The jet black Chevy Impala, almost 40 years old, sped down the road, Simple Plan blaring from the speakers. The driver leaned forward and quickly flipped the station, settling for some good old Rock 'n' Roll.

"Honestly, Sammy," he muttered, turning his attention back to the highway, "your taste in music sucks. I mean, 'Welcome to my Life?' What the hell his that?"

"At least you can understand the words," Sam, the driver's younger brother, shot back, "and it was your own fault I got to choose the station anyway. I believe the agreement was that I would get to choose the music if you again neglected to tell me where we going and why. Now come on, Dean, spill. What's up?"

Dean sighed, rolling his eyes. "In a small town in Maine a little girl was recently found dead in an abandoned warehouse. One of dad's old friends, a psychic named Madeline Rose, called me this morning. She said she thinks the kid's soul was sucked out."

"A soul-sucker?" Sam asked incredulously, "you're kidding, right?"

"Nope," the elder shook his head, "she wants us to check it out. I figured that since we were in the neighborhood we might as well go. What harm could it do anyway?"

Sam shrugged. "How far?"

"To Rivers? Only about 50 miles."

The door opened before Sam even had a chance to touch it. He glanced at his brother, who grinned. "I told you she was psychic," Dean said, pushing past his younger sibling to enter the small shop, "Madi? You in here?"

"I thought I told you last time, Dean, I hate nicknames." A young woman with a dark complexion, pale blue eyes that seemed almost white, and black hair that had been tied back in a long ponytail popped up from behind the long counter that stood by the far wall, her back reflected in the large mirror that hung behind her. Sam noted that she appeared to be in her early thirties, only a few years older than Dean.

"It's good to see you again," the elder hunter grinned, "Sammy, you were too young to remember the last time we saw Madeline."

"Your father was the one who confirmed my parents' theories about my psychic abilities," the young woman explained, smiling to reveal perfectly straight white teeth, "and, Dean, your brother doesn't like nicknames much, either. But you already knew that, didn't you?"

Dean just nodded. "How've you been?"

"Better than you two, apparently. I'm sorry about your girlfriend, Sam, your father's disappearance, and your various other problems." She glanced at Dean, her smile faltering a bit, "but you're together now and that's all that truly matters."

Sam looked at the woman, about to ask the major question on his mind.

"Yes," Madeline smiled, turning to him and locking her white eyes with his green ones, "I do know that your brother finds me attractive, but seeing as how he threw mud at me the last time we talked, he doesn't stand a chance."

"I was seven," Dean said defensively, "besides, I've changed."

"Not much," Sam grinned, "you put itching powder in my underwear a few months back. That's pretty childish."

"But I'm so cute," he muttered innocently, trying half-heartedly to produce a sad puppy-dog face.

Madeline laughed. "You know that won't work on me, Dean. I can see right past that adorable expression."

"Past it? I wasn't even aware you'd noticed."

"That was low," she hissed, "even for you."

"Madi's blind," Dean explained, noticing the clueless expression on his younger brother's face, "her sixth sense developed when her sense of sight ceased to exist. Her parents were both gypsies and figured that was probably what was going on, but they still wanted an outside opinion and called dad in. He took us along."

"Your charming brother is the reason I chose to remain single," Madeline grinned, "your father's stories of other psychics are what convinced me to open this shop and try my hand at psychic readings, which is primarily what I do here. That was what you were wondering, right, why anyone would want to do this?"

Sammy shrugged, nodding, "I guess."

"Not everyone's a closet psychic like you. Some people actually embrace this gift, practice it, hone it. You're something special, not some kind of freak. If ever there was a freak in the Winchester family, it would be your brother."

"So, what about this, uh, dead kid?' Dean asked suddenly.

"Subject-changer," Sam, accused before Madeline had a chance to reply.

"You read my mind," she grinned, "the girl's name was Keira Collins. Her mother, Lily, is the one you want to talk to for the inside information on the job. I visited the crime scene, though. My friend on the force lets me help out sometimes. I thought it was odd that the girl hadn't stuck around to see her murderer meet justice."

"You mean that people stay at the scene after their murders?" Sam asked.

"Your mother did, didn't she, for 22 years? But this girl didn't, and kids usually do, so I figured that something was preventing that from happening. I searched the warehouse. No evidence of the paranormal, at least as far as ghosts go."

"As far as ghosts go," Dean nodded, "was there something else?"

"I sensed that something wasn't right. I scoured the area again and found traces of some green residue on the ground."

"What was it?" Sam asked, hoping that he could keep the nagging question in his mind hidden from the experienced psychic.

"A fragment of the girl's soul," Madi replied, "now, have you boys seen 'The Village?'"

"Yes," both answered.

"It's kind of like that, Sam. Any other questions?"

"Just one," Dean smiled, "where's the mother live?"