Historian's Note:
This story takes place during the third season of "Supernatural."

PIECE OF ME
Written by Maniae

Some assembly required…
Sam heads back to Stanford after he hears that news that one of his friends was murdered on campus. Sam and Dean must go undercover to catch the murderer who seems to have a fetish for collecting human body parts. But college life isn't quite like Sam had once remembered.

PROLOGUE

She ran.

Heart pounding, blood rushing, and limbs aching; the pretty girl ran fast. The hem of her nightgown was soaked in mud, and splatters of blood stained her silk dress. Panting with fear and strength, the girl scammed into the woods. She winced when fallen tree branches and sharpened rocks sliced into her bare feet. Blood seeped through the newly opened wounds and stained her skin. Despite the pain, the girl carried on. She would not stop, and in spite of her swollen and bloody feet her pace only strengthened.

Every moment when she had the chance the girl would take a brisk glance over her shoulder; just to see if the attacker were still pursuing the chase. She could not see them, but that did not mean that they were not there. Her heart beat was rapid, and sweat poured onto her skin. She cringed. The pain in her lower and upper limbs only increased. She could sense eyes on her. She knew they were here, somewhere; waiting for her. The girl glanced around, but again she could not see anything save the darkened trees and moss. She listened hard to the sounds that surrounded her. The only thing that could be heard was an eerie silence that seemed to chill her blood.

The girl could barely see where she was going. It was so dark, and she had no source of light. The full above was barely any help, as it was near invisible under a layer of thick storm cloud. She did the best she could. The girl used her shaking hands to feel around the darkness. Mostly she felt for trees, and anything else that would enable her to trip or slam into.

In attempt to prevent herself from tripping, the girl hastily tugged on her silk skirt and then pulled it up to a short length just above her grazed knees. The girl darted under hanging tree branches and dashed over roots. Under a large tree, she fell and rolled, and then with all the strength she had left she heaved herself over a rusting iron gate.

As she dived down over the other side she took a one second breather. She clutched an aggravating stitch in her side with one hand, while the other hung freely at her side.

She flew through the cemetery now. The moonlight was talented at highlighting her surrounding's nightmarish setting and the names on the overgrown headstones. Her heart beat was more rapid than ever. A chill ran through her; first it crawled across her skin, then her spine, and eventually it had coursed through her bones. Please let me live, she prayed. Please let me live. I don't want to die, not this way.

The girl scurried past another large and eerie looking tombstone. She tried to keep her eyes focused ahead, though every so often her eyes would trail off in the direction of another intimidating headstone. The girl shook her head. That's not going to happen to me, she thought stubbornly, because I am going to live. But her stubborn thought had been more of a wish than actual knowledge. She gasped; suddenly someone or something solid made heavy contact with the back of her shins. The girl fell painfully to the moist earth. Mud splattered her face.

Scrambling back on two feet, the girl looked up to find a figure standing over her. Squinting, she tried to make out their face but no such luck. There face was hidden behind a knitted hood. She let out a bloodcurdling scream. The figure did not even flinch. Through the few gaps that made parts of the stranger's face visible, the girl could see his thin lips curve into a sneer.

"Bethany," the stranger scolded her. "Beth, where do you think you're going?"

The girl named Beth widened her eyes; though not due to fear but more relief. She sighed. She had recognized the voice immediately. "It's you," she breathed. She held her hand over her steadying heart. The pace of her breathing had begun to soften. "Thank god."

"What's the matter Beth?" her friend asked, almost sarcastically.

Beth's eyes narrowed. "Someone's trying to kill me. Either that or play some stupid prank on me," she answered in a rasp. "But, but it is okay now. You're here." She was moment away from moving forward, but her friend held out a hand for her to stop. Her brows knitted. "What is it?" she asked him. But her friend said nothing in return.

Beth frowned, and then steadily began to back away. Something wasn't right. She could sense that something was wrong as her friend brought his hands out from the behind his back. She let out another scream when she saw what he was hiding.

The long and sharpened blade of a hunting knife seemed to almost glisten in the hardly there moonlight. His palms fastened around the blade's handle. Beth opened her mouth. She wanted to scream again, but before she had the chance, she felt the burning ache of the knife as it pierced into her stomach. Her pupils enlarged, her eyes began to water, and blood trickled from the two corners of her mouth. She tried to scream but only a soft rasp would come out. But there was no point in screaming; no one would hear her. Everyone was asleep and tucked into their warm beds, whereas she plummeted helplessly to the floor. The blood chilling silence seemed to almost dim her feeble whimpers.