Sam was in the library. He confirmed that no disappearances in the area, so he sought other weird news looking for any information ... deaths, robberies, ... Nothing. The only thing that seemed to have caught the attention of journalists in this peaceful city was the scandal that had raised an employee of a juvenile center, a certain Marc Halder, denouncing alleged physical and sexual abuse of inmates minors by the director of the institution.
But apparently, the man had retracted his accusations shortly after. He had confessing that he had the accusations because he had been carried away by anger at having disagreements with the school management. The affair had ended so happily that the worker had rejoined his job and he appeared on a photo smiling with Director and the Psychologist of the Centre.
That was good, he was glad that the report was false ... But definitely not looked connection with the case. He looked more closely at the picture, the Director, a tall man in his forties, with graying hair, was waving the hand worker reinstated, younger and plump appearance, they were beside the school psychologist: a bearded and robust man that turned his look to the cameras. Sam approached his face more near the newspaper, there was a strange gleam in the eyes of the psychologist. Only perceivable for someone with his experience hunting of the supernatural.
He could not be sure because the picture was in black and white and of poor quality, ... could be a flash. Although the picture was taken outside the center to daylight.
In the absence of another thread to pull asked the friendly librarian for the Juvenile Center's files and he reviewed they. Apparently the center had been very active. Had been remodeled to include a new security system, the doctor of the center had been dismissed without notice and they were awaiting the arrival of a new doctor recently assigned to the center: Peter J. Willis.
Also they reporting the death of three children. A strong epidemic of meningococcal that ravaged the juvenile center. The children were only 9, 14 and 16 years old.
The image of Dean passed over his head and shuddered.
It was time to go to the motel and face an angry teenager. He thought to go armed with burgers and cake. And he could rent a movie. Everything was little to placate the little monster, he thought.
After all the poor Dean wore all day locked in the small room. Encased but surely, he justified himself.

Dean smiled at the two men in suits who came to take care of him. One of them, who was strong and bearded, introduced himself to the Sheriff as Jack Richardson, psychologist, and introduced his partner as Marc Halder, his assistant. He signed some papers that gave the commissioner and shaking his hand said goodbye to him.
"Beware the kid " said the commissary, "he kicked in the face by one of my men"
"Do not worry, we will veeery careful with him" the psychologist replied, with a tone in his voice that alerted to the Dean's instincts of danger.

He did not like that man, there was something wrong with him apart from being a psychologist. Dean disliked by psychologists, that he had been tortured for they in different centers of study for which he had spent with endless questions about his father, his way of life, the origin of his frequent injuries, …
Guided by a hand that was strong clamp on his shoulder Dean was introduced in a car.
Dean tried to encourage thinking about the next dinner and that he soon could flee, as soon they to leave him in his room for the night. But something was gave him a hole in the stomach and was not the hunger, or at least ... not only that.

"Dean, I bring dinner!"
Shout Sam as he opened the door, leaving open the bag of food on the table, waiting for that marvellous odors will do the expected effect on the mood of his brother. "Burgers and cake. Your favorites."
His gaze swept the room where the absence of Dean was evident. In two strides he opened the door of the bathroom and then looked out the open window. Down footprints were seen in the mud next to the gutter. He ran his hand through his hair.
"Shit Dean, what the hell have you done!"

He saw a note on the bed and quickly he turned to leave the room, again to the Impala and went straight to the cemetery.

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