Title: The Definition of Man
Summary: A journalist is given the task of researching a ghost hunting gang but he steps into a world that's more dangerous than he could imagine. This is his article.
AN: I've always wanted to write from the prospective of a cop or reporter. I in no way pretend to have the writing skills of a journalist. In fact, I barely passed English in school. So, I apologise in advance for any grammatical errors. Not set at any certain time but it's somewhere after Season 5 Ep 10.
Warning: Some disturbing images.
*X*
Part 1 – What are you?
[File: Open: New Document]
I am a man.
A forty year old grown man, in fact.
I have a great apartment and a job I love. I'm a man's man. If a spider crawls near me, I don't give a high pitched scream and wave my hands in the air. If a mouse squeaks by me, I don't jump up on the nearest high stool and cry for help. I buy a mouse trap and kill the damn thing because I'm a man and that's what men do. We show off our muscles and protect our women. No matter what the year reads, we are all basically cave men at heart. Protecting and providing, that's what we do.
We are strong. We are brave. We fight. We are heroes. We are men. We laugh in the face of danger, ha, ha, ha!
Yup, that's what I would have told you if you had asked me the definition of man last week. But then something happened and within the space of thirty seconds I wasn't a man anymore. I had turned into a frightened little girl screaming for my life. And it was all down to two young men.
*X*
It was supposed to be a simple piece. "Take your time," my editor verbally said giving me my brief. "Brilliant," I replied. I had started out as a freelance journalist and the thought of going back to a time with no specific deadlines was going to be bliss.
The article was supposed to be centred round a group called 'Ghost Facers'. My editor's children are addicted to their website where instructional videos are broadcasted once a month. Apparently, they're very popular if you look at the number of viewers. I watched some of these videos... and well... what can I say? Maybe I'm too old but I just don't get it. Two men, I assume they're grown, speaking for three to four minutes on how to defeat ghosts. I mean, come on!
Now, don't get me wrong, I love ghost stories as much as the next guy. Ghostbusters, The Frighteners and Poltergeist are brilliantly entertaining. But that's just it. They're entertainment. As far as I'm aware, they're not real. But these guys... they actually believe. Attack the ghosts with iron. Protect yourself with salt. Really? Really!
I suppose I could have written a sarcastically funny piece on these Ghost Facers. I could have researched these fanatical fools. Found out how they began their quest and why choose ghosts as the objects of their affection. I could have ended the article with the line, "but everyone knows ghosts aren't real... or are they?" And that would have been the end of it. My editor would have been happy. His children would be happy. The readers would be happy. And most importantly, I could go back to enjoying my blissful stress free uneventful life.
But as I was watching these guys passionately speak about tracking ghosts, I heard one name that was mentioned in each clip. The name was spat out or growled with contempt and jealousy. In fact, most of the duos tips came from this person. His name? Someone named Winchester.
This is what my story needed, an unknown entity. Who was this man or was even just one man? Was Winchester a group of men, like Ghost Facers? I needed to find out more and luckily I knew a guy who knew a guy.
"I'm going out of the country for a couple of weeks," my contact disclosed handing me a brown envelope a few days later. "I need a holiday. I won't be contactable," he added pulling up the collar of his jacket around his neck and walking away with his head down. It wasn't even a cold night! Plus in all the years I've known him, he's never once told me anything about his personal life especially his holiday plans. Of course, at the time, I didn't think the conversation was unusual. I took the slightly heavy envelope and eagerly headed home.
Upon opening it though, I realised why my contact was so eager to get out of the country. The files contained information on a John Winchester and his two sons Dean and Sam. A mysterious house fire when the eldest was four years old seemed to have changed their lives for the worse. There were FBI files, most wanted lists, a string of robberies and fraud. Each arrest led to their deaths only to see them re-appear a couple of months later. Either they were true masterminds or they had a lot of help.
I had to meet these brothers but I didn't know how. There was no forwarding address and my contact was now missing in action. I thought about the Ghost Facers gang and wondered if the Winchesters hunted ghosts as well. Ghost hunters being on the most wanted list sounded ridiculous but then why did Ghost Facers continuously mention them in their videos? I hoped that the brothers didn't believe that crap and just told them silly stories to shut them up, like children asking 'why' all the time. But, just in case, I checked the internet for any recent unusual cases in the surrounding area and found one. A family was run out of their home by an angry intruder. Their dog didn't get out in time and was found nailed to the living room wall. I hoped the brothers would find the story as disturbing as I did.
*X*
For an hour, I leaned against an old tree across from the house. Yellow tape sectioned it off from the public and some inquisitive neighbours hovered around the edges. A black car pulled up and two men dressed like Bureau agents stepped out waving their badges. I tried to turn my attention back to my newspaper but my eyes wouldn't let me. It was them. "My God," I remembered whispering to myself. These men had balls. Balls... that's another definition of man but I'll get to that later. I don't know about you but if I was on America's most wanted list, the last thing I would do would be to impersonate an agent or any kind of police officer for that matter. I wondered how they hadn't been caught sooner. It only took me a couple of hours to track them down. The powers in charge were going to get a strong worded letter of complaint after this article.
Later that evening, I followed them back to a cheap dirty looking hotel. I pulled out my notes from my briefcase and settled in for a few hours research before I considered approaching them. Most of the warrants against them were for identity theft and credit card fraud but one of the first major warrants was against Dean in St Louis, Missouri in 2005. Two women were tied up, beaten and brutally murdered. Dean's clothes were found stained in their blood, the murder weapon was found in his care and two bullet wounds were found in his chest. According to the police report, Dean Winchester was dead and there was even a photo to prove it.
Darkness fell and I reached my hand up to switch on the overhead light to see my notes better. Someone tapped on my window and I was surprised to see Sam Winchester greeting me with a welcoming smile. Of course, this was just a ruse to allow his brother gain entry to my car. Why didn't I lock my car? Surely being on a stakeout, it would make sense to lock the doors. The older brother switched off the light quickly and asked me my business. Mind you, those weren't his exact words. What he actually said was; what are you? I didn't know how to respond to this so I told him the truth, "I'm a man." Upon hearing his, he reached into his pocket and threw, what I hoped was, water in my face. I wiped away the drops as Sam tapped on my window again and made a rolling motion with his fingers. What could I do? I was trapped in my own car. So, I rolled down the window for him.
"Who do you work for?" he asked leaning his head inside. I suddenly felt very claustrophobic and with my voice cracking, I told them which newspaper I worked for and the article I was doing on the Ghost Facers. "Those douche bags!" Dean growled in contempt. There was no jealousy there. "Maybe, he's telling the truth," Sam shrugged. "Maybe, he is just a man." Just a man! I suddenly felt quite offended. There was nothing 'just' about being a man and I was about to dispute his statement when I turned back to Dean. His eyes were darker than in the police photos. His face creased and his jaw was set in an angry position. He smelled like stale alcohol and fries. He wasn't a man to be messed with. "If you keep following us, you will get hurt," he threatened and left my car.
Sam tried to call his brother back and apologise to me at the same time. "That wasn't a threat," he tried to persuade me. It wasn't working. "Look," he sighed with a smile. He smelled like strawberries and vanilla and after noticing his long soft hair, I hoped it was the smell of his conditioner. "We're honoured that you would choose to write a piece on us especially over the Ghost Facers but... you don't want to do that." I could see him glance at my notes. All their warrants could be clearly seen. "It's too dangerous for you to follow us. Trust me we're only trying to protect you." I asked him from what but he just smiled sadly and walked away.
I remembered looking down at my hands after they re-entered their motel room. I had been holding onto the steering wheel so tightly after the brothers invaded my personal space that my knuckles were white. I checked myself in the rear view mirror. My face was still wet and looked drained. The short experience scared me. Never, in all my years, had I been so scared... but that fear was about to get a whole lot worse.
*X*
AN: So what'd you think? This is my first time writing in the first person. Thanks for reading.