The hotel room was certainly John's; the walls were lined with missing persons posters, newspaper clippings and folklore. There was even a ring of salt in the middle of the room.

"Doin' alright?" Dean asked Zoey, who was looking around like a lost sheep.

She nodded. "Just feel a bit like a fish out of water, is all."

"Well, you shouldn't be," he shrugged. "You're a natural born hunter. Dad made you that way."

"I'm the assistant manager at Try'n'Save," she reminded him. "John was the one who got me that job interview, remember?"

"Hey, guys, check this out," Sam interrupted, peering at the wall.

"Looks like Dad checked out the same article we did," Dean commented, looking at the same article on the wall as they had looked at earlier on Sam's laptop.

"Woman in White..." Zoey muttered, looking at something else, piquing the boys' interest, who read over her shoulder. There was a paper on the wall, which John had labelled. It explained the legend of a woman in white, who in her life, had had a happy marriage, but had discovered her husband to be unfaithful. In a fit on insanity, she had killed her own children and then herself. In the afterlife, she roamed highways, hitching rides with unfaithful men and killing them.

"I'm just gonna go get something out the car," said Dean. "Zoey, come with."

"Why should I?"

"Just do it, sweetcheeks."

Zoey rolled her eyes and followed Dean out of the hotel room. They had just reached halfway across the road, when Dean spotted a police car.

"Trouble at 3 o'clock," he murmered to her, pulling her arm to turn her away. He grabbed his cell phone and warned Sam about the police. Just as he hung up, the officer caught up with them. Before they knew what had hit them, Zoey and Dean were being arrested.

"You pull me out of retirement after 3 years, and then get us arrested," she whispered to him as they were escorted into an interrogation room. "Good one, asshole."

"Thanks, whore," he whispered back. "Just let the grown ups do the talking, okay?"

"Shut up," said the officer gruffly as he threw the two of them into their seats and sat opposite them, shutting the door behind him.

"My name's Officer Hitchcox," he said. "What are yours?"

"Well, considering you just arrested us, I'd expect you to know already," replied Dean.

"So if you don't, you evidently arrested the wrong people; I think we can be on our way now," added Zoey.

Officer Hitchcox smiled sarcastically. "Funny. The only names we have for you two are definitely not right."

Dean raised his eyebrows innocently. Zoey had forgotten how good he was at improvisation. "Something wrong with our names?"

"Well, yeah. For one, they're the same. A bit strange seeing as you can't be related."

"And why can't we be related?"

"You're Latina," the officer stated, looking at Zoey. "And no rings. You're not married. So what are your real names?"

"Fine," Dean sighed. "You got us. My name's Bob Dunnet. This is my friend, Ciara Sharlet."

The officer sighed. He stood up and slammed a box on the table, with such force it made Zoey wince. She immediately recognized John's journal as it was thrown in front of them.

"You recognize this?"

Zoey shrugged. "Should we?"

"Not talking to you, Ciara. If that is your real name." He looked at Dean. "You do recognize this. Don't you, Dean?"

Dean and Zoey frowned, confused as to how the officer could know Dean's real name.

"Thought that might be your name," he smirked. The officer flicked through the journal. "I had a look through here. Couldn't understand most of it, and what I could understand was a whole load of crazy. But I did find this." He stopped on a page which had John's handwriting on, where he had written "DEAN 45-111" and circled it. "Now, you're not leaving this room until you tell me what the hell that means."

Zoey zoned out as Dean insisted that 45-111 was his high school locker number. Her mind wandered back to the previous night. Despite the fact she didn't want it to happen again, she couldn't deny it was good. And no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't stop thinking about it. The touch of Dean's skin, the taste of his lips... all the deep and dirty details, they kept coming back to her. Luckily, her thoughts were interrupted as the door to the interrogation room opened.

"Sorry to interrupt," said another officer, "but we just got a 911 call. There's been a shooting down on main."

"You two need to go to the bathroom?" Hitchcox asked them.

"No," Zoey and Dean replied in unison.

"Good." Hitchcox handcuffed the two of them to the table. After he had gone, they both looked down at John's journal and noticed a paperclip poking out.

"What an idiot," they said, in unison again.

"We gotta stop doing that," Zoey told him as he picking at the lock on his handcuffs, and then hers.

"Told you to let the grown ups do the talking," he replied. "Lucky that 911 call came in, though."

Zoey looked at him. "Dean, that was Sam."

He frowned. "You sure?"

"How can you not be?"

Dean shrugged. "Come on," he said, noting that the station was clear. They silently made their escape from the station, and went to find Sam.