Chapter Eight - Dean
I plunged deeper into the darkness with the echoing sounds of my brother's footsteps sounding reassuringly behind me. I probably would never tell him this but I was glad he was there. Most of the time I was glad he was there. Sam was a good kid. Whenever th caca hit the fan like it invariably did, then it was good to have someone like Sam at your back.
Maybe one day I would tell him. Now was not the time.
It didn't take us long to find the body of the deputy. I say body because by the time we got to him, the deputy was alrady dead and looked as though he'd died before we even started searching. Like the other bodies aboveground, the deputy's liver had been ripped out.
"My God!" I said, in disgust.
"I didn't even hear a thing! He didn't even scream..." Sam said, looking horrified.
I think Sam was thinking the same thing that I was - that if we'd known, if he'd screamed and we'd heard something, then we would have done soemething about it; tried to save him or something. But we hadn't heard a word. Nothing.
"I didn't think there was anyone here, except us. I thought this place was deserted..." Sam continued.
"I think we should get ourselves upstairs, report this to the sherriff," I said, grimly.
Sam nodded, wordlessly and followed me back to the hole where we'd entered the subterranean lair and hoisted ourselves back into the fresh air again.Once we'd told the sherriff what had happened, shown him where the body was and answered a lot of questions such as - "Did you do it? You were the only other ones down there!" to which the answer was obviously and undeniably - "No!" - we made our excuses and left. I think we cited further investigations elsewhere or something, but it was just as well we left when we did. Almost as soon as I angled the Impala out of the murder site, another car rolled in, this one driven by what looked to be the real FBI.
Time to make the Winchester brothers scarce, I think...