Things We Lost in the Fire

35. Out With the Old

INT. DANCE STUDIO – NIGHT

Dancers were preparing to leave after practice, putting their ballet shoes into bags and putting on scarves and jackets.

"No Irina again," dancer one said. "Guess she's too famous for us."

"No, she just... "vants to be alone,"" dancer two replied.

The dancers giggled. The door opened and another dancer entered.

"Irina. A little late for practice, no?"

"Never too late," Irina answered. "Practice makes perfect... if you have the talent."

The other dancers left. Irina took off her street clothes, under which she was wearing a leotard, and put on her ballet shoes. She stretched, did some exercises at the barre, turned on music and began to dance.

Tchaikovsky's Swan's Theme played.

Suddenly she began to spin faster, then lost her balance and grabbed the barre. She was still en pointe and was breathing heavily. She screamed as she was flung backwards and began to spin again. In the hallway, a janitor was mopping the floor. Irina spun faster and faster. She screamed as blood splattered the walls. The janitor came in to investigate and found Irina dead with bloody stumps instead of feet. The janitor crossed himself. Irina's ballet shoes were arranged on the floor in pristine condition.

EXT. WALKWAY ALONG RIVER – DAY / INT. FRANK'S TRAILER

Dean was on the phone with Frank. "So, Dick's funding an archaeological dig? Well, unless Dick's actually digging himself, I'm not sure I know what to do with that, Frank. Or the factory in Saudi Arabia, or the fishery in Jakarta. None of this is helping, Frank."

"Explain how Western to Southeast Asia is too wide a net," Frank shot back. "You know, I could be in Tromso right now. Zero Leviathan activity in Tromso."

"Where the hell is Tromso?"

"Norway, you moron. By the way, they opened another Biggerson in Butte."

"Yeah, well, we're not in Montana."

"Oh, you know where Butte is. That's encouraging. So, where are you?"

"We're in Oregon."

"No. I got nothing in Oregon."

"Wisconsin, Frank."

"What about it?"

"The coordinates – Bobby's coordinates."

"Bobby... Oh! Right. Yeah, no. I got nothing. I got no activity."

"Well, work on it."

"Hey. When did you become the boss of me? You don't like what I'm doing, you can stick it right up your Montana."

"All right, all right, all right. Take it easy, Frank."

"Oh, and another thing–" He hung up.

"Frank? Hello? Fr—"

Sam and Penelope walked up, the former carrying a coffee and a newspaper.

"He's a crazy son of a bitch," Dean said.