"Good afternoon, I'm Mr. Scott, this is Mr. Johnson, and we're with the Parade of Homes Sweepstakes. Is Nicole Whitbeck here?"

The seventy-something year old woman arched an eyebrow. "Who?"

Dean turned to Sam. "Well that answers that."

Sam elbowed Dean in the side. "We're looking for Nicole Whitbeck," he repeated, louder, holding up Nicole's picture.

The old woman's face screwed up. "I heard you the first time," she snapped. "There ain't no one here by that name."

Sam shifted his weight, and his grip, on the large cardboard check. "Really? She's won ten thousand dollars and this is the address she entered the contest with…"

"I said she ain't here!" the old woman said, raising her voice. And with that, she retreated into the house, slamming the door in Dean's face.

They stared at each other briefly before Sam turned away, heading towards the Impala. "So that address was a bust," he said as Dean caught up. "Nobody hides from ten thousand dollars."

"It took me an hour to make this thing, too," Dean huffed, holding out the fake check, admiration in his eyes. "It totally rocks."

Sam rolled his eyes. "We need to talk to the special effects guy."

They reached the car and Dean laid the large piece of cardboard in the back seat. "I got his address from Ash before we left."

Sam pulled open the passenger door. "Maybe he can tell us where Nicole is," he said as he ducked in the car, wincing as the movement pulled the wound on his side.

Dean slid in the driver's seat. Their doors shut simultaneously. "At least we don't have to change get-ups," he said, shrugging one shoulder as the Impala rumbled to life. "These suits were a damn good investment."

Twenty five minutes later, they stood shoulder to shoulder outside of apartment 4A, the listed residency of one Robert Tyler, special effects artist in training who made a living working on student films until he hit it big time.

"You know," Dean murmured as they waited, "These special effects guys have the coolest jobs. Like in that movie, F/X."

"Why?"

"Think about it. They work with monsters and pretty young women and get to blow shit up." He paused, cocking his head. "Oh, wait-"

The door swung open and a disheveled young man stood in the doorway, his vintage 'Jaws' T-shirt wrinkled and bunched at the top of his red sweat pants. "Who're you?" he grunted, blinking owlishly.

"Mr. Tyler," Dean grinned, flashing a fake badge. "I'm Detective Krycek, this is Detective Scully." Sam glared. "We need to ask you a few things about a doll we found with your name on it."

"What? I just got home from the police station," Robert complained, raking his fingers through his sleep-spiked hair. "Can't I at least get some sleep first?"

"I'm afraid not," Dean replied. "Someone's life is on the line here. Kinda important."

Robert sighed, looking at them through squinty, blood-shot eyes. "Yeah, alright," he relented, backing to the side. "Come on in."

Dean went in first, followed closely by Sam. Robert pointed to the couch, telling them to have a seat as he went into the kitchen area of the cluttered loft. "Mind if I grab some breakfast?"

Sam glanced at his watch, surprised to find it was only 10. He hadn't slept at all last night and his body ached, felt heavy and drained. He was running on empty.

The small, one-room apartment looked like a horror movie had exploded within the walls. Models of creatures and human heads decorated the shelves, promotional posters covered the brick walls. An unmade bed sat in the corner, and next to it, an overflowing dresser. The place obviously hadn't been touched by a feminine hand.

"So what do you want to know?" Robert asked over the tinkling of cereal pouring into a bowl.

A yellow tabby cat inched forward cautiously, its whiskers twitching as it stared at Dean with large green eyes. "Tell us what you know about Nicole," Dean said, watching the cat warily.

"I didn't remember anything else," Robert said, annoyance heavy in his voice. "You're only going to hear what I already told you." The refrigerator opened and closed, glass clinked.

"So humor us," Sam replied. "Tell it one more time."

"We love a good story," Dean added, reaching out to the cat. It arched its back and hissed, striking out with a front foot before darting away. Dean recoiled, holding his hand protectively in his lap with a look of confusion and insult on his face.

"I met Nicole a few months ago at this weapons and ammo place downtown. I needed some models for a film I was working on." He paused, daring them to argue. "She really knew her stuff, mostly about hand knives. We just kinda hit it off, you know?" He returned, sitting on the chair opposite them, holding a bowl of Fruit Loops in his lap. "We became friends. We would have the most… interesting conversations." He noticed Dean's bleeding hand. "What happened?"

"Nothing," Dean bit out, hiding the scratches under his other hand. "Interesting how?"

"She's sick, you know. She told me not long into the relationship, but it wasn't hard to figure out."

"No kidding," Dean grumbled.

Sam watched Robert start to eat. "She told you she's a paranoid schizophrenic?"

"Aren't we all?" When neither brother smiled, he continued, "Labels don't mean much," Robert replied, milk dripping from his chin. "I've met a lot of people more qualified for the title than she was. And it wasn't her fault. Those people in that hick-town institution really screwed her up, man."

Sam cocked his head. "What do you mean?"

"They used experimental drugs on her," Robert said in between mouthfuls. "Treated her like a lab rat. I guess they figured since she was underage and had no one to watch out for her, they could do whatever they wanted. It totally screwed her over. She has nightmares and everything. But good drugs, though."

Sam winced. "How did they get away with something like that?"

Robert shrugged. "People get lost in the system every day. They get buried under a mountain of paperwork and everyone's too lazy to give a damn."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "You sound like you got some repressed anger there, Robert."

Robert set the spoon in the empty bowl and looked evenly between Dean and Sam. "My brother is sitting in a federal penitentiary right now, doing life for a crime he didn't commit."

"Are you sure about that?" Dean asked.

Robert bristled. "My brother is not a killer," he growled. "He was set up."

Sam would like to think that the law officials working the case had a little more competence than that, but this conversation was about Nicole, not some family drama. "Did Nicole say what she wanted the doll for?"

Robert shrugged, setting his bowl aside. "She just said she wanted it for a prank, that's all."

"Does she pull pranks often?" Dean asked.

Robert shook his head, shrugging. "No. This is the first time. We don't get into each other's personal lives much. No questions. She talks, I listen."

"She didn't happen to mention where she was staying, did she?" Sam asked.

"No. Isn't all this in the police report?"

Sam leaned back. "We're just trying to see if we missed anything."

"Nicole's cool," Robert said forcefully. "I don't know how she got mixed up in this mess. Just… when you find her, go easy on her, okay? She may be a little nuts but she would never hurt anyone. Not like this."

Dean snorted and Sam avoided his stare. "Thank you," Sam said, rising from his chair. "You've been a help."

Robert shrugged, seeing them to the door. "No offence, but I hope I don't see you again. I'm going back to bed now."

The door shut behind them and they turned away, heading down the long hallway side by side. "I think he's a little 'sick' himself," Sam murmured.

"You think?" Dean growled. He grimaced, sticking out his tongue and plucking a hair from it. "Did you see the place? All those eyes staring at me… And that damn devil cat." Dean rubbed at the dried blood on the back of his hand.

Sam opened the door and let Dean go first. "Let's go see if Ash came up with anything else."

"Hey, Sam?" Dean asked as they headed for the Impala.

"Yeah?"

"You know all those cats you see squished on the side of the highway?"

"Yeah."

"They had it coming."

o0O0o

Sam watched Dean glare at Ash.

"Come on, it is kinda funny. I mean, look at you. You could break out with Cat Scratch Fever."

Dean rolled his eyes.

"You know what I'm talking about. Pantera rocks, man."

Ellen dropped a tube of Neosporin on the bar in front of Dean. "I think you boys should stay here until Nicole is found. I don't want either of you getting hurt again. You're used to dealing with spirits, not people. She could go after Sam again."

"I've never hid from anything in my life," Dean snorted, "And I'm not going to start now, especially not from this crazy bitch. We'll be fine."

Sam kept his eyes on the laptop, searching the internet. "I can't figure it out," he sighed, his keystrokes getting harder and harder. "Punishment comes limping. Who is she seeking revenge against? The things that killed her parents? Why not just hunt them and be done with it? Why put on this big production?"

"Then why is she targeting you?" Dean asked, dropping his knuckles against the table. "You didn't have anything to do with that."

Sam shifted, realizing that the cut on his ribs still throbbed. "We should figure out what killed her parents," he said. "Maybe that'll tell us something."

"So what are you going to do, Google 'yellow eyes and claws'?" Dean snorted. "That's not much to go on, even for you two." He glanced from Sam to Ash.

"There's only one person who could tell you more," Ellen started.

"Yeah, and she's AWOL at the moment," Dean finished with a sigh. He shifted, fidgeting with the edge of the counter. "I hate waiting."

Sam closed the laptop and leaned back. "What if we could bring her to us?" he asked himself out loud.

Dean stiffened, glaring. "What do you wanna do, hang a neon sign above your head that says, 'come and get me'?"

Sam looked at the others, the idea solidifying in his mind. "Something like that."