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..."
"Well, Tommy was always a good student. He was very polite..."
Dean started to tune Mrs. Bryson out. The parents always began the questioning with the same lines. He was always a good student, always a good kid... Dean briefly wondered what their own father would have said about them if something ever happened to them. He shook the thought from his mind before he started to think too much.
"He was a senior at the Thorpesville High School," Mr. Bryson added. "He was excited to graduate. He was planning on going to college. We were so proud of him..."
Mrs. Bryson continued. "All throughout high school he had this friend. Buddy was his name. They were very close, and Buddy would come over a lot. Sweet boy, but I don't think his home life was very good. Unfortunately, we sort of lost touch since the accident. He's taking it very hard... It's a shame. He feels so guilty."
Dean glanced up. Now they were getting somewhere. "So you haven't contacted Buddy since the accident?"
"We tried," Mrs. Bryson corrected. "We sent him a card after the funeral, and we tried calling him. We even visited his house once, but he wouldn't answer the door."
"Sounds like he's pretty shook up about the whole thing," Dean commented.
Mrs. Bryson nodded slowly. "This hasn't been easy for anyone. I can't imagine how hard it must have been to be there when it happened..." She sounded a little choked up, and Mr. Bryson rubbed her back comfortingly.
"Do you want a moment alone?" Sam offered politely.
"No," Mrs. Bryson sniffed, wiping her shining eyes with the back of her sweater sleeve. "No, I'm alright. What else would you like to know?"
"Did Tommy and Buddy go to that area of the forest a lot?" Sam asked.
"Yes, he and Buddy loved to go on hikes together. Sometimes they would bring Buddy's dog along on their hikes, too. They brought his dog on the day of the accident, I believe..." Mrs. Bryson answered. She took a sip of her tea.
"Did Tommy act...different at all before he died?" Dean asked carefully. "Did he mention any...cold spots?"
Mrs. Bryson frowned and looked to her husband, who simply shook his head and shrugged. "I don't think so."
"Did he mention you about any...sulfur smells or...anything really..." Dean knit his eyebrows together.
"No, why? Should he have? He... Tommy just tripped and fell that day, right?"
"Of course," Sam quickly cut in. "We're just looking into everything."
"Have either of you been back at the site since the accident?" Dean asked, hoping to steer the conversation back in the right direction.
"Yes," Mrs. Bryson replied, catching them both by surprise. "We were at the opening of the statue.
Sam and Dean locked eyes. Yahtzee.
"Right. The statue..."
Mrs. Bryson gave them a strange look, as if they should have known about it. "The one built in Tommy's honor."
"Of course," Sam quickly recovered. "The statue on the edge of the cliff. Built in Tommy's honor."
"Yes. It's a lovely statue, isn't it?" Susan beamed.
Sam nodded. "When was it built?"
"Oh, I'd say...about three months after the accident, I think. Does that sound right, David?"
Mr. Bryson nodded in agreement. "We gave them permission to build the statue in his honor. We hoped it keep his memory alive and caution other kids before they got hurt from messing around up there, too."
"It's a shame. It's almost as if the deaths have increased since the statue was built," Mrs. Bryson mused. Dean raised his eyebrows slightly.
"Those kids think it's funny to fool around up there, and then they end up getting hurt or worse..." Mr. Bryson shook his head disappointedly.
"Well, that's part of why we're writing the article. We're hoping to bring attention to the issue. Many people have expressed their concern about the dangers of this cliff," Dean explained.
Sam stood up and shook hands with the couple. "Thank you for your time. I'm sorry for your loss."
Mrs. Bryson stood up and lead them to the door. "Take care."
Sam stopped in the doorway. "One more thing, Mrs. Bryson. Do you know where we can find Buddy?"