I Am Complete

CHAPTER 23

SAM'S POV:

According to Dean, the daughter had the same story as Ms. Boliver. Ghost lady with long black hair, flowing robes, the whole shabang. "So we have a murderous Jack Frost on the loose. How the hell do we find it?" Dean asks. I shrug. "There has to be something connecting the victims. Maybe the thing tying the Yuki-onna down has something to do with it." Andy nods. "We should talk to the victims again. Maybe they know what the connection could be."

We decide to visit Ms. Boliver first. When we arrive at the house, the police tape is gone. The house is quiet, no sounds of talking or laughing. We knock on the front door, and Ms. Boliver opens it. She doesn't look much better than the last time we saw her. Her eyes are still red, and she looks like she hasn't showered in days. "Can I help you?" She asks. "Ms. Boliver, we were hoping to ask you some more questions." Dean says. Ms. Boliver opens the door wider and we walk inside. We take a seat in the living room, the same room where Mr. Boliver was found. Ms. Boliver sits across from us, her hands clasped.

"Ms. Boliver, did your husband know anyone by the name of Emilia Jackson?" I ask. Ms. Boliver thinks for a second before nodding. "No. But I do. I sold the painting my husband got on his last trip to her." Andy sits up a little straighter. "His trip?" Ms. Boliver nods again. "He went to Japan. He had just gotten back a week ago." Japan. Where the Yuki-onna is from. "You said he sold a painting to her. What exactly was the painting?" I ask.

"My husband was a history buff. He loved his old paintings. I had to sell it to pay for the funeral. It was an old painting of a lady, he said it was from 1790. He told me he bought it from a notorious collector. He spent thousands on this. But now I need that money. Funerals are more expensive than you think." she lets out a half hearted chuckle. "So you sold this old Japanese painting to Emilia Jackson?" Andy continues. "Yes. She runs a small antique shop in town. Is she in trouble or something?" I glance down at the floor. "Ms. Boliver, Emilia Jackson passed away a few hours ago. I'm so sorry."

Ms. Boliver's hand flies to her mouth. "Oh my god. What happened?" I look at Dean. "She died the same way as your husband." I say softly. She starts to breathe fast, her eyes watering. "I did this, didn't I? I passed the ghost on to her." Andy shakes her head. "No, none of this is your fault. Don't put that weight on yourself." Ms. Boliver looks at Andy. "Why does the FBI believe me? I barely even believe myself." Dean clears his throat. "We just want to follow up on any leads we have, and that includes possible ghosts."

Ms. Boliver seems satisfied with that answer. "Where exactly is Ms. Jackson's shop?" I ask. Ms. Boliver gives us directions. We thank her for her time and leave, heading straight to the antique shop. The drive there is quiet, all of us processing what we just heard. No matter how many times you see someone grieving, it never gets any easier. It always reminds you of what you've lost, of how you were once like that person. It reminds you of the feelings, of the painful memories.

When we enter the antique shop, I'm not sure where to look first. Stuff is everywhere, stacked on tables, shelves, the floor. You can't see the walls and there's barely any floor left to walk on. There doesn't appear to be any organization, just stuff on every available surface. I see things ranging from furniture to those creepy dolls you see in movies. Andy holds up what appears to be a monkey doll missing eyes. "Who would buy this?" she mutters. Dean studies a lavender vase on one of the tables, cracks littering the glass. All this stuff looks like crap.

"Can I help you?" A teen comes out, carrying a stack of boxes. We walk up to the front, carefully dodging the items blocking our way. The teen has black hair, a nose ring, and her arms are covered in tattoos. She's chewing gum, snapping it every now and then. We flash our badges and introduce ourselves. She leans over the counter, an unamused expression on her face. "Is your manager here?" Dean asks. She pops her gum. "I am the manager."

"Are you aware that your boss, Emilia Jackson, has passed away?" The girl nods. "Heard last night. Pretty sad." she doesn't seem too upset about the whole thing. "Well, we're trying to track down some leads. Do you remember being sold an old Japanese painting? Like really old?" I ask. "Yeah. It had that lady on it. It's not everyday we get a real antique like that." the girl says. "Do you still have it?" Andy asks, hope in her voice. The girl shakes her head. Andy's chest deflates.

"Do you know who you sold it to?" I question. "Yeah." I wait for the girl to continue, but she just continues to stare at me. "Who did you sell it to?" I continue. The girl ducks down and digs through a pile of receipts. She hands one to me. "He said his name was Jeremy. His infos on here. He signed up for our sale emails." Why anyone would want to buy anything here is beyond me, but it helps us that he left his information. "Thank you for your help." Dean finishes. "No problem. Also, promise me you'll catch the bitch who killed Emilia. She was a good woman."

The girl's face falls a bit. She's not some emotionless teenager. She's grieving, but she's trying to keep it to herself. I guess everyone hurts, even if we don't all show it.