Meanwhile, Sam Winchester did some more digging, training for yet another Black Belt in Google-Fu. After hacking in to the Sheriff departments database on a hunch that Mulder had tipped him off to, he decided to investigate Sheriff Taylor and see what, if anything, the good Sheriff might be hiding. At the very least, this would tell him if the Sheriff had been lying about having no more info in his files. And, unsurprisingly, he did.
"Hey, Dean, check it out." Sam said, turning his laptop.
"Well, well, well, look what we have here..." Dean said, a smile spreading across his face, as he pulled on a red and white plaid flannel shirt with pearl snap buttons.
"Yeah, it looks like Sheriff Taylor doesn't exist. At least not up until nine years ago." Sam said, incredulously.
"Isn't that the same guy Hot Lips said didn't have any more info?"
"The same. But that's not the weirdest thing. Says here that he has records on all of the victims we now know about, plus seventeen other couples."
"Why's that weird? He's a cop. They're supposed to have more info than civilians on the interwebs."
"Yeah, but other than the fact that he wasn't lying about having no other records at the station, these last seventeen couples haven't had any of their children abducted yet, and he's been keeping track of them for years. Look... five years on this couple. Three there, four here and here, seven there. Why would he be basically monitoring them for all that time?"
"Let's go have us a little chat with Sheriff Taylor." Dean said, holstering his gun after pulling on his green canvas jacket with all the pockets. This wasn't his first rodeo, and he'd done this cliched dance before. It was one of his favorites.
"OK." Sam said, grabbing his jacket and the keys to Baby as he walked out the door. "Give agents Scully and Mulder a call and tell them to meet us there."
Dean did as Sammy suggested, choosing to call Agent Scully rather than her partner, because Fox Mulder reminded him of a teacher Dean once had in middle school. One who had given him detention for disagreeing with him about the existence of some mythical creatures from Roman and Greek origins. The taste of chalk dust vivid in Dean's memory. Actually, he reminded Dean of those stupid chuckleheads, the Ghostfacers douches. Man, he hated those idiots! The call To Agent Scully went like this:
"Agent Dana Scully." She said, announcing who she was as a way of greeting, choosing to affirm the caller had the correct person if they intend to reach her personally, as opposed to a simple "Hello?"
"What are you wearing?" Dean said, flirting his ass off, hoping it would work for once.
"Mr. Winchester. Is this important?" Dana said, very amused by his charm, or lack thereof, but not wanting to sound flattered at the implications of his question, especially with Fox sitting right there beside her as he drove. Dana Scully was not the type to make anyone jealous. She didn't play those sorts of mind games.
"Yeah, uh, sorry." Dean said, not missing a beat, even if slightly disappointed she didn't play along. As I said, this wasn't the first time he tried that. It had only ever worked for him one time, and this wasn't it. "Me and Sam are heading over to speak with Sheriff Taylor about a few things. We'd like you to meet us there."
"Sheriff Taylor? What will that accomplish? He's given us all the intel he could..." Dana was interrupted by,
"Yeah, about that..."
Dean filled her in on what Sam had discovered, and Dana filled him in on what her and Fox had uncovered. Fox agreed to Dean's plan after being filled in. He turned to car back toward town, and headed for the Sheriff's Station. Sam and Dean Winchester arrived at the Sheriff's Station a couple minutes after hanging up with Agent Scully. They went inside and asked the too-young looking barely and adult teenaged blond desk clerk to speak with Sheriff Taylor.
"Sorry, guys. The Sheriff's not here. He went out to check on a disturbance at the old Carson Place out on State Route 10. Up past Lisa's -- sorry, I mean Deputy Millerson's -- folks' place. But he should be back in a jiffy, if you'd like to wait in his office for him?" The overly nice officer said.
Small town cops are really friendly when the want to be. Or when they were hiding something in plain sight. This was technically a case of the former, as Keith Marshal was a great guy. Nice. Friendly. Personable. Reasonable. Everything cops should, be but aren't. He'd be lucky to survive the night if the Sheriff turned out to be rotten.
"That'd be great, Officer...Marshal... heh." Dean said trying to match the Deputy's current level of chipper. That was the secret to getting your way. Make them think it was their idea the whole time. A small push from behind something will get better results that a large push standing behind nothing will.
"Sure, thing, Guys. And it's 'Deputy', not 'Officer'. But I plan to join the academy in the Fall!" He said, even happier now that Dean has snuck in that little ego boost to move things along. Buttering the bread, as he called it in his head, but didn't say out loud because Sammy always shits on his clever puns, making it suck for Dean's self-esteem. What? Grown mean who kill monsters can be self-conscious, too, ya know. And Dean was a Zen Master at The Art of War. If Sun Tzu had had Dean Winchester as a student, he could have taught him no better than the very hands-on life John Winchester had raised him in. Of course, when your sparing partners are ghosts and vampires, and you're ten years old, you find yourself incredibly motivated to learn how to sleep lightly and survive against almost anything. Which, in essence, is the true spirit of Sun Tzu's book. Dean Winchester had just made a friend, and he knew it. He also knew that he was using and manipulating Keith Marshal and he hated himself for it. He felt like a hypocrite, having yelled at Sam for the way he treats Cas.
"Thanks, Deputy." Dean said with a smile he wanted to be real, but gave him a sour taste in his mouth, as he and Sam went into Sheriff Taylor's office, and sat on the vinyl faux-leatherette love seat (the office was too small for a small couch, but almost perfect for a love seat). Awkwardly, the way two brothers who have to share cramped spaces together often do. Dad! Dean's touching me! Am not! Dad, Sam's flicking the back of my head! Etc...
"I hope the Sheriff gets back soon, Dude. You need a shower. I know that motel has a tiny water heater, but c'mon, man! Have some self-respect!" Dean said, not realizing he was wrong. For the record, Dean had no room to talk about Sam's personal hygiene, which was impeccable most days, monster slime and digging up graves for seven hours notwithstanding.
"That's not ME, Dean. I thought it was you!" Sam said, now smelling it too. It was stifling. Unbearable after a few seconds. Cloying.
"Dude." Dean said, after getting up. taking a quick look around and looking under the Sheriff's desk.
"Oh, my god." Sam said, before clamping his hand over his mouth to avoid gagging all over the rug. Which wasn't a rug at all.
As you may have guessed, what the boys had thought was a hideous red and brown shag throw rug -- the kind old ladies keep on their porches to keep their feet warm when they take their slippers off and sit in their rocking chairs (do people still do that?)-- was actually what was left of Sheriff Taylor. He had been... stretched? Pulled? Like taffy. Only, he was covered in a thick mat of hair. Actually, it was if he had been flattened out and turned into a Chia Pet somehow. And the boys were sure it was him. His face was the only hairless patch, dead center (no pun intended) of the man-carpet.
"Holy shit, Sam. Whatever is doing this turned the guy into a giant toupee'! I didn't even get to call hin Opey or Andy, or Barney Fiufe or Aunt Bee, or nothin' Man, I gotta get outta here!" Dean was heard saying by Deputy Sheriff Marshal as the brothers exited the late Sheriff's office as fast as they could without falling over each other like the lost members of the Five Stooges. Larry, Curly, Moe, Squirrel, and Moose.
"What seems to be the trouble, Guys?" Said Deputy Marshal. Sam, always the first to try to explain, like he had some contest going with Dean, was about to start blabbering is what Dean was thinking, as he put his hand on the Colt in his belt. "That's right Sammy, get him talking. I've been down this road once too often. He makes a move 'cause he's one of them, whatevertheyares, and I'll end him, one shot." Dean was telling himself. Sam, suddenly aware that Dean hadn't interrupted him when he said, "Uh, Deputy Marshal? I think we may have a problem here. There's a... well, maybe you should go take a look for yourself." finally picked up on his brother's clues, and played the role of befuddled diplomat. If the nice deputy was a monster, they'd both soon know. "And that's why you never get to go first, Sammy." Dean thought.
"That sounds serious, Boys." Keith said, as he rushed around the desk to take a look.