Never Let It Rest (fifth book to Never Be Over You)

Chapter 16: Out with the Old

We've stopped at a river in a little town for a break from driving. Dean is on the phone when I walk away. .
I head over to the coffee stand nearby, the only thing I've been drinking recently with double and triple shots of espresso. When I walk back over with a newspaper in hand Dean is hanging up his phone.
"He's a crazy son of a bitch." Dean says.
"Frank?" I ask.
"You know, having a cranky total paranoid as your go-to guy, that's...its... I don't know what it is. What, are you going for, like, the Guinness record of caffeine consumption? That's like your fifth this morning."
"Yeah, well, every time I close my eyes, Lucifer is yelling into my head. It's like I let him in once, now I can't get rid of him." I say.
"You know he's not actually..." Sam starts.
"Yeah. Yeah, no. I know. Uh, try telling that to the volume control inside my brain."
"Well, did you try the hand thing?" Dean asks worriedly.
"Yeah. Anyway, long as I'm awake, check it out." I say as I hand Dean the newspaper. "They're saying drugs, but read between the lines. Sounds like she danced her own feet off. Might be our kind of thing."
"Dancers. They are toe shoes full of crazy."
"And you would know this how?" Sam asks.
"I saw 'Black Swan'. Twice. Hot tu-tu-on-tu-tu action? Come on, Sam. What's wrong with you?"
"Wow. The depths of your... Anyway, it's in Portland, a couple hours away. What do you think?" I ask.
"Yeah, dancers. Why not? Maybe you'll get some sleep on the way, Ash."
"Yeah, maybe." I say, not believing that I will for second.

When we get to Portland, we head straight to the crime scene which was already cleaned up, and then to the police station. Sam had done a bunch of research on the way.
"So, the usual, no EMF, no sulfur, no hex junk."
"If there's no more dancers to interview on this trip, it could be a bust. Although I hear they have good coffee in Portland." Dean says.
"Dude, that's Seattle. Oh, let's just get the drill over with." We walk up to the desk, where an officer is standing.
"Hi." I say.
"Yeah?" The officer asks.
"Uh, we'd like to see the crime-scene photos from the Irina Koganzon case, please."
"And you would be...?"
"Oh." Dean says as we pull out our FBI badges.
"Give me a minute."
"Take your time." The officer comes back with a case file, containing the a picture of Irina and the ballet shoes.
"Yeah, I'd call that weird." I say. We go to the evidence room and show our ID's to the cop there.
"Hey, there. How you doing?" Sam asks.
"Okay, what can I do for you?" the cop asks.
"Well, we need to see the shoes that were involved in the ballet dancer's death." I say.
"Didn't figure that would be an FBI deal. But sure. Yeah, right here." The officer turns around, "Damn it, Tracy."
"Who's Tracy?" Dean asks.
"My daughter. She loves ballet."
"Where is she right now?" I ask.

We run to the ladies room. A little girl, Tracy, is sitting on the floor wearing the ballet shoes.
"Hey, take those off." I yell. She's pulled up to her feet, goes up en pointe and begins to spin. Sam grabs her around her torso, I grab her legs and Dean goes for the shoes.
"Dean, get the shoes!" Sam yells.
"I'm trying!" Her legs are flailing all over the place, she ends up kicking Dean in the head.
"Sorry!" She yells. Dean is able to get one shoe off.
"Come on, Dean!" I say.
"I'm trying!" He repeats. Dean gets kicked again.
"Sorry!" Tracy yells again.
"I got it! I got it." Dean says as he gets the second shoe off.
"Uh. Okay. I'm going with cursed object." Sam says.
"You think?" I ask. "You okay?" I ask Tracy. She nods her head.
The brothers and I walk out of the ladies room. Sam is carrying the shoes using a pen. There's sticker on the bottom of the shoes that says '$15.99 OUT WITH THE OLD'.
"Next stop, Out With The Old. I suppose it's too much to hope that these shoes are the only thing in that store that we have to worry about." Sam says.
"Oh, what a dreamer you are." Dean says as we walk outside, toss the shoes in the trunk of the car and then head to the store.

When we pull up I notice that the shoes are now beside me.
"Uh guys." I say.
"Yeah?" They ask as they look back at me in the backseat.
"Hey. Didn't we put those in the trunk?" Dean asks.
"How did they-"
"Cursed object, Sam." I say.
"Do they... look like they're your size?" Sam says to his brother.
"Shut up." Dean says.
"Wait, are you-"
"Getting the strong urge to Prince Siegfried myself into oblivion? Yes."
"You really did see 'Black Swan'." I say. Sam picks up the ballet shoes again with the pen and we head inside the store.
"Hello?" Sam says to the man in here mopping the floor.
"Hey, did you sell these?" I ask.
"Uh, yeah." The man says.
"Where did you get them?" Sam asks.
"Uh, my mother had them in that box." Sam sets the shoes down on a display cabinet and goes to the box. There are symbols carved into the lid. Dean picks up the shoes and stares at them longingly.
"Dean, put those down." I say.
"I don't understand. What's happening?" Sam holds out the box to the man.
"This, in here? Hey! Hey, hey!" Sam says noticing Dean holding the shoes, he pulls them away from him and puts them in the box.
"Geez! You okay there, Baryshnikov?" I ask.
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm 'pas de done'."
"Okay, if it's not too much trouble, do you mind telling me, uh, what's going on?" The man asks. We show him our FBI badges.
"What's your name?" Sam asks.
"Uh, Scott, uh, Scott Freeman."
"You said these were your mothers? Where'd she get them?"
"I don't know. I found them in the back."
"I got it." Dean says as he walks into a back room.
"Now, where is your mother?" I ask.
"Well, she's, uh, passed away last week."
"I'm sorry to hear that. Scott, listen. These shoes..."
"Just some personal stuff she collected. I'm trying to get rid of it all."
"All? Is there more like this?" Sam asks. Dean walks back into the room holding up empty wooden boxes.
"Guys." He says.
"Scott, what was in those boxes?" I ask.
"Okay, what the hell kind of FBI guys are you?" Scott asks.
"The kind that are trying to fix the mess you starts. Now where'd your mom get these?" Dean asks.
"I don't know. I found them in her safe."
"Did it ever occur to you that these things might be locked in that safe for a reason?" I ask.
"No, I just thought it was some of the junk that she had collected over the years. Like, I knew she was into some weird stuff, but I never thought that she would be, like-"
"Yeah, well, think again, okay? Because this 'junk' is killing people." Dean says.
"What? Like, how can that be?" Scott asks.
"Look, Scott. We're gonna need to know exactly what you sold out of that safe and names and addresses of who you sold it to." Sam says. Scott gets a list for us and we start off to the first address.

"Alright, what do we got?" Dean asks once we're out of the car in front of the house.
"She bought a tea kettle." Sam says.
"Tea kettle?" I ask.
"Yeah. Hey, with enough curse mojo, you can turn a freaking pencil into a weapon of mass destruction."
"Good times." Dean says. We walk into the house, thankfully the door is unlocked.
We see the kettle on the ground in the kitchen, the woman's body is lying next to it. He face is really badly burned. Dean grabs some rubber gloves, wraps it around the handle of the kettle and picks it up carefully.
"Better call this in." I say. Sam takes out his phone.
"Hello, yeah. I'd like to report an accident at 23 Gorham Road... My name? Uh... Bruce Hornsby." Then Sam hangs up his phone. We head outside to the car with kettle, Dean tosses it in the backseat.
"Alright, who's next on the list?" Dean asks. Sam takes a notebook out of his pocket.
"We got, uh, a gramophone sold to Brenda Gluck, 413 River Street, and a vintage gentlemen's magazine sold to Peter Yankit, 27 Johnson Lane."
"Really?" I ask.
"Yeah."
"Alright, we'd better split up. Why don't you two take the gramophone? I'll handle the old rag." Dean says.
"I wouldn't really 'handle' it if I were you. Remember those shoes?" Sam says.
"Yeah, how could I forget? You know, I wonder how old porn kills you." Dean says as he hands the rubber gloves to Sam.
"Pretty sure you don't want to know." I say.
"Yeah, you're probably right. Alright. Let's do this."
"Yep." Sam and I say. It doesn't take long for as to walk to the house.
As we're walking in we see a little boy standing behind a woman sitting on a couch, with his hands raises about his head holding a knife. I run over and grab the knife from his hands and the woman stands up and screams.
"Where's the gramophone?" Sam asks. The woman points. Sam walks over while putting on a rubber glove.
"Hey. That's mine." The kid says.
"Kid, this would be a really good time for a lesson in gratitude. Lucky for you, I'm too tired." I say. My phone rings. "Hey." I answer. I cock my head to the side looking at Sam, we walk outside.
"Hey. Got the porn. Just in time, too." Dean says.
"What was he doing?"
"Uh, like you said, you don't want to know. Where you at?"
"We just got the gramophone. We're across town, heading your way." I say then hang up. We meet up with Dean back at the antique shop. I decide I'm the one that's gonna go grab the U-Haul truck to get this safe out of here.

Driving back in the pick-up truck that I high-jacked, I start feeling sleepy. My phone rings.
"Hey, what's up? I'm on my way." I say.
"Yeah, not sure we're taking the safe out of town just yet. Um, so it turns out that mama hoarder didn't just die and leave the store to Scott." Dena says.
"She didn't?"
"No, listen to this. The lady spends 40 years trying to keep that place, right? Then one day she wakes up and sells. Next day, drives her car off a cliff."
"So, uh... What, you think somebody cut her breaks or something?" I say with a yawn.
"No, I think the world is full of hilarious coincidences. Oh, and there's this new company, never even tasted real estate, just gobbled up a huge chunk of Main Street. Now, I could be off the deep end here, but doesn't that seem weird to you?" I'm totally zoning out. "Ash? Ashlee?"
"Yeah. Yeah, yeah. Yeah, sounds good. Keep me posted." I say.
"Sounds good? Are you alright?" Dean asks.
"You know they say that, uh, sleep deprivation is an 'enhanced interrogation technique'?"
"Yeah."
"Trust me, its torture." I say then hang up. I keep driving for a while, next thing I know, I'm being jolted awake by a horn honking at headlights in my eyes. I swerve as quickly as I can back to my lane. God, that was close. I pull over to the first coffee stand I can find.
I stand in line behind a guy who's just leaving.
"You're lucky I'm late." The man says.
"So lucky. Next."
"Can I get a, uh, a triple red-eye, please?" I ask.
After I get my coffee I head back to the antique store. Scott meets me at the door. After I get everything loaded, I head to the café where Dean and Sam are.
"Fine. Call me if you don't die." Dean says on his phone as I sit as his table.
"So?" I ask.
"Well, that'll work." Dean says.
"Um, how's it going?"
"I just got off the phone with Frank. Apparently we have a bit of a Leviathan issue in this town."
"Leviathans, here?"
"Yeah. We're looking at a big, old giant nesting doll of Dick, as far as property sales go." Sam says. I just look away and sigh. "Hey, you hearing us?"
"Yeah. Yeah, yeah, yeah. I'm sorry." I say.
"Okay, you know what? Enough with insomnia crap. Alright, Pacino? You need to crash. We'll keep working. You find a motel and get some sleep. Okay?" Deans says.
"It doesn't matter what I do, Dean. Lucifer will not shut up."
"Even now?" Sam asks.
"He's singing 'Stairway to Heaven' right now."
"Good song." Dean says.
"Not 50 times in a row." Then my phone rings. "Hey, Scott." I answer.
"Please, Sam. You got to help me."
"What's happening?"
"I looked into one of my mom's old mirrors and now I want to rip my face off! I think it was cursed.
"Alright, hold tight. Uh, we're on our way." I hang up.
"Let me guess. He touched something he was not supposed to." Dean says.
"Of course he did." Dean puts a few bills on the table and we head out back to the store. We hurry inside when we get there.
Scott is tied to a chair with his mouth taped shut, Joyce Bicklebee is there along with the man that was in front of me at the coffee place.
"So much for cursed mirror." Dean says.
"Sam, Dean and Ashlee. It is such a pleasure to meet your acquaintances. Now, just so you can put names to the faces that'll be eating you. I'm Joyce, and this is my assistant, George."
"Oh, you're the...you're the lady from the real estate signs." I say.
"Yes. You like my photo?"
"Oh, you might want to lay off the whitening strips."
"Oh, Ashlee. I am going to enjoy picking you out of my teeth." Joyce says then her face transforms.
She grabs Dean and I and throws us into a glass cabinet. George throws Sam. I grab an urn and hit Joyce in the face. Dean gets thrown onto a table that ends up breaking. I get thrown through some glass doors. Joyce is advancing on Dean when Sam comes up and cuts her head off with a sword.
"Uh. Thanks." Dean says. He grabs Joyce's head and puts it in a bag. Then puts the bag in a safe. I go over to Scott and take the tape off his mouth.
"Okay, I get that these things mean business, you know, but I can't just, like, uproot my life." He says as I untie him.
"Sure you can. It's not as hard as you think."
"Look, Scott. These big mouths don't like to leave loose ends." Sam says.
"So don't you look back till you get someplace where you don't speak the language." I say
"Alright. I'm going. Thank you, I guess." Scott says then walks out.
"One minute. That's how long you have to explain to us why you helped us." Sam says to George.
"Because I'm dying to know what that bitch tastes like."
"Wait, let me get this straight. You want to eat your boss?" Dean asks.
"You got a better way to make her stay dead?"
"So, what? So now you're...you're on our side or something?" I ask.
"Yeah. No. But if Joyce is alive, then I spend the rest of my life cleaning her messes. Or worse, I get eaten. Or bibbed. So, thanks... for chopping her head off for me. Taking her on solo – yikes. So, really, thanks for the assist there. And, of course," He turns to me and Dean, "you're welcome... for saving you... before she ripped into your ass like a Christmas present. Win-win, right? So how 'bout that head?"
"Yeah, not gonna happen, Georgie." Dean says. Sam holds the sword to George's throat.
"Now... what the hell is Dick Roman building in Wisconsin?" I ask.
"I don't know. I barely know where Wisconsin is. I'm a West-Coast representative."
"You gonna keep killing people who don't sign along the dotted line?" Sam asks.
"Alright, take it easy." George touches the blood on the sword leftover from Joyce. "Mm. Killing people isn't part of the agenda. Joyce just kept getting impatient. You got nothing to worry about with me. Don't you get it? You guys are freaking out about the wrong thing."
"Oh, you think?" Dean says.
"A couple of real estate deals? Come on. Big picture. You think it's just here? It's everywhere. And it's a lot more ambitious than this little project. My advice. Keep your heads down and stay down.
"Listen to me, you gooey son of a bitch. You're gonna tell us what you're building here, or we're gonna wash your mouth out with soap."
"Hmm. I was hoping we could play nice. But if you must know... It's going to be a research center."
"Research for what?"
"Disease. This, lady and gentlemen, is where we are going to cure cancer."
"Wait. That doesn't make any sense. I mean, why would Dick Roman want to cure cancer?"
"Because we're only here to help."
"I find that hard to believe." Sam says then chops his head off. We pack up the U-Haul with the safe and the leviathan heads.
"Monsters cure cancer. A sentence I never thought I'd say. Why does it make me so nervous?" Dean asks.
"Yeah, I hear you. So, what do we do now?" I ask.
"You are gonna sleep on it, all the way to Frank's. Capiche?"
"I wish I could."
"Did you get any sleep last night?" Sam asks me.
"Yeah. Yeah. A little. I don't know."
"Well, we'll find you a soft-rock station. Always knocks you right out." We hope into the truck and take off to Frank's trailer.

"Hey, Frank!" Dean yells and pounds on the door. "Devereaux."
"What the hell is he doing in there?" I ask. He knocks on the door again.
"Frank! Don't shoot! We're coming in!" Sam yells. We get inside. All the screens are broken. There bloody, broken glass on the ground, walls, computer screens.
"Not good."