“She can appear… as a beautiful woman,” Sam read and paused.
“I missed that,” Dean said, craning his neck for a better view of the screen. “Any beautiful woman?”
Sam’s mind jumped back to the Barrows crime scene. He thought he’d seen Amelia when there was no possible reason for her to be in Braden Heights. But later, he’d seen a hunched woman dressed in black slip into the crowd and disappear. Was that second sighting closer to her true appearance? And had she been watching them at the scene? A predator recognizing a hunter? Or like an arsonist who hangs around to watch his handiwork?
Was it too late to confess his hallucination of Amelia? If he told Dean now, he’d have to admit concealing it previously. And they’d made an effort to stop keeping secrets from each other. The information—the pontianak’s ability—was out there now. Dean would know to look for it. Maybe that was good enough.
“Doesn’t say,” Sam told him. “Probably. But, uh, it also says she can separate her head from her body.”
“Saw the illustration,” Dean said. “Raises the freaky quotient. So how do we gank it?”
Sam scrolled down, skimming the information in both windows. “Putting a nail in the hole in her neck puts her down.”
“Guess that’s the tentacle hole.”
“But if you remove the nail, she’s back in business,” Sam said. “Like it only puts her to sleep or into some sort of supernatural coma. But she’s scared of thorns and sharp objects.”
“Forget thorns,” Dean said. “We have no shortage of sharp objects.”
“We can put her to sleep long enough to figure out how to end her,” Sam said. “But first we have to find her.”
“Those recent Larkin land sales and construction?” Dean said. “Probably not a coincidence.”
“Makes sense,” Sam said. “What if the pontianak is somehow… locked to Larkin land? What if she has been since Malaya died here?”
“So when she’s not gutting fathers-to-be and feeding off the blood of infants, she heads back to her little Pontiac lair.”
Sam was about to correct the mispronunciation, but guessed it was deliberate on Dean’s part. At least he’d stopped calling her Tentacle Tessa. “Far as we know, she’s been inactive for the past fifty-odd years… some kind of hibernation, maybe?”
“But Sally’s arrival or the new construction on former Larkin land woke her up.”
“For her, it might seem as if no time has passed.”
* * *
Castiel attributed more than coincidence to Chloe and Olivia going into labor at the same time. As soon as Dr. Hartwell mentioned the calls from her service, Castiel became concerned for the safety of both women. Maybe in another place and under different circumstances, coincidence would be sufficient explanation. But in Braden Heights, coincidences involving pregnant women had proved disturbing in the case of the newborns and fatal for their fathers.
Before they left the Barrows scene, Castiel volunteered to keep an eye on both women. The Winchesters didn’t need him for research and Castiel couldn’t help wondering if this was the moment of Chloe’s greatest danger. Maybe the connection he’d felt to her, seeing her as Claire during their brief introduction, had been some sort of premonition telling Castiel he would need to be there for Chloe the same way he hoped to be there should Claire ever need him. Based upon the evidence they’d collected, the clawed monster targeted the men before the babies were born and preyed on the newborns soon after birth. But what about the pregnant women during childbirth? That’s when they would be most vulnerable. At this point, they were still guessing about the identity and motives of the cannibal woman.
Though he’d offered to keep an eye on Chloe and Olivia, he had neither the home address of the former, nor the hotel address for the latter. He doubted Jesse Vetter would check his baby’s surrogate mother into a low-quality motel, which left a couple of mid-range options and a luxury hotel in the heart of the downtown district. Three, possibly four addresses to check. Chloe, on the other hand, lived with her parents and would have had no reason to change locations. He dialed Captain Sands, identified himself with his FBI alias, and requested Chloe’s home address. Less than ten minutes later, he drove down the Sikes’ street. As he scanned the house numbers, he spotted Chloe’s father loading a pink and white striped duffel bag into the back of a blue Ford Escape. Chloe was already in the front seat of the car, her mother in the back.
Castiel pulled into the nearest parking space, engine idling, waiting until they drove past the Lincoln to follow them to Lovering Maternity Center at a discreet distance. They might recognize him from their prior meeting and he didn’t wish to alarm them. Chloe could be safe from danger but she was already dealing with the tragic death of her baby’s father. On top of that, she had to endure hours of difficult labor pains. Castiel wouldn’t compound her anxiety without cause. He could be overly cautious without alarming her—or Olivia Krum. But if the danger became real and immediate, he would be on hand to intervene.
At Lovering Maternity Center, Castiel parked in the visitor lot in a space where he had a view of the porte cochère. The blue Escape stopped at the lobby entrance. Chloe’s mother hurried inside and returned less than a minute later with a wheelchair she steered to the front passenger door. After Chloe situated herself in the chair, left hand clutching the armrest, right hand nervously rubbing her round abdomen, her mother pushed her toward the lobby doors. Meanwhile, her father unloaded the duffel bag and parked the SUV.
Castiel left his Lincoln and walked slowly toward the lobby, looking left and right for anything unusual. Would the monster attack out in the open? She seemed to prefer isolated targets, the men and infants alike.
A flash of unnaturally fast movement caught his attention.
A pale green Prius sped toward the lobby entrance as Chloe and her parents made their way inside. The hybrid’s driver traveled at a speed much too fast for a parking lot frequented by slow-moving pregnant women and recent mothers shepherding newborns home. Frowning, Castiel picked up his pace, almost running to intercept the vehicle. Though he doubted the driver would be the monster they sought, a human agent might also be involved in the murders.
With barely a glance back at the reckless driver’s car, Chloe and her parents entered the maternity center.
Castiel slowed when he saw the driver emerge from the car.
Jesse Vetter hurried around to the passenger side of the Prius, then stood patiently as the woman inside rolled down her window, said something calmly and pointed toward the building. Jesse pressed both palms to his face, shook his head, seemed to take several deep breaths, then walked to the back of the car, opened the trunk to remove a suitcase only to set it down in front of the car. Darting inside the building, he too returned with a wheelchair and helped Olivia into it. She grimaced in pain—probably experiencing a contraction, Castiel thought—as he wheeled her to the lobby entrance and set the suitcase down beside her.
Leaving Olivia there, he returned to the car. In his nervous haste, he nearly clipped the bumper of a Dodge Durango, but managed to squeeze the Prius into a tight spot before rushing back to her. A moment later, they too had entered the maternity center without incident.
Castiel took his time crossing the parking lot, examining his surroundings for anything unusual. Ostensibly, he looked for a strange woman with clawed hands—he doubted he’d see the exposed tentacle sprouting from the nape of her neck—but he also examined the cars he passed to determine if anyone was lurking in the area. Since he’d arrived behind the Sikes family, the only car to enter the lot had been the Prius. But as he made his deliberate way to the automatic lobby doors, two other cars arrived and parked. Visitors bearing helium balloons, stuffed animals and boxes of candy. Nothing to arouse suspicion.
With one last sweeping look across the parking lot, he walked into the lobby and approached the familiar middle-aged receptionist at the U-shaped desk.
“Can I help you?” she said with a cheery smi
le.
“Agent Collins, FBI,” Castiel said, once again trotting out the false identity. “I need to check on two of Dr. Hartwell’s patients. Chloe Sikes and Olivia Krum.”
“Chloe and Olivia,” she said. “Oh, my! They both came in minutes ago. Literally.”
“I’m aware of that.”
She typed on her computer keyboard, checking information on the monitor. “They’re both in labor, waters broken, both admitted… I don’t see birthing room assignments. Let me call up there.” She reached for her phone, made a quick call and jotted down information on a notepad. “They’re on the second floor of the tower. Chloe is in birthing room 7, Olivia in room 9. Dr. Hartwell arrived a few minutes ago. She’s up there already. Is she expecting you?”
“No,” Castiel said.
He circled around the reception desk and walked to the center bank of elevators.
The receptionist spun around in her chair to follow his progress. “Should I call and let her know you’re coming?”
Castiel pressed the UP button. “Only if it’s necessary.”
“It’s… well… she might want to…” the receptionist said. “I should call.”
The elevator doors opened. Castiel stepped inside and pressed the button for the second floor. Dr. Hartwell might question why he’d come to the maternity center, but he wasn’t sure he had a good answer. His only acknowledged reason was the vague sense of unease he’d experienced when he learned of the simultaneous labor. For now, he’d prefer to wait nearby, in the background, on the off chance something happened. At the same time, he understood that maternity wards might have security concerns over strangers lurking in the hallways. Yet another reason to flash the ID for his fake persona. And at that point, Dr. Hartwell might as well know he was present.
He hadn’t taken more than a dozen steps on the second floor when a nurse intercepted him to ask if he needed help. After identifying himself and stating his intention to see Dr. Hartwell, he continued for another two dozen steps before a male doctor with gray-streaked hair and horn-rimmed glasses stopped him and asked which patient he had come to see.
“Patients,” Castiel said.
“Patients? Plural?”
“Sikes and Krum.”
“Two? You’re not the—never mind,” he said, shaking his head as if to rid himself of a distracting thought. “This is most unusual.”
“I need to talk to Dr. Hartwell,” Castiel said.
“Agent Collins!” From behind the older doctor, Vanessa Hartwell waved and approached. “I’ve got this, George.”
“Very well,” Dr. George said. “He’s here to see two, he says.”
“Yes, George, thanks.”
After he backed away and moved out of earshot, Dr. Hartwell said, “I wasn’t expecting you. Is there a problem with the case?”
“I wanted to check that everything is… normal with Chloe and Olivia.”
“Other than both of them going into labor minutes apart, everything is normal,” she said. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“The trauma,” Castiel said instead of discussing any supernatural control over the pregnancies. “They’ve both lost someone close to them.”
“Of course,” she said. “Well, at this point, nature takes over. I’ve only checked in with them briefly. But I’ll be here monitoring everything, just in case there are any complications.”
“Has anyone reported seeing the strange woman?”
“Oh, no! I would have called immediately,” she said. “And security has been notified to look for anyone matching her description. Granted, a vague description, but it should be sufficient. After the Atherton incident, they’re on high alert, believe me. We have security cameras covering the public areas. Nothing in the patient rooms, obviously. Privacy concerns. Otherwise, everything about the pregnancies is fine and normal.”
Everything seemed under control, but Castiel couldn’t shake his unease. How could he ask this woman to report anything that defied reason without losing his credibility? Still, he couldn’t leave without trying. “Agents Rutherford, Banks and I are concerned that whoever is responsible for the murders may try to… interfere with the birthing process.”
“That’s not possible,” she said. “I’m very familiar with everyone on staff here today. If I see any strangers, I will report them to security, but we have everything under control. If they—I don’t know—cut power to the building, we have backup generators. Don’t worry, Agent. We do this every day. It’s our specialty.”
“You’ll call us if anything… strange happens?”
“Okay,” she said, smiling indulgently. “Anything weird, I call.”
“Thank you.”
He started the walk back to the elevators when she called out to him, “Oh, Agent!”
Stopping, he turned to face her.
“Chloe’s fine,” she said. “I’ll take good care of her.”
Castiel nodded.
As he returned to his Lincoln, he told himself that Denise Atherton had given birth without incident, as had Melissa Barrows and Brianne Green. There was no reason to think that the monster would interrupt or try to influence the birth of either child. For now, they both seemed safe. At each red light on the way back to the motel, he pulled out his phone to check that it was working, that the battery hadn’t died, that he had a good signal.
Despite his initial misgivings, a call for help never came.
TWENTY-SEVEN
While Castiel checked on Chloe Sikes and Olivia Krum at Lovering Maternity Center, Sam and Dean made trips to the county recorder’s office and the county assessor’s office to check deeds and get maps for any properties previously or currently owned by members of the Larkin and Nodd families. Though current information was available online, the records from when the town was known as Larkin’s Korner were spotty, as the conversion to digital was incomplete. At the assessor’s office they printed copies of property maps, focusing on lots involved in recent sales.
They also checked any properties owned by either family and zoned for residential use from the mid-forties to the mid-sixties. That timeframe included Calvin Nodd’s return from the war with Malaya, his Filipino bride, as well as Riza Nodd’s life in Larkin’s Korner through the time of her pregnancy and departure with her rebel boyfriend and, finally, Nodd’s last days in town culminating in a physical assault of one of his patients and his flight from town.
“If the pontianak arose or winked into existence—or however one is created—after Malaya’s death during childbirth and attached itself to any of the Larkin properties,” Sam reasoned as they climbed out of the Impala and returned to their motel room, “we’ll have a record of that land here. And we should be able to find her.”
Looking at the thick stack of printouts Sam carried from the car, Dean shook his head in doubt. “Good old Arthur Keating wasn’t kidding about the Larkin family owning most of the freakin’ town.”
He opened the motel room door.
Across the room, Castiel rose from the chair where he’d been sitting. “Good. You’re back.”
“Everything okay at LMC?” Dean asked.
“Nothing unusual,” Castiel said. “Both women should be in labor for at least several hours. Dr. Hartwell promised to call if anything unusual happens.”
Sam laid the pile of records and maps on the table, completely overwhelming the small surface area. While he sorted the information to place the maps of recent property sales on top, Dean drove to a diner a few blocks from the motel to pick up an order of burgers, chicken sandwiches, a salad and fries.
While he was gone, Sam told Castiel they believed they were hunting a pontianak, created when Malaya Nodd died giving birth to Riza, and how they planned to stop it. He then recounted their search of Larkin and Nodd property records going back to the post-war era.
As Sam finished the abbreviated debriefing, Dean returned with the food and, since the round work table overflowed with photocopies, lined up the wrapped sandwich options on top of the
dresser.
Sam grabbed a chicken sandwich and salad. “The working assumption is that either Sally’s arrival in town or the new construction on former Larkin land somehow awakened the pontianak.”
“So we check the land involved in the recent sales?” Castiel asked, taking one of the burgers.
“We have a bunch of recent sales here,” Sam replied. “But only a couple of those properties have gone under construction during the timeframe of all four murders, which narrows the search considerably.”
Castiel looked from one brother to the other. “Any idea what we’re searching for?”
Dean smirked. “No freakin’ clue.”
Sam cleared his throat. “Anything unusual, obviously,” he said. “Sigils, a shrine, human organs as trophies…”
“Trust me,” Dean said. “He has no clue.”
“Or the pontianak herself,” Sam continued, ignoring Dean’s jibe. “Her lair or nest, wherever she concealed herself for the past fifty years.”
“Maybe she’s like a bear,” Dean suggested. “Hibernates in a cave.”
Dean unwrapped a cheeseburger, seemed to think about it a long time before pushing it aside and taking a bite of a chicken sandwich. Another test of his control, forgoing his indulgences, at least those involving red meat and alcohol.
“Who knows?” Sam said. “But these properties give us a place to start.” He looked from Dean to Castiel. “Unless someone has a better suggestion.”
“Should’ve bought the pecan pie,” Dean lamented. “Damn it.”
“I meant about—”
“I know what you meant.”
“If we knew her next target,” Castiel said, “we could wait for her to attack.”
“A stakeout?” Dean asked, distracted as he joylessly worked his way through the chicken sandwich. “Only if there’s pie.”
“That’s the problem,” Sam said. “We can’t predict her next move.”
“Wonder if they deliver.”
“Forget it,” Sam said. “We’re leaving.”
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