Chapter 3: Leaving Breadcrumbs

"This doesn't make sense," Dean said, still rubbing sleep from his eyes, "Vengeful spirits don't cry for help."

"Unless she wants us to help her find revenge," Sam pointed out.

"Well, we're not angels of justice," Dean remarked.

Sam had told him some of the dream, but not all of it. He had kept out the part about the girl calling Dean's name again. He didn't know why he always kept things from his brother. He felt guilty for it sometimes, but he couldn't help it for some reason.

"She wanted us to find something," Sam told Dean, "but I can't remember what."

Sam had found, to his dismay, that the name of the place she wanted him to find was already gone from his mind. He had forgotten it almost upon waking and now it bothered him that he couldn't remember. It had to have been important and now he felt as if he'd let the girl down by forgetting.

"Don't stress yourself out, Sammy," Dean said, rising from the edge of the bed where he'd been sitting, "If it's that important she'll tell us again."

"You're right," Sam replied, but the fact that she had not been able to finish her message had also bothered him. Was there something, another spirit perhaps, that didn't want her to tell them whatever is was she had to say?

"I'm going to get a shower," Dean announced, "You want to grab us breakfast or something?"

"Sure," Sam answered as Dean tossed him the car keys.
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Dean turned on the water until it was scolding hot and then let it wash over his body as he slowly relaxed, trying to sort everything out in his head. They had just gotten here and already he was lost. Who was this girl trying to speak to him and Sam and what was she trying to say?

Well, the first thing we'll do is visit the cemetery, then look into some of the mysterious deaths. Yeah, piece of cake... Come on, Dean, when is it ever just a piece of cake?

He sighed and turned the water off. He had just finished drying off and dressing when he heard his cell phone ring. He opened the bathroom door, the steam from the hot shower billowing out, and walked over to the bedside table where he'd left the phone. He looked at the caller I.D. It read 'Sam'.

"What is it?" Dean asked as he answered the phone, but there was nothing but static on the other line. "Hello? Sam?" Nothing.

Dean frowned as the other line went dead. Then suddenly something moved out of the corner of his eye. He turned to see the movement in the bathroom mirror again where he had left the door slightly open.

His hand reached for the gun he'd put under his pillow the night before. Holding it tightly in his hand, he walked slowly towards the bathroom, pushed the door open, and looked inside. Nothing. He stepped inside and turned and noticed what was written on the foggy mirror.

"256"
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"'256'?" Sam repeated, "That's all it said?"

"Yep," Dean replied, turning pages in their dad's journal even though he knew that there was nothing there to find, "That was after your creepy phone call."

"I didn't call you, Dean."

"Exactly. But somebody did."

"Alright," Sam said with a sigh, sitting down at the laptop, "What do you think 256 is?"

Dean shrugged, "Not sure. Could be anything. Room number, address..."

"All right, here's the list of people that have died recently," Sam said, reading off the computer, "These are all after the cemetery was dug up a few weeks ago. We have the old woman by the train tracks; she was the first. Then the husband, then there-"

"Wait, did you say the old woman lived by the train tracks?" Dean interrupted.

"Yeah, why?"

"'Cause, didn't you say that in your dream you were in a train station?"

"Huh. Well, I'll be damned," Sam replied, pulling up a picture of the old train station near where the woman had lived. It was, without a doubt, the same one from his dream.