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The Last Voyage of the White Lady (Summergen 2014) - Not a rock, I'm just Ruth
All Me, no apologies
The Last Voyage of the White Lady (Summergen 2014)
Title: The Last Voyage of the White Lady
Recipient: colls
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1300
Warnings: AU from the end of “Blood Brothers.”
Author’s Note: writing for prompt 4: casefic something nautical like a mermaid or sea-witch or a haunted lighthouse. Sam, Dean, and/or others.
Summary: Benny and Dean investigate the tale of The White Lady of Caine’s Point.

The walls of the small bar vibrated as the cover band thumped through country western dance music. An odd assortment of locals, truckers and watermen from the barges tied up less than a mile away shuffled on the floor or leaned on the bar. Dean Winchester took a breath of the smoky, peanut and beer-scented air.

Normally, he would have been in a better mood. He was fresh from a hunt where evil things had been killed; his wallet was stuffed with cash and he wouldn’t have to charm drinks out of the waitress. He looked at his companion.

Benny Laffite had joined with him in Purgatory to survive and escape. He was a vampire. The successful hunt had been to clean out his old nest.

Benny had killed the vampire who turned him. Since he’d been the head of an international pirate association the two men cleaned out as much cash as they could carry and cram into Dean’s duffle bag as well as an expensive piece of luggage stuffed with jewelry, gold coins and assorted pawnable bric-a-brac.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Never better,” Benny responded dryly. “Come, you said you were hungry.”

The strangers tucked themselves into a corner booth with a mediocre bottle of whiskey, and an order of burger and fries. Benny toyed with a fry or two.

“I tell you I saw it!” shouted a white-haired character at the bar. He wobbled off his stool and glared at a younger man in a Tulane sweatshirt. “The White Lady’s riding the river mists. She’s an omen of disaster I tell you!”

“Go home and sleep it off, old man,” scoffed Tulane.

“The White Lady?” Dean asked.

The waitress pointed to a large painting behind the bar. “That’s her picture up there, she’s a local ghost ship. Davy!” She called and the white haired man looked over. “Fellow here asking about The White Lady.”

“What, some other jackasses believe in spooks?” jeered Tulane.

Benny stood up. The older man looked Tulane dead in the eye. Dean hid a smirk behind his whiskey as Tulane paled.

“Go home, boy, you’ve had enough.” Vampires didn’t control minds, but an older vamp like Benny projected an aura of danger that made most people with any sense in their heads back down. Tulane gulped and headed away.

Davy sat down. The waitress gave him a clean glass. Benny ordered a coffee and Dean another burger. Davy thanked them as he poured himself a shot. “There was a lighthouse ‘bout ten miles north of here; used to be called Beacon Point, but it’s called Caine’s Point now. See, before dredging, the Mississippi was a dangerous river with shifting sand bars and whirlpools. Keeper of Beacon Point had two sons. Eldest son ran a cargo boat up and down the river. His wife stayed with his father. Younger son came home from school to help with the light. The father died right as the Civil War started.

Folks that came to bring the father’s body to the church saw the young wife on the upper deck of the light. She screamed down that her brother-in-law had attacked her so she locked herself in the light. The brother-in-law swore up and down she was crazy. While folks were trying to sort things out the brother’s boat came out of the fog.

It blew up right in front of the point.”

“Blew up?” Dean blinked. “How?”

“Believe it or not, they had underwater mines in those days. Not as sophisticated as now, but they worked sometimes. Now, there were Yankee sympathizers but that poor gal in the light screamed that her brother-in-law was Caine and then jumped into the river from the deck killing herself. They arrested the brother and hung him for murder. That was the story.”

Davy sipped at his bourbon. “Nineteen sixty-three, people swore they saw the riverboat on the river.”

“What made them think it was that riverboat?”

“Her name was the White Lady – she steamed up as far as the point and disappeared.”
Davy looked at the two men sharing the booth. “That was on November twenty-first. The day before President Kennedy was killed.”

“Let me guess,” Dean refilled all three glasses. “She’s been seen again.”

“Twice.” Davy downed his shot. “Got to get home, boys. The mist is rising’ I don’t want to see The Lady.” He wove his way through the dancers.

“What do you think?” Benny asked.

“I think I want to head up to Caine’s point.”

Benny grunted and shoved his cup over. “You better drink the coffee.”

It was nearly twenty-four hours before they reached the point. Benny needed to accommodate his special diet and send a Priority Mail envelope stuffed with cash to Martin Creaser’s family. Dean puttered about the local library and found a lot of nothing. He almost called Sam but decided against it. Let him stew for a bit.

The years had not been kind to the old building. Part of the tower had fallen in and the whole slumped wearily among the trees. Dean kicked at the rubble. An air of gloom hung over everything.

“Dean,” the whisper brought him to full alert.

They were not alone. A man’s semi-transparent figure in old-fashioned clothes stood at the waters edge.

“He has to come home,” said a sad, hollow voice. “He has to come home.”

“Huh,” Dean grunted. “Death echo?”

“You know better than I do.” Benny frowned. He turned slowly as if listening for something. He jerked his head and Dean nodded. They slipped deeper into the swampy area. Dean could smell what must have alerted Benny - a lingering scent of machine oil.

“Come on!” shouted a very human voice. “We need to get going.”

“What’s your rush?” snapped another voice.

“There were a couple of strangers hanging around the bar talking to the old loon – let’s give them a show.”

The two men exchanged a look and slid silently through the hanging moss.

It was a small side-wheeler, almost identical to the bar’s old photo. ‘The White Lady’ was lettered along one side. The loud mouth from the bar emerged from inside and headed for the wheelhouse.

Benny slid over the rail to the deck with the ease of man who had done this many times before. Dean was less graceful, but just as silent. Loud mouth’s companion emerged and had a hand quickly clamped over his mouth.

“Keep quiet and no one gets hurt,” Dean growled as they tucked him into a closet.

The engine fired as they reached the upper deck. After a couple of bangs and coughs, the ship eased out into the channel. The motor went silent.

“What’s happening?” Benny frowned over the rail.

“Electric motor,” Dean guessed. “Damn thing’s a giant Prius.”

The fog rolled across the river with a chilly breath.

“Where the hell are you, Carl?” Loud mouth stomped out of the wheelhouse. His mouth flapped a moment before he was boosted, yelling, over the side into the river. Dean threw a life vest after him.

“Where to, mes ami?” Benny took the wheel.

“Caine’s point. One way to cast out a White Lady – you bring her home.”

It became obvious as they glided through the fog that they weren’t alone. There was a sensation of someone with them. The ruined old light loomed out of the fog and Benny expertly nudged her to the bank. Dean lashed her to a tree.

“Well,” he said aloud. “Now what?”

A rumble trembled the air. The tower collapsed on itself with a crash. The fog lifted.

“That’s it?” asked Benny.

Crickets started up. A frog started burping. Dean slapped a whining mosquito.

“Looks like.” Dean shrugged. “Come on, I want breakfast.” His phone vibrated in his pocket. Wait until Sam heard about this.

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