Hands of Fate 3/?

[hellfirehalos]

And on to Chapter 3

 

Chapter 3

 

Insurance agents were the most expected faces in times of loss. They were probably the most common sight anyone in town could see lately given the rise in body count. No one would really question yet another pair of insurance agents showing up. Moreover, while Dean hadn’t been too thrilled about having to wear the suits again, it had to be done.

The pair gave the house a once-over as they sat in the Impala, Dean finally turning to his brother. “So this is the bird guy’s house?”

Sam nodded, glancing at the house number. “Mr. and Mrs. David Johnston.”

“Did you find anything on him?” Dean questioned.

“He was a member of the town council and the town’s lawyer. Couldn’t find anything that raised any red flags when I looked.” Sam leveled his gaze on Dean as he shook his head slightly. “Not even a parking ticket.”

“You said he was a lawyer.”

“Already thought of that.” Sam opened the glove box, pulling out some papers. “He practiced family law mostly. Wills and trusts seemed to be the bulk of his practice, no major cases that I could find. Looked like the only one who had a problem with him was the bird.”

Dean sighed as he grabbed the cigar box from the glove compartment. “This sounds more like an animal control issue. Like those ‘when house pets attack’ shows.”

“That’s what I thought until I found this,” Sam commented. He pulled out a newspaper clipping, pointing at the picture of the street. “Didn’t seem like an animal control issue then.”

Dean scanned the photo, spotting the trio in the picture.

It was black and white but they could still be spotted. As others in the photo stood in the background while the town’s police force worked, the noticeable trio stood closer than any others probably should have been. The three looked like schoolchildren as they stood beside a large oak, each one clad in what looked like a prep school uniform. And while the few bystanders were watching the action, the children’s eyes looked locked on the home.

“They were at a bird attack?” Dean questioned.

Sam nodded, pointing out the window. “About 50 feet from the Johnstons’ front door; next to that tree.”

“Inside a police cordon. Don’t think it could have been ‘take your creepy children to work day,’ huh?” Dean commented with a grin.

The door creaked open as Sam got out, Dean not far behind. “Doubt it.”

There was a pause as Dean examined the street outside the Johnstons’ home. It was hard to tell what was going through his head, but Sam knew it was probably along the same lines as his own thoughts. It was like that with every job.

“What type of creature hunts in a trio? If you can call this hunting.”

Sam had wondered the same thing himself while pouring over the death notices and newspaper clippings.

There was no pattern to any of it; no noticeable link in the victims that he could seem to find. The only link was the women, really. They were present at each scene in some form, watching intently from a distance. Their appearance marked the jump in the town’s mortality rate, but the reason for their presence wasn’t clear.

“This has to be the most confusing job we’ve ever been on, Sammy.” Dean moved to join his brother on the sidewalk, nodding toward the house. “Now let’s go see what Tweety’s beef was.”

***

When you watch the world, you tend to learn things most wouldn’t dream of. When you watch the world for centuries upon centuries, your knowledge becomes almost limitless. You start to see how routine some behaviors are for some groups, even carrying over from one member to the next. After a long enough time, one even begins to notice the hints of predictability with some.

Hunters were one of the most routine groups, though hardly predictable. ‘Prepared’ would probably best describe them. They relied on as much information as they could gather before they went in guns drawn and blazing, the more experienced usually being the quicker to act in some situations. Not all of them seemed to follow a straight moral compass, but that could be said about all groups and not just Hunters.

But watching the pair also drove home a more important point: they were dangerous. All the questions were leading up to one not so pretty and usually messy outcome. That was something that could not be easily overlooked. It was always and would always be at the back of her mind as long as they were around.

***

The Fox Run Motel was a small arrangement of private cabins just outside Oak Ridge, greeting wary travelers with the florescent glow of its vacancy sign. It was far enough from the main road to be a peaceful rest stop yet close enough not to seem cut off from everything. To a normal tourist, it was a nice little stop.

Hunter-wise, the motel was a perfect base. The cabin was good-sized for the price: two beds, a small kitchen with appliances, living room large enough to comfortably set up what was needed without being in the way. It was far enough from the road that a car could be easily hidden from view if needed, hiding not only the vehicle but anything removed from it.

And Sam had to admit it was much better than some other places they had been.

He pored over the books and web pages in front of him as he sat in the living room, switching between electronic and printed word. The couch had become an impromptu desk once the books began to pile up, the pages of notes and ‘maybes’ covering nearly every inch of available cushion space. Every photo he had found of the trio in question sat beside his laptop on the coffee table as reference, but so far, his searching hadn’t turned up any matches.

With a sigh, his eyes scanned the mass of books and papers that seemed to be of little help as he ran a hand over his mouth. He had been staring at the pages since they had returned empty-handed from talking to Mrs. Johnston but hadn’t found much. He exhausted practically every resource he could find, emptying the books he kept in the trunk for even a small hint of what they were dealing with. Online searches proved not nearly as fruitless as the books had been but still hadn’t given him anything more than some vague possibilities. Not even his father’s journal cast light on their current hunt.

It was starting to seem like an endless circle he was stuck in with all this. One possibility led to another, that pointed to another, yet none of them really fit what they already knew. The more he thought about it, the more he wondered if Dean was having as much trouble as he was.

Sam rolled his head as he pushed himself up from the couch, the kink in his back an unmistakable sign he’d been at the books too long. He ran a hand through his hair as he headed for the door to get some air. Maybe fresh air would help clear his thoughts and make things a little easier to sort through.

The air was warm as he stepped outside, the sky above beginning to turn a brilliant crimson. He could hear the sounds of the approaching night as he took a few steps into the parking lot. It was a noise he hadn’t really paid attention to before but here and now it wasn’t easy to overlook. There wasn’t anything here to drown it out like other places.

He tucked his hands in his pockets as he looked around at their temporary surroundings.

It was easy to see why the town was called Oak Ridge. The town was surrounded by trees on nearly every side; it seemed to disappear into them in some places. The town was as country as any job of theirs before. He was sure Dean didn’t like that fact.

Sam popped his neck and turned to go back in, becoming aware of the feeling of being watched.

His attention turned back to the parking lot briefly as he tried to shake the sensation that someone, or most likely something, was watching him. He couldn’t see anyone else in the lot; no one was walking toward another cabin or even sitting outside. It was just him and the local wildlife.

He looked toward the trees surrounding the motel as his ears began to pick up the all-too-familiar rumble drawing near, spotting the source of his unease sitting on a branch across the parking lot.

An hawk probably wasn’t uncommon given their location, but somehow Sam doubted there were many in the area with golden-colored feathers. In fact, the color alone was more red flag than natural oddity. It sat about forty feet from their door, remaining on its perch even as Sam took a few steps toward it.

Others wouldn’t have given a second thought to seeing an hawk, even if it was only forty feet away, but Sam wasn’t like other people. And while nature wasn’t really the topic on which he was most knowledgeable, he knew enough when it came down to it; animals went hand in hand with some of the symbolism he and Dean dealt with almost daily. If anything, his visitor made the uneasy feeling in the back of his mind a little more tangible.

The bird cocked its head as the rumble of the Impala rounded the corner, its eyes shifting slightly.

Sam watched as the bird finally flew off just as Dean pulled up, hearing the beat of its wings. Even with the bird gone, the uneasy feeling that had crept up inside him still didn’t ease up.

“How’s the research going?” Dean questioned out the driver’s window.

“Slow,” Sam muttered. He glanced back toward where the hawk had been, half expecting to see it watching him again. “How did it go at the paper?”

Dean grabbed a folder from the front seat, handing it over as he slid out of the car. “Their archive assistant was very helpful. Cute too.”

Sam began looking through the file as they headed inside. “You got her number, didn’t you?”

The smirk on Dean’s face was enough of an answer for his brother.

“Figures,” Sam sighed.

Dean made his way to the small kitchen, grabbing a beer from the refrigerator. “That’s all the paper had on strange local deaths as far back as they’ve been in print. Historical society had about as much as the paper did.”

Sam took a seat back on the couch, leafing through the pages. “And nothing jumped out?”

“Some farmer fed his neighbor to his pigs in the 1800s, but that was it,” Dean commented.

Sam tossed the folder on to the coffee table, looking toward his brother. “So nothing in the town’s history can explain those three being here.”

“They seem to be recent additions,” Dean said. He contemplated his beer for a moment, giving a small shrug. “Whatever they are. You find anything?”

Sam shook his head, sitting back. “Only a lot of maybes.”

Dean’s eyes moved to the mass of books and papers, shaking his head. “Maybes aren’t exactly helpful.”

“I’ve looked at everything I can think of, even Dad’s journal. Not one mention of any creatures that travel or hunt in packs of three, and no mention of any triplets anywhere in lore who herald death. Nothing. Vampires, werewolves, strega… these three fit pieces of each but not enough to be any of them,” Sam explained.

Dean made his way to a nearby chair, having a seat. “So that puts us back to square one on the terrible trio.”

“They don’t even fit the definition of shapeshifter.” Sam looked at the papers in front of him as he shook his head. “I don’t even know where to look any more.”

There was a long pause between the pair, Dean taking a healthy drag off his beer bottle. “Let’s just agree we’re looking for some weird sisters and leave it at that for now.”

Sam let out a heavy sigh and laid his head against the back of the couch. He couldn’t argue with Dean’s suggestion considering they hadn’t found much of anything. The prospect of starting all over again wasn’t appealing, but there wasn’t really another option that he could see.

“We can dig around some more, see if we can find any other clues as to what these things are,” Dean added.

“You can get more numbers,” Sam muttered.

Dean smiled as he raised his bottle, getting comfortable. “That’s just one of the perks, Sammy.”

Chapter 4