Born On A Crossroad
Each time the first word of a paragraph/sentence is in bold, it just means that I've skipped ahead in time and that's my way of letting you know.
Ramona Colvin stopped at a gas station in the middle of no where to let her dog, Apache, out for a pee break and to look at the map again, stretching it out over the hood of her ancient 1997 Saturn Station Wagon. Before she knew where she even was on the map, it was certain Ramona was lost.
Her fingers came up to rake through her long black hair, her other hand resting on her waist.
Exit seventeen off the interstate was supposed to lead her to a town that had some low spiritual activity. Low key supernatural stuff she felt she could handle. Well, try to, at least. Everything she needed to know should have been in her dad's junkie old journal. He was a hunter and secretive enough that his children didn't know what he was. Apparently, he was very good at what he did, too. He died recently, and that's when she found his journal; originally to find out the way he wanted to be buried. Ramona's mother was inconsolable, wanting to stay by herself for days and decisions had to be made. She had a responsibility, as the most responsible child, to make her father's funeral arrangements, but his journal uncovered more than she had originally bargained for.
What she did uncover was more than last wishes. It blew the top off, turning her family into a confusing jumble of grief and mistrust. Not only against her father but her uncle Trey. He was in it, too.
After the back lash from the family, Ramona's uncle left the funeral, slamming his truck door and leaving in a rush.
His body and mangled truck showed up in a ditch the next morning.
While most of the family wrote it off, making excuses to cover up what they called fairytales, some of the people excepted it and finally had answers to things they had been questioning all their lives.
Like why two brother, whom owned their own 'pest control' business, would have to go out of town for business. They were getting rid of pests, but not bugs or small yard rodents. They were hunting down demons and witches, ghouls, ghosts, and vampires.
Ramona was a lost general education freshman that taught karate in her spare time for cash. Until recently. Ramona had, up until then, been everything a nineteen year old should be.
A year later, and she was everything a twenty year old shouldn't be. She was technically home less, hunted after creatures no one believed in, with no job, and no 'future'. Her mother was so angry.
Little did anyone know, Ahlia Colvin, Ramona's mother, knew and supported what her father and uncle did all along. She stayed home and raised children while they rid the world of evil. Ahlia chose cooking, cleaning, and raising children over hunting, but she was pretty damn good at what she did. She believed that you had to find the few things you were good at in life and work at it until you were perfect. Slacking was almost worse than murder in her eyes. But she did not approve of this. Hunting was a 'man's job'.
Ramona and her mother never saw eye to eye. When Ramona was sixteen, Ahlia bought her the 1997 Saturn Station Wagon in hopes she would get off her ass and learn to drive. Now, it was similar situation. She had been hanging on making her decision for a month after the funerals before she brought the situation to her brother. He, Luke, had gone to their mother for advice on what to tell Ramona, and that's where everything blew up in her face.
Ahlia was so strongly and violently apposed to idea that it had pushed Ramona in the opposite direction she had been trying to steer her.
Now, Ramona was lost in the middle of Wyoming, stuck between a hard place and a rock.
"Apache," Ramona turned, her arms welcoming as she bent down to par with the German Sheppard Chow mix, nuzzling his furry tan neck with a sigh. "Bud, I think we're lost. That's what happens when bad boys drool on momma's up to date, fancy, new atlas and she has to rely on a twenty year old map from her Papa's journal. Ok?" She kissed his neck before standing up, hardly bothering to wipe the long dog hair from her red Mississippi State pull over. "No mo droolin'!"
This time, both her hands came to her waist, her face blank as she let out a long sigh. Her eyes closed in thought before she loaded Apache back into her car. He was a medium weight dog with a lot of fur, making him appear much larger. Apache was training to become a police dog when a nose injury landed him in the pound, where Ramona found him.
Her phone rang as she went further down the two lane road into, hopefully, Afton, Wyoming. "Hello," she spoke politely into the receiver.
"Ram?" She immediately recognized the voice as Luke Colvin, her older brother by three years. "Listen, mom wanted me to call again and ask if you were coming to the Memorial Day cookout. I told her you weren't, but she wants me to call anyways."
Apache barked as she opened her mouth to reply, jumping up to the back seats and panting happily to hear Luke's voice. She laughed as she quickly put the phone on speaker, "Nah, Luke, I'm not, but already knew that. Safe to talk?"
He sighed, then inhaled and she automatically knew it was safe. He was smoking behind the garage again, trying to escape the pressures of family politics. "Yeah, Ram'." She could practically see him holding the phone in one hand as his smoking hand simultaneously rubbed the bridge of his nose and flicked away his ashes. "Miss you, though. They started in on how crazy and irresponsible you are again and I had to leave. You're so lucky you made it out when you did."
She laughed quietly, only loud enough for him to hear a few chuckles. "Yeah, well…What's done is done. How's Rebecca?"
"Ah, my old lady is good. As always. Did you really think any harm would come to my fiancé?" He said oh-so-subtly. And arrogantly.
"Ohh," She sped up, seeing city lights up ahead. "Some one got engaged. I wonder who…" Hearing Luke take in another hit made her crave a smoke. "Was it Aunt Nessie?"
Luke laughed before breaking off into a coughing fit. "Lord, no! That woman is too old! And she's still married to the senile old oil man, remember? Waitin' for him to die…" He trailed off, taking in another puff before changing subjects. "How's the huntin' thing?"
Ramona was quiet for a moment as she thought, her response controlled. "Just dandy. Hatin' this cold weather, though. Tell me it's warm back home?" She pleaded, her voice calculated to just the right amount of whining. "So you're up north?"
"You aren't going to find me, Lue."
"Doesn't mean I can't try, Ram."
She finally reached the town, slowing her driving down to five below the already low speed limit. Her tank was on half full when she got in from checking her map, and now it was nearing empty. 'My mileage sucks. Must need an oil change.'
Her pulling into the only gas station in town, in mid afternoon, caused a little bit of a buzz in such a small town. The town square was forty feet away and she was on the edge of the line of buildings. Ramona took a wary breath before unlocking her gas cap and hooking up the nozzle, (her car was made for a bad neighborhood, apparently) and walking inside to the restrooms.
The clerk stared at her as she asked for the keys to the out door restrooms. "You have to buy something first."
"Small town morals my ass," she muttered, only to look up and see the clerk pointing to a 'no cursing' sign on the wall, popping her gum in Ramona's face. "I'm already buying gas."
"Gas doesn't count."
If that girl had been in her mother's care, she would be wearing a duck tape mask and had a bruised ass. 'Too bad,' she thought. 'The one time I agree with something my mother would have done and she isn't here to enforce it.'
Ramona tried to be friendly, grabbing a lighter and a small bag of chips to put on the counter; her smile forced. "So…you hear about that one family disappearing from their home?" The girl opened the register, popping her gum and taking thirty seconds to look back at Ramona to stare blankly for what seemed like forever. "You ah reporter?"
"Yepp." She upped her fake smile a notch. "How'd yah guess?"
"Cause you don't know nothin' about what happened, or you wouldn't be askin' questions everyone 'round here…" she glared as she slide the chips and lighter back towards Ramona. "Already knows the answer to."
"Oh?" Ramona wanted so badly to beat the kid upside the head. "And what is that?"
She stared again until her gum lost flavor, spitting it out in her hand that was held closely to Ramona; spit landing on her shirt. "That bad things happen to people who can't keep their nose outta others' business."
Roman closed her eyes, her patience stretched too thin for her liking. She handed over the money for the gas when the tag finally popped up, her fist clenched under the cover of the counter.
"Damn Yankees," she muttered, closing the gas cap and getting ready to find a pet friendly hotel for the night. "They make everything difficult. And I never got that damn restroom key!" She had the urge to stomp her foot on the pavement angrily, but held it down until she opened her driver's door. "Bitch..."
For such a small town, it had a lot of weird packed into it.
Ramona only found one pet friendly hotel in the whole town and it was twenty dollars more than anyone should ever have to pay for a shitty, poorly situated room.
Her mood already wasn't great when she dropped Apache's leach on the carpet just inside of the door to her room, the weight of her Reebok bag making her shoulder ache. "Apache, here boy!" She exclaimed as she threw a dog bone to the floor.
"You're a good boy!" Ramona smiled as she set her bag down on the bench sitting at the foot of the queen sized bed. The wood paneling made her sick to look at, and the brown leather couch was almost blending into the wall. "Wanna call it a night early, bud?" She asked as she unpacked her toothbrush and started peeling off clothing. "Huh?"
When she looked over, she noticed that Apache had figured out the knob to the bathroom, the door standing wide open. She didn't have to search for him. He always liked bath tubs for some reason. Sometimes he made sport out of seeing who could get into the shower faster: Ramona or Apache?
Usually Apache.
Ramona just rolled her eyes, going to stand in her underwear at the sink. She squeezed the toothpaste onto the bristles, wetting them before looking up and avoiding her image.
She had no problems with the way she looked. Her self confidence was in check. Long black hair and tanned skin, dotted with sun-based freckles, were a good mix with her fit figure (thanks to karate) and brown eyes. With make up, she could turn a few heads, sure. But they didn't know what she did everyday. They didn't have to see their father's vibrant brown eyes in the mirror every morning.
Haunted would be a good word to describe Ramona Calvin. A very, very good word.
Born On A Crossroad
Would like to thank Amaven for killing my writers block with her amazing story "Psychic Unnatural". It's eighty something chapters long and everyone should read it (and review. Every chapter.)
Remember, if the first word is in bold, it signals a time lapse.
Ramona pulled the covers back from her groggy form, looking for the dog that just barked. "Che, what you barkin' at? Huh?" She sat up in bed, untwisting her slept in Mississippi State pull over and looking for a pair of jeans. "Apache?"
He didn't answer, and that worried her. Apache always answered in some way, whether it be a whimper or a bark, or a cold nose to her side. "Dude, where are you?" She was starting to get worried.
Ramona's mind raced to the worst possibilities. She was here on a hunt, maybe the thing was after her and started by taking her dog? If that dog was injured or dead, her father's ghost would come back from the dead and kick her ass. Twice. Probably dragging her to hell with him. She pulled a pair of thick jeans on over her black undergarments, not even bothering to zip and button them as she hesitantly crept into the bathroom's entrance, hoping he was there. And alive. Preferably. "Che?"
He stood there, in front of his food bowl and staring directly into the eyes of a fat gray cat. They didn't move, just stared at each other, daring one another to make the first move toward the food bowl.
Ramona rolled her eyes, commanding Apache to back up and grabbing the cat by placing her hand under its stomach and lifting up. "Why, hello there, Pretty Kitty." Her hand came to its collar, checking for a pet tag. "So you're name is Evee, huh? And there's a phone number! Great."
Her phone was in her hand soon, dialing the number on the collar, having problems keeping the cat still so she could read.
"Hello?" A woman's voice answered, her tone curious yet sleepy.
Ramona looked at her watch, it was nine thirty in the morning. "Hi, I have a cat here, the collar says its name is Evee. Your number was on it."
"Karl!" The woman called out to someone in the background. "Some chick found your daughters' damned old cat!" She seemingly put the phone back to her ear, "Look, lady. Money is tight, and that cat is costing us forty dollars a month we don't have. Either keep the cat, or shoot it. I don't give a damn."
Screaming started on the other end of the phone. It must have been the daughter's reaction to the woman's words. The line went dead after that, and Ramona just stared at the phone. "You've got to be kidding," she said to herself in disbelief.
Ramona was at a loss. While she could never bring herself to kill a cat, especially a healthy looking one like Evee, she didn't think she could keep it. Her mind raced to the possibilities. You have to be a resident of an area around a pound to give an animal up for adoption, and they killed the thing after a few weeks of no interest. She could buy two crates, one for a large dog and one for a cat, but that would mean traveling around with another animal for long car trips.
She sighed, her options up. Her only other way she could see was driving back to Mississippi and having Luke put it in the local no-kill pound. That meant dealing with her mother and she did not want to do that. 'Mom would offer me a coffee and I'd wake up strapped to a bed with a catholic priest trying to perform an exorcism on me,' she thought.
"Alright, Evee, looks like you're stuck with me for a little while until I build up the courage to go back home."
"Yes, ma'am," Ramona spoke with as much patience as she could to the elderly neighbor of the missing family. "I am a reporter. Good guess," she said softly as she helped the woman up the steps to her home.
The woman couldn't walk fast enough to the front door, "You just sit on that there lawn chair and I'll be right back out."
Ramona narrowed her eyes at the woman. If she heard sirens, she'd be out of there faster than that woman made up that excuse.
Then again, the woman sounded like she was from the south, as well. Maybe she actually had some manners; a nice change from all the rudeness she had been offered before. How could people be so rude. 'Maybe this is the town from hell,' her thoughts turned sour as she remained quiet enough to hear sirens that might be coming this way.
The old woman's house, her name was Esme, lived right on the edge of a nice family subdivision that was probably built as a Levittown once upon a time ago, next door to the missing family. Her attitude would hopefully be better than her other neighbors, whom had already slammed the door in Ramona's face that morning.
The black metal storm door came open again, the woman carrying Moon Pies out on a plate. She had a smile on her face, which, on an old person, was more like a grimace, "I could tell you's from the good ol' south, and I thought I'd bring you a little piece of home."
"Ohh," Ramona had already started to drool at just the thought of the chocolate delight. "Thank you, Ms. Ellington!" Her hand came to pick one up, unwrapping the plastic as neatly and politely as she could. "I thought I heard a little southern in your voice. Guess I was right."
The woman let out a small chuckle, which ended up bringing her to earth shattering coughs that rocked her whole body and stole her air for moments at a time. When she finally stopped she ignored the worried yet curious look on Ramona's face and said, "Yes. I'm from Vicksburg, Mississippi. Spent most of my life there."
"Oh? Why did you move up north, then? I know it wasn't for the weather."
She sighed, her hands clasping together in her lap. "My late husband wanted to move here to be with his children before he died. I'd rather he didn't, rude little bastards, but he didn't listen, and who am I to keep him away from his family?"
Ramona nodded as she listened, "I'm sorry for your loss, Ms. Ellington."
The woman scouted a little from the back of the seat to sit on the edge, her hands braced on the side of the plastic chair. "Enough about me, child. You're hear to ask questions, not to listen to an old woman talk about herself."
She smiled, swallowing the bite of Moon Pie she had left in her mouth. "No, it's perfectly fine. I love listening to life stories," they both chuckled at that. "But I do have questions. Did the Valking family seem strange to you at all? Any differences in their behavior before they went missing?"
The woman seemed to think for a moment before answering. Her voice came out hesitantly and croaked a little, "They seemed fine when they moved in. Got a little jumpy after a few weeks of living there, though. Probably just the ghost stories gettin' to 'em, that's all. Then, one day…everything was quiet. No one left or came home for days before the Smith family across the street called the police."
"Ghost stories?"
"Oh, yes, child! It's a local legend, but they say a serial killer lived there when these houses were first built." She took a pinch of salt and threw it over her shoulder before continuing. "They say he buried bodies in the back yard but can't no body find any."
Ramona held back the groan she wanted to utter in her throat. 'Great, a serial killing ghost. Just what I need.'
"You mean people have looked for the bodies?"
"Yes," she offered another Moon Pie to Ramona. "Kids go diggin' in that back yard every Halloween."
"Well, thank you, Ms. Ellington. Here's my card. Call if you think of anything."
"No problem, Dear. What newspaper did you say you were working for, Ms. Colvin?"
Ramona froze. She never gave her last name, or even her first name for that matter. She had used an alias. The old woman's smile went from sweet old lady to a knowing grin. A smile you would see if someone was playing with puppets and the mysterious grandma just called checkmate. She had Ramona in the palm of her aged hand.
She turned to face the wrinkled old woman, her eyes guarded. "Christos," she whispered, looking for the reaction her father's journal said would happen.
While her eyes did not turn inkwell black, she did roll them out of humor. "Child, I'm no demon. If I were anything more than an old psychic you'd be dead by now." Her wrinkles pulled up in a smile around her eyes, the extremely pale orbs that were her irises finally revealed, unseeing they stared in her direction. "Why don't you sit back down, Girl?"
Ramona swallowed back the comment that came to mind, choosing to remain silent as she sat back down in the lawn chair, sitting on the edge of the plastic. Her feet were positioned to make a run for it, unwilling to relax. "Alright."
"Relax," she tried. "I knew your father, you know. He came here to rid the town of another ghost five years ago. You reek of the same dog he did."
Ramona's jaw worked in a mix of anger, sadness and calculation. She was caught in a web of a psychic's lair. The journal her father left warned that not all psychics were evil, but that didn't mean you should underestimate them. They were cunning and often smart mouthed, their vision giving more time to think than most. She couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't have made her mother smack her, seeing no need for a response, Ramona remained silent.
"Smart decision, Girl. Your father was the same way, you know. He always thought before he spoke. Taking his time to form an appropriate sentence. So many youth are missing that particular talent these days." She took a sip of a drink from an old Sonic cup, her hand shaking slightly as she did so. "Ramona…I feel you have no need to deal with this hunt. Another is coming to deal with it. A man yet still a boy. I see that if you meet him now…it will tangle your destiny up with something bad. Something your father should have avoided. Your breaks just gave up, by the way."
The woman's eyes still remained unseeingly into space as Ramona looked with suspicion at her car that was parked on the street.
Or, at least, it was. At the moment, it was sliding down the street toward the bottom of a hill, gaining speed as it did. "Shit!"
Ramona spent the other half of the afternoon calling a tow truck to retrieve her brake less car. Apparently, there was a leak in the hose that held brake fluid, and was a wreck waiting to happen.
The mechanic said she was lucky it finally went out when she wasn't in the car then when she wasn't. It could have been fatal if she did. And to fix it, he wanted way too much. Not to mention the fact that she had to pay for the tow truck, she just had him drop it off in the parking lot of her hotel.
Now she was at an Auto Zone buying a 'How To For Dummies'. She had morals, not to mention pride, and it included not paying a fortune for something she could fuck up herself.
Apparently, you had to take the tire off to get to the hose. She scratched her head in confusion, still holding the tire she had finally pried off, the How To For Dummys didn't tell you how to take the tire off. "This sucks."
Ramona sat, taking a break on the edge of a curb next to her car, her head between her raised knees. It was finally warming up on the day she had to actually work outside, still nothing compared to the scorching Mississippi weather she was used to, but enough to make her thirsty and irritable.
An old muscle car pulled into the parking spot next to her, a cocky looking man stepping out of the drivers side. His leather jacket and young face was soon in her vision, offering a hand to help her up. "Working on your car?"
"No," Ramona couldn't stop herself. "I just feel like fucking up my vehicle for no reason."
His smile turned sour as he looked her over before taking a look at the tire on the ground and her rusted car jack. "Your tire is fine, what are you trying to do?"
Ramona closed her eyes, trying to shake off her uncharacteristically bad mood. This hunt, combined with the old woman's creepiness and her car trouble, was wearing her patience thin. Top that off with thinking about her late father made her an unpleasant person to be around. "The hose the break fluid goes through got cut somehow. It's leaking and the only mechanic in this horrible Yankee town wants a fortune to replace it."
Before the man could speak, Apache started barking from her hotel room, looking out the front window and glaring at the man. "Uh, that's Apache, and I'm Ramona. You are?" She started to offer him her hand to shake but one look at the grease that smeared itself there made her pull it back.
"I'm Dean. You just need to replace the hose? That's easy." He was half way between a cocky smirk and glaring back at the dog in the window when she started over toward the car again, grabbing her keys off the ground. "If it's that simple, why don't you give it a try?"
Dean, a muscle car enthusiast, with whom she had just met, changed out the hose for her brake fluid in less that twenty minutes. His cocky smirk appeared again as Ramona crouched down to her knees to examine the work, satisfied when she found nothing wrong with it. "Dude! Where did you learn this crap?"
He frowned slightly at her word choice but was still proud of himself nonetheless. "Been workin' on cars all my life, Sweetheart. Though, it is the first time I've worked on one of these. Haulin' around a bunch of kids, Soccer mom?"
"Nope," she didn't offer much more than that. "That bear of a dog has to fit in the back, though." Apache, who had been watching from the windows, barked as she jabbed her thumb in his direction. "He's a good boy, though. Great for long car rides," her hands came to her waist as she looked at the tire on the ground. "Uh, how much do I owe you? And how much extra will you charge to get that hunk of rubber back on there?"
They both chuckled for a minute before Dean stepped a little closer, "How about you buy me a drink?" Ramona's eyes narrowed ever so slightly at that, holding her head high and remembering what her father would have said about that. "How about you wait a year and I will?"
"Ah, yes," Dean stepped back, excepting the hand towel Ramona offered him. "I remember being twenty. Being so close to buying alcohol you could almost taste it." He smirked, "I mean, seriously. I tasted it. You just need someone older," he stepped closer again, reaching around her to pick up the lug wrench. "And wiser, to help you out."
Ramona bit back the comment that bubbled at her lips, trying so desperately not to correct his statement, instead going with a "Hm," and a nod. She could practically see the confidence radiating off of him in waves. "So, really, how much do I owe you?"
Dean took a look at the tire on the ground and the still exposed hose, wondering what was wrong with her that she wasn't responding to his blatant flirting. She was his type, confident and a one night stand. He could see something in her eyes, something that made her different from the rest, but couldn't quite put his finger on it. Was she a lesbian? A serial killer? Did she know something he didn't? Maybe she was just masking innocence?
He didn't know, but the thrill of a challenge excited him.
"Because if you charge over thirty I'm gonna go buy a lottery ticket and cross my fingers," she tried not to laugh at that, it had popped up in her brain and traveled to her mouth so fast she didn't have time to filter it. Her mother's voice rang out clearly in her mind, yelling at her that she was being rude. She couldn't say sorry, that would be awkward, but she could remain silent like she never said a thing.
Shockingly enough, to her, he laughed. He apparently didn't think it was rude and Ramona was a little happy at this. It was a nice change of pace from the stiff upper lips she was used to, or the lectures she had received all throughout her childhood.
For once, she felt free to laugh at her own joke. Even her eyes smiled as she stood there with Dean. He was a nice guy, helping her with her car and even distracting her from focusing on the horrible feelings the day had brought on. "Alright, if I can't buy you a drink, how about lunch?"
Ramona watched and listened silently as Dean tried not to talk with his mouth full. It was funny yet disgusting to her in an odd way. It was like he was trying to shock her with everything he did. Or maybe impress her? She couldn't tell.
As he finished his sentence, noting she didn't respond further than a nod, he decided that asking about her was probably the best way to go about getting her to talk. Women were that way, at least in his mind. "So, where are you from, Mysterious Ramona?"
She smiled, placing her fork down and swallowing before even trying to answer. "Jackson, Mississippi, actually. And yourself?"
"Kansas." He had noticed the way she waited to speak, noting that her elbows were kept off the tables' surface. "What are you doing all the way in Wyoming, then?" Ramona tried to hold back the urge to stiffen her spine and avoid the question. "I'm a reporter. It keeps me moving." They were both offering as little information as possible but enough to be polite. Everything they said was mostly a lie, but they tried to be nice. Dean for a different reason than Ramona, but what do motives really mean, anyway?
"What do you do, Kansas?"
"Odd jobs for the FBI, actually, I'm here working the same case you're probably reporting on until I can meet up with my father."
Ramona pulled herself into a tight lipped smile, "Oh, really?" She couldn't contain the urge to get the hell out of there much longer, and she didn't know how to do that politely so she stayed where she was at. 'Act cool. Be cool. You'll be out of here before he finds out who you are,' she thought to herself. "Well, Dean the odd FBI man, this has been nice," Ramona put cash on the table and started to stand. "But I have to start typing before tonight or my editor will be rather upset. Thanks for fixing my car. Keep the change."
She kept her cool, or that's what she told herself, until she crossed the street back to her hotel. Her desire to finish this case was already wearing thin with the old psychics warning and the FBI was the final straw.
By morning, this town would be in her rear view mirror.
Walking into a hotel room that a cat and dog shared was not exactly best for her. She had no litter box for the cat, so when she walked inside it was an assault to her already sensitive nose. "Jeez cat!" Apache was remaining on the other side of the room from the cat and her accident, whining near the door to be walked. Ramona sighed, grabbing the leash and keeping her wallet in her hand. Her practical side said the cat was bound to have to go sometime, but another, suppressed, part of her wanted to shoot it. "Apache, come here, boy."
Her day couldn't get any worse for her. How could it? It was only eleven thirty in the morning and already she'd been told off by an angry pet owner, spooked by a creepy old psychic, saw her car going backwards down a hill, tried to fix her car only to be saved by a Knight in FBI armor, and now she had to deal with animal waste. Ramona could only hope the old lady was right and another hunter was on his way to deal with it. She couldn't handle the FBI yet.
She felt like a coward for tucking her metaphorical tail between her legs and running, but she really couldn't blame herself. Any other new comer to the hunting game probably would have, too. A smart one, anyway.
Maybe waiting until the morning to leave wasn't such a great idea after all.
Dean's suspicions were up already. The mysterious reporter had high tailed it out of there the moment she found out that he was "FBI". What was she hiding? The reporters usually flocked to the FBI agents for a statement, but this one only ran away.
He looked out the glass windows of the dinner to see her hurrying out of her room, her nose pinned and the dog on a leash. 'That's why you shouldn't travel with pets,' he thought as Dean took another long sip of coffee, swallowing just in time to flirt with the heavy breasted waitress.
His thoughts soon returned to the case, the details his father had given him before he split off on his own hunt.
Speaking of which, he checked his phone. No missed calls from his father yet, which was odd, seeing as to how he usually called to check up on him every day or two. John had grown even more paranoid after Sam left for school, being more strict on Dean than he had to be. Didn't he know by now that Dean would follow his orders? That he trusted his judgment enough? If he didn't by now, than he didn't know what to do short of hauling Sam's ass away from his dorm room in California.
He dialed the number he had memorized as his father's into the silver phone, bringing it to his ear to listen to it endlessly ring.
John's automated voice mail bugged him immensely. Not only had he not called, but now he wasn't answering, either? 'What the hell?' he thought, slamming the bulky silver devise down on the off white table surface. 'If he doesn't call back soon I'm gonna blow up his voice mail box.'
Dean's body language grew more irritated by the minute. One arm rested on top of the vinyl booth, the other extended on the at table. He thought for a moment on that day: the oh-so-warm welcome the strange reporter had given him, his father not answering the phone and the facts of the case.
Evidence showed that it was just a simple ghost. Possibly a Lady In White but he wouldn't be certain until he started asking questions, interview some neighbors, and maybe go see the town Sheriff. If this town had one at all.
With only one gas station it wouldn't surprise him.
He looked back in time to see Ramona loading the back of her car. A Reebok bag, a dog crate and a cigarette in her hands, she was doing a horrible job of acting cool. Whatever she was up to, she wasn't good at hiding it.
'If I'm quick, maybe he won't notice me packing up and leaving,' Ramona thought quickly as she inhaled another puff. She couldn't help herself from buying them when she went into buy a pack of paper towels at the local general store, her promise to herself to quit wearing thin.
She'd unpacked Apache's old dog crate, putting it together in her room before loading in the back of the Station Wagon. "And he saw me," she muttered to herself as she loaded Apache up in the back of her car, zipping the crate up before taking another puff and going to check out.
"Hey!" She heard as she walked out of the front office, coming face to face with Mr. FBI. She couldn't avoid him, he knew she already saw him and at this point it would just be rude. "Hey," she said softly, moving the hair out of her eyes and putting up a smile. 'He might be FBI, but that doesn't mean he isn't cute.'
"Leaving so fast?" He blocked her way out of the only door. Ramona couldn't decide if it was intentional or subconscious.
"Yeah, my editor called and wants me on another assignment. Happens when," she shifted her purse on her shoulder to stall herself into having time to think. "You're on the bottom. You know it works, gotta do everything the boss says. Or maybe you don't, Mr. FBI." Dean inwardly grimaced, rolling his eyes and thinking she hit the nail on the head with that one. "No, I know how it is." Before Ramona could come up with another excuse to get Dean to move, her phone rang inside her purse. "Do you mind if I take this? It was nice meeting you."
He nodded, unblocking the door so she could move herself out the door, already pressing the black phone to her ear. "Hello, Luke."
'Ah, the boyfriend syndrome. That's why she didn't respond to my nearly irresistible charm,' he stiffened his collar, his ego now comforted from hit Ramona's cold shoulder response gave him.
Dean walked toward the door, fishing out his wallet from his back pocket, readying a credit card for the hotel manager. "Hey, man. I need to get a room for a few nights."
Expect an update (a short one) soon.