Author's Note: I'm hoping to do an every-other-day update (at least, until school starts back up again), but I am not making any promises. I need to thank everyone who has reviewed and followed this story. Hope you are enjoying it so far!
Chapter 13 - Smooth
"Are you insane?" I cried when Uncle Dean finally released my arms. "You just let that Gallagher guy run off with the Impala."
"I know, I know. I couldn't help it." Uncle Dean shouted, using his cell to call Dad.
"You just—"
"Yeah, I know, Sammy," Uncle Dean said into the cell. "He just asked for it, and I let him take it….He full on Obi-Wan me. It's mind control, man….Sam…?"
There was a long pause as Uncle Dean listened to the cell. "Quit your blubbering Sammy, and explain to me what the hell is going on." Every time I inched my ear closer to catch what was going on, he would step aside so I wouldn't overhear. "Well shit. Where are you?"
"Dean, what's—"
"Okay, got it. Liz and I'll be there." Uncle Dean slammed the phone shut with a heavy sigh.
"Don't tell me that Dad didn't save the man in time."
"Oh, he did," Uncle Dean muttered, "only for him to get hit by a friggin' bus."
It didn't take long to get to Dad's current location. Uncle Dean and I were silent the entire trek. By the time we reached Dad, cruisers and ambulance trucks surrounded us. He was sitting at the base of a lamp pole, watching as they bagged up the man's body. The hurt look on Dad's face said it all: he felt terrible that he couldn't save him.
Uncle Dean and I crouched down on either side of Dad.
"I kept him out of the gun store," Dad said, his voice and face void of any emotion. "I thought he was okay. I thought he was passed it. I should've…I should've stayed with him."
Uncle Dean and I had no clue what to say to that. Any sympathy lines we tried to use on him would just go in one ear and out the other. But there is one language that Dad was very fluent in.
"Come on," I said, tugging at his sleeve, "we've got a murderous carjacker to catch."
"But first," Uncle Dean said, as the three of us stood up. "We need to find my baby."
"Good thinking," I said. "If we find the Impala, most likely we can find Andrew Gallagher."
"Yeah, that's totally what I was going for."
That, at least, got Dad to smile, though halfheartedly.
-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-
It was a few blocks away from the accident when we found Uncle Dean's beloved Impala, all black, sleek, shiny, and completely in one piece. At least this Gallagher guy had the decency to not crash it, as per my previous mental monologue about guys and cars.
"Oh thank god!" Uncle Dean sighed, as he blindly ran into traffic. He leaned against the doors, stroking her like a crazy cat lady might pet one of her precious cats in a tight-knit sweater. "I'll never leave you again! I promise!" Never mind, he was worse than a crazy cat lady. He gave another once over before saying, "At least he left the keys in it."
"Yeah," Dad snorted, "real Samaritan, this guy."
"It looks like he can't just work his mojo just by twitching his nose, he needs to make verbal commands."
"The doctor just got off his cell phone before he stepped in front of that bus." He sucked in an unsteady breath. "Andy must have called him."
"Also," I said, suddenly hating what I was about to say, "his smooth talk or whatever you want to call it…it didn't work on me."
"What?"
"Yeah, he told me to get out of the car, and I didn't have any urge to do so. Actually, he had to get Uncle Dean to pull me out." I sheepishly looked inside at the passenger's seat. "Also, the spilt latte is entirely your fault," I told Uncle Dean.
"What?" Uncle Dean pushed me out of the way to look at the seat he somehow overlooked. "You have got to be fucking kidding me. Do you know how much shopping I had to do to find replica leather for this thing?"
"Well, now you know where to look to replace it," I said.
Uncle Dean leaned over and grabbed the paper cup off the floorboards. Before I could stop him, he showed the cup to Dad. "Consider this payback."
"Hey! Come on!" I cried, attempting to push passed him. He wouldn't budge.
"What's this?" Dad asked, inspecting the cup closer. He saw Aaron's number. "Who is this?" Dad shouted, new-found anger rising up from his reserves.
"Some random guy who worked at the café you made me go to for breakfast. Essentially, this is your entire fault."
"Wait, how is this my fault?"
"If you had sent me anywhere else but there, this wouldn't have happened."
"I think," Uncle Dean began, "you should go kick this kids ass for hitting on your daughter. And ground her because she is much too young to be dating."
"Dean, I thought you lost your virginity at thirteen?"
"How the—did you mind-rape me again?"
"Unfortunately," I muttered. "Look, what is more important right now: arguing about some random guy's number or stopping this guy who killed the doctor—and I do not mean the Time Lord."
"Liz's right—but don't think that your off the hook for this."
"For having a guy's number written on a cup in what is obviously not my handwriting?"
"Yes."
"Well, that makes sense."
"Look, as much as I want to relentlessly tease Liz about this, we need to look at the other possibilities."
"What other possibilities?" Dad asked Uncle Dean. "All evidence leads to Andy being the killer."
"I don't think so, man."
"You had OJ convicted before he got out of his white bronco, but you have doubts about this."
"I'm just saying that he isn't the stone-cold killer type."
"Coming from the man who got his carjacked by said accusatory stone-cold killer."
"Go shove it, Liz."
I held my hands up in surrender.
"Besides," Uncle Dean continued, "OJ was guilty."
"Even so, how are we going to find him?"
Uncle Dean gave Dad an incredulous look. "I know…"
-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-
"Not necessarily an inconspicuous ride," Uncle Dean muttered as the three of us walked up to it. From the inside of his jacket, Uncle Dean pulled out a crow bar. "Let's have a look, shall we?"
With a loud clank, the back door creaked open to reveal the inside of a van right from the seventies (well, basing it off my knowledge from That '70s Show). There was a disco ball hanging over an unmade bed. A tiger poster was plastered in the wall, along with pictures of naked women. And, above all, there were a couple of bongs scattered among the blankets.
"This is magnificent, that's what it is," Uncle Dean said, pretty much in awe. "It doesn't look like a serial killer's lair, though."
Dad reached over and grabbed a book off the bed. It was bound in brown leather and, to be honest, looked like every other book on the planet.
"No scissors stuck in someone's photo…but the tiger…" Uncle Dean scratched his chin in contemplation.
"I believe it's a Bengal Tiger, if that helps," I said, crossing my arms.
Dad shook his head. "Hale. Cont. Lichtenstein. This is some pretty heavy reading."
"Yeah," Uncle Dean sighed as he grabbed the longest bong I have ever seen (not that I have seen many). "And Moby Dick's bong." He smiled wickedly at Dad, as if he was hinting at smoking a joint.
Dad just gave him an incredulous look.
"No," Dad simply told him, grabbing the bong out of his hands and threw it back into the van. They closed the doors, and we headed back into the alley for yet another stake-out.
But, on our way there, Uncle Dean went across the street saying that he was hungry. He disappeared into the minimart, and I was suddenly scared for my life. I was alone with Dad, who was probably still pissed at me for the whole having-a-random-guy's-number thing.
"Look, Liz, I trust you," he said. That was the last thing I expected to fall out of his mouth.
"Okay," I said, hesitantly.
"It's the boys I don't truth," he stated bluntly. "I know teenage boys. Believe it or not, I used to be one once."
"Really, I thought parents came from outer space, sent to earth to make children's lives a living hell."
"Not funny, Liz."
"I know."
"But, really, teenage boys are fucked up. They think mostly with their downstairs brain and rarely think of the consequences. I just…I just don't want you getting into that kind of mess. You're just way too young."
"I understand, Dad," I said. "I wasn't even going to call his number. Even if I wanted to, I wouldn't have the guts." I hated how I sounded so weak and pathetic.
"Good," Dad said, pulling me into the hug. "Also, you aren't allowed to date until your thirty-five."
"Da-ad!" I groaned, faking an annoying girl voice.
He released the hug. "We good?"
"Yeah, until the next time one of us screws up."
"So…until tomorrow?"
I smiled. "Yes Dad, until tomorrow. By the way, it's your turn to screw up."
"I know it is."
-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-
A few minutes later, Uncle Dean came back with one of those microwavable sandwiches. It looked artery-clogging, and just plain-out disgusting. You couldn't pay me to eat something like that.
Dad looked over some papers, double checking to see if we had missed anything. I looked at the laptop. I probably should do some homework, but who does homework in the middle of a stake-out? I settled for playing my handheld video game.
When Uncle Dean was done, he tossed the foil into the back, hitting me in the face. Questionable juices leaked out onto my shirt. "Seriously?" I cried, throwing it back at him. It hit the back of his head. I smirked when I saw a bit of grease coating his hair. "What was that for?"
"You started it?"
"Seriously," Dad cried, "you two are acting like children. I expect something like this from Dean, but I thought you were more mature than this, Liz."
"HEY!" Uncle Dean and I said concurrently.
Dad chuckled lightly before turning serious. "What I don't get is the motive—"
"Well, Uncle Dean hit me in the fact, see, and—"
"Not about that. About Andy. The doc was squeaky clean. Why would he want to waste him?"
Uncle Dean shrugged. "If it was Andy."
"Dude, enough."
"What?"
"The doctor was mind controlled to step in front of the bus. Andy happens to have the power of mind control."
"I just don't think the guy has it in him."
"How the hell do you know? I mean, why are you bending over backwards to defend him."
Something in my gut told me we weren't alone. I sat up and looked out the back window to see Andy storming this way. I guess that saying was right: speak of the devil and he shall come….Or, something along those lines.
"Guys, we're not alone."
"You're not right about this," Uncle Dean accused, completely ignoring me.
"Hello?"
"About Andy?"
"HEY!" Andy suddenly appeared at Dad's side, leaning in through the open window. "Don't think I haven't noticed you guys. Why are you following me?"
"Well, we're lawyers," Dad said, always ready with a cover, "you see, a family member of yours—"
"Tell. Me. The. Truth."
"That's the—"
"We hunt demons," Uncle Dean said, his voice robotic.
"What?" Andy mumbled incredulously.
"Dean," Dad warned. But it was too late. Uncle Dean was under the spell.
"Demons, spirits, things your worst nightmare wouldn't touch. Sammy here, is my brother—"
"Dean! Shut up!"
"I'm trying. This here is my niece, Lizzie—"
"Oh, come on!"
"They're both psychic, like you. Well, not really like you. See, he thinks you're a murder—most likely Liz does too, but she only really talks if she has a snide comment to say and rarely has anything to say that is of use. They're afraid that they're going to become one themselves because you all are part of something that's terrible. I hope to hell that they're wrong, but I'm starting to get the feeling that they're right."
"Okay," Andy said, "leave me alone."
"Okay!" Uncle Dean said, cheerfully.
"Alright." Andy stormed off. Uncle Dean threw his head into his hands. Dad raced out of the car to chase after Andy. And I just sat there trying to figure out what had just happened.
I couldn't hear what Dad and Andy were saying, they were too far away. Uncle Dean told me to stay here, and he climbed out after them. I looked out the window. Dad motioned for Uncle Dean to not take a step closer as he tried to explain things to Andy—the truth about our hell-bent lives and how we were somehow connected.
When I saw the signs of Dad having a vision, I opened the door only to find myself, not in the alley, but in a gas station.
I was—or, should I say, I was seeing someone—pumping gas into their car. I noticed a leather-gloved hand, way to slender to be a man's. I must be inside a woman, which sounds so wrong and so many levels.
Her cell phone rang, and she answered it with an overly cheery, "Hello."
"Dowse yourself with gasoline and burn yourself," a man's voice said on the other line. I didn't know who it was, but it sure wasn't Andy's.
Uncle Dean was right, Andy wasn't the killer.
"Okay," she said, hanging up the phone.
Oh shit. This isn't good. This isn't good at all. This is very far from it, actually. Although I had just confirmed that Andy wasn't the killer, which means someone else with the smooth-talk ability was. This definitely added another layer to the already thick, wool blanket that was this mystery.
The woman leaned into her car and started the cigarette lighter. She then grabbed the gasoline hose and, just as the man on the cell phone said, began dowsing herself with the smelly liquid. I mentally yelled at her to stop, as if this would be the one time I would break through the barrier between simply watching the scene to changing the scene all together.
I could only hope.
"What the hell are you doing?" a station worker asked, starting to approach the woman. She simply held her hands up and said, "It's okay. Don't worry." She reached inside the car and grabbed the burning cigarette lighter.
"NO!" the man shouted. But it was too little, too late. The woman pressed the fire to her arm and she immediately erupted into flames.
I felt like I was burning alive. I wanted to scream in terror, but I couldn't, and there would be no point. The woman just took the heat, the pain. She laid down on the pavement, simply waiting to die.
I was suddenly back in the alleyway. Uncle Dean and Andy were both leaning over Dad, who was collapsed on the sidewalk. No one even noticed that I was lying on the ground.
I heard Dad accusing Andy of going to call the woman who set herself on fire, but I knew that wasn't the truth.
"She's already dead," I shouted, using the open door to stand up.
The three men looked over at me. Dad must've motioned to Uncle Dean to help me up because he was heading this way.
In the distance, I heard sirens. "It's too late," I told Uncle Dean as he held me steady. "I saw her. She's already dead."