Chapter Thirteen.

This chapter is longer, but still not the end. I've tried to add a little more of my own writing to the story, so it's caused some things to lengthen up. I hope you guys like what it is I've added to each chapter. If you don't, feel free to let me know; I actually encourage it.

I think that's actually all I have to say so...

Thank you times a billion to those who have continuously reviewed, PMed, and added this story to their lists. You seriously don't know how much it means to me.

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Disclaimer.
Song : Dream Weaver - Gary Wright

I was standing awkwardly next to Sam while Dean sat on the back of the bench next to Charlie, Donna's friend. She'd called Sam, crying hysterically, and asked us to meet her. Now, I know I told her that she should call and everything, but after all that research – the last thing I really wanted was to do some more. I kind of just wanted a break and a maybe a game of pool. Something to clear my head so that I could go back and reevaluate everything we'd seen. It was just all coming at us so fast. "And… and they found her on the bathroom floor. And her… her eyes. They were g-gone," Charlie sniffed while staring at the ground. Her friend, the skanky one from the chair – they kept calling her Jill, I'll keep calling her skank bank – had died.

"I'm sorry," Sam told her.

"And she said it," Charlie continued. I caught Dean's eyes, both of us knowing that the list we'd come up with seemed a little more backed up. And why the hell did skank bank say it? I'll tell you why. Because she's a skank bank, and skank banks think that they can do whatever they want to anyone they want and that it doesn't matter. They can just go around, forcing the little five year olds – with the hand-me downs from their brothers – to do all the dirty work. I felt rage race through me, and all of it was directed at skank bank. "I heard her say it. But it couldn't be because of that, I'm insane, right?" Well…

Dean shook his head. "No, you're not insane."

"Oh God, that makes me feel so much worse." Tell me about it, sister. I mean, we have to go around and try to explain to people that these kinds of things are real. If we had the time, I'd tell you about the times I've been chased out of homes… yelled at… had cops called on me… been arrested…

I was shifting uncomfortably. I don't like people crying. I cry, sure, but watching other people cry makes me feel… uneasy. I don't know how to comfort them. They just sit there, getting all salty and wet and I am just there, kind of tapping their back with the same force and movements as a limp fish. I think the worst part is because these people have already usually gotten on my last freaking nerve by the time they finally realize what's happening. I don't see how you would have noticed because I mean, I'm really not as bad as Dean and Sam suggest, but I have a bit of a bad temper. I don't like when I try to tell people what needs to happen and then they argue with me. I mean, hello. I'm trying to save your life and you are just here, being stupid and causing more problems. It's just obnoxious. But, so here Charlie is crying, and I am playing with the grass beneath my feet while puffing out large cheeks of air. "Look, Charlie," I tried to snap out of it. "We think something's happening here. Something that can't be explained. And we're gonna stop it, I promise, but we could really maybe use your help."

"What do you mean?" she sniffed, finally look up at Sam and me.

Dean eyed me and then spoke. "Is there any way that you could maybe get us into Jill's room? We're gonna need to look at the bathroom."

"Why?"

"Well when skan –" Sam nudged me in the ribs, sharply, "I mean J-Jill. Jill. When Jill said, you know what, we think that she really came. We just need to be sure."

Charlie nodded her head while playing with her hands. "I'll let you know when I can."

"Thanks," I breathed out a breath I didn't know I'd had.

I was running, but tripping as I continued down the hall. Everything seemed so large in comparison to my small body. "Becky! Come on, Becky! We just want to play a game!" I heard Tiffany's menacing voice echo off the steel walls around us.

"My name's not Becky!" I yelled back, trying to go faster to the door that was refusing to grow closer no matter how hard I tried to get there. My feet were slipping out of my shoes that were too big, and I could almost feel Tiffany's hand on the back of my hair.

"Becky! Tell her what you did!" Tiffany's voice was in my ear, causing shivers to spread throughout my entire body.

I pushed on. The door was finally growing closer, and I could see the woman with the bleeding eyes in the panes of glass on each of the heavy doors. She was screaming and scratching at it as blood dripped down the steel and to the floor. I froze. My breathing was heavy, but I couldn't move. Tiffany's footsteps and voice were growing closer while echoing louder off the walls, seeming to shake the entire hall with its vibration. I lunged forward when I felt the bright, pink nails scratch at my dress, and gripped the bloody handle before pulling. It was warm and sticky as I released my hand and allowed the door to slam shut behind me, forcing the whole room into complete darkness. A small light on a table turned on, a grown man, hunched over and reading something. I was in a motel room, a badly decorated motel room, and I wasn't five anymore… I was twenty-two, with blood still on my hand. The man, whose face I still couldn't see, picked something off the table and set it back down moments later. It was a glass, and the small about of amber liquid's reflection danced around me in the small lap's golden glow.

"Becca," the voice was gruff and low, like he was disappointed or had to tell me something that he would rather not.

"Dad?" I swallowed, slowly stepping forward. I could hear him shift in the chair and close the book. I stepped forward, slowly. I felt drawn. I stopped in front of him and felt his hand land on my arm, rubbing up and down slowly. As though a switch had been flipped, I was suddenly in his arms, squeezing my arms around his chest as he hugged me back. I breathed in the smell of leather, gun powder, and musk and my face formed a huge grin. "Dad," I sighed, holding onto him for a few moments longer. It was only when I felt something hit my cheek that I pulled away.

Looking up, I threw myself to the floor. It was my dad, but he was deathly gray. His eyes were missing and thick lines of blood were making their way down his cheeks. I tried to push myself away from him as he neared, hitting the bed beside him and suddenly unable to move. His hands raised in the air, the nails bloody, and reached forward….

"AHHHHH!" My scream was loud and piercing as I flew up in the bed. I was panting, and from the look on Sam and Dean's faces, they looked just as terrified as I felt. I could feel myself shaking, and I couldn't make it stop. "S-S-S-Sam?" I managed to get out.

"Becca, are you okay?" he slowly stood up from the table and came over to me. "You were having a nightmare," he assured me.

I nodded my head. "But, his… his eyes!" I gestured to my face. "They were gone, and there was so much blood, on my hands, on his face… the floor. Mary, she did it! She took his eyes!" I was freaking out, causing my tremors to get worse and the dream to replay through my head.

"Who?" Sam sitting in front of me on the bed, his hand on my knee.

"Dad!" I said the words as though it should have been obvious. "He was here, sitting right there," I stuck a finger to where Dean sat, looking at me with worry and shock. "He was just sitting there with that stupid journal, drinking. And… and he called me over and I… I hugged him, and then he had no eyes! He just didn't have them, they were gone! I tried to get away, but I couldn't! I couldn't get away!" I could feel the tears building up in my eyes as Sam reached out and pulled me to him.

He held me as I shook, allowing the small shaky breaths to leave my system. "It was just a nightmare, you know that. Dad still has his eyeballs. Don't worry."

"Dad still has his eyeballs." I couldn't help but laugh in his arms at that. He himself seemed to struggle past a laugh and straight face in attempt to say it. I pulled away from him and shoved him back. "Damn it, Sam!

"What!" he was surprised to say the least.

"If your nightmares are contagious and you gave them to me, I'm gonna be so pissed off," I warned crawling off the bed.

"Nightmare's aren't contagious, Becca," he rolled his eyes at me as I stepped over to the table and sat in his seat, across from Dean.

"They better not be!" Dean was still eyeing me cryptically. "I'm fine, Dean," I sighed, running my hand across the mouse pad of the laptop in front of me.

He just grunted and went back to his book. "Oh, I don't think you were ever really fine, Becca. Crazy? Sure. A freak? No doubt. Fine? That's a level of normality that even Sammy can't hit."

I rolled my eyes at him and let the page in front of me load up. Scanning the names in the database, I sighed, already annoyed and bored. "Please tell me Charlie called while I was sleeping."

Sam shook his head at us. "No. It's been a while, too. You don't think she would have said it and that Mary came after her, do you?"

I looked at him with wrinkled brows. "No. She was way too freaked out. I don't think she's ever even gonna talk to someone named Mary after this… Maybe she just hasn't been able to get into Jill's room yet or something. She seemed to believe that it was real after that. Do we have any food? Please tell me you at least got food while I was out," I looked at Dean who shot a look at Sam.

"We wanted to wait until you got up to see what you wanted," Sam explained with an annoyed expression.

"Cheeseburger with pickles, lettuce, ketchup, mustard and a side order of fries. And honey mustard dipping sauce," Dean and I both recited in a bored tone. I always get a cheeseburger. Well, not always, but when someone does a food run, I always get a cheeseburger. It's easier to get the same thing instead of trying to have them memorize some crazy new order. "Same as always," I sighed out before typing "death involving mirror; Mary" into the database's search engine.

Sam got off the bed and whipped out his wallet, checking to make sure he had money inside of it. "How was I supposed to know that?"

"Because it's been that for like, two years now," I answered, not even thinking about it. There was a small silence. I could feel Dean's bored eyes staring into my forehead. "I didn't mean anything by it, Sam. It… just… yeah, you know?"

Nodding his head, he threw on his jacket. "Yeah, I know. Okay. I'm gonna go get the food. You guys keep researching," he then quickly stepped through the door.

The door clicked shut and the silence that consumed Dean and me was obnoxious. I couldn't handle it too much more before I pulled up a music video and allowed the song to come out of the speaker. "I've just closed my eyes again, climbed aboard the dream weaver train. Driver, take away my worries of the today and leave tomorrow behind."

"Ooh, dream weaver. I believe you can get me through the niiiiiiight," I sang with the song, receiving a snort from Dean. "What?" I questioned, not even shifting my eyes to him.

"Dream Weaver?" He asked, turning the page in his giant book.

I rolled my eyes. "I like this song!"

"And you having a nightmare has nothing to do with it?"

"And if it did?"

"You wanna tell me about it?"

I sighed, leaning back in my chair and bringing my legs up underneath me. "You heard what I told Sam. It was Mary, she took Dad's eyes." I was quiet for a minute, meeting his green eyes as he closed his book and dropped it on the table. "I was being chased by that Tiffany chick too, though."

He stretched out his arms and grabbed his beer while raising a brow. "Huh?"

I clicked the laptop closed. There was no way that I would be reading any of that. "In the beginning. I was five, being chased by Tiffany and that led me to the door. I opened the door, and walked in here, and Dad was sitting where you are."

Dean spun his head to the door as Sam came through quickly. "Dude, that was the fastest food run ever… Where's the food?"

"Charlie just called me. She got into Jill's room. Come on."

I was sitting, impatiently on the top of the roof thing outside of Jill's window as Charlie came into the room and finally unlocked the window and let us in. Climbing in after Dean and Sam, I fell to my face when my torn pant leg got stuck on nail from one of the shingles outside. I was struggling. My face and arms, along with my one leg were on the floor while the rest of my body was tipped up and hanging from the edge of the window while one foot stuck through it, showing to the world. "Dean, little help here?" I reached out and tried to tap the back of his boot while I kind of just hung and swung there. He turned to look at me and rolled his eyes before turning back to the bed he'd put the duffel bag on. "Hey, you dick, come help me!" I was trying not to yell, but oh, I was definitely on the verge of doing so. Sam came to the rescue, thank God. And he was laughing at me. Dude. Did he just take a photo of me with his phone? I officially hate them both right now.

"So what did you tell Jill's mom?" Sam asked as he helped set me on the floor before closing the window and curtains.

I stomped, lightly, over to where Dean was and punched him in the shoulder, receiving a smirk. "Just that I needed some time alone with Jill's pictures and things. I hate lying to her." I started pulling things out of bag, Dean and I shoving each other's hands away from the opening continuously.

After he'd successfully stepped in front of me, and blocked the bag off from my reach, he spoke over his shoulder. "Trust us, this is for the greater good. Hit the lights."

Charlie clicked the lights off. "What are you guys looking for?"

I snatched the camera out of Sam's hands and turned it on. "We'll let you know as soon as we find it," I told her.

Sam reached over my shoulder and pulled the camera out of my hands, holding it up higher than I could even pretend to jump. Damn him. He pointed it towards Dean. "Hey, night vision," he signaled to Dean. Hearing the faint click and seeing Dean attach it to the camera, Sam tested out the screen. "Thanks. Perfect."

I pulled Sam's arms down, so I could see, too. Dean noticed the camera being pointed towards him. Turning and sticking out his butt, he looked over his shoulder and wiggled his brows. "Do I look like Paris Hilton?"

"You're definitely a bigger boob," I responded, trying to seem serious only to hear Sam suppress a laugh next to me before he turned around and started checking the room.

I felt completely useless. "So, I don't get it," I huffed. "I mean… the first victim didn't summon Mary, and the second victim did. And then, with Tiffany, no one died… How is she choosing the people she kills?"

"Tiffany?" I heard Charlie ask behind me from where she stood beside Dean.

"Yeah," Dean explained. "Becca had a traumatic experience with some girls when she was younger. They called you know who out, too."

"It wasn't traumatic!" I argued.

Dean eyed me with that disbelieving look. "You're still having nightmares from it."

"I had one dream from it, and I'm sure that's only because of the case. Unless Sam's nightmares really are contagious; but I will attack a giant if that's the case Sam."

"Yeah, yeah," he sighed from where he was looking into the closet.

We watched Sam close the closet door and slowly scan the walls with the camera. "I want to know why Jill said it in the first place," Dean huffed as he slowly walked around the room with EMF meter..

"It's just a joke," Charlie defended. If it was just a joke, why did you call us crying about it? Why are we here in this room, looking for it? Why would I have brought up some "traumatic" experience? You know, it's not a joke, I know it's not a joke… We all know. Tell yourself the truth and this may be done faster. Like Tom Cruise said "Help me to help you."

"Yeah, well, somebody's gonna say it again, it's just a matter of time," Dean answered gruffly. He was right.

Sam was in the bathroom, looking above the sink. If he was making faces to himself, I would be very annoyed. Highly approving and proud, but annoyed. I didn't like standing here. I felt like I could be back doing research or something… Dear God. Did that thought seriously just occur? No. I do not want to be doing research. Research is the devil. Most definitely. "Hey," Sam turned around, facing us with the camera still pointed at the mirror. "There's a black light in the trunk, right?"

Dean looked at me. "You wanna go get it?"

"Uh, no. You go get it."

"Just go get it," he threw me the keys to the Impala. I grumbled my way past, and opened the window before crawling out. Once I made it down the side of the house, unsuspected, I had to walk a few houses down to where Dean had parked the stupid Impala. Okay, okay, I'll be honest. The Impala's badass and I love it. Searching through Dean's crazy organized trunk, I finally grabbed the light. Holy crap, for such a little thing it sure is heavy. Slamming the trunk closed I jogged my way back towards the house, and up the side, again. Tapping the window with my knuckle, I jumped when the curtains suddenly swung open and Dean's face was then pressed against the glass and his eyes were crossed as he puffed out his cheeks and made this weird shape with his lips. I am related to children. Hilarious, hilarious children. Dear God. I laughed and then flicked his face on my side of the window. He unlocked it and shot me his shit eating grin before taking the black light and tossing it to Sam. I tried climbing into the window, careful to miss the nail from last time, and my toes caught on the outer ledge, causing to collapse right into the back of Dean and send us both forward, into Charlie who only stumbled.

"Sorry," I mumbled as I picked myself up and then helped Dean.

"Just close the window," he sighed. So I'm clumsy! He acts like he didn't know this or something.

Following his instruction, I turned when Sam started ripping the brown paper backing off of the mirror he'd taken from the wall. Better hope that Jill family didn't want that. Some people are weird. He turned on the black light and I caught the end of something in the corner of the light. "Wait, look," I pointed.

"What?"

I grabbed his hand and shoved it towards where I'd seen the spot. There was a hand print. Then there was a drip from the hand print and Sam shook my hand off and continued down the back of the mirror. "Gary Bryman".

"Gary Bryman?" Charlie spoke slowly as she read out the name.

"You know who that is?" Sam asked turning to her.

"No." Awesome.

"Seriously, Sam, how did you do this in college? I've never researched so much in my entire life, and already, I hate it," I groaned flipping through yet another ledger.

Sam was going through three at once. I don't know how, I couldn't even really pay attention to the one in front of me. "It's not that bad."

"Yes it is!" Sam shot me that look that told me I was clearly being over reactive and needed to relax. "Fine. I have nothing on a Gary Bryman here. Do you want me to take one of those?" I closed my own ledger and took the one he offered me. "Do you think Gary was the first victim Mary ever took?"

Sam shook his head. "No. The first person we've been able to link her to is Shoemaker. Dean looked up the weird deaths and didn't find anything remotely close. And judging from your story, at the way Mary was clawing at the mirror, I'm assuming she was aiming for someone's eyes."

I eyed him. "Thanks, that's just what I need to add to my fears. You sure know how to cheer a girl up, don't ya? Okay, so, don't hate me for asking this, but what about you? What about your nightmares lately?" He ignored me and flipped another page in one of the ledgers. "I told you mine, Sam! The least you can do it tell me yours. I feel like we haven't talked in forever."

"We talk every day."

"Not like we used to. You were my best friend, you freak. And when you left I had to go to Dean. Do you know what that did to me!? I mean, Sam, come on. I look like his clone. From my almost always pulled back, brown hair down to my ripped, blue jeans. My attitude sucks, I'm like, probably the most sarcastic person in the word ever, and I eat burgers. All the time. I eat so many burgers I could probably die from heart disease tomorrow. I don't really just open up anymore, Sam. Dean's a quiet "hold it in" type person, and when you left, I didn't really want to unload everything on him… So, I mean, we talk, but not like you and I used to… I never felt like I had to hold back with you."

He closed one of the books and stuck in his tongue in his cheek, as though he were thinking about it. "You're not so horrible. And you always dressed and acted like Dean, so you didn't really change, Becs."

"Well… true. But you still have to tell me."

"They're about Jess."

"What are?"

"The dreams, Becca… God, so not only are you Dean's music and style prodigy, but now you're just as clueless too?"

Ouch, that stung. But in the, "you're my little sister and I'm teasing you" type thing. "Shut up!"

He closed both ledgers, leaning back in the chair. "I saw her getting hurt. In the dream," he shot me a look to make sure I understood. I gave him a look that read "are you serious, I know what you mean" and he continued. "I had it over and over again for what felt like forever…"

"So, what'd you do?" my voice was quiet.

He sighed and leaned forward, placing his arms on the table. "I didn't believe anything was going to happen. I just thought it was normal nightmares. Just like some big fear coming through my subconscious or something."

There was a silence. He was glaring at the table, and I was watching him. "Sam, it's okay. It's just a dream. All right, I mea –"

"It's a dream that came true, Bec. It's not just some dream like you had. It came true. Jess got hurt, and I knew it was going to happen. Do you know what that's like?" I thought I saw a tear slid down his cheek.

Standing up and coming to stand behind him, I leaned on his back and wrapped my arms around his shoulders and squeezed. There are only two people I feel like I know how to comfort in this world, and the easier one was sitting right in front of me, silently screaming for this hug. "No, Sam. I don't know what that's like. But I know you're strong, okay? I know that there is nothing wrong with you, so if you think there is, stop. I'm sorry about Jess, but you can't keep blaming yourself. If you do, it's going to eat you up inside. It will send you on the crazy, vindictive mission that it sent Dad on, and look at how that turned out. He left his children sitting here with no answers. You can't do that. I don't know what to tell you to make them go away, or how to make them easier to handle, but I'm here for you. Okay? So don't feel like you have to hold it in anymore, and don't feel like you can't come to me. Because you can, you don't have to fight this alone. You're better than that, Sam."

We sat there like that, me wrapped around him, him glaring at the table. The silence wasn't awkward, but I could feel the heat of his anger in my skin and it scared me. "Are you going to tell Dean the next time you two are alone and talking about me?"

"God no, he'd say something like you had The Shining or something equally stupid. He doesn't do feelings well. And do you just think we sit around talking about you all day or something? We have lives, Sam, and way more important things to discuss, like how bad his feet stink after a mission. The answer by the way is absolutely horrid. I suggest we throw his boots out next time," I said in his ear.

I heard Sam chuckle and felt him move beneath me, signaling my release. "All right, come on. Let's go check out the computer and see if any Gary Bryman's are on it."

"Deal," I smiled wrapping my arm around him and walking to where the one computer stood on a table. "Okay," I pulled up the database, "teach me your ways, Jedi Master. What steps to answers take must we?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "You realize you completely mixed up character parts, right?"

"And your inner geek shines through. Just tell me what to type."

Working our way, together, through all of the articles, we finally found one about an eight year old boy. I clicked on it as Sam instructed, printing out the entire thing before we walked out of the door, Sam reading it while we neared Dean and Charlie who were talking on a bench.

"So, Gary Bryman was an eight year old boy. Two years ago he was killed in a hit and run. The car was described as a black Toyota Camry. But nobody got the plates or saw the driver," Sam told us all as we stopped in front of them.

"Oh my God," Charlie gasped.

I raised an eyebrow to her as Sam asked,"What?"

"Jill drove that car." What. The. Hell. You were friends with this chick, knowing she killed a kid? What kind of people live in this town!? You don't just kill a little kid and not go to the police? I had a whole new hatred for skank bank built up inside of me.

"Guys, we need to get back to Donna's," I sighed, glaring at Charlie. "If skank bank killed that kid, maybe there's something on the back of Shoemaker's mirror too."

"Linda Shoemaker" showed up in the black light as I scanned the back of the mirror from the Shoemaker bathroom, and to freak us out even more, there was another hand print. Dean hung the mirror back on the wall while Sam walked downstairs to find Donna. Stuffing the black light into the duffel, I handed Dean the bag and closed the door to the bathroom behind us. "What happened back there?"

"Uh, there was a name and hand print on the back of the mirror, just like at skank bank's house?" I eyed him not understanding how he'd forget. We seriously just left the room. "Do you need to see it again?"

"Not that, you calling Jill skank bank, I mean, don't get me wrong. I like the name choice, but from the way Charlie was glaring at you, I don' t think she really appreciated it."

Oh. "Well, I don't really care. Skank bank was a skank bank. And Charlie deserves a new name too. Who does that, Dean? Who hits a little kid and kills him without making sure he's okay? That seems way more evil to me than some ghost lady ripping out eyeballs." Skank bank deserved to have her eyes ripped out, not only for the killing of Gary, but also for the way she'd eyed my brothers. I felt a bit satisfied with the thought that she could never look at them like that again.

I heard Dean chuckle as we walked down the stairs. "She was hot though."

"She was a skank, and I bet she had herpes, so stop visualizing her in your mind. Besides, technically it's like necrophilia or something now, and I will have you committed for that."

We heard Sam and Donna, apparently arguing, in the room. "…overdosed on sleeping pills, it was an accident, and that's it. I think you should leave." Whoa, whoa, whoa! That bitchy tone was unnecessary to use on Sam. The guy's like the sweetest person in the whole world, right? No one except me or Dean gets to snap on him for trying to help.

By Dean cutting in and placing a hand on my chest to hold me back, I'm assuming he felt the same way. "Now, Donna, just listen –"

He didn't get to finish what he was saying because Donna took off running up the stairs after yelling for us to get out of the house. "Oh my God. Do you think her dad could've killed her mom?" Charlie asked from where she stood next to Sam.

"Maybe…" I suggested.

"I think I should stick around," she nodded. Yes. Stay out of our hair, and stay here with Donna.

"All right," Dean agreed. "Whatever you do, don't –"

"Believe me," Charlie cut him off. Poor guy can't get a full sentence out can he? "I won't say it."

I was leaned back in a chair, staring at the ceiling and slowly twisting the chair back and forth. Dean was researching. I refused to look at any of the files Dean dropped in front of me, or type away on the computer like Sam suggested after Dean and I had started getting into a fairly loud argument. So here I was, sitting next to Dean, staring off into space, and humming to myself. "humhummmmm humhumhumhuhummmm hummhuhumhummhumhuhuhum hummmmmmmhumhummhumhumhumhuuuuuumhuhum –"

"Stop humming."

"No."

"Becca."

"Dean."

Sam turned around from the giant bulletin board full of everything we'd found that he was looking at, with a bored look on his face. "Guys, can you just, wait, wait, wait, you're doing a nationwide search?" he bent down and looked at the computer screen in front of Dean. Well that's actually a way better plan than I had to just send out a news release banning anyone from ever saying it again.

"Yep. The NCIC, the FBI database – at this point any Mary who died in front of a mirror is good enough for me."

"Hold on, you tapped into the FBI database? Dean, what if you get caught?" I was sitting up now, and brought my chair right beside him.

He turned and shoved my chair, causing me to roll across the room and bump into the dresser. I slowly scooted my way forward, back towards him. "But if she's haunting the town, she should have died in the town. Becca, if you turn around and push, you'll move faster." God, Sam is a genius! I spun and quickly made my way back over to them, practically knocking Sam over as I ran right into him.

"I'm telling you there's nothing local. Becca and I checked, God did we check. So unless you got a better idea –" I cut Dean off and pulled my legs up beneath me.

"Well, there is the way she's choosing the victims, right? I think there's some sort of pattern. Both people killed someone."

"I was thinking the same thing," Dean caught my look, causing me to smile like I'd done something right.

Sam however, didn't agree. "No, I think saying they killed them is jumping the gun, Bec. With Mr. Shoemaker, we don't know that he really killed his wife. She could have accidentally overdosed like Donna said."

"Sam, don't be dumb. The guy killed his wife. Why would Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary come after him if his wife died on accident. He had to know she was going to do it or something. I don't really see any other reason. And skank bank hit that little kid and just left him there to die. She for sure killed him. It's definitely because they didn't help the victim if it's not because they physically killed them," I stated. I'm right. I know I'm right.

"Okay, well regardless. Both victims had secrets where people died," Dean finished up.

Sam sighed and leaned on the wall behind Dean. "Well, there's a lot of folklore about mirrors; that they reveal all our lies, all your secrets, that they're a true reflection of your soul, which is why it's bad luck to break them," he eyed me.

"Yeah, okay, you have some scary chick trying to crawl out of the mirror and attack you and just let it happen. I broke that mirror out of defense. And the only bad luck I've had since then is being stuck with you two." Dean lifted a leg up and shoved my chair back once more, but this time, the wheel caught on my shoe that was lying out on the ground and I went tumbling backwards, onto the floor. "Damn it, Dean!"

"So maybe if you've got a secret, I mean like, a really nasty one where someone died, then Mary sees it, and punishes you for it."

"Whether you're the one that summoned her or not," Sam concluded as I struggled to roll out of the chair. Now I know what it's like to be a turtle. God this is hard. If these stupid arm rests weren't here…

"Take a look at this," Dean handed a few large photographs over to Sam, and I finally got up and came over to them both.

Oh gross! I made a face. There was a woman lying in a large puddle of blood. You couldn't see her face, but I knew the minute I saw that dress, it was her. "Guys, that's her. That's Bloody Mary from the mirror. I swear. Even if you can't see her face, that's the dress, the hair, the scary hands. It's her. I just know it."

Sam held up another picture for me to look at. "Looks like the same hand print from the two mirrors, too. But who's Tre?"

"Her name was Mary Worthington – an unsolved murder in Fort Wayne, Indiana," Dean explained.

"Road trip?" I asked, still looking down at the photos.

"Yeah, let's get going."