Generations's (Spin Off/ Book FOUR)

No More Lies

Khalilah:

So we had Sammy back. And Dean was being incredibly clingy towards me, saying how he was scared to let go of me in case I suddenly disappeared. And now were in a morgue, because he took me to all the nice places, and holding up FBI badges. "Agents Page, Forbes and Plant, FBI."

"Gentlemen and lady." The Doctor nodded, not my grumps, just a random doctor. "What brings you by?"

"We need to see Amber Freer's body."

He frowned at us. "Really? What for?"

Because she had a a weird death and we investigated those. "The police report said something clawed through her skull?"

"You didn't read the autopsy report that I emailed out this morning?" There was an autopsy report?

Sam cleared his throat a little, bullshitting his way through this. "W-we had, uh, server issues."

He walked away and we followed as he pulled a body out of the freezer and pulled the sheet off her head. "When they brought her in, we thought she was attacked by a wolf or something."

"Or something." I agreed, muttering to myself.

"But we were wrong." The guy picked up a bag from the slab, throwing it to us that I had to try and not freeze by accident. I lost my gloves, I wasn't so good at controlling it. "It's a press-on nail. We found it in her temporal lobe."

Oh, my god. This was why I was glad I had naturally silver and black nails. "Is that even possible?"

Deany stared at him. "Wait, are you—you saying that she did this to herself?"

"Uh-huh." The man agreed. "She scratched her brains out. It'd take hours, and it'd hurt like hell, but sure—it's possible."

I blinked. "How?"

"Pick your acronym—OCD, PCP. It all spells crazy." Sam puled back the sheet to show her hands, seeing the middle nail missing, but all the others still there. "My guess, some kind of phantom itch. I mean, an extreme case, but..."

What? "Phantom itch?"

"Yup." Then he covered her back over, sliding the slab back in before closing the door. "All it takes is someone talking about an itch—or thinking about one, even—and suddenly you can't stop scratching."

"Thanks, doc." Then the moment he was gone, Sammy scratched under his collar and Dean his ear. "Really, boys?"

Dean pouted, wrapping arms around me. "Well, how do you stop urges like that?"

Shrugging, I pecked his lips. "It's called restraint. Part of my training. I had to run 5 miles, before sitting down for 5 hours in front of a glass of water. Looking, not drinking it. It triples your will power and your control. That, and I knew it was in my head."

"I really need to punch your father in the face." He sighed, before driving us over to the place she died, and we were talking to the people. 

"Okay. Okay, now, some of these questions might seem a bit odd, but please just bear with me." Sam told them, as I was there taking notes, as usual. "Have you noticed any cold spots in the house?"

"Uh...no."

"Okay, uh, what about strange smells?"

Then Dean jerked his head around the corner, and I followed, finding a little boy. Oh, I see, I'm the maternal mother figure and kids hate you. "Whatcha lookin' for?" He asked us as I smiled.

"Don't know yet, poppet." I checked my notes as we moved closer. "It's, uh, Jimmy, right?" The kid nodded. "So, Amber was your babysitter?"

"Yes, ma'am."