A/N: Sorry for the wait, life caught up with me again. Another reason it took so long is because this chapter, which I was originally going to split, is pretty long. I unfortunately don't have a lot of time for free writing any more, but that doesn't mean I'm going to quit. It is just going to take me longer to get chapters out. Anyway, here you are.

Chapter 15: The Mystery Monster

The unusually mild spring weather continues, leaving Kansas well above its average temperatures for the month. The forecasters predict the higher temperatures won't last for much longer, that by mid-April normal temperatures will return. Mike and I haven't really spoken much about the Colorado trip since we got back, but there really isn't much to say about it anyway. Since the trip I haven't had any visions either, for which I am very grateful. The last thing I need right now is more emotional baggage. The hunting jobs in the area have also been unusually light the past couple weeks, which has given me more time to get essential chores out of the way. I am miraculously able to convince Mike to help me clean the house and I take it upon myself to reorganize our ever-growing pile of lore books. Later in the week we both go into town, splitting up to get in and out as quickly as possible. Mike hates going into town, but eventually it becomes unavoidable. I let him take the groceries, he's the better cook anyway, while I head over to a gun and ammo shop owned by a fellow hunter. Earl is an old friend of Mike's and gives us a pretty good discount on ammo. He also has a good supply of hunting essentials not found in regular gun stores, like silver bullets, salt rounds, and holy water. The store is full of small signs that any respectable hunter would notice right away, but a civilian would never be able to point out. For instance, the large rug at the entryway that is covering a massive Devil's Trap on the floor beneath it and the small carvings etched periodically into the walls, all warding the place from different creatures.

I head to the counter and wait for Earl, who I hear rummaging through boxes in the back. I look over the counter while I wait, and my eyes are almost immediately drawn to an old, partially folded-up newspaper at the end of the counter. At the bottom of one of the pages is a small article with the title: "FBI Still Searching for Milwaukee Bank Robbers." It isn't the title that grabs my attention, it's the two pictures under the few lines of text. I walk over and pick up the paper, my eyes frozen on the pictures of Sam and Dean.

"What the hell..." I mutter in shock, reading the small article.

Luckily, the paper is a few months old, meaning Sam and Dean have managed to keep from getting arrested so far.

"Oh, Lara, I didn't hear you come in."

The sudden sound of Earl's deep voice makes me jump a little more than I should.

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you."

"Nah, you didn't. I just was really into this paper."

"Whatcha got for me?" he asks.

I hand him the small list Mike and I compiled earlier in the day. He starts wandering around the store, picking up the various items. I start to look at the article again, not entirely sure what else I'm hoping to find. It's a very small article and not filled with a lot of information.

"So how's Maude?" I ask, my eyes still fixed on the pictures of Sam and Dean.

"That ol' loon's crazy as ever. Every time somethin' moves in the house, she picks up the damn poker from the fireplace. Then, she realizes she just forgot she was the one who moved the stuff in the first place," Earl says as he wanders further back into the store.

"Better stop calling her names, Earl, she's gonna starve you if she ever hears the stuff you say," I jest.

"That'll be the day. Crazy old bird cooks when she's bored, which is all the time she's not raving about ghosts in the house. Sometimes she raves about the ghosts and cooks. You can always tell when she does that because the food's over-salted," Earl says, walking back to the counter with the ammo.

He rings up the ammo and I hand him the cash.

"Well, you tell her I said 'hello' and to keep up the good work. And, Earl, do you mind if I take this?" I ask, holding up the paper.

"Of course not, the thing's older than my wife. Tell Mike 'hey' for me too. Haven't seen him in a while."

"Will do. Thanks again."

"Always."

The temperatures finally peak in the middle of the day and I take advantage of them to get the final item on my list done. With the traveling and the hunting before the traveling, I've completely neglected my poor car. She's been sitting in the yard, covered in a hefty layer of Kansas dirt for the past couple weeks. The last time I even drove her was when I went to that asylum with the Winchesters, and that was weeks ago too. I gather the bucket, soap, towels and the giant sponge from the garage, where Mike is working on his truck.

"Finally going to the clean that thing?" he comments, not taking his eyes of his truck.

"Now that I actually have time to, yeah."

"Here, you're gonna need this too," he says tossing me a spray-can of foam tire cleaner.

"Thanks," I say, catching the can with my one free hand.

"You know, it's probably going to rain tomorrow."

"Go back to your truck," I grumble, walking out of the garage.

Just as I start to spray down the Camaro, Mike turns up the radio in the garage. It's nice to have music to listen to, otherwise, washing this much dirt off gets tedious pretty fast. It doesn't take long for me to realize I'm going to have to go over my car twice before she's really clean. The warm weather and sunshine starts to become less of a blessing and more like a curse about half-way through my second wash. The sun is drying the car so fast I have to keep spraying it down to keep it from spotting up. Not only is the sun baking the car, it's baking me too. I realize only now I probably should have pulled it in the shade before I started this. I am finishing up when "Simple Man" starts playing on the radio, the only thing keeping me from finishing in an irritated mood. I start to sing along, knowing there's no way anyone will hear me anyway. I'm reaching over the roof, trying to get the last, tricky spot in the middle of it when I find out I'm wrong.

"Damn, I don't know what's hotter: you singing Skynyrd or that car."

The radio continues to go, but I freeze as soon as I hear that. I smile to myself.

"That's the best line you could come up with, Winchester?" I ask before turning around.

"What else was I supposed to say when I walked up to that?" Dean jokes. "And it wasn't a 'line.'"

I spray the car down one more time and start to dry it off before the sun gets to it. Dean picks up one of the other towels and starts on the other side.

"How did you even-Bobby," I say, answering my own question.

"Yeah, he still had Mike's address so he gave it to me and I-"

"Wait, why did you need Mike's address? Is something wrong?" I ask, immediately concerned that Sam isn't anywhere in sight.

Dean stops and looks around, only making me more concerned.

"This is embarrassing, but, I need your help," Dean finally says.

I am relieved that he appears sheepish, not upset in any way. Still, I can't let him off this easy.

"Embarrassing? You find needing my help, embarrassing?" I say, mockingly.

"What? No, no, not like that. I just- I'm just going to dig myself into a deeper hole here, aren't I?"

I nod and finish drying the car, taking the other towel from Dean when he is finished. Out of nowhere, Mike appears, walking straight up to Dean. I didn't even see him come over from the garage.

"You must be Dean Winchester," Mike says, shaking Dean's hand. "I've heard a lot about you and your brother, it's nice to finally meet you."

"You too," Dean says. "I guess Bobby talks about Sam and I a lot."

"Yeah, I have heard about you from Bobby, but I was mostly talking about Lara."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, she just keeps telling me how you and Sam are the best hunters she knows. She loves hunting with you two, never stops with the stories..."

At this point Mike certainly knows I am aware he's trying to embarrass me. Dean looks at me with a sarcastic smile.

"Oh, really? What else does she say about us?"

I glare at Dean for playing along with Mike's ploy to embarrass me. Dean only smiles more and listens to Mike.

"Well, not much more worth repeating. What do you need, son? I'm sure Lara would be glad to help."

That last dig at me comes with the perfect opportunity to turn this back on them. I guess Dean can see the fire in my eyes because I hear him mutter something along the lines of "Oh, crap" right before I pounce.

"Oh, Mike, funny you should ask," I say in the most sarcastic, mocking tone. "Dean here, one of the best hunters I know, needs my help. Turns out he bit off more than he could chew."

We go back into the house, Mike offers Dean a drink before Dean starts to explain his situation. I listen to him, but in my mind I keep wondering why he would have taken on a case without Sam. Even more, why, if he needed help, didn't he call Sam instead of coming here. Whatever the case is with them, Dean's situation seems serious.

"-and I finally catch up with the wolf. I didn't get a good look at who it was, because it was so dark, and then it ran. I chased it and shot at it, but the silver didn't do anything."

"Are you sure you hit it?" I ask.

"Yeah, not doubt."

"So, it wasn't a werewolf," Mike comments.

"No, which is concerning."

"Of course I'll help-"

"Lara-" Mike cuts in.

"What? It's not like I've never been on a hunt where I didn't know what I was hunting."

I look to Dean and smile.

"Besides, Dean is one of the best hunters I know," I add, with slight sarcasm.

Mike shakes his head with a grin, "As long as you're up for it."

Soon, Dean and I are on our way to a small town a few hours outside of Wichita. I sit silently in the passenger seat of the Impala, not wanting to bring up the blaringly obvious elephant in the room. Finally, I decide there will never be a good time to bring it up.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"If you needed help... why didn't you call Sam?"

"Sam is-uh, well Sam isn't hunting right now. We sort of had this argument, so I took this case alone. Thought it was just a simple werewolf thing..."

As he trails off, I decide not to push the matter further, it is clear it's something he doesn't want to discuss. Instead, I turn the radio up, enjoying our similar taste in music. In my head, I try to run through everything Dean has told me about this case. Figuring out what we are dealing with before we encounter it would be ideal. All evidence points directly to a werewolf, but no werewolf is immune to silver bullets. I try to ignore the werewolf signs and focus on anything else about the case I may be overlooking. I flip through the file Dean handed me when we got in the car, looking for any other explanation, but I fail to find one. We are nearly to the town when I give up in frustration.

"I don't get it," I say.

"Me neither," Dean responds, his eyes still fixed on the road ahead.

"What monster would want to mimic another monster? What good would it do? Hunters would come, regardless."

"Maybe it hopes we are so unprepared, it can kill us before we have a chance to kill it."

"That's a comforting thought."

"It still isn't a good plan."

"I think we need to speak with the townspeople again, see if they know anything else."

"That's fine, but we need to be quick about this, and careful. Before I left, I think they were already getting suspicious of me," Dean says.

We pull into the town as the sun is setting, and head straight to the motel Dean has already set up in. Hopefully the cover of dusk shrouded us from any suspicious town-folk. When I get out of the Impala, I find the town completely silent. The only discernible sound is the wind rustling some tree branches near the motel. The air has dropped back down to its normal cold temperatures, making my breath clearly visible in the darkening air. I grab my bag from the backseat of the Impala and follow Dean into the motel room he has already been staying in. The room shows the clear signs of a hunt; papers scattered around, different reports from the coroner, police and other officials, and the more noticeable empty beer bottles. Dean pulls his gun out of his inside jacket pocket and places it on the bedside table. I place my bag down next to the other bed, pulling my gun from my own jacket pocket. I instead tuck my gun under a pillow on the bed. First rule of hunting when you don't know what monster it is, always make sure your weapon is within reach at all times. I sit down on the corner of the bed and wait for Dean to say something. When he doesn't, I get confused.

"So, what's the plan? Who should we talk to first?" I ask.

"No one."

"What do you mean?"

"This is one of those weird towns where everyone goes to sleep by eight o'clock, you're not going to find anyone outside of their house right now. Sorry, guess I forgot to mention that."

"No, its fine, just- wow, really, eight? Let me guess, no good bars either, huh?"

"Nope."

"I already hate this place," I joke.

"There is a good pizza joint, though. And they deliver."

"Okay, it's looking a bit better."

While Dean orders a pizza, I jump in the shower to relax for a second. Ever since Dean showed up at Mike's alone, I haven't been able to shake that same guilty feeling that I should tell him about my vision. I try to shake it, hoping to turn my mind off for just a few minutes, but I can't.

After a few slices of pizza and a few beers, Dean and I decide to once more go through the list of possible monsters we could be dealing with.

"Werewolf," I say.

"Only if it's immune to silver."

"Or if you aren't as good of a shot as you think you are."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"What? What other monsters do you know that like to take the hearts of their victims and are immune to silver?"

"Vengeful spirit."

"Maybe, that's where the town people will be helpful."

"What about...a vamp with a fetish?"

I laugh for a second before realizing he is serious.

"I'm just saying, some of those vamps are weird."

"Well, we're back to square one then, without any new information. Information which we can't get until tomorrow morning. Tonight we have nothing."

"Depends on what you consider 'nothing'," Dean says.

"We don't have any clear leads beside the one fact of the missing hearts. I would consider that minimal-"

My words are cut short when Dean leans over to kiss me.

"I didn't mean the evidence," he says.

"Good," I say, glad to finally be able to devote my mind to something other than the case.

I wake to a beam of sunlight hitting my face through the small space under the curtains. I don't move, I don't want to. For the first time in a while I feel peaceful; lying under soft, warm blankets with Dean next to me, his arm gently around me. I feel him move slightly with each slow breath, he is still fast asleep, the sunlight blocked by my body. I close my eyes, trying to focus only on this moment, and try not to let my mind drift to what is ahead. To my surprise it works, and I find myself drifting off again, soothed by Dean's slow, rhythmic breaths. I don't know how much longer I sleep, but I am eventually woken again by Dean sitting up next to me. I let out a long sigh and pull my pillow closer. Dean pulls the pillow away from me and kisses my neck.

"Come on, I know it sucks, but we have work to do," he says, getting up from the bed.

"Screw work," I grumble.

Dean chuckles, "I wish."

I slowly roll over and swing my legs over the side of the bed. As I pull my clothes on halfheartedly, I turn back to face Dean, who is also pulling his shirt over his head.

"You know...you didn't have to use a hunt as an excuse to come see me," I poke.

"What? No, that's not-I know that," Dean finally says, smiling as he realizes I'm joking.

We finish getting dressed and start to pack our hunting essentials into the trunk of the Impala. The morning air is crisp and the town is a lot more lively this time of day. I watch a number of people walk up and down the streets, going about their daily tasks.

"I figured we could grab some breakfast at this local place, talk to some of the people there, and then head to the police station," Dean says.

"Sounds like a good plan."

The local diner is a little place in the middle of town, crowded and bustling with the morning rush. An amalgamation of people talking, dishes clanking, and the sounds of the kitchen fill the small building. Nothing looks out of the ordinary about this town, and all of the people here certainly fit the bill of "small-town folk." Everyone seems friendly, no one is sitting alone at a table without talking to the people around them. A few of them even come up to Dean and I, asking who I am; they seem to remember Dean. Without any objection from Dean, I take the story that I am his supervisor at the FBI, trying to catch this murderer. I try to be light with the people, as they understandably don't want to linger on such heavy topics first thing in the morning. After downing some of the best pancakes I have had, and some much needed coffee, I am ready to start the search. Dean, however, is still in the middle of his breakfast. I smile and let my mind wander as I look around the room once more. This place is very reminiscent of the places my father would take Eric and I to while we were on hunts. Some times the small things catch me more than actually missing them.

"Hey, you okay?"

Dean's voice draws me back out of the past, I realize I am frowning.

"Yeah, just thinking."

"You sure?" he says, spearing his final sausage.

I nod and smile at him, trying to be convincing. He smiles back, going back to eating.

We head to the sheriff's office next, it's a small building sitting off to the side of the town square. Dean gives me all the information I need to appear like an FBI supervisor to this sheriff. When we walk inside the building, the sheriff is the first one to greet us.

"Hello, ma'am, what can I do for ya'?"

"Sheriff Simmons, Agent Daniels, FBI, I'm Agent Cooper's supervisor," I say, shaking the sheriff's hand.

I show him my badge, but he seems more interested in Dean.

"Supervisor, huh? What'd you do wrong?"

"He's just fresh off probation and made some simple errors, nothing too bad. Gotta cross our 't's and dot our 'i's, you know how it is. Also, I'm one of the only people at the Bureau who believes this case deserves our attention. They don't believe small town cases are where we should be focusing, but I believe every case is important."

"Well, I think I can speak for the entire town when I say I'm glad you believe that. We really do need the help, and I just can't cut a big case like this. I've got some pretty frightened citizens to worry about. Anything you need, just ask."

"Okay, I'm just going to go through some basic questions, probably ones Agent Cooper already asked. Have you noticed anything out of the ordinary in recent days or the past week?"
"No, everything's been pretty normal around here."
"Alright. How about the victims? Who found the bodies?"

"Well, Jerry Marks was found in the town square. It was morning, so a lot of people saw him at once. Jerry was sort of jumping from house to house, mostly friends' houses, he fell on hard times a while back. Johanna Carter was found by Halley Jones-"

I take out my small note pad and write down the name, in an effort to seem legitimate.

"Halley Jones?"

"Yes, ma'am, but Halley is a sweet girl. She's lived here most of her life. She can be really shy sometimes, so please, don't go too hard on her."

"This isn't an interrogation, Sheriff, I'm just trying to see if anyone saw anything. No one is accusing anyone. I'll start with Miss Jones and be back in touch with you later, thank you for the information."

Sheriff Simmons hands me Halley Jones' address on a piece of paper. The house isn't too far from the Sheriff's office, so Dean and I walk.

"Nice job in there," Dean says.

"Thanks. Sometimes it disturbs me how well I lie now."
"Would you rather try to convince people monsters are real?"

"Definitely not," I say, finding myself smiling at the idea.

Halley Jones' house is small, painted a light yellow, sitting on the end of the main street. The house looks like it came out of a magazine, the hedges and small front yard are picture-perfect.

"Damn, Home and Gardens threw up all over this place," Dean says as we walk up to the house.

I suppress a laugh, even though I completely agree. I admire Dean's sense of humor, it brings a lightness to an otherwise hard job. When I get to the door, Dean hangs back.
"I'm going to look around while you talk to her."

"Just don't make these people even more suspicious of you."

"Sure thing, boss," he replies sarcastically.

The door keeps with the magazine-worthy image, it is white with flower patterns carved into its corners. It even has a gold, star-shaped knocker in the center. I think of how accurate Dean's comment was as I use the knocker. Before the door opens, I look around, but Dean is already gone. Lying is a part of the job I never really liked, but, as Dean said, the truth is much harder to explain. It also would prove ineffective in finding out important details. The door opens only slightly, a woman no older than thirty peaks her head around.

"May I help you?" she asks softly.

I slowly take my fake badge from my pocket, showing it to her.

"Halley Jones? Agent Daniels, FBI, I just wanted to ask you a few questions. Sheriff Simmons sent me over, he believed you could help," I say, trying to appear as friendly as possible.

"Yes...sorry," Halley says, opening the door further.

"Don't be, I understand you want to take precautions with things how they are."

"Yes, I do. Please, come in," she says, moving out of the doorway.

Without the door covering most of her face, I can finally see that she has to be in her late twenties at most. Her features are striking, her hair is pitch-black and her eyes are the lightest blue I have ever seen. She closes the door behind me and leads me into a living room area. The interior of the house is just as picturesque as the exterior. The living room is painted in bright colors, with a great amount of sunlight streaming through a bay window that overlooks a small garden. Halley sits in a light pink armchair, I take a seat on the white couch opposite from her.

"Would you like some tea? I just made a pot," she offers.

"No, thank you, I shouldn't stay too long," I say, puling out my small notepad.

Halley seems to get nervous when I pull out the notepad and pen, the Sheriff definitely got the shy part spot on.

"It's fine, you're not in trouble, I promise. I just wanted to ask you a few questions to see if you noticed anything this past week. That's all, then I'm gone."

"Okay," Halley says hesitantly.

Starting with the wrong question could scare her so much she might not talk to me at all. So I decide to start with questions not even related to the case.

"This house is very beautiful, do you live here alone?"

She seems to warm at the mention of her house.

"Thank you. I do live here alone, I used to live with my grandmother, but she passed a couple years back. So it's just me now."

"I'm very sorry."

"Thank you..."

"I'm sorry, I have to ask these questions now, but what you know could be very important," when Halley nods, I continue, "Now, did you notice anything in the past couple days or week that seemed out of the ordinary?"

"Like what?"

"Any strangers, weird smells, or anyone you know acting weird?"

She shifts in her chair, looking perplexed.

"Weird smells?"
"Just one of the standard questions, it could indicate drugs or hidden remains, that sort of thing."

"No, everything's been pretty normal, and the only strangers I've seen are you and your other agent. He came into town a couple days ago, after they found Clark."

"You were the one who found Johanna Carter, weren't you? That's what Sheriff Simmons told me.

Halley drops her head, "Yes, I found Johanna. I was bringing her muffins that morning, going to visit and give her some company, but I found her outside near the sidewalk. Poor Johanna, she had been through so much recently and-" she breaks for a second, "-sorry, it just doesn't seem fair that someone should have to suffer so much."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it wasn't that long ago that Mr. Carter filed for divorce and took their two children with him. He said Johanna was being neglectful and all this horrible stuff. She was working a lot, you know, long nights at the hospital. A lot of the stuff he said about her wasn't true. But he took the children just the same, and it was all legal, that's what made it worse for Johanna. Some judge actually ruled that she was a bad mother because of those lies. She was really upset about it, of course, she loved her children dearly."

"Could Mr. Carter-?"

"No, there's no way, he moved way up north. Plus, I would have recognized him if he was around."

I ask Halley a few more questions before leaving, but there is no clear answer. No strangers, no weird smells, no out of the ordinary behavior that would suggest demons or a couple other monsters that look like people. It definitely is not a shifter, since Dean shot it with a silver bullet. There is a small piece of information I got from Halley that is nagging at me. I am heading back to the sheriff's office when Dean steps in front of me on the sidewalk.

"Find anything?" I ask.

"Nah, nothing. She's clean, almost too clean, my God. She had like twenty cats, didn't she?"

I laugh, "No, but I was fully expecting to see at least one. Also, the inside of the house was just as 'cute' as the outside. I think her grandmother decorated it, though, so I feel bad."

"Why?"

"Her grandmother passed recently. Peaceful, nothing weird."

"Did you find anything, then?"

"Not really, I have an idea, but I need to go talk to the sheriff first. I still have no idea what this monster could be. I would say shifter but-"

"Shifters hate silver, yeah, I thought of that too."

"I don't know, maybe it is just a person doing all of this, which is very concerning to think about."

"God, I hope not."

Dean splits off when I reach the sheriff's, he has another partial lead he wants to check out. I don't push the matter, seeing as I didn't tell him what mine was either. At this point, we don't need to be affirming or denying each other's leads, considering it could be literally anything that isn't affected by silver. Finding anything to link the victims would be extremely helpful, and might also narrow down the list of monsters. The sheriff's office is empty when I walk inside, I look around, hoping to see any sign of the sheriff. All I find is a single note on his desk.

"'Department meeting. Back at noon.' Well, that's less than helpful," I say to myself.

I look at the clock, noon is only half an hour from now, so I decide to just wait on the sheriff to return. I sit down in one of the chairs by the sheriff's desk and start to jot down names of all of the monsters I know. As I write down ones that are hurt by silver, I cross them off. The fact that we basically know nothing is the reason the list gets so long. I am flipping over to a second clean page when I suddenly get a massive migraine. The sudden onset of pain makes me drop my pen. Before the pen even hits the floor, the whole room fades away before my eyes. I am no longer in the sheriff's office, instead I am in a cold, and damp room. My arms are restrained above my head, chained to the ceiling and my feet are barely able to touch the floor. The room is so dark I can hardly see two feet in front of my face, but I am able to make out the shape of another person in the room. I don't need good lighting to tell it is Dean I am looking at. He is similarly chained up to the ceiling, his body limp.

"Dean!" I call out, afraid that he is injured.

Dean lifts his had slightly, "Lara? What...?" he mumbles groggily.

A dark figure appears suddenly between us, a figure I cannot make out in any way. I see a dim glint off of what appears a silver blade as the creature moves toward Dean.

"Stop! Don't hurt him!" I call out, almost instinctively.

The creature turns, advancing toward me instead. Even as it gets closer, I can't see what it is. I can feel anger and fear rising in me as the creature gets even closer to me. It tilts its head suddenly.

"Good," it says in a raspy, whispering voice.

In one swift motion the creature plunges the silver knife deep into my chest.

Suddenly, I am back in the sheriff's office, sitting in the same chair. I find myself too confused and unsettled to move an inch. I can still feel the cool metal tearing open my skin. An all too familiar feeling hangs over me, and I realize what just happened. Though it has never happened before, I just had a vision while I was wide awake. Worried that someone may have seen me, I look back at the clock: 11:55. Luckily, it is not noon yet and I am still alone. I don't normally move or call out in real life when I have my visions, then again, I am normally asleep or unconscious at the same time. I pick my pen up off of the floor and stand up, slowly, from the chair. I am just about to go wait outside, when I hear the door open.

"Oh, Agent Daniels, sorry about the wait," Sheriff Simmons says, walking over to his desk.

"It's okay, it gave me time to just sit here and think without any distractions."

"What can I help you with?"

"Are you sure there wasn't any connection between the victims?"

"Yes. They were all different genders, ages. Unless you count them all being adults in this town a connection."

"No...What about marital status?"

"Different. Some were single, separated, one was on the run from a bad relationship."

"None of them were married?"

"...Actually, no."

All of a sudden, the idea I got at Halley's is starting to make more sense. So, I cut out the build up and shoot for it.

"How many of the victims lived alone?" I ask.

Sheriff Simmons doesn't even have to flip through the files again to answer me.

"All of them."

"Tell me why each of them lived alone. Start with the first victim."

Dean calls as I am leaving the sheriff's office, we meet back up in the town square. The information I got from Sheriff Simmons is the closest thing to a lead Dean and I have gotten this whole time. When Dean makes it to the town square, I don't waste any time.

"Wow, you look happy. What did you find out?" Dean says.

I look around, making sure no one is close enough to hear us. Even though no one is too close, I drop my voice down to almost a whisper.

"I finally found a connection between the victims. All of them lived alone," I start.

"That is a connection, but it doesn't help us narrow down our monster list. Loners tend to be better targets for monsters, makes it easier to go unnoticed."

"In a town like this? Never mind. They weren't just living alone, Dean. Remember Jerry Marks?"

"The town drunk?"

"He was the town drunk only after his wife and child died in a car accident two years ago. Johanna Carter's husband left, taking their two children with him in the divorce. Sophia Donahue was a widow of five years. Ryan West lost his job recently and was going through hard times. The most recent victim, Clark Peters, was suffering severe depression after escaping an abusive relationship. These people weren't just loners, they were all living alone after suffering some type of emotional trauma."

Dean is quiet for a moment, I assume he is taking in all of the information.

"Good point, but what monster- wait, these people were probably all seeing a shrink for this crap, right?"

I quickly flip through the notes the sheriff gave me.

"Actually, yes, most of them were. The ones that were getting help were going to a grief counselor, Bryan Myers."

"Awesome, let's find our murderous shrink."

"Dean, wait," I say, grabbing his arm before he walks off. "First of all, we aren't sure about that. Second, if Myers is a monster, we have no clue what he is. Although, something about this pattern does seem familiar. I remember reading about this creature when I was young, I forget what it was called. But, that creature fed off of emotions, particularly negative emotions, fear, grief, anger...I read about it in this lore book Mike gave me, and I remember being really scared of it because I thought it would come for me. I had just lost my father and I was filled with all of those emotions."

"A creature like that would love he two of us, wouldn't it?"

I smile slightly, but then I remember my vision and hesitate.

"Yeah, look at us, two basket cases of tragedy," I say.

We decide to split up again for the time being. Dean goes to check out the shrink, not to confront him, just to get a feel for what we are dealing with, if he is the monster. While Dean is checking the shrink, I call Mike to see if he knows any more about the creature I read about. When I describe the creature I remember, he can't really tell me much. He looks for the book while I am still on the phone, but he can't find it. He gives me a few names of creatures it could be based on the new information and leaves it at that. I thank him for his help and continue trying to find another lead. Dean calls me shortly after, saying that Bryan Meyers checked out, airtight alibi. My frustration is getting harder and harder to ignore as we keep getting pushed back to square one. The people in this town are going to have to live in fear if we don't catch this monster. Anyone in the town could be next. That notion sticks with me for a second and then immediately smacks me straight in the face. I call Dean back as quickly as I can.

"Dean! I may not know who or what this monster is, but I think I know who the next victim will be!"

A few minutes later, Dean meets me on the street as I quickly make my way to Halley Jones' house.

"She said she was living alone and that her grandmother had recently passed...what does that sound like?"

"Sounds like cat-less cat lady is about to be prey for this monster."

It is getting dark when we get to Halley's house. Nothing seems out of the ordinary at first, but Dean and I draw our guns anyway. We walk up to the porch slowly, where I notice the door is slightly ajar. My stomach drops at the sight, I am worried we might be too late to save her. Dean reaches over and pushes the door open carefully. All of the lights inside the house are off, making this an even less desirable situation. I motion to Dean that I will clear left when we go inside, he nods and we count to three. I move to the left, looking around the corners and in the first bedroom. Nothing. I turn around to meet Dean back in the hallway and what I see sends a chill straight through me. In the middle of the hallway is Dean, crumpled in a heap on the floor, with a bloody head wound. Before I have a chance to see if he is still alive, there is a sharp pain to the back of my head and I black out.