Longhorn

Chapter 04 | Security Tape

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Y/N

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You're all sitting around the coffee table in Rebecca's living room, watching every little piece of the security tape.

"I'll be home tomorrow night," the man says in the tape. "I'll make it up to you."

He gives the woman a kiss before he gets in his car and drives away. Then, the tape shows Zach watching Emily go back into the house. His smile curls wickedly, and you barely catch the silver glint in his eyes before they return to normal.

"Here he comes," Rebecca whispers, finger pointing at the screen.

The tape shows Zach entering the house, and Dean says, "22:04, That's just after ten. You said time of death was about 10:30."

"Our lawyers hired some kind of video expert. He says the tape's authentic. It wasn't tampered with."

Sam notices something and clears his throat. "Hey, uh, Rebecca? Think we can get those beers now?"

She seems confused for a moment, but shrugs and stands. "Sure."

"Hey," he says before she makes it to the kitchen. "Maybe some sandwiches, too?"

Rebecca scoffs. "What do you think this is, Hooters?"

"I wish," Dean mutters, lip pinched between his teeth.

You tut, smacking him in the chest before turning your attention to Sam. "What is it?"

"Check this out." He rewinds the tape, showing the clip where Zach's eyes flash silver. He pauses it, pointing to the eyes.

"Yeah, I saw that, too," you mention.

"Maybe it's just a flare."

Sam looks at Dean like he's stupid. "That's not like any camera flare I've ever seen."

You quip, "A lot of cultures actually think that a photograph can catch a glimpse of a soul. Maybe this creature can only be visible through film?"

"Remember that dog that was freakin' out?" Sam asks. "Maybe he saw this thing. Maybe this is some kind of dark double of Zach's, something that looks like him but isn't him."

"Like a doppelganger." Dean rests his head on his hand, thinking.

"Yeah. That would explain how he was in two places at once."

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"What the hell are we doin' here at 5:30 in the morning?" Dean grumbles.

You're sitting in the backseat, eyes swollen with sleep and lips curled down in discontent. "Ditto."

Sam's staring at the back of Zach's house, where Dean parked. "The tape," he starts. "It shows the killer going in, but not going out."

"So, he came out the back door?" Dean asks.

"Right," Sam says. "So there must be a trail to follow. A trail police wouldn't think to follow."

"So, he came out the back door?"

The boys step out of the car, Dean immediately going to lean on the hood. You're slow to exit, blinking sleepily and resting almost your entire body weight on Sam.

Dean glances at you, the corner of his lip quirking in a smirk. "You alright there, princess?"

"I'll shoot you in your dick."

"Forgot how much you hated mornings."

"I have a gun on me as we speak, Dean."

Sam looks around the outside of the home, eyeing every inch he can see in the slow beginnings of sunlight. "Blood." You straighten, looking at the telephone pole he's walking toward. "Somebody came this way."

"The trail ends," you say, staring down at the smear of blood. "I don't see anything"

The wailing of an ambulance drives past, and you sigh. "Fuck. Let's go."

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Dean's talking to a woman outside of a house. You watch as a man is handcuffed and shoved into the back of a police car.

"What happened?"

The woman, a crazed, gossip-gluttoned look in her eyes, is quick to speak. "He tried to kill his wife. Tied her up and beat her."

"Really?" Sam's brows jump.

She nods. "I used to see him going to work in the mornings. He'd wave, say hello. He seemed like such a nice guy."

You're still watching the police car as they drive away before turning to the woman yourself. "I'm a journalist with the Riverfront Times," you say, pulling a notepad from the messenger back slung over your shoulder. "Could you tell me anything else you heard, or saw?"

"Will you be using my name?"

"Only with your consent."

"Well, where do I start?"

The woman doesn't stop talking for almost another thirty minutes. You finally find a way to wave her off after you learn that she has nothing more important to talk about than the local gossip.

Sam's moseying around the property, and moves from the side of the house to meet Dean at the front.

"Remember how I said this wasn't our kind of problem?"

"Yeah."

"Definitely our kind of problem."

"What'd you find?" you ask.

Dean looks at both of you. "I just talked to the patrolman who was first on scene, heard this guy, Alex's story. Apparently Mr. Killer was driving home from a business trip when his wife was attacked."

"Two places at once," Sam mutters.

"Exactly. Then, he sees himself in the house. Cops thinks he's a nutjob."

"Two dark doubles attacking loved ones in exactly the same way."

"Could be the same thing doin' it, too."

You snap your fingers. "Shapeshifter!" you gasp. "It's gotta be! Something that can make itself look like anyone, right?"

Dean sighs. "Every culture in the world has shapeshifter lore."

Sam starts listing things off. "Skinwalkers, werewolves..."

"We've got two attacks within blocks of each other. Both are the exact same thing. I'm bettin' money if we talk to Zach, he'll say the same thing the killer here did." You frown. "But... shapeshifters can't fly, can they?"

"What?" they both say in unison.

"The trail of blood in both places," you say, pointing to the trail Sam found earlier. Someone had run out of the building and went off in a different direction. "They both just end. Disappear. Where the hell is this thing going?"

The three of you follow the trail. "Well, there's another way to go." Dean looks down at the manhole. "Down."

You whine, chin falling to your chest. "I hate my job."