I've only gotten one review on this story, but I'm posting the rest anyway because I want to. I know I missed posting yesterday, but I got distracted with sleep and hanging out with my aunt and cousin, so here's Chapter 2 now. I'll try my best to post the remaining chapters on a daily basis, but no promises. My brain has a mind of its own. ~SG

Chapter 2

Then

Peter knocked lightly on his daughter's bedroom door, concerned that she might not be feeling well since she had never come down for breakfast. Hanna was never late unless she was sick. No answer. He knocked again. "Hanna? Sweetheart, are you feeling alright?" Still no answer.

He turned the knob and pushed the door open, an apology for the intrusion ready on the tip of his tongue, but the room was empty.

"Hanna?" he called as he stepped inside, his voice tinged with worry. Something wasn't right. Her bed looked like it hadn't been slept in last night.

%%%

Savannah, Georgia

Now

Sam Winchester woke up the same way he always did. In a motel room with classic rock blaring from the clock radio. This morning it was Aerosmith, and the choice to wake up hadn't been his own. His brother, sitting on the next bed and bobbing his head along to "Love in an Elevator" as he pulled his shoes on, had thrown a pillow at him, hitting him square in the face.

"Good morning, sleepy head." Dean said with a teasing older brother smile.

Sam glanced at the window, noting the darkness that still clung outside, and then at the clock. "Dean, it's not even five o'clock yet. Can't we sleep in just once?"

"Trust me." Dean said. "I'd love to sleep for a week, a month, maybe even an entire year, but we can't. We got a job. Get up, get dressed, get packed, let's go."

"Go where?" Sam asked as he reluctantly got out of bed. "What'd you do? Sit up all night searching the internet for leads?"

"No." Dean said, sounding as if that were the most ridiculous idea he had ever heard. "I think you're confusing me with, well...you."

Sam rolled his eyes and disappeared into the bathroom.

Dean raised his voice to be heard. "An old family friend called about an hour ago looking for help with a ghost problem."

"What family friend? We don't have any family friends. We don't have any family, Dean." Sam said, his words muffled by his toothbrush.

"We have Bobby and Jo and Ellen."

"Okay. Well, if Bobby or Jo or Ellen have a ghost problem I'm pretty sure they can handle it themselves."

"Well, it's not Bobby or Jo or Ellen." Dean said. "It's Meredith Fairchild."

"Who the hell is Meredith Fairchild?"

"The little girl that used to live next door."

Sam squinted at his brother in confusion. "Dean...what are you talking about?"

Dean sighed. Apparently his not-so-little little brother wasn't so bright before the sun came up. "There was a family that lived next door to us back in Lawrence. The Fairchilds. Mr. and Mrs. were friends with Mom and Dad, and I used to play with the brother, uh...Jason, I think. Meredith was, like, two. They left town not long after we did, and apparently Jack somehow found out about the hunting because Meredith called looking for Dad and got me instead."

"Jack is Meredith father?"

"You sound unsure of that, Sammy." Dean teased. "How in the hell did you get into college if you can't even figure out that Jack is Meredith's father based on what I just told you?"

Sam didn't respond, simply continued packing his meager possessions and preparing to leave.

"Anyway," Dean continued, stuffing his belongings into his bag. "Seems that Meredith got a little visit last night from a ghost that isn't too happy that she's alive, and she thinks this ghost has been killing her family members off for years."

"And she thinks she's next." Sam guessed.

Dean nodded. "Yep. So, this ghost wakes her up and makes some kind of vague threat or something and poof." He snapped his fingers. "Gone. Apparently her dad used to beg her mom to call our dad if anything ever happened to him, but she didn't, and now both of them and the brother are dead, and it looks like the Ghost of Bristol Ridge Past is out for fresh blood. Meredith remembered Dad telling Mom to call...Dad if anything ever happened to him, so she dug up the number and called."

"So, we're headed to...where?" Sam asked, processing the information a little slower than usual in his sleep deprived brain.

"Bristol Ridge." Dean said. "It's about a six hour drive. You can sleep in the car."

Sam picked up his things, checked one last time to make sure they hadn't forgotten anything, and followed his brother out the door.

%%%

Then

Bristol Ridge was in an uproar.

After searching the house and realizing that his daughter was missing Peter had gone straight to the police to report it. He had been surprised when they had immediately began questioning him. Not because his daughter was missing, but because Aaron Reeves' body had been found washed up on the river bank two miles out of town and it was no secret that he had a strong distaste for the young man.

"Look." he insisted. "Yes, it's true I didn't like the kid, but do you really think I'd kill him? I'm a preacher for God's sake!"

"I'm sorry, Pete, but I had to ask." the sheriff said.

"Aaron Reeves wasn't the most upstanding citizen." Peter reminded his friend. "I'm sure he made some enemies. Maybe you should be looking into his past instead of accusing one of your best friends of murder. Especially with my daughter missing. I can almost guarantee you that Hanna snuck out last night to be with him, and whoever killed him probably took her, or...or killed her too."

The sheriff's expression softened and he sighed. "We'll find her, Pete. I promise."

"You're damn right you're gonna find her." Peter replied. "I'm sorry that Aaron's dead, but I can't say I'm too surprised, and if he got my girl killed..." He trailed off, realizing that there was nothing he could do to punish a dead man. "I want my daughter back, Joe."

Joe nodded. "We'll find her, Pete."

Peter knew as he left the sheriff's office that what Joe really meant was that they would find her whether she was dead or alive. He knew very well that he might not get his daughter back in the way he wanted, but he wasn't ready to entertain that possibility yet. She was missing. She had run away or had been taken, but she had to still be alive. He needed to believe that.

Over the course of the next few days everyone in town was questioned. No one had noticed anything suspicious. No one unfamiliar had been lurking around town. The last time anyone clearly remembered seeing Hanna Durant was when she had been leaving church on Sunday in her white dress.

Peter knew for a fact that she had spent the rest of the day cleaning the house and baking while he had been visiting with various parishioners and neighbors. No one had any idea what had happened, but they were all praying for Hanna's safe return and that the police caught whomever had killed Aaron and dumped him in the river. Peter thanked them for their prayers, but it didn't provide any comfort at all.

The same question was floating all over town. What's become of the preacher's daughter?