Stage of Salvation

7.02 Ordinary Suspects

The door clicked shut behind Ballard and Kraus, leaving me alone in the cold, dim room. I looked at the door, knowing there was no way out there without setting off alarms. Then my gaze drifted to the small, barred window. It was locked, and even if I somehow got it open, it'd be a four-story drop outside. No visible fire escape, either. But I didn't have a choice. Dean's message was clear. It was time to get out of here. I get out of my chair and move to reach the lock on the window. With a little force, I managed to slip my fingers into the gap. I gritted my teeth and yanked hard, feeling it give ever so slightly. "Come on," I muttered, giving it another pull until finally, it popped open. Cold air rushed into the room, and I took a deep breath, bracing myself. Looking down from that height made my heart pound, but I shook off the fear. I've been in worse situations. Without thinking too hard, I swung myself up, squeezed through the narrow opening, and jumped. For a split second, I was weightless, the night air whistling past me. I landed with a soft thud, somehow managing to roll out of it unscathed, and shot to my feet. Heart pounding, I slipped into the shadows and made my way back to the motel. When I got there, I knocked cautiously, glancing over my shoulder to make sure I wasn't followed. The door opened, and relief washed over me when I saw Sam's face.
"Toralei!" He said, pulling me in quickly and closing the door behind us. "I got Dean's message, too. You okay, kid?"
I nodded, catching my breath as I leaned against the wall. "Barely, but yeah. Did Dean..."
"He's still in custody, but we'll get him out," Sam assured me, his expression determined. "First, we need to check out Ashland Street. It's what Dean wants us to do and then we'll—" A sharp, urgent knock startled us, and Sam and I exchanged a wary look. He moved to the door, hesitating before he pulled it open to reveal Detective Ballard standing there. Her face was pale, eyes wide with fear, and she clutched her wrists as if in pain. Sam glanced back at me, uncertain, then stepped aside to let her in.
Once inside, Ballard took a shaky breath. "I saw it," She whispered, her voice laced with disbelief. "The spirit. I... I talked to Dean, and he told me to find you both." She extended her hands, showing us the red, angry bruises encircling her wrists, as though someone or something had gripped her tightly.
"These showed up after you saw it?" Sam asked, his eyes scanning the bruises on Ballard's wrists.
"Yeah, I guess," Ballard replied, her voice tight, as if still in shock.
Sam's gaze softened. "You're going to have to tell us exactly what you saw."
Ballard hesitated, looking torn. Then she let out a bitter laugh. "You know, I must be losing my mind. You two are fugitives, and I should be arresting you right now."
I stepped forward, cutting in. "You can arrest us later, alright? After you survive this. But right now, you need to talk to us." I held her gaze, willing her to understand. "Okay?"
Ballard stared at me for a moment, then nodded reluctantly. "Okay."
"Great," I said, trying to keep things moving. "Now, this spirit. What did it look like?"
Ballard swallowed hard, then spoke, her voice shaky. "She was really pale, like all the color was drained from her. Her throat was cut, and her eyes—" She paused, a shudder running through her. "They were like, this deep, dark red. It looked like she was trying to talk to me, but she couldn't. It was just... a lot of blood. Everywhere."
Sam and I exchanged a glance, both of us feeling the weight of what she was saying. Sam took a step toward the table, gathering up a stack of crime scene photos and spreading them out. "I've been researching every girl who's died or gone missing from Ashland Street," He said, leading Ballard over to the table.
Ballard frowned, eyeing the photos. "How'd you get these? These are from crime scenes and booking photos."
Sam shrugged, his usual grin creeping onto his face. "You have your job, we have ours."
"We need you to look through these," I said, my tone more serious now. "Tell us if you recognize anyone."
Ballard sat down, flipping through the photos slowly. She paused on the third one, a young woman's booking photo. Her face tightened, and she stopped, her finger tracing the photo's edges.
"That's her," Ballard said softly, her voice shaky. "That's Claire Becker."
Sam and I exchanged another look. "Claire Becker?" I asked, stepping closer to the table.
"She was arrested a while back for dealing heroin," Sam explained. "It doesn't say anything about her being involved in this... but she definitely has a history."
Ballard nodded, looking distant. "I don't remember arresting her... but Pete Sheridan and I worked narcotics before we switched to homicide. We both dealt with a lot of cases like hers."
Sam's attention shifted back to the stack of photos, flipping through them with purpose. "It says here that she was last seen entering 2911 Ashland Street. Police searched the place but didn't find anything. Guess we'll have to check it out ourselves and see if we find her body."
I nodded, feeling the weight of what needed to be done. "We have to salt and burn her bones. It's the only way to put her spirit to rest."
Ballard raised an eyebrow, her disbelief almost palpable. "Of course it is."