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  The doll's impact knocked her backward, her head colliding with the door, her hat tumbling to the floor. Her vision swam, and she felt suddenly nauseous, even as she wondered how a hundred-year-old doll stuffed with straw could knock her down, much less jump.

  Raymond's cloth hands, with no fingers, clamped the sides of her head. Angela tried to blink the spots out of her eyes and tried also to speak, to ask what was going on, but it just came out as gibberish. The doll rammed the back of her head into the thick wooden door again.

  Her nausea was overwhelming. There were two Raymonds in front of her now, swirling about and never changing that same simian expression it always had, but those dinky little arms kept their grip on her head and slammed it against the wall again and again and again...

  FOUR

  Sam watched the setting sun paint the sky over the Gulf of Mexico a magnificent orange and purple.

  Dean drove their fully restored 1967 Chevrolet Impala across the Seven Mile Bridge, a long stretch of U.S. Route 1 that linked Key Vaca and Little Duck Key. They had driven down from Bobby's on major highways for as far as they could, until Interstate 95 ended at the southern tip of mainland Florida.

  From there, it was down Route 1, or the Overseas Highway as it was called on this stretch, which was the only road that linked all of the Florida Keys together. The last time they'd come here, it was after sunset, and they'd done what they had to—clearing a poltergeist from a motel—and left the following morning for another job.

  They'd been driving for two straight days to cover the two thousand miles between the Singer Salvage Yard in South Dakota and the Florida Keys. Key West itself was the southernmost point in the continental U.S. Rather than bother with a motel for New Year's Night, they slept in shifts while the other drove down the various interstates through Iowa, Missouri, Illinois, Kentucky, Tennessee, and Georgia, before finally getting to Florida, then having to drive all the way down its peninsula. They arrived right as the sun was going down on the second of January.

  "Great sunset, ain't it?" Dean said.

  "Yeah. This whole part of the drive is nice, actually. We spend so much time on interstates, it's nice to have a scenic drive for a change."

  "First time Dad and I came down here, he was driving, and I was like you—starin' out the window like a dog."

  Sam chuckled. "So this is why you were so hot to come back down here? So we could roll down the car windows?"

  "Among other things." Dean was smiling widely and turned up the volume on the radio so it could be heard over the wind whipping into the Impala from outside. He'd found a Miami classic rock station, and it was playing "Long Time" by Boston. "Duval Street is like a more laid-back version of Bourbon Street. Lots of bars, lots of live music, lots of partying."

  "And lots of ghosts."

  "Yeah." They got to the end of the bridge, and the scenery was now tall grass and the occasional gas station.

  Sam shifted his lanky frame in the seat. "It's also kind of a tourist trap. Where we gonna find a motel we can, y'know, afford?"

  "Not a problem in the least. See, the job Dad and I did down here involved chasing off a nixie that was using one of the bed-and-breakfasts as a feeding ground. The owner was sufficiently grateful that she said we could stay for free anytime we were on the island."

  Sam nodded, grateful. "Good thing. I think we blew through the last of the poker winnings when we filled up this morning." Of course, last time the job had been in a motel, so they had to stay there to deal with the poltergeist.

  Dean let out a long breath. The recent hike in gas prices had played merry hell with their lives and was one of the main reasons why squatting in abandoned houses had become a necessary alternative to motels on occasion. The Impala was all Sam and Dean had. While they were welcome at Bobby's and it was a sanctuary for them, it wasn't their home. The Impala, though, was.

  But this home needed feeding. Bobby had been kind enough to gas them up for free before they left, but good gas mileage was not among the Impala's virtues, and they'd had to fill it up several times since departing South Dakota.

  As they got farther south on the Overseas Highway, traffic started to pile up a bit. It was a two-lane road—one lane going north, the other south—so everyone had to go as fast as the slowest car on the road, a situation that usually made Dean cranky. However, he was taking it in stride. This must be a fun place, Sam thought with a small smile. And he'd take whatever he could get of Dean being happy.

  They went over one final bridge on Stock Island and made a right turn on the other side, now on Key West proper. They passed several large hotels and malls. It looked surprisingly suburban to Sam, but then Dean made a right onto a large side street, and suddenly it looked like he expected: wooden houses, pastel colors, eighteenth-and nineteenth-century architecture. This was Old Town, the downtown area of Key West, the part that had the tourist traps, the beaches, and the bars.

  Dean then turned left onto Eaton Street. They passed more houses, a few municipal buildings, and eventually pulled up to a house that was behind a wrought-iron gate and several large trees. Across the street was a house with a turret that had a sign that read CAYO HUESO GHOST TOURS.

  Sam climbed out of the Impala and felt his knees crack as he straightened them for the first time in what seemed like years. You'd think my knees would be used to sitting in a car for hours at a time, he thought dolefully.

  Walking through the gate, Sam and Dean walked down a short tree-lined brick path to a set of wooden steps up to a lovely porch, complete with swing. The front door was wide open, and Sam entered to see a roomful of bookcases and sea-related memorabilia. The far wall had a huge painting of a sailing ship, with a large harpoon mounted horizontally over it. To the left, there were two photos of the coastline at sunset between the bookcases.

  To the right was a desk and a door to a hallway, as well as a large anchor abutting the wall. However, nobody was sitting at the desk.

  "Hello?" Dean called out as they entered.

  In response, a giant gray-and-white sheepdog came bounding in, tongue hanging from its mouth. Stopping in front of Dean, it barked.

  Breaking into a huge grin, Dean said, "Oh man, Snoopy? That you?" Dean knelt and started scratching the dog on the back of its neck. In response, the sheepdog rested its front paws on Dean's knees and started licking his hand.

  Sam found himself forced to ask, "The dog's really named Snoopy?"

  "Yup. He was just a little puppy last time I was here. You've gotten all big, haven't you?"

  "Whoever named him does know that Snoopy was a beagle, right?"

  A voice came from the door to the hallway. "He had the name when we got him, and it's the only name he responds to."

  Looking up, Sam saw a very short, very attractive young woman with surprisingly pale skin for someone who lived on a tropical island, curly red hair that was tied back into a ponytail, numerous freckles, and sea-green eyes. Like most of the people Sam had seen walking around on the drive over, she was wearing a T-shirt—it was emblazoned with a black-and-white line drawing of this house along with the words NAYLOR HOUSE BED & BREAKFAST—and shorts and flip-flops.

  The redhead continued: "I wanted to rename him Bustopher Jones, but he wouldn't come when you called that, and he does come for Snoopy. So what're you gonna do?"

  Dean stood upright, leaving Snoopy to run around his legs a few times. "How you been, Nicki?"

  Nicki embraced Dean, and said, "Good to see you again, Deano. Knew it was you when I saw that boat of yours parked outside. You should pull it into the driveway, you can't keep it on the street overnight." She broke the embrace and gazed up and down at Sam. "Who's the big guy?"

  "I'm, uh, 'Deano's' brother, Sam," he said, holding out his hand.

  "Oh, you're Sammy, huh?" Nicki said, returning the handshake.

  "Uh, yeah," Sam replied, suddenly nervous.

  Sporting a wide grin that showed perfect teeth, Nicki said, "I heard all about you last time Deano bl
ew through the Keys."

  "Well, don't believe a word he said. I'm actually a nice person."

  Nicki glanced over at Dean. "Yeah, he's your brother, all right."

  Dean, who had gone back to petting Snoopy, much to the sheepdog's delight, said, "Yup. Can't live with him, can't shoot him."

  "So you guys need a room?"

  Sam nodded.

  "Actually, you're in luck—I can give you three."

  Frowning, Dean said, "Three? Why would we—"

  "Uh," Sam said quickly, "we only need two. Our father, he—" Sam glanced at Dean, who had his patented awkward expression on.

  Nicki's face fell. "Oh no—oh, geez, I'm sorry. One of the spooks got him?"

  "Something like that," Dean said quietly.

  "Damn. I really liked Johnny, he was sweet."

  There are many adjectives Sam would have used to describe John Winchester. Sweet didn't make the cut. But he said only, "Anyhow, we're fine with one room. We don't want to take up too much space."

  "It's not a problem. If you were here last week, it'd be one thing, we had a full house, but everybody checked out yesterday. We just got a couple in three, and the rest of the place is empty. Typical for right after New Year's, really—especially when you add in a double homicide across the street."

  Sam shot his brother a look. "Double homicide?"

  Nicki nodded. "Yeah, two of the people who worked at the ghost-tour company." She pointed at the house with the turret. "Someone found 'em with their heads bashed in. Nice folks, too. Girl's name was Angela, and the guy was Jonathan. We're the last stop on the tour, and sometimes we feed 'em."

  "Is that place supposed to be haunted, too?" Dean asked.

  "Yeah—that's why the tour company bought it. I'm guessin' that's why you two are here?"

  Normally, Sam and Dean would be circumspect, but Nicki knew what they really did for a not-living. So Dean said, "Part of it, yeah. You know where Yaphet's set up these days?"

  "You'll prob'ly find him in the Hog's Breath parking lot. If not, try outside the Bull." Walking around to behind the desk, Nicki opened a drawer and pulled out two key chains, each of which had two keys on them. "You guys have any bags?"

  "Everything's in the car," Dean said. "We'll fish it out when we park it."

  "Okee dokee. Come with me."

  Nicki led them through the door to the hallway. Sam couldn't help but notice two things: one, Nicki's shorts were very short, and her rear end moved quite provocatively in them as she walked; and two, Dean wasn't noticing that. Generally lacking in subtlety where attractive members of the opposite sex were concerned, Dean's lack of reaction to their host's hotness was tremendously out of character.

  As they turned a corner and went out a doorway and down three small steps to the outdoors, Nicki said, "Hey, girl, look who's back?"

  Sam followed Nicki and Dean out the door and saw a huge garden, filled with colorful flowers, giant trees, and several comfortable-looking white wicker chairs. In one sat a tall, broad-shouldered woman with short brown hair, a dark tan, half a dozen rings in one ear (and none in the other), plus one in her nose. Wearing a brown tank top and black shorts, she leapt to her bare feet and grinned widely. "Deany-baby!" she cried in a booming voice that seemed to echo off the trees. "You're back!"

  Sam looked at his brother. "'Deany-baby'?"

  "Shut up," Dean muttered, then smiled, and said, "How you been?"

  Nicki slid her arm around the woman in a very affectionate manner that suddenly explained why Dean wasn't hitting on Nicki. "And this is Dean's brother Sam. Sam, this is my partner, Bodge."

  "Pleased to meet you."

  "Likewise!"

  "I gave 'em six and seven," Nicki said. Nodding, Bodge said, "Cool!" Her voice seemed permanently turned up to eleven.

  Extricating herself from her partner, Nicki led them down a brick path through the trees to a pair of small two-story houses of the same design as the main one. Each had a room on the ground floor, a wooden staircase up to a porch that led to another room on the second floor. Sam could see that the room also had only one double bed, which precluded the pair of them sharing. They'd shared beds in the past, but it was never a good night's sleep, as Sam tended to sprawl, and Dean tended to kick.

  "The two rooms in this bungalow are yours," Nicki said.

  "I'll take the top floor," Sam said, figuring the stairs would be good exercise.

  Nicki handed him the key chain that had the number 6 on it. "Here you go. The silver key opens the door up front—we lock it around ten or so, so if you come in later than that, you'll need the key to get in. The other one opens your room up."

  "Thanks." Sam pocketed the chain and looked at Dean. "We should get our stuff."

  "Yeah." Dean took his own key, and Nicki went with them back to the main house.

  After pulling the Impala into the driveway adjacent to the Naylor House, Dean got out and just stood for a moment, closing his eyes and feeling the tropical sun on his face.

  Intellectually he knew it was the same sun that had been shining in South Dakota, but it sure as hell didn't feel like it. Up north, the sun was just taunting him, teasing with warmth while the wind chill sliced through him. Here, though, the sun was inviting, welcoming.

  Glad I had a reason to come back here before it's all over.

  Dean sighed and went to the trunk to join Sam in unloading the small overnight bags that contained changes of clothes, toiletries, and other odds and ends. How Dean felt about his impending doom varied from day to day—hell, from hour to freakin' hour—but at this particular second, he was okay with it. He'd saved a lot of lives, done a lot of good, and kept his brother safe.

  That was the most important thing. Sammy had to be kept safe. When Mom was killed by the yellow-eyed bastard, Dad had handed Sam's tiny sixmonth-old self to Dean and given an order: "Take your brother outside as fast as you can—don't look back. Now, Dean, go!"

  It sometimes felt like that order had defined Dean's life. Now it was defining his death.

  The first time he'd been to Key West, he'd met this fantastic girl at Captain Tony's. That had been a night to remember, especially after Nicki and Bodge had turned down his perfectly reasonable request for a threesome. Dean couldn't remember the girl's name, but he did recall with perfect clarity the curve of her breasts, the smell of the herbal shampoo she used mixed with sweat, and the taste of her lips. She was the sister or cousin or something of the band that was playing at Captain Tony's, just down for two weeks before going back to Alabama with the band.

  Dean decided that he had to go back to Captain Tony's at some point. It was obviously a good-luck charm.

  He and Sam trudged back through the main house to the backyard. Dean realized that he hadn't seen the parrot that lived in the garden, and he wondered if it was hiding.

  "Once we get settled," Dean said to Sam, as they approached the small house where Nicki had put them, "we should go across the street, see what we can turn up."

  "Sure thing, Deano," Sam said with a chuckle.

  "I will kill you with my hands," Dean said. He had forgotten that Nicki and Bodge insisted on calling everyone by some kind of cutesy nickname, and of course Sammy was giving him a hard time about it.

  Then again, they were likely to come up with something for him before long, and then Dean would have his revenge.

  Sam went upstairs, the wood creaking under his lanky frame.

  Dean dug the key chain out of his pants pocket and slid the key into the large sliding door. Pushing it aside, he entered the room, which was a bit stuffy. While it was much warmer than it was at Bobby's, it was cool by Florida standards, so opening the window did the trick. Last time, Dean and Dad had been here in summertime, and the air conditioner was absolutely necessary.

  The room had a double bed with a white wicker headboard of the same style as the garden furniture, which suited Dean fine. This time, he'd be able to bring someone home without having to worry about disturbing his traveling compa
nion. The walls and carpet were a matching pastel, and there were seascapes hanging on the wall, as well as a ship's wheel.

  Reaching up, Dean yanked on the chain that started the ceiling fan going, and he left the big sliding door open but closed the screen door to keep the bugs out. He considered warning Sam about the mosquitoes, then decided it would be more fun for him to learn that lesson his own self.

  "What in blazes are you doing in my house?"

  Whirling around, Dean saw a man wearing a blue cap, a blue jacket, and white pants. Dean also clearly saw the wall behind the man. In all his years of hunting, Dean had encountered many a spirit. Few of them had ever been this—well, coherent.

  "Uh—"

  "I asked you a question, young man. This is my abode, and I wish to know what you're doing in it!"

  "And you are?"

  "Captain Terrence Naylor, of course! Now answer my blasted question!"

  FIVE

  Greg Mitchell had kept telling his wife Krysta that Key West would be the perfect place to spend New Year's. It wasn't until they'd been there for three days that she'd admitted that he was right.

  As a happily married man, Greg was used to never being told that he was right about something, so he considered Krysta's admission to be a major victory.

  Her skepticism was born out of Key West's not being the best place in the world to go scuba diving. They'd dove in Hawaii and in Turks and Caicos and in the Cook Islands and in Papua New Guinea, and any number of other locations that had far better diving than the Keys could offer.

  But what Key West had that those places didn't was the excellent night life. Every night, they went to a different Duval Street bar, drank good beer, and listened to good music. One night, they even did karaoke, the pair of them "singing" both "Time of My Life" and "Paradise by the Dashboard Light."

  Today, they had been all set to take another dive, but the wind was fierce, and the water too choppy for diving. Luckily, the dive shop had called them at the hotel and told them so they had time to make other plans for the day.