So this story came about as a part of the #HellatusCompetition I'm a part of on Instagram. I got a HUGE response from it, so I decided to post it. The rules for this round of the competition were to write a story with yourself in the Supernatural world. And I thought, 'If I'm doing this, I'm going HARD." So, here is my fantasy of me ever getting on Supernatural. haha
This story is set during SPN's Season 2. After John's death, but before Sam's stint in Cold Oak and Dean's deal. The town, the people, and the "legend" are all creations of my own little mind. Enjoy!
The House at Briarwood Lake
For years (and years and years and years), there have been rumors that an old house on the outskirts of town is haunted. The House at Briarwood Lake has had thirty-six owners in its long and storied history.
None of them have lasted more than a year.
The ones that I can remember (which aren't many at all) are the Robinsons, who lived there for three months and four days, the Calhouns, who stayed for almost a year, and a weird old couple, the Millers, who stayed for only six weeks.
Mr. and Mrs. Miller moved in on a Sunday, and five Sundays later, only Mr. Miller moved out.
We don't ask questions.
At least, we didn't. Not until now.
Two weeks ago, Emily Masterson and her fiancé went to swim in Briarwood Lake. Now, everyone knows, only two things happen at Briarwood Lake. Fishing and … unmentionable things. Emily and her Ray didn't bring a fishing pole—or a swimsuit—on their trip, so …
Emily's sister Jada was the only one who knew where Emily was. In a town like ours, too small for a Walmart, but too big for trouble to miss, we had a system. Our parents were told one thing, and our one confidant was told the truth. Emily had Jada, I had Hailey Carmichael, and Josh Bowers had me.
Anyway, during Emily and Ray's … outing, they ignored the cold temperatures and the warnings of the stories we'd been told all our lives. The House was full of ghosts. Everyone knew that. But no one ever thought there might be a ghost in the lake.
Old Mr. Allen, who lived down the road from the haunted house, was the only one who heard the screams.
They found Ray floating upside-down in the middle of the lake. Not like a dead man float, like we used to do in the pool at the high school when we were playing around. No, his feet were sticking up out of the water, body in a perfect straight line, almost as if he was doing a handstand. Emily was on the bank, eyes wide open, body trembling, chocolate brown hair turned white as snow.
They admitted her to the psych ward that very same day. Jada and I have gone by there a few times, but Emily's never even acknowledged us. She just sits and stares. Sometimes tears roll down her cheeks, but mostly, she just sits.
And even hair dye won't affect her hair.
There was an article in the paper, of course. Town as small as ours, any old thing will do for a headline. Mr. Allen's forty-two pound pumpkin was the front page the day before. Emily's dead fiancé stayed news for weeks. I was working in the diner in town—the only restaurant unless you wanted to drive over to Natchez—when they walked in.
Two men, definite out-of-towners. They both wore suits, and not like the ones in the window at Mr. David's place. These men seemed to tower over everyone, and the one with the long hair seemed to tower over the man he was with. That one had bowlegs and a wicked grin, and damn if I didn't get roped in by it.
"Hey there, sweetheart. Can I get a cup of coffee?"
I remember blinking, feeling kind of like I was caught in a trap, but I managed a nod. The men folded themselves into a booth, the shorter one grabbing a menu and looking it over while the other man whispered to him. He commented every now and then, never above a whisper, and gave me a smile when I set his cup in front of him.
"Ah, thanks. Can I get one of Grandma's pancake breakfasts?"
"Sure. How do you like your eggs?"
He winked at me.
"Scrambled, please. Extra bacon?"
I gave him a smile of my own.
"Sure. And for you?"
The other man gave me a smile, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. There was something about the big man, something sad that made me want to just wrap him up and hold him. He spoke softer, his voice not as rough as the other man's.
"Oatmeal, please. Do you have wheat toast?"
I nodded, and he did the same.
"Two slices, please."
"Do you want fruit on your oatmeal?"
He stopped, glancing up at me.
"What kind do you have?"
"Strawberries, oranges, blueberries—"
"Blueberries."
They'd spoken at the same time. I glanced from the tall man to the other one, both of them giving me a shrug and a smile. I nodded slowly, making a note on my ticket book. I went to put their order in, glancing over my shoulder and watching as they leaned in close, whispering to each other. The taller man pulled out a thick leather journal and the other man's eyes went wide, a flash of something crossing his face before he seemed to shut down.
"Order up!"
I jumped before I took the plates Kenny pushed through the window, and I walked to their table, setting their breakfasts down. The taller one pushed the journal away from himself and the food, and the other man tore his eyes from it to look up and give me another smile, this one sad and a little haunted. I nodded, gave them the requisite "holler if you need anything" remark, and walked back into the kitchen.
I tried not to watch them as they ate, but that was a losing battle. The shorter man was much more interested in his food than anything else, and the taller guy was a perfect multitasker, scrolling through his phone or reading the journal in between bites. And he actually finished his food before the other guy.
I went to pick up their plates, refill their coffees—black for the shorter one, two sugars for the tall one—and get their checks ready. I watched, biting the inside of my cheek so I wouldn't laugh out loud at the silent conversation they had, ending in what I could only imagine was a look the taller one gave often, accompanied by a longsuffering roll of his eyes.
"Hey, sweetheart."
His voice was deep and rough, and I sure as hell loved the way it sounded. I smiled and raised an eyebrow, and he smiled back at me, straight white teeth showing between those plump lips.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
He glanced back at the other man, then reached into the pocket of his jacket, pulling out the article from the newspaper. I nodded slowly, then looked up to meet his eyes.
"You guys ghost hunters or something?"
His eyes were green. A beautiful, almost emerald shade of green. And they were full of amusement at the question I'd asked. The taller man gave a snort.
"Or something."
Green Eyes cleared his throat, and I bit my cheek again, trying not to laugh. I tapped the article with my fingernail.
"The House at Briarwood Lake. It's about two miles from the county line, way out in a section of town where like, the closest neighbor is at least a mile down the road. People have said that House was haunted my whole life."
"Haunted how?"
I raised my eyebrow again.
"Like by a ghost?"
The taller man couldn't hold back the laugh this time. Green Eyes gave him a look, and the taller one looked to me, a soft smile on his face.
"What kinds of things make people say it's haunted?"
I had to think about that for a second. It's just kind of common nature that the House is haunted. Everybody knows the legend, but whether that's true or not is anyone's guess. I thought back to slumber parties in elementary and junior high school, where ghost stories were a staple of the night, and if we really wanted to be scared, we got one of our parents to tell us the story of the House at Briarwood Lake.
"Well, the story is, the house was built right after the Civil War. A confederate general had the house built for his wife and their family. A few months after the house was finished, the general slaughtered his family, murdered all the men who helped him work on the house, and then killed himself."
I shrugged my shoulders.
"Of course, that is just a legend. Typical ghost story around these parts."
The men nodded at the same time, and Green Eyes sighed as he folded up the article and slid it back into his jacket pocket. He looked back up at me, and I gave him a smile.
"I've been up to the House exactly three times. Once, when I was thirteen, on a dare. Then when I was sixteen, after a football game. And graduation night. And every time, I got this feeling like something was crawling over my skin. It was so cold out there. Anytime you get near the lake, I swear the temperature drops."
The taller man narrowed his eyes at me, and I shrugged my shoulders.
"Weird thing is, if you go up there during the day, you can fish for hours and you're almost guaranteed to catch a shit-ton of fish. But if you go at night, no fish will bite and it's cold as hell."
I looked to Green Eyes, nodding at his jacket.
"Emily and Ray, though? They didn't go to the lake to fish."
"What did they go for?"
I imagine the look on my face looked a lot like the look on Green Eyes' face as we both turned to the taller man. I blinked once.
"Use your imagination."
He blushed, and I swear to God, it was the cutest thing I'd ever seen. Green Eyes nodded, reaching back into his pocket and passing over a business card.
"Listen, we're going to be in town for a few days, investigating this."
"Investigating?"
I glanced down at the card in my hand. Agent Dean Jennings with the FBI.
Oh.
Okay.
I nodded, and the taller man handed me another card—Agent Sam Nelson, this one said. Green Eyes—no, Dean. No, crap. Agent Jennings nodded to me.
"You think of anything else, give us a call."
I nodded, and he tucked some money beneath his coffee cup. Both of the men gave me a smile, sliding from the booth and leaving the diner. I watched them go, then looked back down at the cards in my hand.
"I'm just saying, two very attractive FBI agents? I will gladly jump on the welcoming committee."
I rolled my eyes, adjusting my sunglasses. Rebecca Moody, my best friend, giggled from her towel beside me.
"Seriously, though. Which one would you … welcome to town?"
"Christ, Becky. Get your head out of the gutter."
"Humor me. We know all the guys in this town. Fresh meat is exactly what we've been needing."
"Oh, keep going. Objectify them. Treat them like actual pieces of meat."
Becky blew out a breath, flopping back down on her towel.
"This kind of stuff only happens on TV. And instead of having a meaningful one-night-stand, we're laying here with you bitching at me about objectifying them."
"You used the words 'meaningful' and 'one-night-stand' in the same sentence."
Becky glanced over at me, and I shrugged my shoulders.
"Oh, shut up, Rachel."
I let out a laugh, shifting on the towel I was laying out on. Becky had a huge pool in her backyard, and we laid out by it at least once a week. We'd been seriously slacking lately, though. Today was going to make up for it.
"You think they're gay?"
I couldn't help the burst of laughter that came from my mouth. I propped myself up on my elbows, staring at Becky until she looked over to me.
"Why would it matter if they were?"
"It wouldn't! You know, I'm all for love. If it floats their boats, go for it."
"But …?"
Becky sighed.
"It would make so much sense. They're both jaw-droppingly effing gorgeous, so it's only natural they'd be gay."
I rolled my eyes.
"I did not get gay vibes from them."
"Really?"
To be honest, I was kind of famous for my "gay-dar."
"If anything, it was more of a brotherly kind of vibe."
"You think they're brothers? But they have different last names."
I raised an eyebrow at Becky.
"Have you been in town recently? How many siblings do you know that have the same last names?"
"Eh, good point."
I nodded, laying back down.
"Speaking of siblings … Where's your brother today?"
I shrugged my shoulders.
"He's supposed to work all day, I think."
"Yeah, or not."
I sat up again.
"What do you mean?"
Becky smiled.
"I heard rumors that a little get-together was happening up at the House, and you know Matt's the last one to miss out on a par-tay."
I rolled my eyes, going to lay back down, then sitting back up in a rush.
"Wait, did you say at the House?"
Becky nodded.
"The House where Emily's fiancé just died?"
Becky nodded again.
"You know how kids are. Looking for a thrill or whatever."
"Shit!"
I jumped up, grabbing my towel and pulling my extra-long t-shirt over my head. Becky sat up on her towel.
"Easy, killer. Where's the fire?"
"Matt shouldn't be up at the House. Not with the freakin' FBI in town."
Becky made a face as she realized what I was talking about. My brother had a small run-in with the law when he was younger, and when a judge told him that if he ever got in trouble again, he wouldn't hesitate to throw his ass in jail, our family kind of took it seriously.
"Ooh, you're right. Well, hang on. Let me grab my shirt."
"Hurry, Beck!"
I drove like a bat out of hell on the backroads to get to the House. I took the backroads because the cops were hardly ever out there, and since I knew literally every law enforcement officer, they overlooked my little red car. Gravel was flying when I finally put the car in park, yanking the door open and jogging over to the edge of the lake.
"Matt! Get your ass out of that water."
I saw his head poking out of the water, awfully close to this girl he'd graduated high school with a year ago. And she floated up just enough for me to see that she didn't have a top on.
"Christ. Get dressed and get out of the damn water."
"We're a little busy, Rach. Come back in a few."
"Matt, this is not a drill. Get out of the water."
I rolled my eyes at the look he gave me, but I turned around, closed my eyes, and shook my head as I crossed my arms over my chest. I heard the splashes and turned to see the girl giving me the death stare as she and my brother swam towards the dock.
"What's going on, fun sucker?"
I narrowed my eyes at my little brother.
"The FBI's investigating up here, and I don't want you to come down with another case of 'wrong place, wrong time.'"
Matt went still in the water, making a face, then nodding.
"I didn't know. Thanks."
"Oh, any time the 'fun sucker' can help out …"
I reached out to help the girl up onto the dock. Matt swam under her, giving her a push from that side. He laid his hands on the dock, pushing himself up.
"Rach!"
I looked just in time to see him fall back into the lake.
But it wasn't a fall.
Something had pulled him back in.
"Matt? MATT!"
I ran to the edge of the dock, looking around, and from the middle of the lake, my brother resurfaced, gasping for air and flailing around.
"HELP!"
He couldn't scream, because he was too busy trying to breathe. I, on the other hand, was a screamer from way back. A group of kids started running towards the dock, getting there about the time I dove off the end.
The water was freezing. It always was. However, this was the first time I'd actually ever been in the water. I'd always been the cautious one, the one freaked out by horror movies and ghost stories, and with the stories about the House, I'd always been too scared to do anything but dangle my feet in the water.
This was my baby brother, though.
I sucked in a huge breath when I surfaced from my dive, a good distance out from the dock. Those years on the high school swim team paid off, I guess. I pushed myself back under the water, doing my best to ignore the shock from the icy temperature. I surfaced again, looking around as best I could with lake water in my eyes. I saw Matt in the middle of the lake as he broke through the water, gasping and flailing around, tears soaking his cheeks. He tried his best to breathe, but all he could do was cough and gasp.
I pushed myself harder than I ever had before, keeping my hands reached out, feeling a relief wash over me when I grabbed his hand. I tugged as hard as I could, but something had a stronger hold on him than I did. I kept pulling on his arm, but it did no good.
Please, God. Please.
I let go of him and swam to the surface, gasping for breath. I tried to calm myself down, but my heart was beating way too fast.
Matt. Save Matt.
I sucked in as big a breath as I could, then dove back down, grabbing onto his hand, squeezing it to let him know I was here. He squeezed back weakly, and that broke something in me.
Let him go. Please. Please let him go. He's just a kid. He's just a kid.
I swam until I could wrap my arms around him, and I tugged with all my strength. We felt like we were turning upside-down, and all I could think about was Emily and Ray. They'd found him upside-down.
Please let him go. He's never done anything. He hasn't lived yet.
He's just a kid please let him go oh God help Matt no please—
Take me instead.
I gave one last pull, kicking my legs, sucking in a lungful of lake water in surprise when we moved. Matt was limp in my arms, but I kept swimming. It was hard to do, carrying the weight of my six foot three, two hundred and fifty pound little brother, but I gave it my all.
I broke the surface, coughing and gagging, trying not to let go of Matt or get pulled back under the water. I felt something brush along my feet, and I knew that this time, I was going to be the one they'd find in the water.
Let me get him out. Let Matt go and you can have me.
I felt a surge of strength somehow, and I swam with all I could. My eyes flew open when I felt Matt's weight shift off of me, and I looked to see him, the green-eyed FBI agent, fully clothed as he swam, helping me get my brother out of the water. We got to the dock and we pushed Matt up, to where the other agent was standing, taking him from us and pulling him onto the dock.
Green Eyes lifted himself onto the dock before he turned and held out a hand to me, and I shook my head.
"Make sure Matt's okay."
"Come on."
"No, you have to—"
I screamed before I went under.
The water was freezing. It always was, but this time, it felt like hundreds of thousands of needles peppering all over every inch of my skin. It hurt. The water hurt. That's why I stopped flailing around, stopped fighting. Just floating there didn't hurt. Just floating meant I couldn't feel the slimy, unbreakable hold on my wrists and ankles, steadily pulling me under. I gave in, feeling more lightheaded the longer I was under the water.
I'd never really thought about how I would die. I mean, I had weird dreams, panicky thoughts of what if the house burned while I was asleep or what if I had a wreck on the highway? But didn't everyone do that?
I can honestly say, I never thought I'd drown in Briarwood Lake.
And I didn't.
I gasped as my head broke the surface, arms and legs much too heavy to do any swimming at all. Nothing felt like it was holding me under the water anymore, no more of that tight grip around my ankles, no more icy needles along my skin. I could feel the warmth from the sun, and calloused hands under my arms, dragging me along.
"Shit, Sammy. Help me get her up."
"I got her, Dean. Come on."
Who was Sammy? I didn't know anyone named Sammy, did I? Someone coughed near me, and I heard a rhythmic thumping.
"I'm okay. Just … swallowed half the lake."
"How did you—"
"Grabbed a handful of iron nails from the trunk."
These voices were so familiar, but I couldn't remember why. I was having a hard time remembering anything. My ears were full of lake water, and my lungs burned with every breath I took.
"Hey, help me roll her onto her side."
Whoever that was … Sammy, I think, was suddenly at my left side, rolling me up onto my right. I coughed then, lake water sputtering out from my throat, and I coughed and gagged until I couldn't anymore.
I rolled to my back, slowly blinking my eyes open, staring up at the fluffy white clouds and the perfect blue sky. I felt a cool splash against my shoulder and I glanced over, to see the green-eyed FBI agent looking down at me.
"You okay?"
I nodded slowly, and he reached his hand over, taking hold of my wrist. I smiled when I realized that he was feeling my pulse, and he nodded before he let go, taking hold of my hands and helping me sit up. I coughed again, shivering, nodding up at whoever draped the towel over my shoulders. I pulled it closer around me, closing my eyes as I shivered again.
"Hey."
I looked over, green eyes boring into mine. My eyes are green too, but not like his. He blinked, then spoke again.
"Sorry, I don't remember your name."
I nodded.
"Rachel."
I coughed, shaking my head. My voice sounded gross, which was to be expected, considering the amount of nasty-ass lake water I swallowed. Ugh, I was going to throw up. That calloused hand touched me again, gently on my shoulder, and I coughed again.
"My name is Rachel."
"I wasn't paying attention at the diner. I'm sorry."
I nodded. Wasn't surprising, there. I was easy to overlook.
"Rachel, what do you feel right now?"
I looked over to him, then down at the dock.
"Right—right now? Cold. Like I'm going to throw up. Scared out of my mind."
"Can you tell me what happened?"
I looked over, meeting his emerald eyes. What was his name again? I thought for a minute, taking the time to stare at him.
Dean. Dean Jennings.
"Who are you?"
He looked down at the dock, out to the water. After a moment, he looked back to me.
"Can you just trust me?"
I just stared at him, and it felt like someone else was doing it when I reached over and took his hand. I nodded.
"Matt was in the water. He's my—my little brother, and I told … I told him to get out. He was—that's not important. But they were coming to get out and something … I don't know."
I looked out over the still water.
"He's a good swimmer. But something had him. Something was pulling him under, and—and he was in the middle of the lake."
I shook my head.
"I didn't think. I just dove off the dock. It was my brother, and something was in this water, and Emily's fiancé was killed here, and I … I couldn't lose Matt."
I was shaking now, but I didn't even realize it. Dean scooted closer to me, lacing his fingers through mine as he held my hand. I kept staring out at the lake as I talked.
"I got to him when he surfaced again, coughing and sputtering and trying to get away. I grabbed hold of his hand and pulled, but it was … it was like I was pulling against a car or something. There was no way I was moving him."
I blinked hard, trying to rid my eyes of the tears. It didn't do any good.
"I just kept thinking, please let him go. I couldn't say it out loud, because we were underwater, but I couldn't stop thinking it. He's just a kid, let him go. Please, let him go. And then I thought, take me instead."
I shook my head, letting out a shaky breath.
"I couldn't lose him. Matt and my mom—they're all I've got."
I looked down, holding tightly to his hand. I blinked away a few tears and looked to him.
"Do you have any idea what that feels like? Being willing to give your own life for someone else?"
He looked away, letting out a quiet laugh.
"Yeah, I do. I'd do the same thing in a heartbeat for my little brother."
I nodded, looking down at our hands. A sharp whistle caused us both to look back, and the tall guy Dean was always with—Sam—was motioning to him. Dean sighed, nodding his head.
"Listen, I want you to think hard about what happened here. If you can think of anything else, give me a call. You still have my card, right?"
I nodded, and he squeezed my hand before standing to his feet, making a face at the clothes that were plastered to his skin. However, he had managed to take his shoes and jacket off before jumping in the lake. I watched him walk away, saw the two of them climb into a kick-ass old car, the engine rumbling loudly as they drove away.
As soon as I'd been able to stand, I'd gotten as far away from that stupid lake as I could. I showered for a solid hour, shampooing my hair and scrubbing my body until I couldn't feel slimy lake water anymore. I didn't worry about drying my hair, and I know the sight of pure, wild frizz would probably scare a small child, but I didn't care.
Something wasn't sitting right with me.
I couldn't stop pacing around my bedroom. I had Dean's card in one hand, tapping it against the palm of my other hand.
Jennings. Dean Jennings. Special Agent Dean Jennings with the United States Federal Bureau of Investigation.
I shook my head. What the hell was wrong with me? Who was I to question a federal agent?
I blew out my breath, shaking my head as I tossed the card onto my bed. I sat at my computer desk, powering up my old computer and opening iTunes. I clicked on "Shuffle," then walked to my bed, sitting down once I'd pulled out my shoebox of sewing crap. I was trying to teach myself how to knit, but my brain just would not compute.
I looked up, squinting my eyes as an obviously old country song began to play through the computer speakers. Made sense, since I inherited this computer from my mom. I just couldn't bring myself to clean out her songs from the computer. Mainly because most of them were songs my dad loved. I stood up, going to change the song, when I actually heard what song it was.
"Mamas, don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys…"
I stopped, standing up straight and listening as Waylon and Willie sang the chorus. I'd heard the song a million times before. Daddy used to play it on his guitar. What was so different about this time? Absolutely nothing at—
I went still, turning to the bed, the little business card glinting in the light.
Son. Of. A. Bitch.
It didn't take much. Becky knew everything about everybody, and the things she didn't know, her mama did. Becky mentioned that I'd served some FBI agents in the diner the other day, and her mother went into this spiel about how the FBI should really do better for their agents—especially gorgeous ones like those two—and spring for a nice hotel instead of that rundown piece of crap almost on the outskirts of town.
I'd made my excuses and left my best friend's house, doing my best not to peel out of her driveway. I kept my speed at a reasonable level, trying to figure out what to say once I got there. I didn't turn the radio on; my thoughts were more than enough company.
I pulled into the gravel parking lot, getting out of my car and kicking the front tire of that beautiful old Chevy on principle. I marched into the front office, and with one look and a thinly veiled threat concerning his "secret" garden of marijuana plants, Lionel became a fountain of information, telling me exactly where the boys were staying.
I walked around to room 47, pounding on the door. After a few minutes, and more than a few suspicious sounds from inside, the door opened.
"Rachel?"
I didn't bother answering. I pushed Dean aside and walked into the room, setting my purse on the table. Sam sat on one of the two beds, confusion clear in his eyes. I turned to Dean, setting my hands on my hips.
"Who the hell are you?"
Dean shared a look with Sam, who shrugged his shoulders.
"I don't know what you're—"
"Oh, come on. Agents Jennings and Nelson? You're in Louisiana, for Christ's sake. Did you really think no one would put two and two together? Waylon Jennings and Willie Nelson are practically gods here."
Sam made a face, lowering his head. Dean let out a sigh, pushing a hand through his hair. I shook my head.
"So I'll ask again. Who the hell are you, and what are you doing here?"
The men shared a long look, before Sam let out a sigh.
"We're not FBI."
"No kidding."
He smiled softly.
"We're hunters."
I looked over to Dean.
"What, like deer or something?"
"Or something."
Dean spoke under his breath, then cleared his throat.
"We're here because of that House. It is haunted."
I blinked.
"Oh, boy. Look, those ghost hunters or whoever they are, with that TV show? They've already been out there. 'Confirmed' the ghost thing, but ghosts aren't real."
Dean bit his lip.
"Yeah, they are."
I closed my eyes. Now that makes sense. Someone as devastatingly handsome as Dean naturally would be a looney tune. Sam stood up, pushing his hand across his hair.
"I know it sounds crazy. But you … you have to trust us. We've been dealing with things like this our whole lives."
I shook my head.
"It doesn't just sound crazy. It—it is crazy. There's no ghost!"
"Then what was pulling your brother under the water? What was pulling you down?"
I turned to Dean, staring at him while he held my gaze.
"Think about it. There's no other explanation."
"Yeah, logic kind of goes out the window when you're dealing with Casper, huh?"
Dean looked over to Sam, who gave him a smile and a shrug. Dean shook his head, going for the mini-fridge in the corner of the room. He pulled a beer out and popped the top on it, taking a long swallow. He pulled another one out and motioned to me, and I almost shook my head. Then again, if we were going to have an actual conversation about a "real" ghost … I was going to need it.
Dean popped the top on the beer and walked over, handing it to me and handing Sam one of his own. Sam brought some papers over to the rickety little table and motioned for me to sit. I did, taking a sip of the beer. Sam nodded towards the papers.
"From what we've found out, the legend you told us in the diner the other day is the truth. Old confederate general builds this fancy house, then flips his shit. We went out there the other night and found a bunch of things that we—"
Sam stopped, then cleared his throat.
"That we burned to get rid of the ghosts."
"Burned? Wait, what kind of things?"
"Old things."
Dean grabbed the empty chair and turned it around, straddling it as he took another sip of his beer. I looked to Sam, who gave me a sheepish smile.
"The less you know is probably better."
I sat back, taking a long drink. Dean watched me, and Sam shook his head, pushing the papers around until he picked one up.
"Here. Since it was right around the Civil War, right after it, the general hired a bunch of recently freed slaves to help build the house. But when it was finished, he went out to the houses in the back where the men were staying while they were building, and he set each house on fire. No survivors there."
Sam picked up another piece of paper.
"Then the general went back into the house and this is where the story gets tricky. He had a wife and two kids, a boy and girl. No one knows for sure if he killed the wife first, then the kids, or vice versa."
I nodded, reaching to push a piece of paper aside.
"It makes sense that he'd do one before the other. Because … like if he went for the kids, the mother would have tried to stop him, right?"
"So it makes sense that he might have killed the kids and then drowned her in the lake, right?"
I looked to Dean, letting out a breath.
"Yeah, actually. That … that does make sense."
"So what if she's still there?"
I sat up straighter, pushing the papers around.
"Or what if he left her outside and said he was going to go get the kids and bring them to her?"
Sam turned to Dean.
"What if he killed her so fast she didn't even see it coming?"
Dean nodded slowly.
"Shot to the back of the head, maybe?"
"Maybe she fell into the lake."
Sam looked to me, then back to Dean.
"And what if she's still there, still waiting for the kids?"
Dean leaned back in his chair, lifting his hands to the ceiling.
"There it is."
Sam let out a laugh, shaking his head.
"Okay. So now we just have to find her."
I narrowed my eyes.
"You want to drag the lake or something? See if we can find a body?"
Sam lifted a hand, biting on his thumbnail.
"Ray Cortez was found floating upside-down in the middle of the lake."
"Matt was in the middle of the lake when I got him."
"And you were in the middle of the lake when I got you."
I glanced over to Dean, and Sam nodded.
"Something's holding her to the middle of the lake."
I shook my head.
"But … Matt was at the dock when something pulled him under. And when he surfaced again, he was in the middle of the lake. Same with—with me."
Dean sighed, running a hand down his face.
"They're all in there. Wife, kids. Vengeful spirits. Shit."
Sam laced his hands together behind his head, letting out a sigh. Dean stood up, going back to the mini-fridge and getting us all another beer. I was chewing on the inside of my lip before I finally spoke.
"What exactly is a vengeful spirit?"
Dean let out a laugh.
"Ghost on steroids. I hate vengeful spirits. Damn it."
Sam sighed, leaning towards me.
"Vengeful spirits can be more violent than regular ghosts are."
"'Can be?' Don't sugarcoat it, Sammy. Those sons of bitches suck ass."
I bit my lip, but when Sam smiled, I did, too. I nodded, glancing at the papers spread out across the table. I took in a breath, letting it out, then looking up.
"What do we do?"
"For the record … I'm not 100% on board with this."
"Your concern is noted … and quite frankly, appreciated."
"Both of you can just shut up."
I smiled at Dean's statement from my place on the dock. Sam was behind me, and Dean was in front of me. It was late, it was freakin' cold, it was dark, and like I'd come to notice long before this moment, things just seemed darker around the water. Dean shined the flashlight towards the water, and I shook my head.
"What exactly are you looking for? I mean, people are in this lake literally all the time. You honestly think a body wouldn't have been found beforehand?"
Dean blew out his breath and didn't answer me. I glanced back, and Sam shrugged his shoulders. I nodded, pursing my lips.
"Okay, cool. Good talk."
Sam laughed under his breath, and I looked towards the house, able to see my breath when I exhaled.
"What if they're not in the lake?"
Sam sighed.
"Everything's pointing at them being in the lake."
I nodded.
"Things usually go the way you expect them to?"
Sam went still.
"Shit."
I laughed under my breath and Dean walked to us from his place at the end of the dock. He rubbed his hands together, blowing into them and shivering in his jacket.
"I think we're barking up the wrong tree."
I went still at that, stepping up and grabbing the lapels of Dean's jacket.
"That's it."
I hurried down to the end of the dock—not the end on the water, the other one—and listened to the loud clomp of footsteps that followed after me. When I was on the ground and Sam and Dean were looking down at me from their places on the dock, I spoke.
"Have you guys ever dealt with the spirit of an animal?"
Back at the hotel, the guys sat on the bed with bottles of beer while I perused through the papers Sam had printed out from various articles he'd found at the library. Sam even let me use his laptop, which somehow was picking up Wi-Fi. I couldn't even get Wi-Fi on my phone out here. After what seemed like forever, I clapped my hands together when I finally found what I'd been looking for.
"The general's son had a dog that was used for hunting purposes. Nothing new, practically everyone around here has a hunting dog. Anyway, the dog was just a puppy when he jumped into the lake and got tangled up in something and ended up drowning. A year or so later, the general went on his killing spree."
"Great. So we got Cujo in the lake."
"Yeah, but is he the only one? I mean, maybe the kids and the wife are in the lake, too?"
I sighed, pushing through the papers. Something sparked in my mind from a paper I'd written in high school, and I turned to the computer, typing in a few things in the Google search box. I perused the eight million or so hits the words had turned up, finally finding the one credible article I'd used. A few more clicks, a little light reading, and I sat back with a sigh.
"Guys?"
They turned to look at me, and I motioned towards the laptop.
"I didn't even think of this until right now. We all had to write a paper on the house and the legend in a creative writing class in high school. We all had to come up with different interpretations, but we had to know the real story first."
Dean stood up, walking over and standing behind me, reading over my shoulder. I turned my head and caught his eye, before we both turned back to the computer.
He smelled fantastic—but that was not what was important.
"Apparently, when the town heard what happened, they all kind of got together and decided what should be done. The general was stripped of his military title and given a kind of Viking funeral. All his military regalia put on his body, placed in a little pirogue and sent out on the lake."
"Hang on. What the hell is a pee-row?"
I smiled, glancing up at Dean.
"It's a Cajun term. A pirogue is … basically, a little rowboat. Flat bottom, easy to maneuver in swamps and stuff. And, apparently, easy to burn."
I scrolled down a little more in the article.
"After the general was extra-crispy, his wife and children were buried together, in a mausoleum in the city cemetery over in Natchez. About forty minutes from here."
Dean nodded.
"Okay, but how did you know about the kid's dog?"
"Read about it in the history of the house and the family. And—"
I let out a breath.
"There's a ball the dog used to play with in a glass case in the House."
Dean thumped his fist on the table and glanced over to Sam. Sam nodded, a smile crossing his face.
"Okay. So we need to grab that ball, burn it, find the mausoleum and send the family to their rewards. Or whatever."
Dean nodded.
"Should we split up? I'll take the mausoleum and you take Fido?"
"Uh, hello?"
The boys looked over to me, and I waved a hand.
"You don't think I'm gonna sit back and wait on you, do you? I'm all in."
I watched them exchange a silent look and I blew out my breath.
"Seriously?"
"We don't take civilians out on stuff like this."
"'Civilians?' What are you, a secret agent? No, I'm coming with you. Those … things almost killed my brother. And then me!"
"Exactly why you need to stay put."
I glared at Dean, and he sighed.
"They've got you on a … hit list or something."
He shook his head.
"I'm not taking the chance. Sammy can go to the cemetery and I'll go back to the house, make sure everything works out."
"And what am I supposed to do? Just sit back and twiddle my thumbs?"
Dean looked over at me, green eyes full of something I wasn't sure what to name. It made me stop, though, and I swallowed hard.
"Sit here. When it's over, we'll all meet up and find a place to celebrate."
I blinked, my eyes locked on his. After a moment, I nodded, and Dean tapped his hand on the table again before walking over and speaking softly to Sam. I lifted a hand to my stomach, shaking my head.
The next night, I stood at the doorway of the hotel room, watching as they climbed into that old Chevy. Dean opened the driver's side door, turning back to look at me, holding my eyes for a moment, then climbing into the car. I listened to the engine growl as they pulled out of the parking lot, and watched until I couldn't see the taillights anymore.
I sighed, walking back into the room and closing the door behind me. I gave the room a once-over, then let out a laugh.
"If they honestly think I'm staying here, they've got another thing coming."
I parked my car about a mile from the House, taking my time walking to it. It was dark, so the woods were extra creepy, but I did my best to ignore it. My mind was kind of full of green eyes and a funny looking little necklace.
I let out a breath of relief when I saw the House. There were plenty of trees that weren't anywhere near the lake, so I figured I could just hide behind one of those and watch. Everyone would be fine with that, right?
Until I heard the splash.
I took off at a run, which is really saying something. I don't run. Ever. But I was running now. I stopped at the end of the dock, letting my eyes adjust to the inky-black darkness, sucking in a breath when I saw the figure splash up out of the water.
"DEAN!"
There was no way I'd be able to get him out. If I jumped in, the ghosts or whatever would take me and let him go, right? I was on their hit list, wasn't that what he said? I heard something, a tinny, muffled sound, and I glanced down at my feet.
How in the hell was there a cell phone there?
I picked it up, closing my eyes for half a second when I heard Sam's rather frantic voice.
"Sam!"
"Rachel? What the hell—how do you have Dean's phone? Where is he?"
"He's in the lake! What do I do?"
"Shit!"
I listened to the rustling on the other end of the phone, heard a whooshing noise that kind of threw me off, then Sam came back on the line.
"Is he all right? Has anything changed?"
I looked out, saw Dean's head barely above the water as he gasped for breath. I shook my head, breathing way too fast. The adrenaline had kicked in, and I held the phone against my ear as I yanked my jacket off.
"No, he—he's still out there. Sam, he's—"
"Listen to me. You have to go in the house and find the dog's ball."
"Dean is—"
"He'll die if you don't do this."
I stopped at that. I looked out again, over the lake, and saw him coughing as he seemed to be treading water.
"Hang on, Dean!"
I didn't stop to see if he'd heard me. I just turned and ran, listening as Sam talked to me as I snuck in the basement window, the one we'd propped open as kids and used to sneak into the House. They'd never got around to installing a security system, which I was thanking God for right then. I ran up the stairs and into the living room, glancing around. The ball was …
Upstairs in the kid's room.
I ran up those stairs, never even getting winded. I broke the glass case, feeling maybe a little bad for doing it, and reached inside, grabbing the ball. I ran back down the stairs, walking out the front door this time, instead of the window. I ran to the dock, stopping as I looked over the surface of the lake, which was calm and still.
"Dean? Dean!"
He surfaced in the middle of the lake then, coughing and gagging.
"Sam, what do I do?!"
"Burn it."
"What?"
"Light the damn thing on fire, now!"
Dean had dropped a lighter beside his phone, and I thanked God again for my luck. I picked up the lighter and flicked it on, waiting until the rough exterior of the ball had caught the flame. I held it for as long as I could, then dropped the ball off the side of the dock, watching as it landed in the grass, continuing to burn. I looked out, in time to see a flash of light in the middle of the lake, before waves rocked the entire body of water.
"Rachel? Rachel!"
I shook my head, scanning the lake.
"Sam, he's … I don't see him."
I looked around, feeling the blood rush from my head as I looked out at the middle of the lake. As the waves calmed back down, I saw two booted feet sticking up out of the water.
"NO!"
I dropped the phone, hearing Sam scream my name. My jacket was already gone, and I kicked my shoes off a second before I dove into the water.
It wasn't cold anymore, I noticed somewhere in the back of my mind. I couldn't focus on anything else, though. Nothing but swimming and getting to Dean. I surfaced for a breath and saw that he was within reach. I dove down again, and easily grabbed onto his torso. I managed to turn him right-side up as I swam, coughing and trying to breathe when we surfaced again.
He was heavy, but I swam with every ounce of strength I had, finally getting him out of the water and up on the grass. There was no way I'd get us both up on the dock. I climbed out of the lake, taking hold of the collar of his shirt and dragging him up the bank. I coughed and shook my head when I knelt beside him, trying to get the water out of my ears as I leaned over and listened to him breathe.
Except, he wasn't.
"No, no, no. Come on. Breathe."
I touched two fingers under his jaw, letting out a shaking breath when I didn't feel anything. I leaned over, pressing my lips to his, blowing a breath into his mouth. I climbed up onto my knees, fixing my hands in the position I'd been taught years ago, leaning to set my shoulders over my hands and began pushing down, forcing his heart to beat.
"Come on, Dean. Don't do this."
I couldn't talk much, because I was too focused on counting. Thirty pumps on his chest, then I stopped, leaning over and fixing my lips on his, blowing air into his lungs again. I watched his chest rise and fall as his lungs expanded, and I went back onto my knees, pumping my hands on his chest. Was it two or three cycles before I could check his pulse again? I didn't really think about it, until I went to breathe for him again. I rested my ear near his nose, eyes on his chest. When I didn't feel him exhale, or see his chest rise or fall in those few seconds, I jumped into action again.
I didn't really feel the muscles in my arms start to burn. I shook my head after breathing into his lungs, trying to fight off the light-headedness. I kept pushing myself, forcing myself to keep going. I wasn't giving up. Not this time. Not this guy.
"Damn it, Dean. Come on! Breathe!"
I leaned down again, laying my lips on his, jerking back when he coughed. I pushed on him until he rolled onto his side, and I hung my head while he coughed and gagged, spitting up lake water. I lifted a hand, resting my mouth against my wrist, closing my eyes while I listened to him cough and breathe. Tears came to my eyes when I felt a rough hand reach back, and I laced my fingers through his, resting my palms on his.
He rolled onto his back, letting out a long breath.
"Thanks for not listening."
I let out a laugh, wiping the tears from my eyes.
"Thanks for dropping your phone on the dock."
He looked over at me, and I shrugged my shoulders.
"Sam talked me through it. Although he's probably breaking land-speed records to get here now."
Dean nodded, letting out another breath. He groaned as he went to sit up, and after a minute of struggling, he let me help him. Once he got his bearings, we moved to sit on the dock. I sat beside him, shoulder touching his, and we let our legs hang off the side. After a while of not saying anything, just looking up at the stars, Dean spoke.
"So, it was the dog?"
I nodded.
"Seems that way. You were kind of floating there, treading water, and when I burned the ball, there was this flash of light and waves rocking the lake. When the waves calmed, I saw your feet sticking up."
I shivered, and Dean slipped his arm around me. We were both soaked, and the night wasn't exactly the warmest, but there wasn't any place I'd rather be. We glanced over when we heard the sound of tires spitting rocks, and Dean smiled.
"Well, that'll be Sammy."
I smiled back at him, nodding my head. A second or so later, the car shut off and we watched a long figure in the shadows run as fast as he could to the dock. Dean and I lifted a hand, and Sam hung his head, grabbing onto one of the poles on the dock.
"You scared the hell out of me."
"Well, you're not the only one."
Dean slid his arm around me again, pulling up right next to his side. Sam walked over and sat beside us, a little ways down. He glanced off the end of the dock and saw the little patch of scorched grass.
"So it was the dog?"
I smiled, nodding. Sam nodded back, looking over at Dean. We sat in the silence, letting everything soak in, until Dean finally cleared his throat.
"Well, I don't know about you two, but I could use a shower. And a beer or seven."
I laughed, nodding my head.
"Yeah, I've got water in my ears."
I shook my head, lifting a hand to hold over my ear. Dean smiled, taking the hand Sam offered and standing up. I smiled when Dean held out a hand to me, and I slid my hand into his, letting out a groan when I got to my feet.
"Hey, what—"
My sentence, whatever it was going to be, got cut off when plump lips pressed against mine. My eyes drifted closed and my hands came up to grip strong, muscled arms. Those arms came around me, pulling me close, until I was pressed tight to a warm, wet chest. My hands slid up into wet hair, and I smiled against the lips moving with mine.
A throat cleared behind us and Dean sighed. He pressed his lips to mine one more time, then stepped back, giving my hands a squeeze before he dropped them. He gave me a cocky smile.
"Thanks for saving me."
I smiled back.
"You're welcome."
They gave me a ride back to my car, insisted on following me back to town. I waved when I pulled into my driveway, watching as they drove away. I had the weirdest feeling in the pit of my stomach, like that was the last I would see of them. I tried my best to shake it off, through my warm shower and putting my pajamas on.
My mom was working the night shift at the hospital, and my brother was God knows where, so I was on my own tonight. It was already past midnight, and I could tell sleep wasn't going to come easily. I walked downstairs, wrapped in my little robe with the tiny elephants all over it, hoping there was some chocolate milk in the refrigerator.
Comfort food, and all.
I walked on my tiptoes to the fridge, because I could, and smiled when I saw the chocolate milk. I reached for a glass in the cabinet, letting my hand fall when a soft knock sounded on the back door. I let the refrigerator shut as I walked over, glancing out the curtain and smiling. I opened the door and leaned against the frame.
"Hey, stranger."
Dean gave me that same smile, and I stepped back so he could walk inside. I shut and locked the door behind him, because I'm paranoid like that, and turned to face him.
Those rough hands cupped my face so gently, and my eyes shut around the time his lips touched mine. My hands came up to touch his elbows, sliding up the backs of his arms, swallowing the quiet grunt he made. He pulled back far enough to look into my eyes, speaking softly.
"We're leaving in the morning."
Somehow I knew that was coming, and it didn't make it any easier. I nodded, and Dean rubbed his thumb over my cheekbone. I swallowed, looking up at him.
"But we've got tonight."
Green eyes seemed to burn as he stared at me. I swallowed again, going up on my tiptoes to kiss him. I let out a shocked laugh when his hands were suddenly in my hair, and my back was against the wall. He kissed me once, and then again, before he lifted me up in his arms, carrying me up the stairs.
I couldn't help it; I latched onto his neck while he was carrying me, leaving my mark in a dark bruise on his neck. He had a smirk on his face, like he knew exactly what I'd done, but neither of us mentioned it. I motioned towards my room, and he walked into it, laying me down on the bed and slipping his jacket off before walking over and pushing the door shut.
To my unending surprise, I didn't cry when I woke up alone, with a rose from one of my mom's bushes on the pillow beside me. I made myself smile at the flower, ignoring the pain in my heart. I'd known this would happen. I knew he wasn't going to stay. He was a drifter, a ramblin' man from way back, and I did my best to shake it off.
The days went by like they did before, with the news of Emily's dead fiancé and Emily in the crazy house becoming old news, along with the mysterious FBI agents who were here one day and gone the next. Weird things stopped happening at the House, and I was the only one not surprised by that.
Life went on the way it always had, until one day, late in the Indian summer we'd drifted into.
She was a tiny thing, much shorter than me, boots making a clicking noise as she walked across the floor. She took in the décor of the diner slowly, wrinkling her nose at a few pictures on the wall. I raised an eyebrow as I watched her, sighing when she sat in one of the many empty booths that day. I looked around, and seeing that all my co-workers had deserted me, I walked up to her table.
"Hey there. My name's Rachel and I'll be taking care of you today. Can I get you something to drink?"
She glanced up, dark eyes locked on me while her full lips curled into a closed-mouth smile.
"I don't think I'm going to be ordering anything today."
She had the slightest hint of a lisp, and she lifted a hand to flip her long, brown hair off her shoulder. I nodded slowly, uncomfortable at the way she wouldn't take her eyes off of me. I took a step back, and she let out a quiet laugh.
"Where you going?"
I forced myself to smile at her.
"If you're not ordering anything, there's really no reason for me to hang around."
She rolled those pretty eyes and waved a hand towards the menu.
"Bring me some French fries."
I nodded, turning to go to the kitchen window.
"Hey Kenny, can you fix me up some fries?"
I wrote on a ticket for the girl, waiting for the usual confirmation Kenny gave that he'd heard me.
"Hey Ken, did you hear me? Fries?"
Still no answer. I turned and walked to the door, pushing it open.
"Kenny, what are you—"
I dropped my ticket book and whirled around, grabbing onto the edge of the counter. I closed my eyes, leaning over, fighting back the urge to vomit. Kenny was … Kenny was dead. Kenny was floating face-down in the fryer, boiling grease roiling and popping all around him, and I was too scared to go and look for anyone else. I straightened up, enough to hear a smug little laugh come from the booth.
She stood up, straightening her leather jacket, brushing off her black jeans. She flipped her hair off her shoulders and slid her hands into her pockets.
"Let's get down to business, all right? I'm on a bit of a deadline."
"Who are you? What do you want?"
She smiled that closed-mouth smile again.
"I want you to tell me everything you know about the Winchesters."
I narrowed my eyes, and she lifted an eyebrow.
"Don't play dumb with me. Everything you know about Sam and Dean, tell me now, and I'll make your death as painless as possible."
I swallowed, shaking my head.
"Who are you?"
She tilted her head, closing her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again, I felt my back hit the wall. Her eyes, a pretty chocolate brown just a moment ago, were now a deep, ominous black. I could see nothing but a deep, empty darkness. She blinked again, and her eyes went back to normal.
"Everything you know. Now."
I opened my hand on the wall, deciding to try my luck and slowly making my way behind the bar. It was really just a long counter, since no alcohol was served in the diner. She followed me, on the other side of the bar. There was nothing I could use to fight her. Nothing to get her to back off, other than a bunch of dull butter knives. I heard something, a low, humming, a kind of buzzing noise, and I glanced around. She snapped her fingers twice and I met her eyes, seeing the irritation growing on her face.
"Deadline, sweet cheeks. Remember?"
I nodded, trying to fight back the panicky feeling that suddenly filled my stomach. I shook my head once and she sighed, clicking her tongue.
"And here I thought you might be smart."
She opened her mouth, jumping back when a salt shaker at the end of the bar suddenly slid down the entire length of the bar, leaving behind a thin, unbroken trail of salt in its wake. She glared at the salt, then at me.
"How did you do that?"
I shook my head, both of us looking up as the lights surged brighter for a second, then went back to normal. When they did it again, going dimmer and then brighter, she took a step back, shaking her head.
"Oh, you have got to be kidding me!"
I shook my head, jumping when the light over the booth she'd been sitting at blew, sending sparks and shards of glass raining down onto the table. One by one, the lights above the other booths did the same thing, and the buzzing sound I'd heard seem to intensify. She shook her head, eyes going completely black again. The overhead lights crackled before they blew, and I lifted my hands to my ears as a high-pitched squeal seemed to sound. She pointed to me.
"This isn't over! Not by a long damn shot!"
She ran out of the diner, causing the bell over the door to ring as she did. I wanted to go lock the door behind her, but the ground seemed to be shaking, and that high-pitched sound seemed ready to shatter both of my eardrums, and all I could do was crouch down, pressing my hands over my ears and praying it would be over soon.
And it was. The noise stopped, even the buzzing I'd first heard, and everything was still. I stood up slowly, shakily, coming to a stop when I saw a man turning the lock on the door.
Great. Because this day wasn't already perfection.
I crouched down low again as he turned around, and I got a good look at his face.
He was tall, like Dean had been, but not as tall as my brother, or Sam. He wore a beige trench coat, of all things, and a suit with a blue tie that was backwards. His hair was as black as the girl's eyes had just gone, but his eyes were a crystal blue. He walked around the counter and stood before me, reaching out a hand.
"There's nothing to be afraid of."
I blinked, but set my hand in his, letting him help me up. I immediately took a step backwards.
"Who are you?"
He looked around, walking to push open the kitchen door, then coming back to the middle of the diner.
"She won't come back here."
"Okay. Good. Who … who was she?"
He walked back to the door, looking out of it.
"Her name is Ruby. She's a demon."
"Yeah, I—I thought so. Her eyes were …"
I shook my head.
"Look, thanks for whatever this was, but—"
"We need to get out of here."
"Whoa, wait. What?"
He stepped across the restaurant, shoes crunching over broken glass, doing a double-take at the salt line along the bar. He looked out the windows on the other side of the diner, shaking his head.
"We have to go, now."
"Go where? And why?"
His eyes were so intense, full of determination.
"Ruby works for a demon named Lilith. She's powerful and she's trying to destroy you."
"Me? What the hell does she want with me? I'm a waitress!"
The man walked back to the door, and I blew out my breath.
"Would you stop pacing for a damn minute and talk to me?"
He looked my way, and I sighed.
"What does Lilith want with me?"
"You have the one thing that can stop her."
"Stop her from what?"
By the look in his eyes, I didn't want to know the answer to that question. I took a tentative step out from the bar.
"That girl … Ruby?"
He nodded.
"She was asking me about Sam and Dean."
He nodded again.
"Why does she think I know something about them?"
"The same reason Lilith is coming for you. The same reason I've been charged with protecting you."
I blinked, and he turned to look out the window again. I rolled my eyes.
"And that reason would be?"
He nodded, seeming to ignore my question, and I let out an exasperated breath.
"Who the hell are you?!"
He let out an exasperated sigh of his own.
"I am an angel of the Lord."
My eyes must have looked like they were going to bug out of my head.
"Pardon me?"
"I was sent here to collect you and take you away where Lilith cannot find you."
"'Collect me?' for what purpose?"
"To protect you."
I went to speak again, and he sighed, shaking his head.
"It's not necessarily you I'm protecting, but for the time being, that's what you need to know."
I shook my head, and the man turned to face me.
"Lilith has uncovered the one thing that can stop her, that can bring the elaborate plan she's crafted crashing down in a matter of seconds."
"And that would be … what? Me?"
"Not you. By association, yes. But not you specifically."
"I am so confused."
I shook my head, and the man walked to me.
"You'll understand, in roughly eight more months."
I looked up, meeting his blue eyes. Realization hit me, and I gasped, one hand drifting down to my stomach. He nodded, reaching a hand out, touching two fingers to my forehead.
And then, all I knew was darkness.