Firstly: I condemn those people who regularly read my story and have not reviewed. And there's at least… thirty or so people who fall into that category. I could bribe you into reviewing – you review my story and I'll read and review yours. Ah, I sound so needy.
Secondly: This is a very short chapter. But I am almost done with the next one. Should be up within two hours of this one…
Thirdly: Who LOVED Hunted and Playthings??? Remember this is set after Crossroad Blues… so the characters aren't as enlightened as we are ;-)
Ok, I must stop the procrastination!
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Apparently the only thing I "own" is the dishes. As I have had people say to me: "Nat, you are, like, OWNING the dishes!" Well only one person. Damn, I have a useless talent.
"Who was it?" Dean asked, suddenly sounding very serious. Sam's expression told him that he hadn't just received a happy phone call.
"Courtney," Sam said, looking thoughtful. Dean smirked.
"You gotta hand it to her. She's determined."
"No, Dean. She called because she heard something at Dylan's place. She wants me to come over," Sam said, looking anxious.
"I'll bet she wants you to come over," Dean replied, staring at the near-silent television.
"I'm going." Sam's expression was firm. "It could still be there."
"What? Sam, don't," Dean said, turning his attention away from the television. "We don't even know what it is." Dean attempted to look serious, but his eyes had a glazed quality to them and his words had slowed considerably.
"I didn't say I was going to go kill it. Maybe I can just go and get a look at it. Dean, the more we talk the less likely it is that that thing's still in the area. I'm going," Sam repeated.
"I'll come with you," Dean said, attempting to shift himself towards his wheelchair.
"No. You wont be able to get inside the car and we don't have time to walk. I have to go now. Alone." Sam put particular emphasis on these last words. Dean closed his eyes and inhaled.
"Just – just promise you'll be careful, alright?" he eventually said quickly, as though he wanted to spit the words our before he could take them back. Sam smiled.
"Yeah. I will."
Sam noted that Dylan's lights were still on as he walked up to Courtney's house. The pampered-looking Chevy was sitting in the driveway. Sam thought that if Dylan was anything like Dean he wouldn't waste a single opportunity to drive his car. He absent-mindedly felt for his pistol in his jacket pocket and knocked on Courtney's front door.
Sam waited. He knocked again, much louder this time. No-one came to the door.
Sam knocked on the door again, except this time it was more like a punch. "Courtney?" he called. "Courtney!" Sam heard no noise inside the house. The lights all seemed to be out, and the door was locked. "Shit."
Sam walked across the street, to Dylan's house. He ducked down below the front window which was giving off a soft light: clearly some of the lights further back in the house were on. Sam stayed still and listened. He heard the small scuffle of shoes on leaves and crouched down lower as he realised that the noise was coming closer. Courtney appeared from the side of the house and seemed startled to see Sam, conspicuously crouched below the window.
"Oh, I thought you weren't coming after all. I was just checking to see if he'd gone out back or something. He's still not picking up," Courtney said. She'd changed into an old t-shirt and her eyes looked tired and small. Sam stood up.
"Did you see anything?" he asked, brushing crushed particles of leaves off his jeans.
"No, I didn't even get into the backyard. The gate's locked and I can't open it from this side."
"I'll try the front door," Sam said, pulling out a small bundle of lock-breaking tools from his pocket. Sam began to work on the lock. Courtney stood and watched, clearly amazed by the swiftness of his skilled hands as he expertly manoeuvred the silver tools.
"Do I want to know?"
"Well, it's kind of a necessary skill," Sam said, clicking open the door. "For my family. I mean, at my home. In New Paltz."
"Ah, survival and 'life on the street'?"
"Something like that," Sam said as he furrowed his eyebrows. "I'm gonna look through the house. Do you want to stay here?" He pushed the door open.
"Yeah, I'll… stay here," Courtney said, giving the front yard of the house a nervous glance.
Sam crept into the house. The lights in the back had illuminated the front rooms just enough for him to make out his surroundings – and to see that there was nothing hiding in the shadows, waiting for him. Sam pulled out his pistol – a safety measure, he told himself – and walked through the rooms. He heard no noise except the hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen.
There were dirty dishes in the sink and Sam noticed a wallet and a set of keys sitting on the counter. He inspected the keys in the light and saw that they were attached to an AC/DC bottle opener - there was no doubt in Sam's mind that these were Dylan's car keys. He heard a rustle behind him. Sam whipped around, gun drawn, but he was too slow. The baseball bat swung towards him with incredible speed and he dropped to the floor.
Again, I am so sorry that this chapter is short. I could write it in more detail... but I don't really feel like it.
I'd appreciate any reveiws - even if all you do
