The next morning, Dean was woken by the sound of the motel door opening and closing. He sat up quickly and instantly regretted it. He could feel the throbbing in his temples from the alcohol the night before. When he saw that it was just Sam coming back from a run, he collapsed back onto the bed. Sam was still young enough that he could get wasted and be able to get up for a workout the next day. Dean, on the other hand, was starting to feel his age.

"Dude, still not up? C'mon, Dean. We have work to do."

"Yeah, yeah," Dean grumbled, sitting up slowly and rummaging in his bag for some painkillers. He made a cup of coffee in the cheap motel coffee pot as he heard Sam start up the shower in the bathroom. Dean flipped open the computer and jotted down the addresses of the people on their list.

A short time later, after both boys were showered up and in their suits, they got into the Impala and drove to the first address. Sam rummaged in the glove compartment for a moment and pulled out two fake FBI badges. They strode up to the first house, which was apparently that of the parents of a missing girl. It was cute; your typical white-picket-fence, all-American-suburbia home. Sam knocked on the door, and a few moments later, it opened.

The woman who answered was clearly in distress. Her hair was unkempt, and her eyes were swollen and red. They kept darting around, to the street behind Sam and Dean, and back to the phone in the hallway behind her.

"Yes? Who are you?"

"Mrs. Hendrickson?" Sam asked, in his best bedside voice. She nodded. "I'm agent Wells, this is my partner, agent Billings," he continued, as the boys flashed their badges. "We heard about your daughter's disappearance, as well as the others in town, and were hoping you could answer a few questions for us."

"No," she replied sternly. "Not anymore. Not again. I just… can't. Talk to the other agent who was here yesterday." With that, she shut the door, and Dean could hear the deadbolt locking. The boys exchanged glances and walked back toward the car.

"Another agent yesterday?" Dean whispered to Sam. "Do you think it's actual FBI, or another hunter got wind of the case?"

"Could be either one," Sam replied. "Think we should be pushy with her, or just hope we have better luck at the next house?" Dean pondered for a moment.

"I say we move on to the next one. If we keep striking out, we can come back here and be pushy." Sam nodded, and they hopped back into the car.

At the next home, which was an old and slight run down duplex, there was no answer. The third place they visited had a similar story as the first house. The man who answered their knock looked totally lost.

"I already talked to the FBI. You people need to get it together." Slam. The boys exchanged a glance and Dean shook his head. Knock, knock, knock, knock. The door swung back open violently.

"What did I just say?" the man said, angrily.

"Sir, the agent that interviewed you yesterday has recently had a family emergency, and won't be able to remain on the case. I apologize for the difficulty, but we need to ask you some questions. I'm sure you don't want to impede our investigation," Dean finished coolly.

The man looked down and rubbed his eyes, as if stalling while he decided whether to cooperate or to raise hell. His shoulders slumped as exhaustion won out, and he jerked his head back toward the house, inviting them in.

Sam and Dean walked into the house, scanning the rooms that they could see for anything unusual. Other than some empty pizza boxes and beer cans, there was nothing much out of place.

"So, Mr. Hoffman," Sam began. "Your wife, Melinda, went missing last Tuesday, correct?"

"That's right," he replied. "It's been a whole week."

"Was there anything unusual going on that day, or in the days leading up to her disappearance?"

"Nothing that I can recall. It was a normal weekend. We went out to dinner with some friends Saturday night, church on Sunday, worked around the yard, raking up leaves that afternoon. Mel was good, she was happy. That's why I don't think she would have run away. She has a good life."

"We've heard that all of the victims belonged to the same church in town, St. Matthew's. Any idea why that would be?"

"Don't you go calling her a victim," the man said, hands shaking a little in his lap. "She's just missing."

"Of course," Sam interjected. "Our apologies. But does the church connection mean anything to you?"

"Nothing that I can think of. It's a normal church. Small parish, good people. Of course every once in a while there's the normal drama of who's going to plan the annual fundraiser, but aside from that? I can't think of a single reason anyone would target the church."

"When was the last time you saw Melinda?"

"Tuesday morning. We were both leaving for work. I kissed her on the cheek and rushed out. Wish I had held her a little longer, now. She never made it to the office."

Sam asked him a few more questions, without any more real answers. They thanked him and walked back to the car.

"Well that was useless," Dean muttered.

"Yeah, pretty much," Sam agreed. "But we have one more house to try. This last lady's elderly mother went missing. Seems like these people have nothing in common except for that church."

They drove across town to a small apartment building, and Dean pressed the buzzer button for apartment 3A.

"Yes?"

"Ms. Shane?"

"Yes."

"Agents Billings and Wells here, from the FBI. We wanted to talk to you about your mother."

There was a pause, and then the buzzer sounded, unlocking the door in the corner. Sam and Dean climbed the stairs to the 3rd floor, and knocked on the door marked 'A.' The place was clean, but something was just depressing about the building. It was old and musty smelling, like it told the story of an era gone by. The door opened slowly.

"Can I see your badges?"

"Of course," Sam replied, as they pulled out the badges and handed them to her. She handed them back after a few moments.

"Come in."

They followed her into a cramped living room and sat on a paisley-printed couch that she gestured to.

"Ms. Shane-"

"You can call me Barb."

"Okay," Dean went on. "Barb, was there another agent here to speak with you yesterday?" It was a risky question to ask, but Dean was a little thrown off that she hadn't brought it up when the other two people they spoke to had complained.

"I wasn't in yesterday, so I wouldn't know. I was at my brother's house all day." Dean inwardly sighed with relief. It would be a little easier then.

Sam launched into the same kind of questions they had asked Mr. Hoffman. The last time Barb had seen her mother was last Wednesday afternoon. She had left the apartment around 9:00AM, on her way to visit her friend Patty a couple blocks up. When a few hours had passed and her mother wasn't home yet, Barb called Patty to check in on her mother. Patty said that Mrs. Shane had never come over. It was then that Barb called the police and run outside to search for her mother. Nothing else, nothing unusual. It was just another seemingly random kidnapping, or killing, or whatever it was. The boys thanked Barb for her time and went back outside.

"We are officially getting nowhere," Sam complained as they climbed back into the Impala. "There don't seem to be any connections whatsoever aside from that church."

"So maybe it's time to go poke around the church," Dean replied. "Six o'clock. No one should be there."

They drove across town to St. Matthew's and walked into the building. It was quaint, with old wooden pews, faded purple carpet, and the smell of old books. Nothing menacing, nothing unusual. Sam knocked on the door of the rectory, but apparently no one was around.

"I don't know, man. Call it a day? I'm starving," Dean said gruffly. Sam sighed and nodded.

"Want to order a pizza and try calling Billy?" Sam asked.

"Actually, I was thinking we could head back to that bar from yesterday. Millie's. See if there's a different crowd there that we can talk to."

"Mm hmm," Sam replied, probably seeing right through Dean's excuse, but not saying anything.

They drove to the bar and were greeted again at their table by Lisa, the same waitress from the night before.

"Hey guys! Back so soon?" she asked with a flirty smile.

"Yeah, those burgers were excellent," Dean chimed in.

"Hey Lisa," Sam interjected, barely concealing a smug grin. "Will that girl be in again playing her guitar tonight?" Dean kicked him under the table.

"Not tonight. She's good though, isn't she? Two beers again?" Sam nodded and Lisa walked away.

"Dude, you have no chill at all," Dean grumbled and Sam laughed.

Instead of ordering food, they spent the next hour or so meandering around the bar, asking the locals if they had any tips or suspicions regarding the disappearances. Some people brushed them off out of annoyance. Others were eager to talk to anyone who would listen, but they got no useful information. They were just about to give up for the night, when a streak of red and blue lights zoomed down the street outside. A police car, followed by another, and then a third.

Sam and Dean exchanged glances, and stood up without having to say anything. Dean dropped some cash on the table and they hurried to the Impala. Three cop cars blazing down the street was more of a lead than anything they'd had all day.

Dean pulled out into the road and accelerated quickly. The trick to following police cars is to keep up just enough to not be seen. It was an art that he hadn't quite mastered, but they seemed to be getting lucky tonight. They ended up at an old barn on the outskirts of the town. The three police cars were parked right up next to the building, so Dean pulled the Impala far back off the side of the road. They approached closer to the barn through the trees fifty yards away and stood stock still to try to hear anything that was being said. What they did hear was the sound of a gun cocking right behind them.

Dean froze, and looked out of the corner of his eye to see Sam frozen as well. Whoever was holding the gun was smart. If he would have just put it up to Dean's head, Dean would have a chance of disarming him. Standing back the way he was, gave him a time advantage if Dean decided to turn around.

"Don't move," came a woman's voice. Okay, 'she,' not 'he,' Dean thought. He could hear footsteps lightly crunching the leaves on the ground as the woman walked around them to see their faces. Dean's jaw dropped when he saw who it was.

Beth. From the bar.

"Sam and Dean Winchester? Well, damn."