CHAPTER 1

The red-haired woman dialed the phone as quick as possible. She chanced a glance into the living room, where the dark-haired girl was watching the TV. A white cat sat in her lap, while an orange one walked around them. The girl turned to look, so the woman put a tight smile on her face and turned back into the kitchen. Pacing back and forth, she damned whatever gods were slowing down the connection.

"Hello."

She opened her mouth to reply. "This is John Winchester. I can't be reached. If this is an emergency, call my son, Dean. 785-555-0179. He can help."

"John, it's Miranda. I think we're in trouble. Things have been happening here that are frankly scaring the shit out of me. The protections are still in place, but there are signs of attempts to get in. I'm not sure what it is, but you said that I should trust my instincts. Right now my instincts say to get the hell out of here. You've talked about safe places, but I don't know where to go. Please call me back."

She slammed the phone down, hoping that a quick response was coming.

Putting the smile back on her face, she walked into the living room, where the girl was scratching around the orange cat's ears.

"Lucy, I want you to go upstairs and grab your overnight bag. We're going to visit Monica."

The little girl lifted the white cat off her lap and walked over to Miranda. Reaching for her hand, the little girl frowned and looked at the clock, which read 10:36.

"I know it's late, honey, but I need you to listen to me and do what I say. Right now," she added, startled by how harsh she sounded.

The little girl looked surprised, but released the woman's hand. She went into the kitchen and started up the stairs to the second level, followed by the white cat. The orange one moved slower, looking at the woman before it ambled up the stairs.

Miranda let out a shaky breath and reached for the phone again. Maybe she should try John's son. That's when the lights started flickering. Knowing that there wasn't going to be time for any phone calls, she ran into the kitchen and quickly rummaged through the first drawer she could open.

By the time the lights were completely out, she had both a flashlight and a small steak knife in her hands. She started up the stairs. "Luce, it's time to go n . . .!"

She stopped short when she heard the growl and hiss of an obviously angry cat. The front door burst open. She turned to see a large dark figure in the doorway.

"Release it to us, witch. It does not belong to you."

Miranda backed up into the kitchen, trying to control her shaking limbs. "You'll never get her. She's protected by my spells. You cannot take her from me."

"Then we'll just have to take you from her."

Before Miranda could take another breath, her hand raised above her head and the steak knife plunged into her chest. The pain forced air out of her lungs as she pulled it out and stabbed herself again. She was dimly aware of someone pulling on her arm as her legs gave out and she fell hard to the floor.

As her vision started to darken, she could make out the little girl sitting next to her with blood on her shirt. 'Lucy, I'm sorry . . ."

Dean nearly pulled off the road when Sam jerked awake. "Dude, what the hell!?!"

"Wh . . . what?" Sam mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

"Sam, if my baby has so much as a pebble in a tire, I will shave your shaggy head." Dean looked over to his younger brother, who was trying to slow down his ragged breathing. He softened his voice, "Was it a vision?"

"I don't think so."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "You don't think so?"

"Just give me a minute, Dean." Sam slowed down his breathing and focused on the dream. Was it a dream or a vision? He refocused his thoughts. What was the point of having these 'episodes' if he couldn't remember anything to help someone? He concentrated on the fleeting images. The red-haired woman . . . the little girl . . . the phone . . .

"Miranda. A woman named Miranda," Sam shared.

"Oh, Sammy. Maybe this means you're going to get lucky soon. And let me tell you, you sure need a good f . . ."

"No, Dean. She was calling Dad. And she was attacked by . . . something. And there was a little girl. And . . ."

"Whoa, slow down Sam." Dean pulled his beloved Impala over into the gas station they just came upon. He parked and turned the car off. "Let's start at the beginning."

Sam took a deep breath and started again. He noticed the more he shared, the more he remembered. "She was calling Dad. She was really scared. Then, the man or thing showed up. It made her stab herself. There was a little girl. . . Lucy. I think he wanted the little girl."

"Was it the Demon?" Dean demanded.

"I don't think so. But it was definitely not human," Sam looked at his brother. "What's the plan?"

Dean paused. "You said she was calling Dad?" His brother nodded. "Well, then we'll just check his phone."

"His phone? We don't have his phone," Sam snorted.

"Yeah, we do, dumbass. I still have all of Dad's personal effects from the hospital." Dean got out of the car and moved to the trunk.

Sam followed him with a smirk on his face. "Wow, Dean, that is really good thinking."

Dean avoided his brother's eyes. "Well, some of us are just born smart, while the rest of you unlucky bastards have to suffer through school." He sorted through his father's duffel until he found the cell phone. "It's dead."

"That's OK. We can just pick up a charger and listen to his messages. The phone number can tell us where we need to go." Sam moved back to his seat.

Dean slammed the trunk. "Wow, Sammy, that is really good thinking."

"Shut up, Dean."