"So, I ran your prints through AFIS," the man in front of me spoke. He had introduced himself earlier. I think he said Sheridan, not that it mattered. He was dressed in a suit that didn't seem to fit him right, and he had that arrogant look on his face that made me hate cops. I didn't feel worried, though.
I smirked, leaning over the interrogation table as if I was curious. Not saying a word.
"It came up empty. In fact, I ran every check there is to try and find out who you are. Nothing. Zip. Nada."
I feigned surprise but couldn't help my cocky smirk. All I heard was that I was good at what I was doing.
"No credit cards at all, all your IDs are obviously fake, and I have a feeling that even if I ran your DNA through the database, it would come up empty. If I ask the computers, you simply don't exist," Sheridan told me. "That's what I thought, at least until I placed a call to a friend of mine over at the FBI." He slammed a thick folder down on the interrogation table.
"Willow Wren Price," he started over, reading from the first page. It was a picture of me when I was a kid, next to my name. It was apparent the page had been printed and faxed over, which meant that there was more than one copy of the file. "Born in Abilene, Texas on July 20th, 1980. You didn't live there, though. Your parents moved around a lot; Abiline was just one of many stops. Despite constantly changing schools, you were a wonder child, described as a genius by teachers and old neighbors, tested 190 on an IQ test when you were thirteen. Excelled physical sports, won a state championship in boxing that same year." He studied my face, and I knew I still had some bruising from the previous week's fights. Sheridan took a breath and turned the page.
I shot back in my chair and looked away, shocked by the pictures from my parent's crime scene. Memories flashed in my mind, and I felt sick to my stomach.
"Your parents were brutally murdered when you were seventeen. First responders described the scene as the stuff from nightmares. The one I spoke to says it still haunts him to this day." The cop spread the pictures over the table, and I made a point of looking up into the ceiling. "This picture right here, your mother, right? It must have been hard finding her like that. Tied upside down, hanging from the ceiling, head a meter further down than supposed to. And your dad..."
He gave a low whistle. "My rapport says he still was alive when you found him. He died in your arms waiting for the ambulance. What happened to him... It's nothing short of torture. Your brother William gained custody of you. That was when you disappeared for the first time. Gone for two years before you show up at MIT. Feel free to stop me if I get anything wrong."
I stared at the ceiling, chewing on my lip. I wasn't going to say shit. Sheridan turned a few pages without gathering the crime scene photos.
"You were kicked out for fighting and having weapons on campus. Pentagon tried to hire you, but due to security issues, you were fired, the rest of pentagons file is classified. Your anger issues seem to get the best of you, time and time again." I smirked at the annoyance in his voice. He sighed deeply. "That's the second time you dropped off the face of the earth, yet, here you are," he concluded.
I raised a brow. Did he expect me to begin to talk just because he did a re-make of 'This is your life'?
"My friends at the FBI seemed very interested in meeting you. Apparently, they've been trying to find you for quite some time. I was told you've made it hard for them, deleting every trace of yourself on the internet. They have to keep everything off the web and print whatever they can before the information magically disappears. They made things easier for me, though; your prints came up empty in AFIS, but this file contains some of the many crimes where they could find your prints, ranging from petty theft to murder charges."
I guess I shouldn't have been surprised that they knew so much about me, but I was. I knew there were traces of my existence that I couldn't erase, printed papers, files kept in archives not yet updated to the web. But I had made it hard to connect the dots. A cop would have to go to each place separately to get the papers, and I constantly moved. Staring at the thick file in front of me, I knew how much time had been spent putting it together. And that wiped the grin off my face.
"Still nothing?" Sheridan looked at me and shook his head as if to say, 'really?'. He sat down on the chair in front of me. "I don't need you to talk. You were caught redhanded, with blood on your hands at Karen Gail's crime scene. You're the brain behind it all, right? Two murderers crossed paths, you and Dean find out you have a lot in common- same interests. You find him easy to control." I struggled to hold back my laugh. Dean did whatever he wanted. He barely took advice from me, even if he knew I was right. That's how we ended up here in the first place. "What I don't know is how Sam fits into the picture, but it doesn't matter."
I stared into his eyes, and I noted how he grew uncomfortable under my gaze, but he held it.
"FBI will come and pick you up. This file," he tapped the folder. "This isn't even half of the things they sent over. You will be locked away for a long time Willow, and if it were up to me, you'd never see the light of day again."
He walked out of the interrogation room, and when he opened the door, someone came out from the room on the other side of the hallway, making me catch a glimpse of Dean, who was shackled to a table, same as me.
The older Winchester looked up just before the doors closed, and our eyes met. While I was more than annoyed at this situation, he seemed like he didn't really care, which made my blood boil. If he had just listened to me, we wouldn't be here.
---
You might wonder how we ended up getting arrested. It's not a very complicated story, really. The Winchester brothers and I had left Liam's place a week prior, and it didn't take long for Dean to sniff out a new case. It was all over the papers; a lawyer from Baltimore named Anthony Giles had his throat slit in his office.
The thing that caught our interest was the fact that the room was clean. The security cameras failed to capture the assailant, so; naturally, we suspected a ghost. I pointed out that there might have been someone who tampered with the tapes, I knew it wasn't that complicated if you knew what you were doing. Either way, it was worth looking into, so we hit the road and were in Baltimore just a few hours later, knocking on Anthony Gile's door to speak with his wife, Karen.
"Insurance. I totally forgot about the insurance," Karen sobbed once we introduced ourselves and what we were doing there. A fabricated lie, of course.
"We're very sorry to bother you right now, but the company is required to conduct its own investigation. You understand," Sam told her with a sympathetic look.
"Sure." Karen had removed her glasses and wiped her tears, gathering herself in order to answer our questions.
"Okay. Um. If you could just tell us anything you remember about the night your husband died," Sam begged her, and we all waited in anticipation for the answer to the mysterious story of her murdered husband.
"Uh, Tony and I were just supposed to have dinner. He called and said he was having computer troubles and that, that he had to work late. That was it." I stared at the dark-haired woman. That was it? Really?
"Do you have any idea who could have done this to him?" Sam continued.
"No. No, it's like I told the police, I, I have no idea." She shook her head slightly. Her voice was soft when she spoke, grief weighing on her every word.
"Did Tony mention anything, you know, unusual to you? In the days before his death?" Dean asked her.
"Unusual..." Karen met my eyes, looking for support as if I was her lifeline as the only other woman in the room.
"Yeah, like strange?" Dean pushed, making her look at him instead.
"Strange?" She shrugged and shook her head, not understanding what he wanted from her. Dean was getting impatient.
"You know, Karen, weird? Weird noises, uh, visions, anything like that?" He seemed to get excited at the thought of getting on with it and was forgetting to play his part. Sam cleared his throat and gave him a pointed look while I caught Karen's eyes again.
"These are standard questions in cases like this," I lied. "It's important for us to know if he might have been followed or seemed paranoid for any reason. Every detail matters, even if it seems like a silly one."
"He had a nightmare the day before he died," Karen told us, and I nodded my head as if that was the exact kind of information we needed.
"What kind of a nightmare?" Sam asked, plastering on his concerned look again.
"Uh, he said that he woke up in the middle of the night and there was a woman standing at the foot of the bed, he blinked, and she was gone, I mean, it was just a nightmare."
"Did he say what she looked like?" Dean's blunt way of asking made Karen squint her eyes at him.
"What the hell difference does it make what she looked like?"
"Uh, it's just, our, our company's very thorough," the hunter tried to cover.
"Like I said, every detail matters," I cut in, offering her a comforting smile. "Sometimes the brain gathers information that we wouldn't normally pay much mind to. It's not unusual for the brain to process these small pieces of information in the form of dreams."
"Oh," Karen said, understanding. "He said she was pale, and she had dark red eyes."
I exchanged looks with the boys, and we bid our farewell to the woman.
"Call if you remember anything else," Sam told her and handed her a business card.
We walked out. I turned to Dean, annoyed as soon as the door closed behind us.
"Really? Not very discreet, Dean."
"Yeah, well, at least we got our answers." We began to walk back to the impala. "You heard her, Anthony was having nightly visits from a pale, red-eyed woman."
"Okay, so it might be a ghost, but you almost blew our cover in there," I huffed, annoyed.
"Oh, come on... It wasn't that bad," he defended himself, putting an arm over my shoulder. I shrugged it off and walked ahead, feeling way too much emotion when he touched me. I needed to put out the fire; the fierceness of it scared me. Sam watched me with raised brows as I passed him and got into the back of the impala.
"Okay, what now?" Sam asked as he and Dean finally got into the car.
"I want to check that security tape and see if someone tampered with it."
"How long will that take?" Sam asked.
"Not that long. I can do it while you guys run out for food, then I think we should check out the crime scene."
"Duh," Dean said, rolling his eyes. I huffed and decided to pull out my computer to not start an argument.
---
"I'm telling you, the tapes are tampered with. Not very ghosty to me," I sighed for the millionth time.
"Then how do you explain what Karen said?" Dean argued while Sam picked the lock to the office. It was dark, but I waited to turn my flashlight on until I had stepped under the crime scene tape.
It only took a moment before we found the large pool of dried blood against the wall.
"Hey. Anthony Giles' body was found right about here," Sam informed us, shining down at the red stain. He held up the police rapport I had printed along with everything else I thought might be of use. "Throat slit so deep part of his spinal cord was visible."
Dean gave out a low whistle. "What do you think? Vengeful spirit? Underlining vengeful?" He gave a look as if to say, 'I told you so,' as he became more and more convinced.
"Yeah, maybe," Sam answered, looking at me apologetically. "I mean, he did see that woman at the foot of his bed."
"I hear you guys. I just have this feeling... Something seems off about this whole thing. What was the motive? Why wait to kill the guy until he was in the office and not just off him when he first saw her?"
Sam shrugged, thinking about it, while Dean just ignored me. I rolled my eyes and let my flashlight search the room.
"Take a look at this." I turned around when I heard Dean speak and noticed how he held out a paper to Sam. Even from a distance, I could see that there was something off with the writing. There was no distinctive pattern between the words and blank space between words, in fact, there was no space at all.
"Dana Shulps," Sam read. "A name?" He handed over the paper to me. The same thing was repeated over and over in small front printing. 'danashulpsdanashulps...' It covered the entire page, and there were more of them lying on a heap on the table.
Dean picked up another sheet of paper from the copy machine.
"I dunno, but it's everywhere." Suddenly, he began to grin. "Well, all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy."
"Karen said he had been having computer troubles," I remarked, putting the paper down and turning back to Sammy, reevaluating the case.
He pointed his flashlight down on the glass table and then looked up at Dean and me. The older Winchester and I exchanged looks as Sam bent down and breathed on the glass, revealing the same letters imprinted on the surface. 'DANA SHULPS'
"Wow. I'd say we've officially crossed over into weird."
"Maybe Giles knew her," Dean suggested, and I shook my head.
"If this is someone he knew, I hope she got away before he escalated his stalking," I mumbled.
"So you agree on ghost now?" Dean taunted.
"I never said I didn't think it was a ghost. Just that things don't add up."
"Maybe it's the name of our pale, red-eyed mystery girl," Sam said, interrupting our bickering.
"Dana Shulps," I repeated, thinking out loud. "Wait," I snapped my fingers. "I think I've got it. Wait here; I'm just gonna go check something out." I left the room, not knowing if they answered, already too deep into my own thoughts.
I slid into the impala, opened the glove compartment, and pulled out what I was looking for. It was a map of Baltimore that I had bought while Dean had stopped for gas. I searched for the street name, and once I found it, I pulled out my computer. Ashland street.
I was sure we had driven past it while we drove into town, it was the only reason I recognized it once I started to scramble the letters of 'Dana Shulps' together. It would be a perfect anagram if it wasn't for the missing letters S, U, and P, but there was little chance of it being a coincidence.
Ashland street wasn't close to the office or Geils house, but I tapped on my computer, trying to look up if anything special had happened on the street but found nothing. "Maybe I'm wrong. What about the last few letters..."
The car door opened, and I snapped my head around, startled.
"Fuck Dean, you scared the shit out of me." The green-eyed hunter stared down at me, just as startled as me.
"Why are you in the driver's seat?"
"It was the closest door..." I mumbled, turning back to my computer. "Are you guys done already?"
"Done already... Will, it's been like an hour."
I looked up at him wide-eyed before turning to check my watch. He was right.
"Where's Sam?"
"He's trying to get into Gile's personal files," Dean informed me. "Can you move over?"
"Where are you going?" I asked with furrowed eyebrows. He sighed deeply.
"I'm going to talk to Karen."
I bit my lip, thinking. Perhaps she could tell me how all of this is connected to Ashland street.
"Can I drive?" Dean looked skeptical, so I looked deep into his eyes. "Please, Dean. I need to clear my mind."
He was quiet for a moment, his eyes flickering between mine. Then he sighed deeply and handed me the keys, moving around to the passenger seat.
"Just be careful with my baby," he mumbled as I started her up. My hands gripped the steering wheel, and when I put the car in 'drive,' we sped off, my foot heavy on the gas pedal.
I could feel him watch me silently, and I turned to him with a smile on my lips, feeling the exhilaration of the high speed.
"Keep your eyes on the road, sweetheart. I don't want to regret letting you drive," he chuckled. My heart was beating fast just being in his presence, feeling his eyes on me. I hummed in pleasure at the sweet sound of the engine, glad for the distraction. "Don't do that."
I slowed down, taking a turn. "Do what?" I asked, glancing at him. His eyes seemed darker than usual, and he ran his thumb along his lower lip, making my breath hitch in my throat.
"Babe, you're practically moaning." I could feel my face heat up.
"I am not!"
"You kinda are," Dean chuckled. "Maybe I should let you drive more often."
I swatted at his chest playfully. "You better watch out, Winchester. If you don't behave, I might have to confiscate this car."
"You wouldn't dare," he smirked cockily at me.
I bit my lip as we pulled up in front of Karen's house. I didn't want to go out, and I didn't want to stay either. I had made up my mind. I just needed to remind myself of it. With Dean, there was no form of control whatsoever. It would never work out, and we had a job to finish. I was being unprofessional.
Dean reached over and turned the keys in the ignition, turning the car off.
"You're staring." He moved closer, his arm on the backrest behind me. My heart was beating impossibly faster, and he moved my braid from my shoulder, making it fall down my back. His hand graced the skin on my neck, and I was once again burning.
"We should get inside before she goes to bed. It's getting late." I hated myself for forcing out the words. The disappointment on Dean's face soon shifted to determination. He nodded and backed off, getting out of the car. I took a second before I followed him.
Dean was already knocking on Karen's door.
"Karen, you in there?" He called, getting no response. He looked over his shoulder, meeting my eyes, and I knew what he was thinking right away. I turned around to cover him and keep watch as he picked the lock, and then we both went inside.
"Powers out," I whispered, flipping the light switch up and down a few times. I pulled the gun from my waistline, and when Dean searched the bottom floor, I moved up the stairs. I looked into every room I passed, and about halfway down the hallway, I looked into a bedroom.
Karen was on the floor, lying in a pool of blood. I rushed inside, put my gun on the floor and put my hand over the large gashes on her throat. Soon I realized she had no pulse, and I scolded myself for taking time in the car. She was still radiating heat.
Footsteps approached, and I looked up to see Dean walking into the room.
"Oh, god," he commented as he watched me remove my hand from her throat. Not until then seeing her slit throat.
"Dean, we should leave. Right now," I insisted. "Something doesn't feel right about all of this."
"We just need a minute." He sounded annoyed, and I couldn't help but think it was because of what happened in the car. "See if you can find anything."
"Dean," I protested, but he had already found something interesting. He picked up papers from Karen's printer.
"Seriously, what the hell?" He held up the paper to show me, 'danashulps' littered the page.
"I think I figured that out," I told Dean as he walked over and bent down to Karen next to me.
"Yeah?" He picked up her hand, studying bruises around her wrists.
"I think it's an anagram for..."
"Freeze!" I froze at the new voice, and as I glanced over my shoulder, I noticed the two police officers with raised weapons, pointing straight at us.
"Stay on your knees. Hands where I can see them. Now!"
"I told you..." I began but shut my mouth as one of the officers came over and roughly pulled my hands behind my back. Cuffing me.
---
A woman walked into the interrogation room. She smiled at me as she sat down in front of me.
"I brought you some water," she said, putting a water bottle on the table. I crossed my arms over my chest, glaring at her. "You know, there is really no need for you to stay quiet. Sam and Dean are both talking. They are telling us all kinds of stories about your stay here."
I smirked. I had drilled the cover story into their heads, like I always did, on the way to Baltimore. I had repeated it so many times even Sam eventually begged me to shut up. I knew they wouldn't say one true thing about me.
The woman stayed with me for about an hour, introducing their evidence, or lack there off, pushing me to confess.
"You're a smart girl. You already know things aren't looking good for you." I sighed and rolled my eyes, bored.
The door opened, just a sliver and a head popped in.
"Hello, my name is Jenny Heart. I'm from the public defender's office." The woman introduced herself and continued to walk in, stretching out her hand for me to shake. I shook it, making the cuffs and chains rattle.
"Ballard," the cop said, introducing herself.
"I will need a moment alone with my client," Jenny told Ballard, and she nodded shortly and removed herself from the room.
"So, miss Price. Usually, you would have to deal with my associate Mr. Jeffery Kraus. Both of the other suspects have him as their legal representation. But not you."
"Why not?" I asked, interested.
"It's simple. FBI has ordered a transport for you to be transported to their headquarters. I've agreed to follow across state lines."
"You know, I appreciate the gesture," I smiled sarcastically at her. "But I'm not gonna be here for that long."