Beginning the Hunt
Prologue
November 4th, 1983
John Winchester sat at the tiny table in his room at The Ridley Inn, which happened to be the only place in Lawrence with an available room. Looking behind him at the queen size bed, he watched his eldest son sleep peacefully while his youngest lay in the crib beside the table. The crib was one of few things John had bought since his wife's death two days before, including clothes for himself and the boys.
Everything the Winchesters had ever owned was in their house, and now it was probably all gone, burned to the ground. But since that day hardly anything had changed for them, despite their surroundings and one less person. It was odd, almost disappointing, that everything seemed normal to them, at least that's what John thought. Sammy was too young to understand what had happened to his mother and his home, he was only six months old after all. But surely Dean would understand, or show some signs of missing his mother. But during the days the four year old usually sat watching TV or keeping his baby brother from disturbing their father.
Over the two days, friends and the little family that lived close had come to the inn baring gifts for the boys and they tried to console John as best they could. Saying usual nonsense such as they 'knew how he felt' or he 'had a right to feel angry or sad.' 'How can they know how I feel?' John asked himself. You see, the truth was that while the twenty-eight year old was indeed both sad and angry over Mary's death, he was confused more than anything else.
For two days straight he just sat at the same little table staring out into space, recalling the memory of that night. The seconds he spent in the nursery would haunt him forever, he knew. But a moment didn't go by when he didn't second-guess himself about exactly what he saw there. It was absurd – impossible, really, for Mary to be pinned to the ceiling. And the fire… how did that start? Of course, John also considered the thought that someone or something had killed her. But there were two problems with that theory. One, there was no man or animal strong enough to lift a woman to the ceiling and pin her there. And two, all the windows and doors in the whole house were locked. Not even a mouse could've gotten in without leaving a trail. All this led the man to think that what he saw was just a bad nightmare, which was, in fact, what it had turned into.
John also thought about what would've happened if he hadn't gone to watch TV in the living room that night. Maybe if he stayed behind he could've gotten to the nursery before Mary. Even kill whoever – or whatever – destroyed his family. 'If only I could go back…' he thought repeatedly. Alas, he could not. And so he knew he'd have to deal with the death and his visions all alone – and very soon, too.