Supernatural--Cold Fire (12 page)

She glanced quickly to either side of them, as if looking for the expectant mother who warranted a three-man guard detail. Finding none, she seemed perplexed.

“FBI,” Dean said, flashing the ID. “Here to see a patient of Dr. Hartwell.”

“This is a bit unusual,” the receptionist said. “Is she expecting you?”

“The patient or the doctor?”

“Well, either.”

“Yes.”

“Okay, then,” she said, still flustered. “But, um, you may need to wait until the end of the appointment. You know the way?”

“North 321,” Sam said, nodding, as he caught the closing elevator door to hold it open. “Thank you.”

“Okay, then,” she repeated, forcing a smile as she nodded and nervously swiped her palms against the base of her smock. Backing away, she smiled again as she returned to the horseshoe reception desk and placed her hand on the telephone receiver. Sam guessed Dr. Hartwell would know they were on their way up.

After they boarded the elevator and Sam pressed the button for the third floor, Dean switched topics. “Not seeing a connection between our victims. Recent west coast transplant husband and a townie teen vandal.”

“They’re both male,” Castiel offered, stating the obvious.

“Narrows down the pool of potential victims to fifty percent of the population.”

“Place of employment,” Castiel suggested.

Sam shook his head. “Holcomb hadn’t started his new job.”

“He frequented the home improvement center.”

“Right,” Dean said, catching on. “Maybe Aidan worked there.”

“Based upon their relationship,” Castiel said, “Chloe would know.”

“Probably a long shot,” Sam said.

“Hunters don’t get many layups,” Dean said as the elevator stopped with a chime a moment before the doors opened. Sam wondered if Dean was referring to his own predicament, but decided he was reading too much into his brother’s words. He had to stop walking on eggshells around Dean.

They exited the elevator, where a sign at eye level directed them to the left down a wide corridor. As they neared the door to suite 321, it swung open and a man in his late forties with a few streaks of gray in his hair and a slight paunch above his belt emerged, back to them as he held the door open. Dressed casually in a yellow polo shirt and jeans, he was followed out of the office by the doctor. Around ten years younger, her brunette hair in a pixie cut, she tucked her hands into the pockets of a white lab coat and smiled at him reassuringly, confirming that everything was fine, right on schedule.

Dean, Sam and Castiel stopped beside them a moment before a very pregnant blond woman in her late teens came through the open doorway, one hand pressed supportively against her lower back. “Told you, Dad,” she said. “It’s all cool. It was only Braxton Hicks contractions last night, like Doctor Hartwell said.”

“You weren’t so calm last night, Chloe,” her father said.

“Don’t listen to him, Dr. Hartwell,” Chloe said, smiling. “I was a cucumber. But he and my mom were totally—” Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the Winchesters and Castiel and her head whipped around. “Jeez! You guys scared the freakin’ crap out of me!”

“Sorry,” Sam said, worried for a moment they might’ve scared her into actual labor.

Staring at her in apparent confusion, Castiel muttered, “Claire?”

Now that Castiel had mentioned it, Sam could see the similarities between Chloe and Claire Novak, the daughter of the angel’s former host, Jimmy. Same approximate height, hair color and length, prominent eyebrows. Chloe could have easily been mistaken for Claire’s long lost sister, if not her twin. Of course, there was one glaring difference between the two young women, which was the reason for her visit to an OB/GYN.

After the momentary confusion, Castiel seemed to shake off the false impression. Sam wasn’t surprised by his reaction. Even though Castiel and Claire had reached a good place in their relationship, Sam imagined the angel still felt responsible for the girl and would always be concerned about her safety, now that she was out on her own. In that way at least, he was like a father to her.

“Oh—you’re the FBI,” Chloe said. “Wasn’t expecting three of you. And, you—” she poked a finger against the right lapel of Castiel’s trench coat “—explain yourself. Who the heck is this Claire person?”

“Nothing. It’s—she’s… the daughter of a close friend,” Castiel began, a bit flustered. “You bear a striking resemblance.”

“Yeah, right. Prove it, mister.”

“What?”

“Chloe!” her father scolded, a half-formed apology on his lips.

“FBI?” Dr. Hartwell murmured, a frown of consternation creasing her brow as she glanced from father to pregnant daughter.

“Pictures,” Chloe demanded of Castiel, ignoring her father’s reaction and her doctor’s concern. “You can’t use a line like that on a girl without some proof.”

“Sorry. I don’t have any,” Castiel began. Then he reached into his jacket pocket and removed his cell phone. “Correction. I have… Sa—Special Agent Rutherford—we put her photo in here.”

Sam had snapped a photo of Claire with Castiel’s phone, cropped it and put it in his phone’s address book under her name. They couldn’t be sure she’d keep the same phone or number, but it was a start in their nascent father-figure and daughter relationship, a bit of normalcy in a situation that was anything but normal.

“Give it here,” Chloe said playfully as she snatched the phone from Castiel’s grip. “You olds and your oh-so-limited grasp of technology. Way past charming, dude.”

Sam shook his head in amusement. If she only knew Castiel’s real age, her composure would be gone in an instant.

“So, yeah, wow,” she said, pursed her lips and nodded. “Girl’s got my look, for sure.” She turned to her father. “I’m not adopted, am I?”

“What?” her father looked as off-balance as Castiel had a moment ago. “Of course not.”

“Congrats,” she said to Castiel, grinning as she slapped the phone in his hand. “You passed the test. You’re not a creeper.”

“No,” Castiel said and looked at Dean and Sam for assistance. “I’m not.”

“Agent Collins is many things,” Dean said. “But a creeper’s not one of them.”

“I’m sorry,” Dr. Hartwell said. “You gentlemen are with the FBI?”

“Yes,” Dean said, flashing the credentials again.

“I have other patients coming in,” she said, “but my immediate concern is the welfare of
this
patient and her unborn child. What are your—?”

“It’s okay, Doc,” Chloe said. “They’re not here to lock me up and throw away the key. They’re here about my bonehead boyfriend. I don’t know what trouble he’s gotten into this time, but he’s working on my last nerve.”

Chloe’s father reached out and grabbed Dean’s shoulder, then seemed to think better about physical contact with a federal officer and dropped his hand. “Chloe knows I’m not Aidan’s biggest fan—” Chloe snorted and rolled her eyes “—but if he’s gotten my daughter involved in something illegal, I will break every bone in that young man’s body.”

“Dad!” Chloe exclaimed.

Sam exchanged a knowing look with Dean. Papa Sikes had just become their number one suspect. He may not have been capable of committing the actual attack himself, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t painted a bull’s-eye on Aidan’s chest for whatever supernatural menace dined on human eyeballs and entrails.

“Aidan’s not a serial killer or a bank robber,” Chloe continued, “he’s a rebel—correction, he likes to
think
he’s a rebel, but he’s just scared about—about the future, you know? You gotta admit, our future has gotten a whole lot scarier.”

“And whose fault is that?” her father snapped, his parental exasperation surging to the fore in a stressful moment, one that was about to become exponentially more stressful for all of them.

“God, Dad, not this again,” Chloe said. “We made a mistake. We’re trying to make the best of this.”

“One of you is.”

“You’ll never let this go, will you?”

“Chloe, you need to remain calm,” Dr. Hartwell interjected. “And, Mr. Sikes, I must caution—”

Sikes raised his hands, palms out. “I’m sorry, Chloe. This isn’t what your mother and I wanted for you. We’re trying to—we promised we’d be supportive and—”

Dean had had enough of the pop-up therapy session. “Sorry to interrupt, but you need to know something,” he said to father and daughter, frowning impatiently. “It’s bad news.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Chloe said. “Aidan’s latest screw-up.”

“Really bad news,” Dean amended. “Chloe, you tried to call Aidan last night.”

“A bunch of times, during my Braxton Hicks contractions, when I thought—and he was supposed to bring me here today! But the jerk ignored my calls!”

“There’s a good reason for that,” Sam said sympathetically. He wasn’t sure Dean, with his recent straight-line mentality, was the best one to break shocking news to a teen who looked about three or four days away from delivering a baby into the world.

“He’s in jail,” Chloe guessed, but her eyes had gone wide at Sam’s grim tone and he suspected the awful truth might have begun to sink in before he even confirmed it. “And… and the police took his phone away.”

“I’m sorry, Chloe. It’s worse than that,” Sam said. “Last night, Aidan was attacked.”

“Attacked,” she repeated, her voice faint, all signs of her earlier self-assurance gone. “What do you mean ‘attacked’?”

“Viciously attacked,” Sam said, skipping the gruesome details. “I’m afraid Aidan didn’t survive.”

“No—what? What are you saying? You can’t be—Aidan? Aidan’s dead…?”

With the last two words, the volume fled from her voice. Her knees buckled and she collapsed.

Castiel, standing beside her, reacted immediately, catching her in his arms and supporting her weight. Her father moved to her other side, each of them wrapping an arm around her back.

“Bring her inside,” Dr. Hartwell said. “We have chairs in the waiting room.”

Castiel and Chloe’s father settled her into the nearest comfortable chair and stood nearby as her doctor checked her vitals. But Chloe hadn’t lost consciousness and insisted she was fine, even as tears streamed down her cheeks and she fought back sobs. Once she appeared to have her emotions in check, Dean sat in the chair facing her and leaned forward.

“Can you think of any reason someone would want to harm Aidan?”

Before Chloe could answer the question, her father said, “I’m sorry, but can’t this wait until a better time?”

“We need to stop whoever did this,” Dean said. “Aidan is the second victim. Chloe could be the key to saving a potential third victim.”

“It’s okay, Dad,” Chloe said, waving a crumpled tissue at him. “I want to help them catch whoever did this.” She looked at Dean. “I can’t think of anyone who would want to… to hurt Aidan. He’s been in trouble before, but nothing that would make someone want to…”

“Have you seen any unusual objects around?” Sam asked. “Something that Aidan found. Or something somebody at school showed off?”

“No, nothing like—wait, Wally bought a Pokémon bong online and brought it to school. Does that count?”

“Probably not,” Sam said. “Nothing else?”

“No,” Chloe said, blowing her nose with a honking sound before grabbing a few more tissues from the box Dr. Hartwell’s receptionist had placed beside her. “What am I going to do…?”

Her father put his arm around her. “Your mother and I are here for you, sweetheart.”

Chloe started to reply but her voice caught so she simply nodded and dabbed at fresh tears. “Who was the first?” she asked Dean.

“First?”

“Victim,” Chloe said. “You said Aidan was the second.”

“Somebody new to Braden Heights,” Dean said. “David Holcomb. Does that name mean anything to you?” She shook her head. “Aidan never mentioned anyone by that name?”

“No,” Chloe said. “Was he a teacher or something?”

“He worked—was scheduled to work in a factory,” Castiel said. “Was Aidan employed?”

Chloe shrugged her shoulders. “Off and on,” she said. “He worked at the Hadley’s Market for a while, couple fast-food places, and Cosmic Donuts. He always found something to hate about every job. The hours or his supervisor or the smell. But he never worked in a factory.”

Dean looked at Chloe’s father, who’d been frowning in obvious disapproval the entire time Chloe spoke about Aidan’s job hopping. “Mr. Sikes, were you with your daughter last night?”

“Yes,” he said. “Her mother and I were with her all night—thinking less than charitable thoughts about the boy, I’ll admit, but we had no way of knowing that he was…” He took a deep breath. “Let’s just say it wasn’t the first time he’s let her down.”

“Aidan had a good heart, Dad,” Chloe said, losing her composure again. “You never saw that. You never gave him a chance…”

Sam took down the names, addresses and phone numbers of Aidan’s parents and two close friends, Jay and Wally. Beyond that, Chloe couldn’t provide any information that might lead them to whoever or whatever had murdered Aidan or Dave Holcomb.

As Chloe’s father walked her out of the office, followed by the Winchesters and Castiel, a nurse in a green smock pushed a very pregnant woman in her late thirties or early forties in a wheelchair from the opposite direction. Walking beside the pregnant woman, a nervous man held her outstretched hand. Both expectant mother and father-to-be had a few wisps of gray in their hair. He stepped behind the wheelchair momentarily so that the others could pass on their way back to the elevators.

“Denise, Gary, good to see you,” Dr. Hartwell said. “Everyone well?” They both nodded tentatively. “Ready to become parents to little Baby Atherton?”

“Yes. No. Is anyone? Ever?” Gary sputtered.

Denise reached over and patted his hand. “Better late than never.”

Before leaving the LMC lobby, Chloe and her father—who finally introduced himself by his full name, Edward Sikes—made Dean promise to tell them when they found Aidan’s killer. As Dean, Sam and Castiel watched them cross the parking lot, Edward’s arm held protectively around his daughter’s shoulders, Chloe’s soft sobs faded away, swallowed by the rumble of traffic.