Author's Beginning Note Thingy: Back by popular demand... well, no not really. XD I've just been getting a few messages of 'no, don't go on vacation and leave us without another chapter'! Okay, not really... but the fact is I have the time to write another chapter! Yaay!

Oh, and by the way... XP that cellphone number Sam gives... that's my cellphone number. XD You'd need the areacode to call me, but... nobody would do that... right? I don't have any stalkers... shifty eyes.

Last thing, I promise… I have no idea where Silverdale Psychiatric, from The Ring Two actually is… it would make sense for it to be in Oregon, but there is supposedly a city of Silverdale up in Washington, so I just put it there. The place probably doesn't even exist, so unless you find proof of a hospital actually called that somewhere in these two states, you got nothing on me! Hahaha!

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The dawn broke bright, cold, and early on Moesko Island. Sam and Dean had been put up in a small Bed and Breakfast, but had skipped the breakfast element to leave early and get to the ferry in time. The ride back was easy... Dean dozed along the way, Sam checked and rechecked on Rachael.

Once back on the mainland, an hour and a half to two hours of driving had brought them to a little town just outside Vancouver, on the very Southern border of the state.

"Two days left, Sammy, this trip had better be worth it." Dean said as they waited outside the door to what was hopefully the right apartment.

"Yeah, you don't have to remind me..." Sam said grimly.

In a moment, the door slowly opened, and a blonde woman looked out, apparently somewhat confused at their presence.

"Um, Hello?" she looked them over scrutinously, "If you're selling something..."

"No, no we're not..." Sam cut her off quickly.

"Then what are you here for?" she asked, still standing in the doorway.

Sam and Dean exchanged hopeful looks, as they always did when approaching someone, anyone, about their supernatural problems like this.

"We're here to ask you about... something that happened about a year ago, that we believe you were involved in." Sam began.

"I'm sorry, who did you say you were working for?" she said with a frown.

"Uh, no-one, ma'am." Dean broke in with a scowl of his own.

She sent him a small glare, then turned back to Sam, the nicer one.

Sam sighed at his brother, and turned back to her, "You're Rachael Keller, right?"

She nodded.

Sam gave a small sigh of relief, "Well it's good to know we're at the right place. Well... we're here to ask you about... a certain videotape."

Recognition flared across her face. "No." she said shaking her head. Sam stared at her, a little befuddled.

"No?"

"No." she repeated again, "No, no way I am having anything to do with that again. Ever again." she began to close the door. Dean stepped forward and placed a hand on it to keep it from closing fully, and she glared sternly back, "I can call the police on you..." she said in a soft voice. "Listen, you get off my doorstep, and you never come back or have anything to do with me and my family again, allright? You're not bringing that curse back here." she swallowed.

"And we're not trying to..." pleaded Sam quietly, "Look, will you just hear us out?"

She looked at him, "About what?"

"About this tape." he chewed his lower lip slightly, "We're trying to stop it, and I don't just mean for me..." he trailed off, then looked down and sighed, rolling up a sleeve to reveal the burn-mark on his arm, "But for everyone. For good."

She laughed bitterly, "You can't stop Samara..." she said, shaking her head.

"Well, we're going to try." said Dean, looking back at Sam.

Rachael just stood there in the doorway, a hand over her face, softly laughing. Nowhere... was there nowhere she could go that that bitch wouldn't find her? She heaved a sigh, her shoulders still shaking.

Dean grit his teeth slightly at her almost-hysterics, and pushed the door open a little more, "Listen, lady. We're not asking for your active participation. My brother's got some ghost-kid out for his blood, and you're the only link to her we've got left before we're out of ideas, except for him to just lay down and die." he stopped a moment, Rachael herself looking up silently, staring with blank eyes across the room.

"Dean..." Sam said softly, defeat in his tone.

He was ignored, "So anything, anything you can do..." Dean was practically begging now, "Other than just leave us with a 'sorry, but good luck'... would be just fine."

Rachael was silent, staring away, blinking... a hand covered her mouth as she thought, and considered. In a moment she turned back to them, taking a deep breath, "Do you two... nuts... really think you have a chance at really stopping her? For good?"

Dean flashed a quick grin, "It's what we do for a living."

She looked down at the ground and shook her head, "Allright... come on in, I'll see what I can give you." she walked away from the door, and beckoned them to follow.

Relief swept over Sam as he followed his brother in, sending him a truly thankful look after Dean glanced back at him. As Rachael disappeared down a small hallway, they closed the door softly behind them, and looked around the apartment.

A simple place, tasteful. Warm salmony-pink curtains were drawn closed over a large window. A small couch sat on the same wall as the door, and a livingroom area was enclosed with bookshelves, made separate from the kitchen space on the other side of the same room. Notably... there was no television, and no phone, save a small cellphone lying on the kitchen counter.

Dean smirked, and looked at Sam, "Can ya tell what she's afraid of?" he asked quietly.

"I wouldn't blame her. She's had two run-ins with this tape, and it's screwed her life up both times." he explained softly, "Makes sense that she wouldn't want to deal with it again. I already feel bad coming here..."

Dean rolled his eyes slightly, but was silent as Rachael came back down the hallway.

"How did you see the tape?" she asked, slowly approaching them.

"I... I dreamt it." Sam said honestly.

She sent him a skeptical look, before glancing back down at something she was holding in her hands, "Guess dreams are not so safe after all..." she muttered.

"Sammy has this thing..." Dean began.

"Dean." he was cut off with a warning tone.

Rachael's interest was already perked, "A thing? What kind of thing?"

The two looked between one another. "Well, I suppose you've already heard of enough weird things in the world..." Dean started again, looking pointedly at his brother for a proper explanation. The woman smirked, and turned her attention toward him too.

Sam sighed, "I... it doesn't happen often, but I... sometimes dream, or... have visions of things... that are going to happen in the future." he explained, "I guess I was just... really sensitive to it, or something, but the night after Dean brought home the tape, I had a nightmare about what was on it..."

"Got the phone call, creepy girl, the whole thing." Dean glanced over at the cellphone on the counter, "You know, she can use those too."

Rachael frowned, "I know. But I can't be completely out of touch with the world..." she breathed, "So where is your copy of the tape now?"

"Destroyed it." Dean said a little triumphantly. This was replied to with another dark look.

"You're sure she's after you?" Rachael pressed again.

"Pretty damn sure."

Sam frowned... Rachael really didn't look happy. It was hard enough getting her cooperation in the first place. Dean really needed to stop talking.

The woman sighed. "Allright..." she murmured to herself, opening up the large book in her arms. "You need a copy of the tape with you. I'll give you mine..." she handed it over to Sam from where it had been tucked into the binding of the volume, and he nodded.

"Woah, wait..." Dean held up a hand, and looked over at it, "We don't want this cursed thing back any more than you do. And what're you doing with a copy of it anyway?"

"You need it." she snapped, "I have it just in case..."

Sam looked at her strangely, "Just in case what?"

She turned back to him and gave a soft reply, "In case something like this happens..." there was a silence for a moment, before she sighed, and handed over the book, "This was her mother's..."

"Anna Morgan's?" Sam asked, taking it gently, and looking over the cover.

"No. Her real mother's." Rachael looked up, for a moment observing the confused expression on their faces, "Samara was adopted."

"Thank you..." Sam said softly, and Rachael shook her head.

"Don't mention it. You'll probably need to take that to Silverdale Psychiatric, back up North…" she explained, walking away to the counter and reaching for her cellphone. "Ask for Evelyn." She flipped it open and held it up in front of herself. "Let me have your number..." she muttered.

Dean smiled, "Well, that would be 588 669-"

"Not you..." she looked up and sent a glare at Dean, before tentatively continuing on, "Sam..." she turned to him, "That's your name, right?"

He nodded, "669 0508." he said.

She typed the number in, and fiddled around with a few more buttons, before smiling marginally, "Thankyou." she said softly with a nod of the head, "For trying to finish this off for me. I can't get involved with it again..." she glanced down the hallway on the far side of the room, before turning back and making for the door, holding it open. "Good luck."

Sam nodded, and followed a slightly disgruntled Dean out of the apartment, before turning around and returning the smile to Rachael, "You too."

The door softly closed.

Rachael sighed, and lifted a hand to her face, leaning back on the door and sliding down it to the ground. "Not again..." she murmured to herself, as the footsteps on the other side of the door receded away. She swallowed, "How... how can they possibly stop her... when they don't even know..."

She glanced down the hall once more, towards Aiden's room. But he was still sleeping. "And they said that man sees things..." she continued whispering to herself, "That means he could be just like..." she stopped, "If she gets out again..."

She looked down at her cellphone, still clasped in a pale hand. Flipping it once again open, she searched through the menus to the saved pictures, particularly one she'd snapped when the two of them hadn't noticed she was photographing them. In it, Dean stood, clearly visible, looking clueless. She almost smirked at that. And next to him, Sam... blurry, fuzzy outline, face distorted.

"Oh..." she leaned forward, her head coming to rest on her knees, the cellphone sliding out of her hand and clattering on the floor, "He really is cursed..."