Part 4 Dean's POV
THEN
"He's not the one we want anyway," it said with a devilish chuckle. It cocked it's head and added with a smirk. "How's your daughter John?"
Dad and I exchanged a terrified gaze before returning to the demon who just stood casually before us.
"What do you know about my daughter? What are you talkin' about?" asked Dad, lowering his gun slightly.
"My comrades are at your motel door," answered the demon. "And your little girl is about to answer the door. That's what I'm saying."
NOW
"Your lying," growled Dad through gritted teeth, gun poised straight at the demon's face. "Your kind always lies."
The demon spun round on the balls of it's feet, a smug smirk on it's face as it confronted our expressions. The demon paused for a moment, head tilted to one side as if it was in a trance. Chrissie was a smart kid, like Dad had said many times in the past. Nothing was gonna harm her. Deep down I knew the demon was speaking the god awful truth. Black orbs returned and gazed at us intently as the demon became animated.
"You really shouldn't have left her alone John," it taunted. "What kind of parent leaves their child home alone when there's big bad demons around? And what would your wife think about that?"
Dad's knuckles flushed white as they curled into fists, his index finger trembling on the trigger. The dim lights scattered about the warehouse began to flicker, cold air blustered in sending shivers up my spine. Suddenly the demon threw it's head back and let out a loud roar as smoke billowed out of it's mouth. The demon wretched during the disturbing process, shaking as the evil was expelled before crumbling to the floor.
"It's lying," said Dad breaking out of his rage. He hurried towards the stairs that led to the exit. "Demons lie. Your sister is safe, I lined every angle of the room with salt I swear. Nothing could have got in."
Silent as I was, for the first time in a long time I was sceptical about my Dad's words. Chris was a street smart kid with a kick ass attitude but she still had some naivety about the world. My sister was only a little girl, and no matter what she was still vulnerable. If she was in danger, it was my duty as her big brother to rescue her from whatever trouble she was in.
Speed limits were ignored as we sped back to the motel, and all the way I had mental images of Chris fending of demons single handed with any scrap of weapons to defend her self. Years ago I told her :
"If you can't kick a bully's ass, then run like hell"
Chris could always handle bullies. Hell, when she was four and a half she booted a six year old in the nuts for knocking down a little boy's sandcastle. She told me that whenever the nerds at school had trouble they would ask her to be a bodyguard to them. Most times Chris came back from school with a split lip and a shiner due to fights. Dad would go nuts at her. With her baseball cap facing backwards Chris would reply:
"The brat had it comin'! Besides you should be proud that I won!"
It scared me when she would say stuff like that. Mostly because I see myself when I was her age, minus the scruffy hair and Pokemon cards in her back pocket. Nevertheless, demons were far more dangerous compared to bigger kids. Kids tease, demons kill.
The motel sign came into view, several of the neon light bulbs had exploded which did not ease our worries. Then I saw it. Our motel door was winging freely at the hinges as the breeze whistled past. Without hesitation, Dad and I leapt out of the car and dashed inside the room that we had claimed for the week. Everything appeared tidy and nothing had been over turned.
"Chris!" I called out in hope that the kid was merely hiding under the bed.
"Shit!," cursed Dad as he noticed the broken salt line at the doorway. He ran his fingers alongside the wooden frame. Swearing again he turned to me with a sticky substance on his fingertips. "Sulphur."
In his angst he slammed the door with a bang before slumping against the wall. If I wasn't present I had the feeling he would have broken down on the spot. Chris was the baby and we had let her down. Running my hands through my cropped hair as I paced the room in agitation, my eyes suddenly focused on something. The object was dirty white in color and had a dark gray tongue, laying behind the couch in a way as if it had been knocked over. With a hitch of a breathe I knelt on my haunches to pick it up, my stomach dropped with a thud as I held my baby sister's beloved baseball cap in my shaking hands. My fingers traced the words inscribed onto the material, Born To Be Wild, words that spoke true about Chris.
"Don't worry Chrissie," I whispered. "We've comin' for ya."