HANDCUFFS

VersaBank MasterCard in the name of Hector Aframian lands on a handwritten guest ledger. "One room, please." Dean is standing at the motel check-in desk, still filthy, with Sam right behind him. The clerk picks up the card and looks at it.

"You guys having a reunion or something?" The clerk asks.

Sam furrows his eyebrows. "What do you mean?" He asks

"I had another guy, Burt Aframian. He came and bought out a room for the whole month." Dean looks back at Sam.

Sam and Dean travel to their Dad's room, hooping he'll be there. The motel door swings open and Sam is on the other side, having just picked the lock. He hides the picks and stands up. Dean is just outside, playing lookout, until Sam reaches out of the room to grab his shoulder and yank him inside. Sam closes the door behind them.

There's a wall filled with maps, newspaper clippings, pictures, and notes. There are books on the desk and assorted junk on the floor and bed, including something with a hazardous-materials symbol.

"Whoa." Sam says. Dean turns on a light by the bed and picks up a half-eaten hamburger sitting there. Sam steps over a line of salt on the floor.

Dean sniffs the burger and recoils. "I don't think he's been here for a couple days at least." Sam fingers the salt on the floor and looks up.

"Salt, cats-eye shells...he was worried. Trying to keep something from coming in. "Dean looks at the papers covering one wall. "What have you got here?"

"Centennial Highway victims." Sam nods.

The victims seen on the wall include Mark somebody, William Durrell, Scott Nifong who disappeared in 1987 at age 25, and somebody Parks. Mark, Durrell, and Nifong are all white males, judging by the photos.

"I don't get it. I mean, different men, different jobs-" Dean says and Sam crosses the room. "-ages, ethnicities. There's always a connection, right? What do these guys have in common?"

While Dean talks, Sam looks at the papers taped to the other walls. "Dad figured it out." Sam says while looking at the wall.

Dean turns to look. "What do you mean?" He asks.

"He found the same article we did. Constance Welch. She's a woman in white."

Dean looks at the photos of Constance's victims. "You sly dogs." He turns back to Sam. "All right, so if we're dealing with a woman in white, Dad would have found the corpse and destroyed it."

"She might have another weakness." Sam states.

"Well, Dad would want to make sure." Dean crosses over to Sam. "He'd dig her up. Does it say where she's buried?"

Sam continues to look. "No, not that I can tell. If I were Dad, though, I'd go ask her husband." He taps the picture of Joseph Welch. "If he's still alive." Sam goes to look at something else.

Dean looks at the picture of a woman in a white dress. "All right. Why don't you, uh, see if you can find an address, I'm gonna get cleaned up." Dean starts to walk away.

"Hey, Dean?" Sam calls out while Dean stops and turns back. "What I said earlier, about Mom and Dad, I'm sorry."

Dean holds up a hand. "No chick-flick moments." He says as Sam laughs and nods.

"All right. Jerk."

"Bitch." Dean says as Sam laughs again. Dean disappears into the bathroom. Sam notices something, his smile disappearing, and crosses over for a closer look.

A rosary hangs in front of a large mirror, and stuck into the mirror frame is a photo of John sitting on the hood of the Impala, next to a boy in a baseball cap who is presumably Dean and with a younger boy on John's lap. Sam takes the photo off the mirror and holds it, smiling sadly.

am paces, holding his phone, and sits down on the bed. A voicemail message is playing. "Hey," It's Jess. "it's me, it's about ten-twenty Saturday night-"

Dean, clean again, comes out of the bathroom and grabs his jacket. He shrugs it on one shoulder as he crosses the room. "Hey, man. I'm starving, I'm gonna grab a little something to eat in that diner down the street. You want anything?" He asks.

"No."

"Aframian's buying." Dean jokes.

Sam shakes his head. "Mm-mm." He says.

Dean leaves the motel room. He looks over and sees a police car, where the clerk is talking to Deputy Jaffe and Deputy Hein. He points at Dean, who turns away and pulls out his cell phone.

Sam is sitting on the bed, still listening to the message. "So come home soon, okay? I love you." Jess finishes." The phone beeps. Sam looks at it and presses a button, then puts it back to his ear.

"What?"

Outside, the deputies are approaching Dean. "Dude, five-oh, take off." He says.

"What about you?"

"Uh, they kinda spotted me. Go find Dad." Dean hangs up the phone as they approach. He turns and grins at them. "Problem, officers?"

"Where's your partner?"

Dean acts confused. "Partner? What, what partner?" Jaffe glances over his shoulder and jerks his thumb towards the motel room. Hein heads over there. Dean fidgets. Sam sees Hein approaching and darts away from the window.

"So. Fake US Marshal. Fake credit cards. You got anything that's real?"

Dean smirks. "My boobs." Hein slams him over the hood of the cop car.

"You have the right to remain silent-"

The Sheriff enters the room, carrying a box. He sets the box down in front of Dean. "So you want to give us your real name?"

Dean sighs. "I told you, it's Nugent. Ted Nugent." He lies.

"I'm not sure you realize just how much trouble you're in here." The Sheriff says and leans on the table.

Dean looks up at the Sheriff. "We talkin', like, misdemeanor kind of trouble or, uh, squeal like a pig trouble?" He asks.

"You got the faces of ten missing persons taped to your wall." He says as Dean looks away. "Along with a whole lot of Satanic mumbo-jumbo. Boy, you are officially a suspect."

Dean scoffs. "That makes sense. Because when the first one went missing in '82 I was three." He says.

"I know you've got partners. One of 'em's an older guy. Maybe he started the whole thing. So tell me. Dean." The Sheriff tosses a brown leather-covered journal on the table. "This his?" Dean stares at it.

The Sheriff sits on the edge of the table. He flips through the journal: it's filled with newspaper clippings, notes, and pictures, just like what's on the walls of John's motel room.

"I thought that might be your name. See, I leafed through this. What little I could make out-I mean, it's nine kinds of crazy." The Sheriff says as Dean leans forward for a closer look. "But I found this, too." He opens the journal to a page that reads "Dean 35-111", circled, with nothing else on that page. "Now. You're stayin' right here till you tell me exactly what the hell that means. Dean stares down at the page, then looks up.

Sam, seen through the chain-link covering a grimy glass window, knocks on the door the window is in. An old man appears behind it. "Hi. Are you Joseph Welch?" He asks.

"Yeah." Joseph grumbles.

Sam and Joseph are walking down the junk-filled driveway, Joseph holding the photo Sam found on John's motel room mirror. "Yeah, he was older, but that's him." Joseph hands the photo back to Sam. "He came by three or four days ago. Said he was a reporter."

"That's right. We're working on a story together." Sam says.

"Well, I don't know what the hell kinda story you're working on. The questions he asked me?" Joseph said.

"About your wife Constance?"

"He asked me where she was buried." Joseph says, annoyed.

Sam didn't like pushing the man, but he had to get answers. "And where is that again?" He asks.

"What, I gotta go through this twice?"

"It's fact-checking. If you don't mind."

Joseph sighs and begins talking. "In a plot. Behind my old place over on Breckenridge." He says.

"And why did you move?"

All Joseph did was scoff. "I'm not gonna live in the house where my children died." He says and Sam stops walking. Joseph stops too.

"Mr. Welch, did you ever marry again?"

"No way. Constance, she was the love of my life. Prettiest woman I ever known."

"So you had a happy marriage?"

Joseph hesitates. "Definitely." He says.

"Well, that should do it. Thanks for your time." Sam turns toward the Impala. Joseph walks away. Sam waits a moment, then looks back up at Joseph. "Mr. Welch, did you ever hear of a woman in white?"

Joseph turns around. "A what?" He asks.

"A woman in white." Sam repeats. "Or sometimes weeping woman?" Joseph just looks. "It's a ghost story. Well, it's more of a phenomenon, really."

Sam starts back toward Joseph. "Um, they're spirits. They've been sighted for hundreds of years, dozens of places, in Hawaii, Mexico, lately Arizona, Indiana. All these are different women." Sam stops in front of Joseph. "You understand. But all share the same story."

"Boy, I don't care much for nonsense." Joseph walks away.

Sam follows. "See, when they were alive, their husbands were unfaithful to them." This made Joseph stop in his tracks. "And these women, basically suffering from temporary insanity, murdered their children." Joseph turns around.

"Then once they realized what they had done, they took their own lives. So now their spirits are cursed, walking back roads, waterways. And if they find an unfaithful man, they kill him. And that man is never seen again." Sam says.

Joseph speaks softly. "You think...you think that has something to do with...Constance? You smartass!"

"You tell me." Sam sneers.

"I mean, maybe...maybe I made some mistakes. But no matter what I did, Constance, she never would have killed her own children." Joseph said. "Now, you get the hell out of here! And you don't come back!" Joseph's voice shakes, whether from anger or grief it's impossible to tell. After a long moment, he turns away. Sam sighs.

"I don't know how many times I gotta tell you. It's my high school locker combo." Dean says.

The Sheriff is still interrogating Dean over the "Dean 35-111" page. "We gonna do this all night long." A Deputy leans into the room.

"We just got a 911, shots fired over at Whiteford Road." He says quickly.

The Sheriff turned to Dean. "You have to go to the bathroom?" He asks.

"No."

"Good." The Sheriff handcuffs Dean to the table and leaves. Dean sees a paper clip poking out of the journal, pulls it out, and looks at it.

Moments later, as the Sheriff and Deputy are gearing up to leave, he is out of the cuffs. Dean watches through the window in the door, ducks out of sight as the Deputy approaches the door, and waits. Dean climbs down the fire escape, carrying John's journal.

am is driving the Impala when his phone rings. He pulls it out and answers it. Dean is in a phone booth; apparently his phone was confiscated and he didn't take the time to steal it back.

"Fake 911 phone call? Sammy, I don't know, that's pretty illegal." Dean said, clearly proud of his brother.

Sam grins. "You're welcome." He says.

"Listen, we gotta talk." Dean says seriously.

Sam continued to drive. "Tell me about it. So the husband was unfaithful. We are dealing with a woman in white. And she's buried behind her old house, so that should have been Dad's next stop."

"Sammy, would you shut up for a second?"

Sam ignores him and continues talking. "I just can't figure out why Dad hasn't destroyed the corpse yet."

"Well, that's what I'm trying to tell you. He's gone. Dad left Jericho." Dean states.

Sam's face contorts into a confused expression. "What? How do you know?" He asks.

"I've got his journal."

Sam gets serious. "He doesn't go anywhere without that thing." He says.

"Yeah, well, he did this time." Dean says.

"What's it say?"

Dean recalls what he read. "Ah, the same old ex-Marine crap, when he wants to let us know where he's going." He says.

"Coordinates. Where to?"

"I'm not sure yet." Dean says.

"I don't understand. I mean, what could be so important that Dad would just skip out in the middle of a job? Dean, what the hell is going on?" Sam looks up and slams the brake, dropping the phone.

Constance appears on the road in front of him. The car goes right through her as Sam brings it to a halt. "Sam? Sam!" Dean yells into the phone.

Inside the car, Sam breathes hard. Constance is sitting in the back seat. "Take me home." She says. "Take me home!"

"No."

Constance glares and the doors lock themselves. Sam struggles to reopen them. The gas pedal presses down and the car begins to drive itself. Sam tries to steer, but Constance is doing that too. Sam continues to try to get the door open.

In the back seat, Constance flickers. The car pulls up in front of Constance's house and stops. The engine shuts off and so do the lights.

"Don't do this." Sam pleads.

Constance flickers. Her voice is sad. "I can never go home." She says.

"You're scared to go home." Sam understands and looks back. Constance isn't there anymore. He glances around and back and sees her in the passenger seat.

She climbs into his lap, shoving him back against the seat hard enough to recline the seat. Sam struggles. "Hold me. I'm so cold."

"You can't kill me." Sam says. "I'm not unfaithful. I've never been!"

Constance leans over him. "You will be. Just hold me." Constance kisses Sam as he continues to struggle, reaching for the keys. She pulls back and disappears, a flash of something horrible behind her face as she vanishes.

Sam looks around for a moment, then yells in pain and yanks his hoodie open. There are five new holes burned through the fabric, matching to Constance's fingers: she flickers in front of him, her hand reaching into his chest.

A gunshot goes off, shattering the window and startling Constance. Dean approaches, still firing at her. She glares at him and vanishes, then reappears, and Dean keeps firing until she disappears again. Sam manages to sit up and start the car.

"I'm taking you home." He says and drives straight into the house.