One More Time

27.

"I listened to this. Well, it sounded like it was up your alley," he says, putting the disc in. "Normally, I wouldn't have access to this. It's the cockpit voice recorder for United Britannia Flight 2485. It was one of ours." The man starts to call a mayday, but his voice breaks out and is hard to understand. All of a sudden, there's a very distinct growling that interrupts his voice entirely. "Took off from here, crashed about 200 miles south. Now, they're saying mechanical failure. The cabin depressurized somehow. Nobody knows why. Over 100 people on board. Only seven got out alive. The pilot was one. His name is Chuck Lambert. He's a good friend of mine. Chuck is, uh... well, he's pretty broken up about it, like it was his fault."

"You don't think it was," Sam says.

"No, I don't," he shakes his head.

"Jerry, we're gonna need passenger manifests, a list of survivors-- and is there any way we can look at the wreckage," I ask.

"The other stuff is no problem, but the wreckage-- guys, the NTSB has it locked down in a warehouse. No way I've got that kind of clearance." I slowly nod, looking over at them.

"That's no problem."

~ ~ ~

As we're sitting on a bench, waiting for Dean, I look over at Sam. "Surprised that your dad talked about you a lot," I question making him look over at me.

"Honestly, yeah," he nods.

"Why?"

"I thought he was... mad at me 'cause I stopped hunting," he admits.

"Maybe, but he's still your dad above anything else. I'd be upset if he wasn't proud of you," I say.

"Really? Are you saying you're proud of me?"

"Hell yeah! You're doing a hell of a lot better than me. I've been working at a bar for three years," I sigh.

"Why didn't you decide to do anything else?"

"Well, college is expensive, and my grades weren't good enough to get any scholarships, and I needed something to pay the bills, so," I explain, shrugging.

"I bet you could've went to a community college," he says.

"Maybe, but honestly, I don't think college is for me. I think this is," I admit.

"Really?"

"Maybe. I thought after we found your dad I'd be done, but I don't really have anything worth going back to," I admit. "I think this is for me. Helping people, killing evil bastards, saving lives."

I hear the door jingle, and I look up to see Dean walking out.

"You've been in there forever," Sam says.

"You can't rush perfection," he states, holding up the fake ID's.

"Homeland security," I question. "That's pretty illegal, even for us."

"Yeah, well, it's something new, you know? People haven't seen it a thousand times," Dean shrugs.

"Shotgun," I call out, walking toward the passengers seat. Sam glares at me. "What? A person gets tired of always in sitting in the back," I defend, shooting a wink at him. He chuckles, hopping into the back.

"All right, so what do we got?"

"Well, there's definitely E.V.P on the cockpit voice recorder," I say.

"Yeah?"

"Listen," I say, hitting play.

The recording plays, and a creepy voice says:

No survivors

""No survivors"? What's that supposed to mean? There were seven survivors," Dean points out.

"Got me," I shrug.

"So, what are you thinking? A haunted flight," Dean says.

"There's a long history of spirits and death omens on planes and ships, like phantom travelers," Sam admits.

"Remember Flight 401? The one that crashed and the airline salvaged its parts, put it in other planes, and then the spirits of the pilot and copilot haunted those flights," I say.

"Right," They nod.

"Maybe we got a similar deal," I suggest.

"All right. So, survivors-- Which one do you want to talk to first?"

"Third on the list-- Max Jaffey," Sam replies.

"Why him?"

"Well, for one, he's from around here. And two, if anyone saw something weird, he did."

"What makes you say that?"

"Well, I spoke to his mother, and she told me where to find him."