by Tim Waggoner
The only physical evidence left was her homemade lab in the basement. She could lead the cops to the remains of Marshall and Bekah, but there was a chance that, like Frankenmutt and the Double-Header, they’d decay to nothing soon. Besides, she didn’t want anyone disturbing Bekah’s various graves, just in case doing so somehow freed Hel. They had no idea if the goddess’s spirit had returned to the realm it had come from—Sniffleham or something like that; Dean couldn’t remember—but none of them wanted to take any chances.
Start your practice back up, Sam had suggested. Return to helping people. Isn’t that why you became a doctor in the first place? Besides, what better way to fight death than by preserving life?
Catherine had thought for a moment. I think... I think maybe Marshall and Bekah would like that. But should I? Is redemption even possible?
Dean had taken that one. Doc, if we didn’t believe it is, we wouldn’t be able to get out of bed in the morning.
“Too bad the Lapis Occultus was destroyed,” Sam said. “I think it might have been another name for the Philosopher’s Stone, in which case it could’ve made a powerful weapon to use against Dick Roman.”
Dean shrugged. “No use crying over shattered mystical artifacts. I’m glad to see you’re feeling better, though. You finally manage to fight off that infection?”
Sam smiled. “Looks like it.” He crossed his leg and pulled up the cuff of his pants. “See? No more weird black veins.”
“That’s a relief. We’ll save a ton of money on coffee.” Dean paused before asking his next question. “You... seeing things?”
Sam tugged his pants cuff back down. “You mean like a strange shadow man? Don’t worry. I don’t think I’m going to see him anymore.”
Something about Sam’s tone made Dean think he was missing something, but he decided to let it go. “You think the doc is going to be okay?”
“I don’t know. We were raised in this life, and the stuff we go through still messes us up. I can’t imagine how much worse it is for a normal person. But if she starts seeing patients again, surrounds herself with life instead of brooding on death, I think she stands a chance.”
“In our business, sometimes a chance is all you need.”
They drove in silence for a while. Dean almost turned on the radio, but he decided against it. He didn’t feel like music just then.
After a time, Sam said, “I’ve been thinking.”
“There’s a shocker,” Dean said.
“Remember those dreams I had about Trish?”
“Yeah.”
“It occurred to me that we never did anything about the Rifleman.”
Dean did some quick mental calculating. “It’ll only take thirty-five or forty hours to get to Washington State from here, assuming we drive straight through.”
“I’m wide awake,” Sam said, smiling.
Dean sniffed the air and caught a whiff of stink coming from the trunk.
“Maybe we should stop at a Laundromat and wash our funkified clothes first.”
“Let’s find a Dumpster to toss them into, and buy more when we get to Washington.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
The brothers continued traveling through the darkness.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Tim Waggoner’s novels include the Nekropolis series of urban fantasies and the Ghost Trackers series written in collaboration with Jason Hawes and Grant Wilson of the Ghost Hunters television show. In total, he’s published close to thirty novels and two short story collections, and his articles on writing have appeared in Writer’s Digest and Writers’ Journal, among others. He teaches creative writing at Sinclair Community College and in Seton Hill University’s Master of Fine Arts in Writing Popular Fiction program. Visit him on the web at www.timwaggoner.com..