"The Evidence of Things Not Seen"

Chapter 1

Podunkville, USA, a place with five churches and five bars, alternating with each other on the main road through town. It was night; the churches were closed, the bars were open. Yellow rays of light from the street lamps, classic rock echoing every time a door opened, dusty farm trucks lined up next to the sidewalk.

"This the place, Sam?" Dean Winchester eased his Impala into a parking spot across from one of the seedier joints, squinting through the darkness at the sign. "—OHN'S TAV—R—," the red neon spelled out, flickering and buzzing against a drizzle of rain on this unseasonably warm night.

"Yeah, looks like it." Sam swung his long legs out of the passenger side and followed Dean across the road, waving to the driver of a red pickup who stopped to let them cross. "All of the people who disappeared were last seen at this bar."

"And you said the last disappearance happened just last night, right?"

"That's right." Sam paused, his hand on the door, looking at his brother in the uneasy glow of a porch lamp full of dead bugs. "You sure you're okay?"

Dean hesitated, his lips tightening just a bit. "I'm good, Sam."

Sam nodded, but still kept a wary eye on his brother as he followed him into the building. He knew Dean wasn't good. He wasn't okay. He'd lost control and slaughtered a group of thugs just a couple of weeks ago. Then he'd beat the living crap out of Charlie Bradbury…granted, evil Charlie Bradbury, but the fact remained that he'd lost control of himself again. The Mark of Cain was burning Dean up from the inside, and there was always a chance that he could put a knife through anybody who looked at him sideways.

But, damn it, they had a case, and they couldn't just ignore something like this. In the past two weeks, five people had disappeared without a trace, and this town was way too small for something like that to be coincidence.

The Winchesters stopped inside the door for a moment, scanning the room. The ceiling, hung with bare bulbs on wires, barely cleared Sam's head, and the lights blinded him for a second, so he had to blink when he heard Dean's very soft whistle.

"Would you look at that, Sam," he murmured, easing his way into the room as he spoke, and Sam followed the nod of his brother's head.

"Dean," he said automatically, annoyed, "we're on a case, remember?" But his voice trailed off a bit as he focused on the woman sitting at the end of the bar. Really, this time he couldn't blame Dean.

She was mid-thirties, maybe, wearing a leather jacket and sleek, supple, fluid leather leggings. Her body moved easily, gracefully, as she shifted on the bar stool and glanced over her shoulder, her long dark hair dropping around her face. Her eyes were bright, alert, searching. They swept over the brothers, came back, paused a second, and moved on.

"She's the whole package, Sammy." Dean was already easing his way through the crowded room.

"Hey." Sam put his hand on his brother's shoulder. "Remember? I thought you'd sworn off wine, women, and song. We're working tonight."

"I am working." Dean didn't turn his head. "We need to ask questions, gather information. That's just what I'm going to do. Don't worry, I'll hold off on the whiskey." He slipped between tables like an eel and slid onto a stool next to the woman.

Sam couldn't hold back a smile, although his forehead was still wrinkled. It was good to see a spark of the old Dean tonight. He still watched his brother out of the corner of his eye as he sat down at a table and fiddled with the laminated edge of a crusty menu. That girl…something about her. She didn't fit in here. Dean was leaning closer to her, his old grin flashing for a second across his face.

"What'll it be, honey?" The waitress smiled at him with a mouth half-full of yellow snaggle teeth. Sam had seen monsters with cleaner, straighter fangs than that. He suppressed a flinch as she leaned close, beaming at him. Her greasy peroxide hair brushed his forehead.

"Just a cup of coffee, please," he said, forcing himself to smile back. Damn you, Dean, he was thinking. But he didn't really mean it. Let his brother have a moment to forget his problems.

The waitress looked disappointed. "Don't you want something to eat?" She rested her order pad against her sagging chest. "We've got a bacon cheeseburger special tonight."

"Oh, God…I mean, um, maybe a sandwich…do you have grilled cheese?" He needed to be nice to this waitress. She probably knew every one of the people who had disappeared, and he got the feeling she'd be more than willing to talk.

"Be right back, honey." She brushed her hand against his shoulder and trotted off to the kitchen.

Sam looked around the room. It was like a hundred other Midwest bars, dim, smoky, loud, and apparently it was karaoke night. A burly man with a lumberjack beard was taking the stage at the end of the room, picking up the mike to a chorus of whistles and laughter from his friends nearby.

Sam smiled a little as the big man threw himself into "Friends in Low Places" with more enthusiasm than pitch. The noise level in the room increased as people cheered him on.

"Here you go!" The waitress's voice was in Sam's ear, and he jumped. He read her nametag as he turned his head. "So, Gina, good crowd tonight?"

"Oh, no, not nearly as many as usual." Gina shook her head, opening her mouth and then closing it again. She wiped her hands on the sides of her blue dress, leaving slight grease marks on the stiff cotton.

"Is that because of the disappearances?" Sam asked.

"Oh. So you know about that already."

"I'm a reporter. Sam Brady." He held out his hand and shook hers. "You wanna talk to me about it?"

"Well, I don't think my boss will like it very much if I talk to a reporter." Gina threw a glance towards the kitchen. "Besides, I don't know very much about it."

"All the people who disappeared were last seen here, right?" Sam asked. "Did you know them?"

"Yeah. All of them. But just because they were last seen here, doesn't mean much. They all lived alone, and it was a couple days before anybody figured out they had disappeared. This is just the last place anybody could remember seeing any of them."

"Who were they?"

"Nobody special." Gina shrugged. "A couple of farm workers, some guy from the autobody shop…it's a small town, and we all know each other, but these were the loners. People who didn't talk, didn't hang out, didn't go to church."

"Anything else you can remember?"

"Just one thing." Gina put her hand on Sam's shoulder. "I told the police this, too. Somebody should talk to Starlene Griffin."

"And she is?"

"She's our local madam." Gina pronounced the old-fashioned word with exaggeration, turning her head on one side with a wink. "Runs a place outside the city limits. You hardly see Starlene at all—she doesn't come into town—but you see her girls now and again. They're all meaner than snakes, and I wouldn't put it past them to dump some guy's body in a ditch after they'd taken all his money. They've got a cold look in their eyes, all of them. Makes me shiver." Her grip tightened on Sam's shoulder.

"Ok. Thanks, Gina. You've been very helpful." Sam smiled at her, closing the little notebook he had taken out.

"Anything else I can help you with, honey?"

"No. No, thanks. I'm good, really."

She walked away slowly, glancing backwards. "If you need anything, just let me know."

Sam picked up his grilled cheese sandwich. It was soggy and cold, overloaded with Velveeta. He put it down untouched.