At this moment, the father-and-son duo didn't look particularly remarkable. But Bella remembered that this son—Dean Winchester—had an extraordinary future ahead. He would become the vessel of an Archangel... Michael, if she remembered correctly.
For a long time, Archangels sat firmly in the category of beings Bella couldn't afford to mess with. Her interest immediately dropped by half.
"You should go," she said, lowering her gun and turning to leave with Shaw. But after a few steps, she stopped, struck by a sudden thought.
"I have a problem right now. Since you two are experienced demon hunters, give me some advice. What's the most appropriate course of action?"
She laid out her dilemma—whether to let the family of three reunite in death, or save the couple and let them live on in pain.
"What should I do? Make the Harmons leave Los Angeles, or let the couple reunite with their daughter? Any suggestions?"
Father and son answered at the same time.
"Let the couple leave Los Angeles. Their daughter definitely wouldn't want her parents to die with her," Dean said.
John saw it differently. "Family is the most important thing. That couple loves their daughter. If they've made up their minds... that might not be a bad outcome."
Bella pressed her lips together. These two couldn't even agree with each other—she had asked in vain.
"See you around, gentlemen." She drove off, leaving the father and son behind, both quietly weighed down by their own thoughts.
A day later, the Harmons handed over the keys and formally left Los Angeles.
Bella and Shaw chose the most conservative solution.
Together, they sealed the couple's memories of their daughter. The time span was too long to erase completely. Instead, they shattered the memories into scattered fragments. Without a coherent chain linking them, the brain would instinctively classify the information as unimportant and bury it deep in the subconscious.
The Harmons' daughter was gone, and the family was already on the brink of collapse—but at least the couple was still alive. They could continue living.
Divorce. Remarriage. Another child.
Perhaps that, too, was fate.
Being alive had to be better than being dead... right?
Bella's family of four went to the new house together, wandering through every room, touching this and that. The place looked like an ancient castle—an unbelievable bargain.
Hidden in the shadows, the Winchester father and son observed and confirmed their identities.
Charlie and Samantha's information wasn't hard to verify. They weren't undercover criminals; their basic records were fully accessible.
Badge numbers, departments, superiors, subordinates—they were indeed LAPD detectives. Indisputable.
There were no issues with the house purchase, no signs of money laundering. As for buying a haunted house and having a daughter who happened to know exorcism? An extremely low-probability coincidence—but not impossible.
If anything, the ghosts were just unlucky.
Dean smirked and reached for a cigarette. Unfortunately, his movement was a bit too large, and all four family members turned their heads at once.
Father and son immediately dropped flat, not daring to breathe.
"Sharp reflexes," Dean whispered after the four finally looked away.
"They're detectives. That's normal," John replied. But inwardly, he felt a twinge of envy.
That family's overall combat capability was ridiculous.
Two detectives capable of serving as sheriffs in small towns—their skills and marksmanship wouldn't be lacking. Bella, clearly hiding her true abilities, was ruthless and dangerous. But what shocked them most was that even the youngest girl had such keen perception and fast reactions.
What kind of family was this?
Can't mess with them. Absolutely can't.
"That ghost-controlling girl is going to Stanford too. Same year as Sam," Dean said with interest.
John sighed. "I just hope Sam stays far away from our world."
They were about to leave when Shaw, dressed in her white gown, suddenly appeared at their side. The female ghost raised a hand, blocking their path.
"What is it?" John asked calmly.
"Take me home."
The two were momentarily confused, but Shaw handed them a note.
John read it carefully, then passed it to Dean. They exchanged a few quiet words.
"All right. We agree," John said. "You'll pass this on to her, right?"
Shaw nodded. With a final "Take me home," she vanished.
"She really knows how to order people around," Dean muttered.
John was more pragmatic. "This job is just labor-intensive, not dangerous. Consider it building a connection. You never know when a favor like this will come in handy. I'll prep the gear. We'll come back tonight."
At two in the afternoon, Bella's family boarded a plane and left Los Angeles, heading back to Forks for the wedding. Forks held special meaning for Charlie, and Samantha wanted to stay there for a few days as well.
That evening, the Winchester father and son returned to the Murder House with a truckload of tools.
They were about to do some dirty work for Bella.
Digging up corpses—and burning them.
Anyone who knew the Winchesters knew their specialty:
Digging pits and cracking coffins.
A pit two and a half meters long, one and a half meters wide, and one point eight meters deep would normally take three strong men an entire day. The Winchesters could finish it in no time—even in the dead of night, with one digging and the other holding a flashlight.
Digging. Opening coffins. Locating remains. Spreading salt. Pouring oil. Setting the fire.
This was the Winchester family's signature workflow. Even without the younger brother present, the father-and-son duo was more than enough.
Bella had already cleared out almost all the ghosts in the Murder House. Aside from Dr. Harmon's daughter, the rest were gone.
She had marked every burial site, leaving the rest to the Winchesters.
Old lady Constance had fled. Bella didn't want to dump that problem on Charlie, so she handed it off to them as well. The Winchesters had their own underground connections and police contacts. Put out the word, and the old woman wouldn't dare return to Los Angeles for the rest of her life.
At first, father and son were in good spirits.
Wasn't it just a bit of manual labor? The dangerous part had already been handled. Spending some effort to earn a favor—seemed like a great deal.
But by 3:15 a.m., both of them were completely done.
There were too many bodies—and none of them had been buried properly.
One here. One there. Everywhere.
The front and back yards were reduced to cratered wastelands, like they'd been hit by artillery fire. The air was thick with the stench of rotting flesh mixed with oil and salt...