𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢 | 𝐬𝐩𝐧

𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍

𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐏𝐎𝐕

LINDA Shoemaker was murdered by her husband. No one dared to tell Charlie the truth, but we knew it. At least there was an unwinding pattern. Jill killed a kid, died in front of her mirror and the same happened to Donna's dad. It just made sense. "Okay so there's a lot of folklore about mirrors-that they reveal all your lies; that they're a true reflection of your soul, which is why it's bad luck to break them," Sam said.

I looked at the side of his head, which was really all I could see from my seat in the back of the Impala. His nose was like a straight hill and his eyebrows were bushy and furrowed, a common thing that happened when he was thinking. I've picked up a lot of things about Sam, including the little habits he does when he's feeling a certain way. "Right, right. So maybe if you've got a secret, I mean like a really nasty one where someone died, then Mary sees it, and punishes you for it." Dean continued.

"Here, take a look at this," I muttered, pulling up an image from the laptop. The picture revealed a woman lying in a puddle of blood with a handprint with "Tre" spelled out. I handed it to the boys and sighed. "Mary Worthington---Fort Wayne, Indiana," I said. "I say that we head over to Fort Wayne then." Dean nodded. His lips tugged into a slight smile. He's like a stone sometimes. He likes to be mysterious and conserved. No one is allowed to know how he really feels. It's unfair to him.

His fingers drummed on the steering wheel, following the same beat from his songs. Maybe for his birthday, I could get him new cassette tapes. He seems pretty happy with the ones he has now, but it's the thought that counts.

We wound up back in a motel, changing into suits and getting ready to look professional. At least being in motels meant laundry time and showers. For now, we were on a mission. I began buttoning up my shirt when the door flew open. "Can you knock, perv?" I sighed, looking at Dean, who seemed to be in a trance. I snapped my fingers in front of his face, shoved him outside of the door, and shut it. I finished buttoning up the shirt and put the overcoat on and fixed my hair. When I walked out, I saw Dean and Sam waiting while checking invisible watches.

"You try having long hair and having to get ready," I remarked. Dean smirked. "Sam, tell your brother to knock next time, or my foot gets shoved up his ass," I muttered, grabbing my FBI badge and walking to the Impala. When they joined me, Dean was still smirking and Sam seemed uncomfortable. He scratched the back of his head and cleared his throat. He was nervous...

"You didn't." I groaned. "I did." Dean giggled. "Did you just-- Dean!" I smacked his chest and put my head in my hands. "I didn't wanna hear about my best friend's----." Sam stuttered. "Can we all shut up?" I requested, turning up the music.

-

"I was on the job for 35 years-detective for most of that. Now everybody packs it in with a few loose ends, but the Mary Worthington murder-that one still gets me." A detective told us. "Can you tell us, in your own words, what happened?" I questioned. "We know Mary was 19, lived by herself. We know she won a few local beauty contests, dreamt of getting out of Indiana, being an actress. And we know the night of March 29th someone broke into her apartment and murdered her, cut out her eyes with a knife. See sir, when we asked you what happened, we wanted to know what you think happened." Sam said.

The man pulled out the same picture I had pulled up from my laptop. "I think T-R-E is from Mary trying to spell out her murderer's name. There was a local man, a surgeon-Trevor Sampson." He said. "What'd their connection? Any ties?" I frowned, writing Trevor's name on my hand. "Her diary mentioned a man that she was seeing. She called him by his initial, "T". Well, in her last entry, she was gonna tell "T"'s wife about their affair...The way that her eyes were cut out...It had to be a professional." The detective told us. "No prints, no witnesses. He was meticulous."

"Just a few more questions and we'll stop boring you, sir. Is Mr. Sampson alive, by chance?" I asked. "Nope. If you ask me, Mary spent her last living moments trying to expose this guy's secret. But she never could." The detective said. "I'd like to pay my respects to Mary. I have a sibling around her age and I can't imagine a life without her...Where's she buried?" I lied. "She wasn't. She was cremated." The man replied. "Guess I'm praying tonight." I joked awkwardly.

I'm not even religious.

-

We found a name to research and track down for Mary's mirror. We all owe ourselves a nap though, so that was top priority. I unwrapped a towel around my hair and put my toothbrush away, then adjusted my shorts and walked out. "Next," I called. Sam walked into the bathroom and I jumped onto the bed Dean and I shared. His face was buried in his pillow and his back muscles shifted. He couldn't put on a shirt...not that I'm complaining.

Dean turned his head and looked at me. "You're cold." He muttered. "I just got out of the shower, the adjustment is a bitch." I retorted, laying down properly. He put his face back in his pillow. "Where's Sammy?" He asked. "Bathroom," I answered. "Good, turn the light off." He told me. I rolled my eyes and flipped the lamp light off. Dean pulled me closer and our foreheads touched. It looked as if his eyes were shut, but I knew better.

I could feel his minty breath on my lips, making shivers swarm my spine. Dean tucked my hair behind my ear. "You know---" He began. The door opened and I looked down, closing my eyes. "Forgot my shorts," Sam yelled. "I'll get them." Dean groaned. "What a dick." He muttered, sitting up. I watched him straighten out his tanned back and stand up.

I saw a smirk form on his pink lips, making me scowl. "Oh shut up, you idiot," I remarked.