Chapter 2.

The newspaper revealed Sully Whitmore had a widow and children in town. They both wanted to circumvent the authorities as much as possible, and visiting Carolyn Whitmore could provide them with more information.

The house was a mid-sized split level surrounded by a few acres of well-maintained lawn. Dean mentally noted a tire was in a tree in the front yard, showing children lived there. He pulled on the collar of his shirt, and stopped at the steps. Death was fresh at this home. The older Winchester brother felt intrusive. It wasn’t like talking to the cops or coroner. This was a direct relative, like them. He knew what Carolyn was feeling, without even meeting her. Sam looked back at him and waited. He motioned for his brother to ring the door bell.

A slender woman, with a short blonde bob answered the door. She wore an oversized sweatshirt and jeans. She didn't offer a greeting.

"Are you Carolyn Whitmore?" Sam asked.

She nodded.

“I'm Dean, this is Sam. We’re with the union." Dean explained, then added, "the women and children fund."

She nodded, as if they were expected, opening the door wide to allow them entry. They followed her up the stairs into the living room. The coffee table was set with cookies and a pitcher of water. Dean wondered if they were left over from the funeral a few days ago.

"My kids should be back soon. They went to the cemetery." Carolyn took a seat in the chair, which enveloped her body with its cushions. "Do you need to talk to them?"

"No, Ma'am." Sam responded.

The muted beige colors of the room were inviting and homey. Pictures of a happy family provided the wall décor. Dean could tell Carolyn Whitmore was a shadow of herself. In her pictures she looked like a vibrant woman. This woman before them was a woman straining to keep it all together.

"Can you tell us a little bit about your husband?" Dean asked, hoping to prompt some conversation. The brother's grief and her grief were intermingling into something tangible, causing the older hunter to swallow.

"We met at a 38 Special, Bon Jovi concert about 20 years ago." Dean couldnt help but smirking at the mention of the bands.

"You laugh." Carolyn picked up on the grin. "It's good to talk about him, keep his spirit alive, you know." She pursed her lips and a single tear fell. Dean tried to ignore it. "You don’t know. I hope you never do." She smiled, feeling self conscious of her sadness around strangers. "I know I'm a cop's wife, and I'm supposed to be prepared for this, but I'm not. God, I'm not." She wiped her tears. The brothers didn't respond, giving her time to compose herself.

Dean poured her a glass of water. "Did your husband ever talk about his cases?"

She shifted the conversation away from the question. "He was a good man. I don't know how. I had to have a closed casket . . . People say that people are good, but they don’t know what it means. He took care of me, the kids. He was strong. . ." She was lost in her memories, then blinked, recalling the question and her visitors. "I'm sorry, yes, usually about the drug cases. I'm a drug counselor. You wouldn’t believe what goes on in a small town." She took a sip of water. "You think that's it—drugs?"

"We don't know, Ma'am." Sam interjected.

But, Carolyn had grabbed hold of the idea and pursued it. "There was a big bust, a meth lab in the town over. Jake said they have no leads, that maybe it was a freak accident, like when the Old Man of the Mountain came down." She became silent once more, waiting for them to say something further.

"You're a close bunch up here," Dean said, starting the conversation once more.

"We take care of each other." She replied. "You can stay for lunch. Like I said we take care of our own, lots of casseroles to feed the grief. They're all going to waste though." Dean shook his head. He had lost his appetite at the door.

His distaste grew. "I hate to ask, but can we see the death certificate? Just need to note it in our file."

She looked at them for a moment, replying with a nod. She got up from the chair and went into another room off the hallway. She returned within moments with a folder. "Here, it's in there."

Dean opened the folder in his lap, pushing it over so Sam could read along. The coroner's report had also been included. After reading all the information, Dean handed it back to her.

"Is there anything else you need?" It seemed as if Carolyn was on auto pilot, waiting for someone to give her direction.

"No, thank you, I think we have what we need. Someone will be following up with you.” Dean said softly, and patted her arm. It was very unlike Dean to reach out to comfort anyone, but he could feel her confusion.

She watched them as they entered the Impala. Sam waved to her.

Dean started the engine, and pulled backed out of the driveway. "Can you make sure that someone from widows group contacts them." He told Sam.

"Yeah, sure.” The younger Winchester reassured his brother, nodding. "Dean, about what she said…"

Dean knew he wanted to talk about John, but Dean couldn’t at this point. "Yeah, could be just some drug dealer wanting revenge." The older hunter purposefully went on another tangent. "You saw those notes,” he referred to the coroner’s notes, “looked like he was bludgeoned to death, and then he fired his weapon. You don't fire your weapon at falling rocks."

"No, yeah, maybe, but Dean. . .” Sam turned so his back was against the passenger side door and he could face his brother. “Hey! Look out!” He braced his hand against the dashboard in anticipation of a crash.

But, Dean’s reflexes were sharp, as soon as Sam pointed out the woman standing in their lane on Route 3, he turned the wheel of the Impala to the right. The Chevrolet responded, and Dean maneuvered the car to the side of the road. There was no longer any pavement, and the dirt kicked up as the older Winchester applied the brakes.

The woman was still in the road, seemingly waiting for them. Dean was about to call out to her, when he saw her flicker, then regain her form once more.

"You remember what happened last time." The older hunter said, recalling the prior occurrence of a female ghost appearing in the road.

They both got out of the car. Dean unlocked the trunk, keeping his attention focused on the poltergeist just like Sam. He passed his brother a salt rifle.

“She’s just standing there," Sam commented.

"You better not wave to her." Dean felt uneasy. “Maybe we should make her jump?” He cocked the rifle, and aimed it.

“No, wait.” Sam pushed the rifle down, and took a step forward.

Dean growled. He wished his brother wouldn’t take so many risks. He studied the woman for a moment. She was remarkably plain, with brown, long straight hair, a long face and a pale complexion.

“See she wants us to follow her…” Sam followed a distance behind as the girl flickered to a nearby wall of rock.

“Is this a vibe on your psychic network or are we going to follow the girl and then be served as the latest course?" There was no reply from the younger Winchester. Sam was looking up. The girl had made it to the top. "Is she kidding me? She wants us to follow, but gives us no easy pass?"

Sam began to scale the wall. Dean followed, careful to find adequate footholds and handholds. It was difficult as they held onto the rifles and made their way up the twenty foot rock face. "To the right," he called out to his brother. The older hunter clearly saw a better way to climb.

The younger Winchester made it to the top, and stretched out his hand to help his brother. They both dusted themselves off, looking around for their poltergeist escort.

"There she is." Sam pointed to the girl, ensconced near some pine trees. He again started forward, as if compelled.

Dean felt no compulsion and was wary. "You know at about this time the flying monkeys attacked."

"I think we're safe from the flying monkeys." They were at the trees, which disguised a small cabin.

Dean nodded his head. He walked around the perimeter of the house. The cabin was one room, which Dean estimated to be about five hundred square feet. Peeking through the windows, he could see a small kitchenette. A generator was outside, by kicking it and hearing the hollow sound echo back, Dean knew the gas had long since evaporated. "Sam, like I've said before, never listen to a Casper." Dean showed his brother the dirt road, which seemed to lead to the main road.

Sam shrugged his shoulders. "I think she just wanted us to get into the house."

They walked to the front of the home, confident it wasn’t occupied. A twist of the doorknob and they were inside. There was a layer of dust, but in some places it had been disturbed.

"There have been people up here." Sam walked around touching a wood kitchen chair. "Smells like. . ." The younger hunter let the comment die on his lips.

"Sex, Sam, smells like sex." Dean interjected, knowing exactly what his brother was about to say. "The ghost took us to a freakin' love shack." Dean walked around the small room. Suddenly, he felt a cold spot, signaling a ghostly spirit. He stepped back, the floorboard loosened.

Sam heard the sound, and crouched by the piece of raised up pine. Dean bent down, and sank down to his knees. With a tug, he removed the plank, revealing a cardboard shoe box.

Gingerly Sam removed the lid, revealing an old cassette player. A few tapes were neatly piled in the same box. “This girl found the right guy…not too many people have cassette players anymore.”

“Shut up,” Dean said, picking up one of the tapes, reading the scrawled date of '10/2/1988.' He removed the other tapes and popped out the cassette in the recorder.

Sam placed the floor board back, stamping on it to secure it into place.

This time they walked back to the car foregoing the climb, coming up about one hundred and fifty yards ahead of the Impala.

Dean flipped through the tapes finding the earliest one. "Hope they don't have any of the pop shit you like on this." He slipped it into the Impala's dash. The strains of Guns 'n Roses, Welcome to the Jungle could be heard through the speakers. Dean tapped his hand on the steering wheel in time with the tune.

Welcome to the jungle
We've got fun 'n' games
We got everything you want
Honey, we know the names
We are the people that can find
Whatever you may need
If you got the money, honey
We got your disease

In the jungle
Welcome to the jungle
Watch it bring you to your
knees, knees
I wanna watch you bleed

Welcome to the jungle
We take it day by day
If you want it you're gonna bleed
But it's the price you pay
And you're a very sexy girl
That's very hard to please
You can taste the bright lights
But you won't get them for free
In the jungle
Welcome to the jungle
Feel my, my, my serpentine
I, I wanna hear you scream

Welcome to the jungle
It gets worse here everyday
Ya learn ta live like an animal
In the jungle where we play
If you got a hunger for what you see
You'll take it eventually
You can have anything you want
But you better not take it from me

And when you're high you never
Ever want to come down, YEAH!

You know where you are
You're in the jungle baby
You're gonna die
In the jungle
Welcome to the jungle
Watch it bring you to your
knees, knees
In the jungle
Welcome to the jungle
Feel my, my, my serpentine
In the jungle
Welcome to the jungle
Watch it bring you to your
knees, knees
In the jungle
Welcome to the jungle
Watch it bring you to your
It' gonna bring you down-HA!

Just as the lyrics were about to start on the next song, It's So Easy, a female voice interrupted.

"Testing, 1,2,3, testing."

"Damn! She taped over this?" Dean shook his head in disappointment.

"Shh," Sam replied, increasing the volume on the car's stereo.

"Okay, honey, it works," the female voice said.

"Sara, you're taping over Appetite for Destruction?" A male voice replied, with an annoyed tone to his voice.

"Rick, this is important. Those cops, we need to protect ourselves,” Sara answered.

"Okay, but you owe me a tape." Rick sighed. There was the sound of a chair grating against the wooden floor. "They’re here."

"Hello, just checking if everything's okay out here. You're pretty far away from the town." Another male voice stated.

"We like it that way, Officer Dushane."

“Dushane? Wasn’t that the other trooper that died?” Dean asked, slowing down the Impala, pulling over to the side of the road, as both brothers became enthralled with the taped discussion.

Sam nodded, and they continued to listen.

"Given any more thought on what we said?" Another male voice added.

"Would save you a lot of trouble, as officers of the law we can't let something like this go on." There was another unidentified masculine voice.

"Only if you get a piece of it?" Sara asked.

"Why don't you let your husband talk?" replied the second voice with a threatening tone.

"He's not my husband."

"Officer Phillips, we know we're in trouble, but we don’t want to always sell this stuff. Sara's an artist, and I'm working on my music." Rick interjected.

"Marijuana is illegal in New Hampshire. We don't like pot smokers in our backyard."

"And the amount we found on you . . ." Dushane let the threat trail off.

"But, if we give you a cut, then you'll just ignore us." Sara enunciated each word.

"Yep, and you can continue on with your little enterprise."

"Fine, thanks for making that clear Officer Whitmore."

Dean lowered the volume on the stereo. “So we have our three players- Officers Dushane, Phillps and Whitmore, and two just happen to be dead.”

Sam scratched the back of his neck. “This feels wrong, voyeuristic.”

They listened to the rest of the tape, which concerned three more exchanges. They inserted the next tape.

It started with a knock on the door. There were no perfunctory exchanges, but instead a rustling of paper.

“Business slow?” Officer Phillips commented, evidently not satisfied with the amount of money.

“We have competition and we’ve been busy.” Rick answered.

“Busy with what?” Phillips seemed to be the only state trooper present.

“Our careers, of course,” Sara stated.

“Ah, well, see you next week.”

The statement was accompanied by a door closing. Then silence before Sara spoke again.

“They scare me, Rick.”

“Come here.”

“What?”

“I love you. I love you. I love you.”

They laughed, and it was a woman’s sensual throaty laugh. The click on the cassette player was abrupt.

The next conversation began with Officer Dushane, sounding nervous. “Look, we have another deal we think you would like.”

“Deal? We don’t want to do this anymore!” Sara yelled at the officers.

“You’ll do this until we say so!” Officer Phillips yelled back.

Dushane laughed. “Have you been smoking your product?”

His partner cleared his throat. “This has been good for all of us.” Phillips seemed to have calmed down.

“So what’s your idea?” Rick asked.

“Well, we were thinking of a bigger operation. . .” The voices became hushed, and the tape did not pick up the conversation.

However, the next message seemed to illuminate the situation more.

“So have you thought about what we talked about?” Officer Phillips said.

“We have, just trying to get it all in place and see if we can make it work.” Rick stated.

“You do that.” Phillips said, and then there was a door closing, followed by a conversation between Rick and Sara.

“Rick, we need to leave.”

“I know Sara, I swear I’ll get us out of this. . .I swear.”

Dean hesitated putting in the last tape, scared to what they were about to discover. But, they wanted answers, and felt vested in Rick and Sara’s drama.

Sara’s voice was clear. She was speaking directly into the tape recorder. “Okay, I’m all alone and they are here—State Troopers Dushane, Whitmore and Phillips. Today is November 6, 1988.” There was a pause. “God, help me.”

There was a clattering of the cassette player being hidden, then the sound of her footsteps going to the door.

“Rick’s not here.”

“We’ll wait.” Dushane stated.

“Hear you have plans to leave town,” Phillips said.

“Where did you hear that? That’s not true.”

“The problem is we’re used to the extra money.” Officer Whitmore revealed. All three of the officers were present.

“Cop’s salary sucks,” Phillips said with an accompanying smacking sound.

“It’s supposed to be about helping people.”

“And we are. We control the marijuana distribution.” Whitmore explained.

“It’s only weed after all. What’s a few joints?” Dushane added.

“Criminal activity,” Sara replied.

“When will Rick be back?” Phillips asked.

“A few more hours at least.”

“I hear something,” Whitmore said.

Then there was the sound of a scuffle, followed by Phillips growling, “You were lying to us?”

Both Dean and Sam flinched when they heard the skin on skin contact. Sara had been slapped.

“Rick!! Rick!” She yelled out a warning

The warning was silenced by a gun shot.

The brothers shifted forward in their seats, waiting, hoping it hadn’t been the sound they were familiar with.

“Oh my God! Bill?” Whitmore exclaimed, but was cut short by Rick entering the cabin.

“What’s going on? Sara? Sara!” Rick howled, then he was silenced by another gun shot.

Dean wiped down his mouth with his hand. Sam began biting the edge of his thumb. The older Winchester brother went to shut off the tape, as the quietness continued for a minute, but then officers resumed their conversation. They were unaware of the recording.

“What did you do?” Dushane asked.

“They’re dead, man, dead. I knew this would be bad. I knew it.” Whitmore continued his litany.

“Get a fuckin’ grip on yourself, Sully, Boone. You didn’t have any problems putting the money in your pocket.” Phillips said harshly

“Blood money,” Whitmore added

“Paid for my kid’s braces, your kid’s hockey equipment and didn’t you just get a new truck?” Phillips listed their expenditures.

“We need to call this in,” Whitmore said.

There was a loud thump, as if someone had been pushed against a wall. “No, we don’t. We walk away. Leave no evidence.” Officer Phillips ordered.

“What?” Dushane had a panicked tone to his voice.

“Yeah, in a few days we’ll come back. Find quite an operation up here. Distribution for all the marijuana in the area. Guess it was a drug deal gone bad.” Phillips reported his plans to his friends.

“I’m going to throw up.” Whitmore groaned.

“No, you’re not. Wipe the prints and let’s go.” Phillips ordered again.

Dean and Sam remained transfixed. They heard the threesome leave, the cars drive away, and then the eerie silence. They didn’t know how long the whole exchange took, but eventually the tape ran out and clicked off.