Chapter Nine
Vertigo
Dean

Just give me what I want and no one gets hurt

The brunette left and the house settled into an awkward silence. The redhead stood there, staring at me in disbelief. I didn't blame her, but it was getting a little unnerving, so I took a breath. "Are you ready to listen to me now?" I asked.

She opened her mouth, but didn't respond. Instead, she headed for the dinning room-foyer doorway. Oh no; she wasn't getting away that easily.

"Wait, please." I reached out to touch her arm. "Don't go." My hand made contact with her skin. I blinked and looked at my fingers then her elbow and back several times. I touched her… I actually touched her… Physically touched her.

She stopped and looked at me. I could see the confusion and disbelief in her eyes and I knew her mind was working overtime – like mine – trying to figure everything out. I was half-expecting her to try to escape into the kitchen, but she didn't; she stayed where she was.

"Look," I continued, "I know this is hard to believe – I'm having a hard time of it myself –, but I'm real, if only to you. You're the only person who can see or hear me and I need your help."

She lowered her eyes, then closed them. She pinched the bridge of her nose and let out a frustrated sigh. "Why me? Why now?"

I bit my bottom lip. I had a feeling the past few days had been less than smooth and I was something else that had gone wrong. I knew that upset women had to be dealt with delicately, but dealing with emotions was not my forte. It was Sam's and I wished he was here; he always knew the right thing to say… to anyone. I had been on the receiving end of his comforting words many times. Damn I missed him…

Another frustrated sigh brought me back to the present. She looked back up at me for a moment, then nodded. "Alright," she said, her voice soft. "C'mon." She walked by me and I followed her through the kitchen and into the living room. She motioned to the couch with her hand. "Have a seat."

I sat down on the end closest to the window; she sat on the other. An awkward silence fell between us and remained there for several long moments before she eventually broke it.

"Okay, so what happened to you?" she asked.

I fought back an eye roll. Hadn't she been paying attention last night or had she been too drunk to actually remember anything I'd told her? "Like I told you last night, I don't know what happened to me. All I know is I went to sleep in my car and woke up in yours."

She looked away, her eyes taking on a thoughtful look. "Yeah, I remember you saying something like that last night."

Maybe she had been paying attention? "Look, I have no idea how I got here or why I'm here. I'm just as lost as you are."

She sighed. "Okay, do you remember anything up to that point?"

"What do you mean? Up to what point?"

"Up to the point where whatever happened to you happened."

I sat there, wracking my brain, trying to remember something – anything from before I woke up in the motel room. After a moment, nothing came and I was giving myself another headache. I sighed, frustrated and shook my head. "Nothing." I adjusted myself so I was facing her completely. "I'm sorry, but I don't remember anything."

I cursed inwardly. I couldn't remember anything about what happened or leading up to it. Except hunting those Vampires with Dad in Colorado, but telling her that would only lead to trouble.

She ran a hand through her slightly messy hair. "Well that just complicates things."

"You're telling me."

"I don't even know where to begin with all of this."

Neither did I. And I felt bad for that. If I knew what happened, I'd feel better, but what would I tell her? I had a feeling that whatever happened to me was caused by something supernatural, and given her reactions last night and this morning, I figured the things I hunted wasn't something she believed in.

"I'm just trying to figure out," she spoke again, "why you're like this and why I can see you but Pageen can't. And why even your own brother couldn't see you."

I cringed inwardly. I had an idea of what was happening. Whether or not she would believe me was another story. As to why this girl was the only person who could see me, I was completely lost.

"I'm trying to figure it out too, Lyse."

Her eyes widened and she leaned away from me. "How do you know my name?"

I cringed again. "Your friend said it last night."

Her eyebrows furrowed and she visibly tensed. "How? Pageen can't see you. Unless you got her involved and this is some sick joke."

I bit back a curse. "No, this isn't a joke. She came in earlier and saw the rum on the counter and said your name."

She looked skeptical. "How do I know you're telling the truth?"

I really hated that question. I must've heard that question at least a million times in my twenty-eight years. I leaned forward and looked at her, right into her bright sea-green eyes. "Look into my eyes and tell me if you think I'm lying when I tell you that this is not a joke. Your friend can't see me; only you can, and right now, you're the only one who can help me."

Her expression softened and the tension left her shoulders. "I'm sorry," she said softly and she put her hands in her lap, her eyes dropping to look at them. Her deep red hair fell in front of her face, the bangs concealing her eyes. I studied what I could see of her. Her hair fell to just below her shoulders in gentle waves. She had a few extra pounds on her, and wasn't someone I would fall for, but I couldn't deny that she was pretty. Plain, but pretty.

I sighed, realizing I'd probably said what I did a little harsher than I should've. "It's okay," I replied.

Slowly, she rose her head to look at me. "So, you know my name, but I don't know yours."

I chuckled softly. "You're right." I extended my hand. "Dean."

She shook my hand. "Dean…?"

I knew what she was asking for. "Winchester. Dean Winchester."

She repeated my name once, then nodded. "I like it."

I smiled. "What about you; What's your last name?"

"Aizik," she replied. "Not your traditional Isaac though."

I furrowed my brow. "Really? How's it spelt?"

She spelled it out for me.

I shrugged my eyebrows. "Wow. That's original."

"Yeah."

We were quiet for another moment before she spoke up again. "Well, let's go see of we can't find out what happened to you."

That might me a little impossible, I thought, but I followed her off of the couch and upstairs. We went into the room on the right and I immediately felt like I'd walked into a forest. The walls were a dark money green, the ceiling and trim were pale green, the sofa and chairs were hunter green, the shelving units, side tables and computer desk were brown and the floors were deep brown hardwood. It was actually rather relaxing.

Lyse moved to sit at the computer beside the window on the left wall. She spun around in the chair to face me. "Last night, you mentioned something about your brother going to see you?"

I guess she'd been paying more attention that I thought. I took back what I'd thought about her being too drunk to remember anything. I nodded. "Yeah, he was talking to our dad, and said he was going to see me."

"Well, that's a good thing."

"It is?"

"Yes," she replied, "because that means you're still alive." Confusion graced her features then. "But what I don't get is, if you're still alive, why are you here in my house?"

"I might have an idea," I said.

"What?"

"Have you ever heard of an out of-body-experience?"

She nodded. "Yeah, but doesn't that usually happen when someone is almost dead?"

That's comforting. "Usually. Or if one is in a coma deep enough." I wondered how she knew what she did about out-of-body experiences, but now was not the time to ask; I had a more important matter to deal with.

She spun back around and I moved to stand behind her. I watched her start to type my name into the search engine.

"You won't find anything that way," I said.

"What? What do you mean?"

I kicked myself mentally. Now what was I going to say? "You won't find anything using my real name."

"Why not?"

I cringed. Think, Dean, think. I knew what she would find it she punched my real name into the search engine, and that was something I was not willing to risk. "With what my dad, my brother and I do, sometimes we have to go undercover."

Her eyebrows shot up at that. She turned back to me. "So are you guys cops or something?"

"Something like that."

She pinched the bridge of her nose. "As if this wasn't complicated enough already," she mumbled. She looked back to me. "Okay, do you remember what the undercover name was?"

I shook my head. "Like I said before, I don't remember anything."

"Right." She sighed. "Then, do you have an idea of what that name might have been?"

"Well, it would be something you normally wouldn't hear." Why was I being as honest as I was about all this? I was usually so good at lying and stretching the truth.

"Like what?" she asked.

I almost laughed. "My father and I once used the names, Bert and Hector Aframian."

"Aframian?" Amused confusion was written all over her face. "What kind of a name is that?"

"See what I mean?" I couldn't figure out what it was keeping me from completely lying. Was it because I desperately needed her help, or was she someone I felt I just couldn't lie to?

She nodded. "Yeah." She turned back to the computer. "There are tons of reasons you could be in a coma… A fall, being beaten up, the coma could be drug induced… a car accident…"

Or being attacked by something supernatural… Although, given the amount of time Sam and I spent in the Impala, a car accident was more than possible.

"Car accident maybe?" I said.

"Okay." She turned back to me. "Do you have any idea of where this might have happened?"

I paused for a moment, thinking back to the walk I'd taken when at the motel. I hadn't thought about it then with all the moving around Sam and I did, but I had noticed the State written on the license plates on most of the vehicles. "When I woke up, I was in Missouri."

"That's a start," she said. "And what kind of car do you drive?"

I smiled brightly. "A 1967 Chevy Impala."

She whirled around to face me. "A '67 Impala? Are you serious?"

I almost laughed at her enthusiasm. "Yeah."

"Wow. That's a nice car."

"Yeah, it is." My eyes glazed over slightly. My thoughts drifted to the car I had driven since I was sixteen; the car my father had given to me not long after Sam had gone to Stanford. I knew she was still sitting in that motel parking lot, but I also knew Sam was taking good care of her. Man, I missed that car… almost as much as I missed my brother.

The sound of typing brought be back to reality. A frustrated sigh followed. "Sit tight," she said, "this could take a while."