When Castiel heard Sam take the call from a worried Dr. Hartwell, his first thought was that Chloe Sikes was in danger. As the call progressed, with no mention of any particular patient in distress, least of all Chloe, Castiel couldn’t shake the sense that the young woman might need his help. At that first meeting, he’d been struck by the uncanny physical resemblance between Chloe and Claire as well as their similar fashion sense, although Chloe’s jeans were made with an elasticated waistline. Chloe lacked Claire’s left-side braids in her blond hair, but she wore it back with a hairclip, revealing a collection of ear piercings reminiscent of Claire’s.
Though the similarities went beyond height, build and eye color, Chloe’s demeanor was, understandably, less troubled than Claire’s, despite her teenaged pregnancy. Claire remained on her own, having lost her father, whose body Castiel inhabited alone now that Jimmy Novak’s soul had departed, and having lost touch with her troubled mother. Chloe, on the other hand, had a support system in place with both parents. She was not alone and adrift in the world, at the mercy of strangers. Nevertheless, she had lost the father of her unborn child, a young man who may have shared a life with her. She may not have come to terms with that loss. Castiel doubted she could have. And the loss would only become more pronounced when her baby was born. In addition, Aidan’s murderer remained on the loose and extremely dangerous with an unknown agenda. Chloe hadn’t been a direct target yet; only men had been murdered so far. But that could change at any moment. They had no way of knowing where the killer would strike next.
Castiel drove to Lovering Maternity Center at a few miles above the posted speed limit in his gold Lincoln. Though he liked the car for what it was, sometimes his patience was tested by the need to cross every mile from one destination to the next. If he had his full Grace, he could have dropped in on Dr. Hartwell in seconds to satisfy his curiosity and allay his worry. For now and possibly until the end, he remained at the whim of stop signs and traffic lights and other drivers.
With a physical sense of relief, he parked the Lincoln in the LMC parking lot and hurried inside the lobby, assuring the seated receptionist Dr. Hartwell was expecting him and that he knew the way to her 321 North office. Compared to the stop-and-go drive to LMC, the wait for the elevator was a minor inconvenience.
On the ride up, he wondered about Claire again, knowing he would sense her if she needed him or, less likely, prayed to him. Okay, not likely at all. But he acknowledged the loopholes in that need for contact, desperate or surprise situations where she wouldn’t have time to reach out to him. And even if he did hear her call, he couldn’t simply pop in and help her. He had logistics to consider. He’d have to drive to her location or hop on a plane, depending on how far away she was at any given moment. Most likely she would be out of reach for hours, possibly an entire day or longer.
Now he seemed to have added Chloe to his list of concerns. She faced a more immediate threat and would not reach out to him personally, even if she were in danger. He wouldn’t know until after the fact. And by then it might be too late to save her.
He stepped off the elevator and strode purposely toward Dr. Hartwell’s office. His only recourse, until they figured out who or what was targeting the citizens of Braden Heights, was to stay as informed as possible about potential threats, whether signs, portents or gut feelings. Dr. Hartwell’s concerned call possibly fell into the last category. And yet, at this point in the investigation, any lead was potentially an important one.
A young couple stepped out of Dr. Hartwell’s suite, talking softly. The woman was about six months pregnant; her husband looked nine months anxious. Castiel wondered if fathers-to-be were so nervous because the process of carrying and delivering a baby was completely out of their control. They became helpless bystanders to one of the most important days in the couple’s life. The woman suffered all the discomfort and examinations and the pains of childbirth while the man got off relatively scot-free, relegated to the role of supportive coach. Instead of feeling relief, the man suffered guilt and worry in his secondary role. Or maybe there was more to it than that. Castiel would never know.
Slipping past the departing couple, he entered Dr. Hartwell’s suite and made a beeline to the reception desk, where the nurse-slash-receptionist transcribed scribbled patient updates from pages in a manila folder to a computer application.
“Special Agent Collins, here to see Dr. Hartwell.”
Startled, the woman looked up at him. “Oh—yes, Agent Collins! She’s expecting you.”
Dr. Hartwell peeked out of her office, saw him and approached, wearing a fresh white lab coat with “Hartwell” stitched in dark blue letters over the right breast pocket. “Thank you for coming, Agent Collins.”
“No problem,” Castiel replied. “You said—Agent Rutherford told me you had something to show us, possibly related to the Aidan Dufford case.” For some reason, Castiel didn’t want her to think he’d been eavesdropping on their phone conversation. Seemed better—more professional—to say he’d been briefed about the situation by Sam.
“Well, I’m not sure if it’s directly related to Aidan’s… death, but it certainly is weird, in a very troubling way.”
“Does it involve Cla—Chloe Sikes?”
“No, not directly,” Dr. Hartwell said. “Why do you ask?”
“Just curious,” Castiel said quickly. “We met her here after Aidan’s death.”
“Right.”
“How is she, Doctor?” Castiel asked. “I imagine this has been difficult for her.”
“You do realize I’m bound by doctor–patient confidentiality?”
“Of course, I just wondered if…” Castiel cleared his throat. “She reminds me of the daughter of a close friend.”
With an understanding smile, Dr. Hartwell placed a hand on his elbow and directed him away from the reception desk until they stood just inside the door to the suite. Lowering her voice, she said, “Physically, Chloe is fine. Mentally? Psychologically? I’m not qualified to give a conclusive diagnosis. But I’m sure it is an emotionally devastating time for her, especially considering how near she is to her due date. Fortunately, her parents have been supportive throughout the process.”
“Good,” Castiel said. “We don’t know if whoever killed Aidan and the other men will target the pregnant women left behind. I’m glad Chloe has people close who care about her.”
“You needn’t worry on that account.”
“About that phone call…?”
“Right,” Dr. Hartwell said. “It concerns another patient of mine. I believe you bumped into the couple on your way out, Denise and Gary Atherton. Denise had her baby, a boy, and all three of them were asleep in her birthing room when one of the night nurses, Maggie O’Brien, checked in on them.”
“What happened?” Castiel asked, concerned, wondering how the doctor remained so calm if Gary Atherton had been eviscerated in one of her patient rooms.
“Nurse O’Brien saw something so strange and frightening, she screamed,” Dr. Hartwell said. She held up her hands to forestall any questions. “Before you say anything, I must stress that Nurse O’Brien is the only one who saw this… person in the birthing room. Her scream woke the Athertons and when she turned on the light nobody else was in the room and there was no sign of an intruder. Except…”
“Yes?”
Dr. Hartwell seemed to fidget, almost as if she thought she’d said too much already. She shoved both hands into the pockets of her lab coat and heaved a sigh. “This is where it gets weird…”
* * *
Castiel strode from the lobby of Lovering Maternity Center, out from under the porte cochère emblazoned with its cursive LMC, to where he’d parked his Lincoln. He had another impatient drive ahead of him, but as he pulled out of the parking lot, he reached into his pocket. He could pass along the information he’d been given long before he physically arrived at the Holcomb house. He speed-dialed Dean’s phone number.
“Cass? What’ve you got?”
“Dean, where are you?”
“Back at the Holcombs,” Dean said. “Just walked in the door.”
“Is Sam there?”
“Both here.”
“Put me on speaker,” Castiel said. “You should both hear this.”
“Right,” Dean said. “Hold on.”
Castiel heard Dean tell Sam to follow him into the kitchen. Anticipating the nature of the information Castiel might have for them, Dean naturally didn’t want the Holcombs to hear what he had discovered, at least not without a filter. The angel had to admit Dean’s circumspection was, in this instance, a good call.
Castiel wouldn’t want anyone who lacked the background and experience of a hunter to hear what he’d learned.