The Statue of the Corpses

Chapter Four

The Bryson home was a small yellow house nestled between other houses similar in size and style. All the lawns were blankets of freshly cut, vibrant green grass. From first glance, it seemed like the perfect little town. Of course, Sam and Dean knew that was not the case. Something less than perfect was happening in this town. They exchanged a look before heading towards the door.

Dean knocked a couple times before stepping back down to join Sam on the doorstep. The brothers waited until a petite middle aged woman with honey-blonde hair poked her head out the door.

"Hello," Sam began. "I'm Sam, and this is Dean. You must be Susan Bryson."

Susan hesitated before opening the door slightly wider. "Yes, I'm Susan. How can I help you boys?"

Sam sucked in a breath. He had to be careful not to scare away the woman. He would be opening a wound that had not quite healed yet. "Well, Mrs. Bryson, we're actually writing an article."

Susan's polite smile faltered. "Oh. I suppose you want to hear more about Tommy's...accident."

"Yes ma'am," Dean chimed from behind Sam's shoulder. "If it won't be too much trouble. We're writing a kind of tribute to your son."

"Well, come in then," she sighed wearily. "My husband's in the living room."

"Thank you," Sam replied, stepping into the house. "We really appreciate you giving us some of your time. We understand how hard it must be to lose someone so young and unexpectedly."

Dean's green eyes flickered to Sam and studied his expression. He was thinking about Jessica again. Dean felt guilt twist his insides. Maybe if he had just left Sam alone he could have left this life behind him. Sam always wanted a normal life. Before Dean returned to his life, Sam had a scholarship to Stanford, a steady girlfriend, and a promising future as a successful lawyer. All Dean wanted was to bring the family back together. How he had managed to completely turn Sam's world upside down in the process, he had no idea.

Dean shook his head to rid himself of the guilt-ridden thoughts. Jessica was dead. Sam's college life seemed far behind them. There was no going back now.

"Hey, you okay?" Sam murmured.

"Yeah, just thinking." Dean flashed a tired smile and ended the conversation by quickening his pace.

"Alright then," Sam muttered, trailing behind. "Nice talk."

The living room had cream-colored walls and white lace curtains that fluttered in the breeze. Somehow, the breeze didn't quite reach inside, and the air was still and stuffy inside the living room. There was a love seat against one wall, and across the room was a small television set. Old family pictures rested on top of the television. Sam and Dean were sitting on two chairs pulled up in front of the coffee table.

"Tommy was always such a good kid," Susan began. She was seated on the love seat beside her husband, her slender fingers wrapped around a cup of tea.

They introduced themselves to Mr. Bryson when they entered the living room. He was perhaps a few years older than his wife, with greying brown hair and worn hazel eyes. When he smiled, it was warm and kindly, the corners of his eyes wrinkling. However blurry a picture, anyone could see the resemblance between Tommy and his father.

"Could you tell us a little more about your son?" Sam asked, pulling out a pencil and notepad. "What he was like, his friends, where he wanted to go to college, anything..."