Chapter 387: Hidden Truths
"He didn't grab anyone," Frank recalled after thinking back to the footage, "but before the execution, he did shake hands with a police officer."
In the video, the condemned killer had deliberately extended his hand toward Officer Hobbes. Hobbes had accepted the handshake.
That scene had definitely happened.
Originally, Frank and the others had come here intending to question Gretta Milano.
But somehow, the conversation had quietly reversed direction.
Now she was the one asking them questions.
And the more specific her questions became, the more certain they were that she knew something important.
Otherwise, she wouldn't be focusing on such precise details.
"Ms. Milano, the things you're asking…" Dean began carefully.
But Gretta interrupted him before he could continue.
"You need to promise me something first."
Her tone was firm and unwavering.
"You cannot repeat anything we discuss here."
"You cannot record this conversation."
"And you must act as though we never spoke at all."
"If you can agree to that, we can continue."
"If not," she said coldly, "then leave now."
"We agree," Sam answered immediately.
After all, the very things they wanted to discuss were exactly the kinds of secrets that couldn't be spoken openly.
In a way, both sides were finally thinking along the same lines.
Gretta took a slow breath before speaking again.
"My father was a good police officer," she said quietly.
"His colleagues respected him. They were proud of him."
"It all started after he arrested a serial killer."
"But soon after, murders using the exact same methods began appearing one after another."
Frank, Dean, and Sam exchanged glances.
The situation sounded disturbingly familiar.
In fact, it was almost identical to what was happening now.
Gretta slowly recounted the hidden truth behind the case—how her father had been framed, how everything had spiraled out of control afterward, and the events that eventually destroyed his life.
"Besides all of that…" Dean said carefully, steering the conversation in another direction, "did your father ever encounter anything strange?"
"Something abnormal."
"Something impossible to explain."
"Anything terrifying… or supernatural?"
Their goal was to uncover the truth behind the mysterious creature.
They had no interest in decades-old scandals or buried police corruption. None of that helped them solve the case.
"Afraid?" Gretta repeated, sounding almost offended.
"My father was never afraid of anything."
"He was brave—braver than anyone I've ever known."
The emotion in her voice was unmistakable. Even after all these years, she still deeply admired her father.
"But…" she continued more quietly, "back then, my father discovered something."
"Some kind of evidence."
"But he couldn't tell anyone about it."
"He only spoke to my mother."
"And he told her… he had no chance of winning. That he couldn't beat them."
Gretta lowered her gaze.
"I don't know exactly what he told her. Before my mother died, she never told me either."
"But after that conversation, my father went alone to the cabin in the mountains."
"That place used to be somewhere our family visited often…"
Her voice caught slightly, and she stopped speaking.
Everyone already knew what came next.
"In any case," she said firmly after a moment, "I know my father was innocent. He was framed."
"Can you tell us why you're so certain?" Sam asked gently, noticing the conviction hidden beneath her emotions. "Do you have some kind of proof?"
"It doesn't matter anymore," Gretta shook her head. "It's been decades."
But halfway through her sentence, she abruptly stopped herself.
"You don't want to clear your father's name?" Sam pressed, trying to appeal to her emotionally.
"Of course I do," she replied immediately.
Then she hesitated again.
"…But forget it."
In the end, she still refused to continue.
It was obvious Gretta was hiding something.
Some secret.
Some truth she either couldn't—or wouldn't—say aloud.
Frank and the others tried asking a few more questions, but no matter how they approached it, she refused to reveal anything else useful.
Frank also asked whether her father had left behind any belongings.
But too much time had passed.
Most of his possessions had either been sold, discarded, or given away long ago.
There were no meaningful clues left behind.
With no new leads to pursue, the group finally prepared to leave.
As Gretta escorted them to the front door, her eyes drifted toward one of the angel paintings hanging on the wall.
Then, without warning, she asked:
"Do you believe in God?"
Frank, Dean, and Sam exchanged glances.
"Uh… I guess so?" Dean answered uncertainly. "I go to church sometimes."
Dean had grown up in a family of hunters, following his father across the country hunting monsters since childhood.
He had seen all kinds of supernatural creatures.
But beings like God or angels?
Those were different.
He had never truly encountered them.
The sudden question caught him off guard.
Still, he wasn't lying. He really did visit churches fairly often—many holy items found there worked remarkably well against monsters.
Back when Frank fought demons himself, he had once filled an entire bottle with holy water from a church.
"I believe," Frank answered with much more certainty.
He had seen demons with his own eyes.
And if demons truly existed, then beings like God and angels probably existed as well.
"Is that so…" Gretta murmured, her expression becoming strangely complicated.
Then she looked at them seriously.
"Gentlemen, I suggest you stop investigating this."
"You've only seen a tiny part of it."
"Like the tip of an iceberg floating above the ocean."
"Why?" Frank asked, exchanging a glance with Dean as they stopped descending the stairs.
"If you still value your lives…" Gretta said quietly.
"If there are people in this world you care about—and people who care about you…"
"Then stop digging into this matter."
"Let it end here."
"We need the truth," Dean replied firmly.
Gretta looked at them both with a complicated expression.
"Good luck," she said at last. "May God protect you."
Her tone carried the weary resignation of someone trying to warn people walking willingly toward death.
She began closing the door.
"Wait, Ms. Milano," Frank suddenly said, placing a hand against the door before it shut.
Gretta looked up at him.
"…If you tell us the things you can't say out loud," Frank asked quietly while meeting her eyes, "you'll put yourself in danger. Isn't that right?"
Gretta hesitated.
Then slowly nodded.
"…Yes."
"I understand," Frank said softly, finally releasing the door.
"Frank—" Dean started to protest.
But Frank raised a hand, stopping him.
"Thank you for helping us," he said to Gretta. "And thank you for the coffee."
Gretta looked at them silently for a moment before speaking again.
"We aren't supposed to know."
"We aren't supposed to see."
"They exist… and yet they don't."
"We're supposed to pretend they aren't there."
"Don't investigate them."
"Don't search for answers."
"That is God's domain."
"Only God can truly explain all of this."
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