Elena's POV:

Just what I need, another ordinary day. See, an ordinary day for me is the world's worst day for most other people.

This past morning, a little boy almost drowned at the lake where I was swimming at, this past afternoon I was almost hit by a car, and about 30 minutes ago I heard the police zoom past my house, like everyone else in his town, I followed them. Someone was murdered, and not just any murder, it was a messy, explosive type murder. Poor Ms. Jones, she was eighty-three years old, and likely to live for a very long time. While I was in town, I used to go by her house once or twice a week. She was a lovely, funny woman. Her husband died about two years ago, and she almost never heard from the rest of her family. I know how that feels so I tried to go over s often as I could. We talked all kinds of things, mostly food and travel. She had been all over the world, and had just finished telling me about her adventure in India. I was going to see her tomorrow, but by the looks of her place, that wasn't going to be happening. There were strange scratch markings everywhere, almost like a bear's, almost being the key word. They were like a bear's scratch enough to call it a bear attack, but some things don't add, like why was her house the only one attacked in a small residential neighborhood, and why did no one see a 5oo pound bear near or around the area?

But something was wrong and I was going to find out what.

About a month later, after I had arranged the funeral, things seemed to be returning to normal. I was still running from house to house making sure everything was all right, and I the agency even found me fit to take care of foster kids. That was actually very rewarding. Things were back into routine.

Then I saw a very familiar black impala drive around little promise Oregon. That car put a smile on my face. That made me think, well I have not called that man in a while. So I called him. Oh darn it, voicemail.

Sam's POV:

This was pretty cool. A diner that still delivers to your car. Which wasn't that surprising considering that we were in the middle of nowhere. I think the town was called Promiseville.

"You know what Dean, I think our job is one of the only jobs that you don't look in the classifieds for," I told my brother as I looked through the paper for any mysterious articles.

"Well, it's not exactly a popular job, Sam. If there was a big demand for it, we might actually get paid for what we do,"

RING, RING

"Dean, what was that?"

"Well Sam, in today's world, it's called a phone"

"yeah, but it isn't mine,"

"Well then check mine!"

"Yours is right here, and not ringing!"

We looked at each other, the only other phone in the car our dad's old phone.

So we both jumped into the back seat searching for that phone. When we finally found the cell phone call had ended, but the person left a message. It said: "Hey John, It's Angie. I just saw a very familiar black impala up here. Maybe I'm just seeing things but it remined me of you. There was another attack up here in Promiseville, just so you know. I can handle it, but I know that you like to know little details like that. Call me back so I know you're alive.