Cursed or not (Destiel)

A case in Salem

"Saving people, hunting things, the family business."
Dean

Massachusetts was cold this time of year. A harsh breeze swept through the streets of Salem, tugging at the last of the leaves that were still desperately clinging to their trees. But sooner or later they too would fall. A wind destined to make houses built from cards collapse.

The air tasted of salt, sea and space. The aroma of the coast, a greeting from the nearby ocean, tart and alluring at the same time. A contrast, an ambivalence to the gray of the town. It smelled of wet foliage and a little of exhaust fumes. The freshness of the last rain was almost vanished again, barely palpable like a slowly fading memory.

The deep tinny roar of an outdated engine tore apart the deceptive calm of that late afternoon. An echo of times long past. The small stones crunched on the crumbling asphalt as the car pulled up on the side of the road, and the doors generated a squeaky noise as they opened. Shortly afterwards they were slammed again, almost gently.

Two men had got out. Jeans, boots, flannel shirts, leather jacket. Hunters. The wind grabbed the taller man's long brown hair and blew it into his face. A ray of sunshine, which had fought its way through the thick cloud cover and the high fog, shone in the dark varnish of the 67's Chevrolet Impala before it also disappeared again as if it had never been there. The smaller of the two blinked up at the sky, then, as if to drive away a thought, he shook his blond head and motioned for his companion to follow him.

"Agents Novak and Lokhard, FBI."
The taller one straightened his recently put on tie.

Volatilely the officer glanced at the badges shown to him. "Are you coming for the unexplained mortality?"

"Tell us everything you know about that."

"There have been five so far, almost one in every month since the beginning of the year." It is October, thought the hunters. "Cause of death unknown", the officer continued. For a moment he hesitated. "At first we considered it to be old age, infirmity, you know. But younger men also died. All were clergymen, priests, bishops, monks."

"And all of them died in monasteries or churches near Salem?"

"Yes, here in the city or in the vicinity."

"May we see the last deceased?"

"Of course, follow me."

It was chilly down here. On the ceiling the neon lights buzzed. A man's body was visible under a white sheet, laid out on the metal table of the pathology.

"This is him", the detective said and uncovered the sheet so that the dead man's head and chest were exposed. "The autopsy results." The taller of the two 'Agents' accepted the file that was handed over.

"Would you please leave us alone", the smaller one asked in a tone that did not sound like a polite request.

"Of course." The police officer stroked his mustache and left.

While one studied the pathologist's notes, the other examined the body thoroughly. Mid-forties, maybe a little younger, that was hard to tell. The man had been in good shape for a servant of the Church. The now sallow skin of his even face was shaved smooth. A short strand of his dark brown hair had slipped down his forehead. 'Agent Novak' swallowed. There was something about this man that irritated him.

"Sam, you can do it alone here, right?"

"Sure, what's going on?"

"Nothing. I just have to get out for a moment." And with that he had rushed through the door.