Percy Winchester and His Two Idiot Brothers

Constance is a Bitch pt 2

Dean POV

The motel door swings open. Percy marches through and we follow, careful not to mar the salt lines laid out. Sam closes the door behind us. I look around—every vertical surface has papers pinned to it: maps, newspaper clippings, pictures, notes. There are books on the desk and assorted junk on the floor and bed, including something with a hazardous-materials symbol.

"Whoa," Sam says, and I don't disagree. This is a lot.

Percy speaks up, "There was a half-eaten hamburger sitting there," he points to a table, "I don't think he's been here for a week at least since it was pretty gross when I got here."

Sam fingers the salt on the floor and looks up. "Salt, cats-eye shells...he was worried. Trying to keep something from coming in." I look at the papers covering one wall. "What have you got here?" I ask Percy. "Centennial Highway victims. John figured it out, keep looking."

Sam nods. The victims seen on the wall include Mark somebody, William Durrell, Scott Nifong who disappeared in 1987 at age 25, and somebody Parks. Mark, Durrell, and Nifong are all white males, judging by the photos. Sam speaks up, "I don't get it. I mean, different men, different jobs—" He crosses the room, so I pick up where he left off, "—ages, ethnicities. There's always a connection, right? What do these guys have in common?"

While I talk, Sam looks at the papers taped to the other walls. There's something about the Bell Witch, two people being burned alive, a skeletal person blowing a horn at several scared people with the note "MORTIS DANSE", a column about "Devils + Demons", another about "Sirens, Witches, the possessed", a wooden pentacle, and a note that says "Woman in White" above a printout of the Jericho Herald article on Constance's suicide.

Sam turns on another lamp. "Percy's right. Dad figured it out."

I turn to look at him. Percy's smiling softly, proud of Sammy even for the tiniest accomplishments. "What do you mean?" I ask.

"He found the same article y'all did. Constance Welch. She's a woman in white," Percy says, speaking up for once.

I look at the photos of Constance's victims. "You sly dogs," I say, then turn back to Sam and Percy. "All right, so if we're dealing with a woman in white, Dad would have found the corpse and destroyed it." Percy adds, "She might have another weakness." I continue, "Well, Dad would want to make sure."

"He'd dig her up. Where's she buried?" Sam thinks aloud, combing through articles. "I'm not seeing anything. If I were Dad, though, I'd go ask her husband." Sam taps the picture of Joseph Welch. The caption says he's thirty; the article dates to 1981, so he must be sixty-four. "If he's still alive."

Sam goes to look at something else. I look at the picture below the Herald article of a woman in a white dress. Percy says, "All right. Why don't you, uh, see if you can find an address, Dean should get cleaned up, and I'll get lunch." I smile. Just like old times.

Percy starts to walk away. Sam turns. "Hey, Percy?" Percy stops and turns back. "What I said earlier, about Mom and Dad, I'm sorry." He holds up a hand. "No chick-flick moments. Recite your punishment" Sam laughs and says, "One bitch slap the next time I fight someone hand-to-hand as my opening move like the little bitch I am."

It's something Percy and I invented when we were kids. Whenever we have a chick-flick moment, or someone gets overly emotional, we added the rule. Dad thought it was ridiculous, but one time I had to use it against a possessed man, and Percy and I confused the demon so much with our dramatics that Dad was able to recite the chant that banished it. Ever since then he hasn't messed with our weird traditions.

Sam adds, "Jerk." "Bitch." I, feeling excluded, shouted, "WHAT AM I THEN" Percy looks me up and down, says "Douche," then spins and walks out the door like Nick Fury or Severus Snape, minus the cloak/cape.