Chapter 9 - Sam

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Freedom Motel

Blackridge, New Hampshire

Sunday 9 March 2008

After grabbing some fast food for Dean, and a salad from the nearby gas station for me, we are back at our motel. Dean happily unwraps his cheeseburger while I set the box down on the table across from him, my salad untouched. I glance up at him as he takes a bite. I feel an ache in my chest. I'm going to miss this. The days where it's just the two of us on a hunt, where Dean is truly happy and truly alive. Hell, I'm even going to miss the obnoxious way he eats cheeseburgers.

The pain in my chest only gets worse, and I quickly look down, hoping Dean doesn't notice the tears that suddenly spring up in my eyes. I force myself to swallow down my feelings and take out my lockpick again and begin fiddling with the lock. It eventually opens, and I curiously peer inside.

"Anything good?" Dean asks through a mouthful of food.

Emotions still running high, I glare. "Would it kill you to swallow before you speak?"

"I wouldn't know a whole lot about swallowing." He grins at me.

I glare at him again. "Grow up." I look down into the box. All I can see is a stack of small papers. I gingerly grab the stack and take it out. They are letters all individually stuffed inside envelopes. I spread them out on the table. The envelopes all have the same message: "To Sherman Lockwood with love," in small, swirling black ink. I take the one that had been at the bottom of the stack and open it. Then I start reading.

----

"Hey, do you want any?" Dean's voice jars me from the letter I'm reading. I look up to see him holding a box of fries. He is doing nothing but eating and getting distracted by his new "Busty Asian Beauties" magazine.

"Uh, no." I go back to reading.

"Did you find anything?" he interrupts again.

"Yeah, actually," I say without looking up. "I think Sherman was having an affair."

"Oh, really?" He contemplates the fries.

"All these letters seem to be from the same person. They're all signed 'A. W.' at the end. She tells Sherman how," I quickly grab one of the letters I had just finished reading from the table, "'our forbidden love is stronger than any bond' and," I reached for another letter, "she's 'afraid of what my father will do to us if we are ever discovered.'" I look up at Dean.

"Looks like Sherman wanted to make sure his little affair was kept a secret even after his death," Dean comments as he pops a fry in his mouth. "I mean, the guy did seem pretty pissed when you found the thing."

"It makes sense," I add. "Extramarital affairs were even more taboo back then than they are today."

"So, you think maybe his paranoia about the scandal carried on after his death?" Dean asks.

"I mean, it adds up," I say, trailing off in thought. Something is nagging me. Sherman's ghost had said something about his daughter, but none of these letters mention any family dynamics. Who was the daughter, and why wasn't she in the painting with her parents? Had she died young? Maybe she was a product of the affair. That would explain why Sherman showed up when he did.

"What's wrong?" Dean asks.

"Nothing, just... I mean, you heard the ghost, right? He asked where his daughter was."

"...And?"

"There's no mention of her anywhere in these letters," I explain.

Dean sighs, setting down the now-empty box of fries. "We're going to have to research this, aren't we?"

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