache was beginning to peel at one edge.

“Dude, you’re fugly with that thing stuck on your face.” Dean teased his brother. “You look like some perverted version of Groucho Marx.”

Sam continued to push Dean as if he were a prisoner until they rounded the street corner and then quickly undid the handcuffs. “Yeah, well Groucho just saved your butt, so cut the crap and get in the car before the real cops arrive.”

Dean’s brow furrowed. “You came in there knowing a unit had been dispatched? Are you nuts? What if they’d arrived before we got out?”

Sam tugged off the extra facial hair and winced as the glue stuck on one corner. “I guess the cavalry would have bit dust too. Now will you get in!”

Dean hopped into the Impala just as a regular police cruiser turned the corner and stopped outside the area crime lab. As he started the engine he looked at Sam hopefully. “Just tell me you got the disc, Groucho?”

Sam waved the jewel case in the air. “Cavalry to the rescue,” he beamed. “Oh, and by the way, you still owe me that twenty bucks.”

“Yeah, bite me.” Dean hit the gas, pulling a one-eighty to head back to their motel.

* * * *

Good Nite Inn, Barstow

Dean bounced carefully onto the bottom of his bed and tugged open the brother’s trusty laptop. It was time to check out the security footage and make some deductions. He clicked open the DVD drive and popped in the stolen disc, tapping his fingers impatiently on the side casing while he waited for it to load.

“So, just how the hell did you trick that cop back there? I mean, the whole I.D. thing was pretty freaky.” Dean looked as his brother smirked back at him.

“C’mon, Dean, you’re not the only one who can steal a cop’s badge number. I just happen to check out the cop’s photo first…”

Dean huffed. Sam was pointing out his mistake after he’d stolen a badge, only to find out later that the cop was in fact a black guy who weighed a whole lot more than he did. “Okay, so you’re smart, but how did you get a Barstow cop’s badge so fast?”

Sam laughed. “I didn’t. The badge I flashed was one of our regular homemade jobs. Worrell never checked to see if the number I gave him matched. All I did was hack into Barstow P.D.’s personnel records and find someone who looked a little like me.”

Dean nodded, watching as the DVD software finally kicked in and images began to appear onscreen. “Hence the appearance of Groucho Winchester,” he grinned, then became more serious as what they had worked for finally made it onto the panel in front of them.

It was almost entrancing to watch.

At first, there was nothing outside Devin’s apartment. Then, as they viewed the disc, a seemingly vaporous figure began to emerge from the shadows. It was clearly a woman, but she seemed to have no real substantial form. Her body, arms and legs seemed to fade in and out, glowing an eerie incandescent white as she began to rap on the door.

Her features were blank- cold almost, as she continued to tap, tap, tap outside the apartment.

“Man, no wonder the cops didn’t release this to the press. They don’t know what they’re dealing with,” Dean commented, checking the video’s time stamp to see if anything appeared to have been tampered with.

“Do we know what we’re dealing with?” Sam wasn’t sure. He’d seen plenty of true spirits and demons in his time, but this girl somehow looked different. There was an aura about her that defied understanding.

Dean shrugged his shoulders as the apparition on screen abruptly vanished like a fog through Devin’s open door. “She has to be some kind of spirit.” He shook his head. “But there’s something about this bitch…”

Sam agreed. “Yeah, that’s how I feel too. We need to find out who she is. Why she’s coming back…”

“I’m thinking maybe some kind of crime of passion, or maybe a murder and rape case. I mean, all three of her victims were guys, right?” Dean jerked his thumb towards a six-pack, indicating for Sam to toss him one over.

“That’s just too easy.” Sam shook his head, then pulled a bottle of Coors free and lobbed it across the room. “And why is she freezing these guys? There has to be some kind of significance to that.”

Dean caught the bottle expertly and frowned. “We have to find her through the victims. They have to be connected somehow. He uncapped the beer and took a gulp. “Let’s see what the news reports on all three deaths have to say.” He tapped away with one hand, opening several windows simultaneously.

After several moments he patted the screen with his forefinger. “Take a look at this. Devin and Friedman both attended the same school. How much you betting if we check it out the third guy went there too?” Dean glanced up at his brother. “Sam, we need a yearbook.”

Sam thought about it and gently slid the laptop around, clicking on the keys in rapid succession until he started getting the information he was looking for. “Sometimes high schools have yearbooks, or at least parts of their yearbooks online. I think it’s worth checking.” He continued to work as Dean watched, sipping his beer while his brother did the work.

“Gotcha!” Sam grinned and swiveled the laptop back just enough so Dean could see the image in the corner of the screen. The picture was obviously the girl in the video footage, although she looked younger, full of life.

“You got a name?” Dean leaned in, looking at the girl’s innocent looking features. She didn’t look like the kind of person who got picked on in high school- she wasn’t model-beautiful exactly, but she was definitely pretty.

“Laura Mitchell. And take a look at this,” Sam hit another key, and this time a group photo appeared. “That’s Devin on the right, and the other two guys in the shot are our first and second victims.”

Dean whistled. “They were friends. That complicates things. Why would she kill her best buddies? Is there anything on there about what happened to Laura? I mean, she has to be dead, right?”

Sam shook his head. “Not on the high school website, but there are two more pictures. She had at least two other friends she always hung around with. Tammy Sheckley and Tina Bywater. Tammy still lives in town.”

Dean nodded, tossing his now empty Coors bottle into the waste bin. “So, we pay Tammy a visit first thing in the morning. For now, can we bring up any local news that might involve Laura? We still need a motive for her to be turning her buds into ice cubes.”

Sam agreed. “Shouldn’t be too hard…” He tapped away again bringing up obituaries and local articles that might be relevant. Eventually, Laura’s name appeared. “Okay, here we go,” Sam nodded to himself and then read aloud what he’d found. “Laura Mitchell died over eight years ago after suffering a heart attack after a Halloween outing with friends. Teachers at her local school said Laura was a well liked girl who did well in all her subjects.”

Dean’s brow creased. “Heart attack at that age? You know what the doc said about that back in Nebraska. Heart attacks so young are pretty rare…something’s not right here, Sam.”

“So,” Sam closed the laptop and grabbed two more beers. “I’m guessing we go visit Tammy Sheckley in the morning?”

Dean rubbed his tired eyes, took the beer and lay back on the bed. It was almost morning already. "Yeah, just not too early, Mister Rise and Shine, okay?"

Sam smiled. He did have a tendency to be an early riser, but when you rarely slept at all that wasn't surprising.

* * * *

1255 Elm, Tammy Sheckley’s home

Dean pulled the Impala up outside Tammy’s house and whistled. They’d been told at the local gas station that Elm Street was pretty much an upper class area, but they hadn’t been expecting what they saw now.

The house was like a mini-mansion, complete with extensive grounds and gardens. If Devin’s apartment had seemed luxurious, then this was fit for nothing less than a princess.

“Whoa, welcome to the money mountain.” Dean shook his head. People like this he usually struggled to deal with.

Sam stepped out of the Chevy and looked up at the pure white structure with trailing ivy vines. It reminded him of something from the south in plantation territory. “I guess Tammy isn’t short of cash, if she is short of friends lately.”

Dean slipped from behind the wheel and joined his brother on the driveway. In a way, he was surprised there wasn’t more security here. He tapped Sam on the back. “Come on, Detective Jagger. Time for the cops to pay Miss Sheckley a visit.” He continued up a set of steps as he spoke and quickly rang the doorbell.

After a second or two, a small, blonde maid appeared. “Can I help you, sir?”

Dean stepped forward, flashing a police badge. “I’m Detective Le Roth, and this is my partner, Sergeant Jagger. We were wondering if Miss Sheckley is at home? We have a few questions regarding a recent case.”

The maid appeared surprised but didn’t argue. She slid open the huge white door and ushered the brothers both into a side room. “I’ll let her know you’re here,” she offered politely, before vanishing into the bowels of the house.

Sam took a seat while he waited, but Dean couldn’t resist nosing around the room first. “Jeez, this place is freakin’ unreal,” he noted, spotting a cabinet inset into the wall filled with ancient, antique weaponry.

“You’d like it if they had a suit of armor too,” Sam laughed, realizing his brother had zeroed in on the military hardware, totally missing the genuine Turner on the wall above it.

Dean agreed. “Yeah, medieval times were simpler, and those dudes sure knew how to deal with witches and demons back then. It’s almost a lost art nowadays.”

“What’s a lost art these days?” A young, dark haired girl sauntered through the doorway and stood with her hands on her hips peering at them. “Helen says you two are detectives?” She finally asked. “What can I possibly help you with? It’s not that two year old speeding ticket again? I promise, I got rid of that car…Ferrari’s always ran away with me…”

Sam waved a hand. “Actually, no, it’s something a little more serious.” He let Tammy take it in and then carried on. “We understand that you went to high school with Jerry Devin?”

Tammy nodded. “Yeah, I knew Jerry. I haven’t seen him in years, though.”

“And Carl Friedman and Will Jessop?” Dean prompted.

“Yes…” Tammy abruptly became startled. “Is something wrong? Are they alright?”

“I’m afraid all three died recently in rather unusual circumstances. My partner and I think it may be murder.” Sam kept his voice soft and low. He had the ability to put anyone at ease with just one sentence.

Still, Tammy wasn’t ready for the news. She stepped back quickly, almost stumbling over a chair as shock set in. Dean offered a steadying hand, settling her down on the seat before asking more questions. The best way to get truthful information was while she was upset and off guard.

“I’m sorry to have to push this,” Dean offered Tammy a tissue but didn’t let his gaze falter as the girl began to shed a tear. “But do you know of any reason why a killer would target your friends?” When Tammy shook her head sullenly he continued. “We think people from your school, your year in fact, are being purposefully targeted…”

Tammy looked up, even more startled than before. A new fear filled her eyes, but she remained silent.

“Can I ask about this photo?” Sam took the lead now, pulling out a crumpled color printout from the high school web site. It had Laura and the three dead men huddled in a group. They looked carefree, full of life and fun. “How well did you know Laura Mitchell?”

“I…we…we were best friends.” Tammy stammered, struggling to find words at the sight of her old school pal. “Laura can’t have anything to do with the deaths, though. She died a long time ago…” There was sadness to her voice, but an even deeper tinge of dread.

“What happened?” Sam probed gently.

“It was back in ninety-eight. We’d all been to a movie- it was Halloween you see. Laura seemed fine, but after we got back to our dorm she was sick. She died later in the hospital of a heart attack…” As she spoke, Tammy’s words quivered, as if she’d struggled to even say them.

Dean shook his head. They were only getting half the picture, and that just wouldn’t do. It was pressure time. “Look, Tammy, I hate to do the old good cop, bad cop routine, but what you just fed my partner wasn’t exactly the truth now was it? We know Jerry and the other two guys deaths are connected to Laura, and if you want police protection you’re going to have to cut the act and tell us the real story.” He kept his tone authoritative. “Now what really happened that night?”

Sam gaped a little. He knew Dean usually went for the harsher tactics, but Tammy was in no shape to push around. He shot his brother a look that screamed ‘that was too much’ and was amazed when instead of asking them to leave, Tammy cried harder and surrendered to Dean’s questioning.

“I knew one day what we did would come back to haunt us,” she sniffled using her tissue to wipe excess moisture from her cheeks.

Sam lay a hand on her arm comfortingly. “It’s okay, you can tell us,” he soothed.

Tammy nodded. She’d carried the burden too long, and now it was time to give it up. “It really was back in October ninety-eight,” she explained. “Laura, me and the three guys in your picture were the best of friends. In fact, Laura used to date Jerry. We all decided to have a night out for Halloween, and our first stop was the movies. Laura loved a good horror and used to brag that nothing could ever scare her…”

“So, you went to the movies, then what? Laura didn’t die of fright, so what killed her?” Dean was less tactful than his brother, although he was trying not to be out and out rude.

“Laura and I wanted to see Blade, I guess we both had a thing for Wesley Snipes as a sexy vampire slayer. I can still recall us both giggling at some of his lines…” Tammy’s eyes seemed to go far away as she reminisced about the night that changed her life forever. “Vampire Anatomy 101, forget what you've seen in the movies. You use a stake, silver or sunlight.” She quoted the now old movie and shook her head. “If only the guys had stayed and watched it all with us…”

“But they didn’t?” Sam prompted again.

Tammy shook her head. “No, Jerry and Will made some excuse and left halfway through. You see, we’d all planned a little surprise for Laura. She bragged too much about being afraid of nothing, so the guys decided to pull a Michael Myers on her when we got back to the dorm. They had the whole mask and carving knife and everything…”

“A real carving knife?” Dean quizzed, already guessing what the answer would be.

“Yes,” Tammy almost burst into tears again, but somehow held it together. “I pretended I’d left my purse in the car so Laura entered our room on her own in the dark. Jerry jumped out with the knife expecting her to scream, but instead she fought him. In the struggle the blade …the blade got pushed into Laura’s chest…”

Dean winced and mouthed the word ‘ouch.’ “I can understand why you wouldn’t want to fess up to the cops back then, but how did you get away with turning a stabbing into a heart attack?”

“It was easy really.” Shame appeared on Tammy’s face, and she began to fidget with her hands. “In case you haven’t noticed my family has money. All our families have- or rather had money. When our fathers arrived at the hospital it wasn’t too hard for them to ‘buy’ the doctor on duty that night. Dear Daddy made a few calls, offered a few bribes, and Laura’s parents never knew the truth. It helped our cause that there was no medical report filed with the police and no autopy was done."

“Are they religious nuts or something?” Dean forgot he was supposed to be a politically correct cop, but Tammy didn’t seem to notice.

She shook her head. “Not that I remember, but after that night my parents kept me well away from the Mitchells.”

Sam glanced at his brother pensively. Now they had a motive for Laura’s return, but why now, after all this time? There was still some kind of catalyst they’d missed. He was about to ask more questions. Perhaps the men involved had inadvertently done something to anger Laura’s spirit, but he didn’t get chance to probe.

The maid returned, looking worriedly at her boss after hearing the noise of her sobbing. “Is everything alright?” She peered around the door cautiously.

“Everything’s fine here.” Dean nodded. “Maybe you could get your boss-lady here a brandy, though. I think she needs one.”

Helen looked at Tammy, and obviously agreed. She scooted from the room muttering, “I’ll be right back with a double…”

“I suppose you’re going to arrest me now?” Tammy looked expectantly at both brothers, and neither had an answer. After all, that wasn’t really why they were here.

“We erm…” Sam began to quickly think up a suitable lie, but someone began to rap on the front door.

Tammy rose from her seat. “I should get that. I’m expecting someone from the pool maintenance company. I won’t try to escape, I promise.” She smiled half-heartedly and headed for the door.

As she exited, Dean couldn’t help but smile to himself.

“Dean! Do you have to check out every girl we deal with?” Sam frowned, and Dean grinned.

“You’re right,” he shook his head, “Any girl who goes for Wesley Snipes isn’t my type. I mean, the dude was half-vampire. I’d have staked his ass!”

“You mean his heart,” Sam pointed out humorously.

Dean pulled a face. “Very funny, Groucho. By the way…didn’t you forget…your…” He stopped mid-sentence. Something was wrong and he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Eventually, it hit him. “Sammy, it’s getting cold in here…”

Instinctively, Sam looked to the large bay window first to check that none up the upper panels were open. They were not. However, as he watched, each single pane began to frost over. A thin white film formed in each left hand corner and then spread like cancer across the glass. He gulped, nodding for Dean to turn and look.

Dean spun around in his seat, realizing his brother’s expression was one of both amazement and dread. By the time he’d moved, the whole bay window was white over, and the room was like sitting in a morgue. To add to the effect, the extremely expensive music system in the adjoining room switched itself on. From nowhere, the tones of Bon Jovi’s ‘Cold Hard Heart’ began to resonate through the house.

“Tammy!” Dean realized in a heartbeat that the girl was walking into a trap.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The rapping was suddenly all Dean could focus on. They had to stop Tammy from opening the front door, because he was certain the caller was no pool man. “Tammy!” He yelled again, racing into the corridor like an Olympic sprinter.

Sam joined him. “Don’t open the door!” His yell was heartfelt, but far too late.

Tammy slid back the latch, turning to see both Winchesters running towards her and not knowing why. She shook her head as if they were crazy and then pulled back on the lock.

The wooden frame yielded to her touch, and the door swung gracefully back on its hinges. The whole movement appeared to be in slow motion- at least to Dean and Sam.

“No!” Dean screamed and Tammy suddenly realized her mistake. She pushed frantically, but the door wouldn’t reclose.

Instead, a huge, frigid current of air took hold of the door, tearing it from its hinges and blasting it down the passageway into the house.

Dean scooted to the side just in time, but Sam wasn’t so lucky. The edge of the frame caught him, knocking him to the floor with its weight and momentum. He lay there, winded by the impact.

Tammy screamed. The door had missed her on purpose, and now, the reason floated before her like some terrifying masque of death. She shook her head, unable to accept what- or rather who she was seeing.

Laura smiled at her old friend as her freezing presence floated in the passageway, but it wasn’t a smile of affection. As Dean watched, stunned, Laura ebbed forward, her ethereal form sending icy-cold tingles down his spine with the chill she exuded.

“I…I didn’t do it, Laura…it wasn’t’ my fault!” Tammy pleaded with the specter, but already she was beginning to shiver as Laura closed in. “Please!” She begged.

“Tammy, move away from her!” Dean knew what he had to do. Pulling his snub-nozed shotgun from under his blue jacket, he tried to aim. “Gimme a shot here!” He almost pleaded.

Tammy didn’t understand. Somehow, Laura’s spirit had her entranced. Either it was the cold, or simply the look on Laura’s face, but Tammy couldn’t move.

Laura knew it. She smiled again, this time her pallid features turning into some grotesque, toothy skull as she laughed and then enveloped her school friend in hazy white, freezing fog.

“Get off her you freak!” Dean knew exactly what would happen next. It was clear now what had happened to the male victims, and he had to stop it from occurring again. The problem was, if he fired rock salt at this close range he could easily hurt Tammy. He swore under his breath and decided to try and miss the girl, but clip the spirit.

Dean aimed just like his father John had taught him. With a quick tug, he pulled back on the trigger and exhaled. Both cartridges exploded, sending salt showering over Tammy, but not really impacting on either her or the spirit.

The move seemed to anger Laura, however, and her flowing form drifted away from her target. Now, her anger was pointed at the newcomer who would spoil her fun with his toys.

Laura’s face remained skull-like as she approached Dean. He blinked, shaking himself from the entrancing spell she was attempting to put over him until she could use her death-chill.

“Not so fast, Miss Ice cube!” Dean yanked the barrel of his weapon open and quickly placed a hand to his pocket for more shells. “Crap!”

Laura’s features changed. She was smiling- smiling as she engulfed her next victim in her freezing, colorless aura.

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