Chapter Text
The Witness
Part I
Sam and Dean stared at the body on the ground before them with something akin to disgust marring their faces. The young woman—or what was left of her—was piled near the Mississippi River’s edge in a charred heap, leaving behind a murky puddle of the canal she’d just been extricated from.
“She drowned…in fire?” Dean questioned aloud, his brow furrowed. Sam didn’t dignify his query with a response, but bent closer to examine the remains. It took only moments of scavenging for him to discover an intricately wrought silver locket, which he silently pocketed after sharing a pointed look with his brother.
“You FBI boys done here?” a thick voice drawled. “I’d like to release the body to her parents.” Sam straightened and faced the portly town sheriff who had stumbled into the crime scene with blustering confusion and bravado.
“I think we’ve got what we need, sir,” Dean returned with a smile. “You mentioned earlier that there was a witness…?”
“Back of the squad car.” The chief jerked his thumb in the direction of the parking lot adjacent to the boat rental shop atop the hill.
“It’s got to be a ghost,” Sam muttered as they started up the slope. “But this is the fourth girl this week—why now?”
“Guess he got bored of doing ghosty things and decided to play a little ‘teenage girl roulette’,” Dean offered hopefully. A glaring look from his younger brother silenced him, and the pair trekked towards the lot in silence.
Their witness was not, as the sheriff had assured them, in the squad car. Further investigation revealed that she was also not conversing with reporters, huddled under a shock blanket in the care of EMTs, or going through any of the other stereotypical machinations that frightened witnesses usually comforted themselves with. At the end of their fruitless search, Dean swore under his breath and turned to tap a well-dressed woman on the shoulder.
“Ma’am, have they already released the witness, we need to question—“
“I’m here,” the lady snapped, ending what had seemed an animated phone call and fixing the brothers with an irritated glare. “Question away, but do it quickly, my shift starts in ten minutes.” As if to reinforce her deadline, she shot a cursory glance at her watch.
“Okay,” Dean stammered, clearly flustered as he fumbled with his notepad. “Can you give us your—“
“Name? Carlee Sinkus. Age? 21. Story? Marie walked into the water and didn’t come back up. The same story I told the other officers. Are you finished?”
“The burning—“ Sam attempted, but trailed off when he saw her exasperated expression.
“I have no idea, detectives. That’s your job, not mine.” With a small nod, she whipped around and started towards a beat-up green Honda, her fiery curls bouncing in time with her steps. While Dean’s gaze lasciviously scrutinized Carlee’s sumptuous curves, Sam frowned.
“Dean, did she seem just a little too…not-terrified?” When his question went unanswered, he glanced towards his brother and summarily punched him in the shoulder to jolt him out of his gawking stare.
“I want one,” Dean muttered, returning Sam’s reproachful look with one of silent pleading.
The town that they’d found the job in was one of the outlying Cajun communities that lined the river and thrived off their fisheries. Since it was little more than a cluster of houses and docks, the Winchester boys were forced to seek out a place to stay elsewhere. Dean’s cajoling and the necessity of shelter forced them towards the next major city down the interstate.
As the sun slipped lower and lower over the levees, New Orleans came to life. The streets that had been crammed with camera-laden tourists were now host to a slew of street artists who punctuated the twilight with snippets of lazy jazz and mournful love songs.
“I’ve always wanted to come here.” Dean rummaged in his pocket to toss a few bills into a nearby trumpeter’s case. “Can we come back for Mardi Gras?”
“Voodoo priestess Marie Laveau was responsible for the integration of French Catholicism and African tribal rituals, a practice that it still revered in the city of New Orleans,” Sam read from a dusty hardcover that he’d discovered in a used bookstore.
“So we’re dealing with voodoo?” Dean asked, peering over his brother’s shoulder.
“Not necessarily.” Sam scanned a few of the bottom passages and continued, “Marie used her power to heal, not to curse. True practitioners would never use their spells to kill someone?”
“A rogue voodoo priestess,” Dean chuckled, taking a swig from the bottle in his hand. “Sounds right up our alley.”
“Let’s find somewhere to eat,” Sam suggested. He shot a quick glance up the street to see if anything was available.
“That may be the best idea you’ve ever had, brother.” Clapping Sam heartily on the back, Dean sauntered towards the blinking fluorescent lights that boasted the “best po-boys on the bayou”. The two pushed through the doors of Acme Oyster House and seated themselves in the corner booth. Sam still had his nose buried in his book, so Dean flagged down the nearest waitress.
“Hey y’all, what can I—oh God, not you two.” Dean glanced up from the menu, brow furrowed, and was pleasantly surprised to see the redheaded witness that they’d questioned glaring down at him.
“Carlee Sinkus, age 21,” he offered a hand. “I don’t believe we’ve introduced ourselves. I’m Director Fury and this is Agent Coulson.”
“Where’s Captain America?” she inquired acidly, setting glasses of water before them.
“Don’t be like that, darlin’,” Dean crooned, catching her wrist nimbly as she withdrew and tugging her into the booth next to him. “Stay awhile.”
“If my boss sees me, I swear to God, Winchester, I’ll wring your damn neck!” Sam started, his eyes narrowed at her slip-up, and Dean tightened his grip on her arm.
“How do you know our name?” he hissed through clenched teeth, his gun already jabbed into her side. She shifted minutely so that it was shielded by the table, and leaned closer, her lips nearly grazing his ear.
“Don’t be like that, darlin’,” she breathed mockingly. “Lots of folks heard you’d be in town. We just wanted to see what all the fuss was about.” Jerking back, she deftly extracted herself from his vise-like grip and flounced away. Dean and Sam watched her as she disappeared into the kitchens and exchanged a dark look.
“Definitely too not-terrified,” Dean confirmed with a nod.