CHAPTER TWO

Sam knocked softly, his ear pressed to the door. With no answer, he shifted his weight and knocked again, louder. "Dean?"

He looked around the parking lot. The Impala was parked in the motel lot, the only car remaining in the row in front of the doors. He knocked again. "Dean, you in there?"

He tried the door – locked. He knocked harder. "Dean!" he yelled. Then he pulled his key from his pocket and opened the door, pushing hard against something in the floor in front of it, then reached over and flipped on the light.

One look at the room and he immediately reached behind him and pulled his .9mm from his belt. "Dean!" He called again. The mattress was pulled half off the springs, lying across the floor and resting at the closet door. The bedding was strung around the room, one sheet, he noted, had been lying in front of the door.

Cautiously he stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. 'What the hell had happened here?'

Dean's jacket lay in the floor in a heap beside the door. The corner desk lay broken, the single leg kicked out. A trail of towels led from the shattered desk to the bathroom. He could see the shower curtain torn and hanging through the mirror.

"Dean!"

"Sammy?"

He looked around.

"Dean?" he called again.

"SAMMY!" Dean bellowed from somewhere inside the room. Suddenly, the mattress began to move, and Dean's head popped up over the exposed box springs.

"Are you alright?" he asked, unsure if he should move.

"Alright? Alright? Dude, I'm great!" Dean's smile lit his face. Sam didn't know that smile, he couldn't remember seeing it. It seemed to spread as Dean rose up, his arms extended. He was trying to untangle himself from a sheet as he stood.

Sam sighed and turned his back to Dean. "Could you get some clothes on?"

"Hey, Amy." Sam could hear movement behind him. "Amy? Where is she?"

"Who?" Sam asked a slight agitation in his voice.

"The Lady I was with last night? Was she here when you came in?"

Sam turned back around. "Shit!" He picked up Dean's boxers from the floor and pitched them over to him.

"There was no one here when I came in – just you and this. . .this mess."

The smile was fading fast.

"Amy!" He ran to the bathroom door and stuck his head in. Finding it empty, he ran back to the bed and started pulling the mattress back into place. "Help me Sam!"

Sam grabbed the other side and helped Dean pull the mattress back to its rightful spot. There was no one under there. Dean dropped to his knees and looked under the bed.

"Amy?" he almost whispered.

Sam pulled him up. "Dean, man, there's no one else here. She must have left. Good, right. No need to blow her off."

"No, Sam. It's not good." Dean just looked at him confused, "I didn't want her to leave. "Dude, are you hearing yourself?" Sam chuckled.

Dean ignored him. "Her clothes!" He began digging in the pile at Sam's feet. Quickly at first, then slower as he reached near the bottom. He looked up at Sam blankly.

"She's gone."

"What's wrong with you?"

Dean was staring down at his plate, shifting his eggs with his fork.

"Dean?"

"Uh?" Looking up.

"Are you alright?"

"She just left. I mean, what kind of freaky chick just runs out in the middle of the night?"

"Do you hear yourself? Usually you'd be dancing a jig to get rid of a girl this easy."

He gave a half-hearted grin. "A jig? Really?"

Sam laughed at the image in his mind.

"You know what I mean. Normally you'd be thrilled."

"Not this time." He lowered his head. Sam was right; the hardest part of most of his relationships was leaving the next morning. So why now, why this woman? What was wrong with him?

"Whatever." Sam rolled his eyes. "You've got to get it together. We're supposed to be here on a job, not fulfilling you Penthouse fantasy."

"One more crack, dude, and I'll kick your ass!"

Sam had never seen him like this. What the hell had gone on in that room?

"Okay, I'm sorry."

Dean shook his head as if that would shake her memory out. "Okay, what have you got?"

"Sixteen year old James Carson disappeared two nights ago during an overnight camp out with three other kids in the wetlands."

"Wetlands?"

"Swamp, Dean. Anyway, two girls and two guys are out at camp, one boy walked a little way off to , eh," Sam cleared his throat uncomfortably, "relieve himself." He waited for the smartass comment. When none came, he went on. "Anyway, the boy never came back."

What are the other kids saying?"

According to the papers, they heard some noises in the bushes, but nothing else. Authorities are saying he might have got lost. Turned around or something."

"That happens, right?"

" Well, the kid's the fourth person who's gone missing around there in the last month."

"Do you have the name of our little campers?"

"Yeah."

"Then let's go."

"We're suppose to wait on a call from Bobby's friend."

"Screw it." Den was throwing money on the table. "We're here, might as well check it out."

Sam shrugged, following his brother out of the dinner.

Dean looked around the school office. He let Sam take the lead. Places like this still made him sweat. On a bench against the wall he watched as a boy about 13 or 14 sat squirming. (Yeah, he knew that spot well) He was holding an ice pack to his mouth and Dean could make out the bruising just starting to show under his eye. This kid had got his ass kicked.

The school secretary approached.

"Can I help you gentlemen?"

"Yes mama." Sam nudged Dean as he flashed his badge. Dean followed suit. "I'm detective Paige. This is Detective Plant. I was wondering if you could tell me where we could find these students." He slid the list to her.

"Oh great." The boy sighed. Dean turned to give him a closer look. He was dressed all in black, which set off the spiked bleached hair more. The chains were a little much, he thought.

"Can you give me a minute, Officer." The shrunken lady behind the counter asked, ignoring the comment if she'd heard it.

"You got a problem with cops, boy?" Dean asked.

"Just one." He answered.

"And who would that be?"

The kid started at Dean curiously. There was something familiar about him. "Uh… I'm Det. Bryant's son."

"You're Amy's kid?" Dean snapped.

Sam, who had only been casually monitoring the conversation, was on full alert now.

"You're Detectives?" the boy asked cautiously.

"Yeah." He nodded.

"So, you work for my mom. CHIEF DETECTIVE BRYANT?" They nodded slightly, unsure where he was going with this line of questioning. "She keeps, like, a MILLION pictures of me in that office of hers, and you don't know me."

Dean just continued to stare – yeah, those were Amy's eyes.

"Well, we work in a different precinct." Sam jumped in.

By now Jason had removed the ice pack and sat up. "Dude, its Fulton – there is no other precinct."

"Department." It was Dean's turn to jump in. "He meant Department. We're down from Paducha."

"Yeah, right." He responded, turning his back to them.

The little old lady was back. "Here you go. This is the class schedule for the student's you requested."

Sam took the papers she was sliding across the counter.

Dean couldn't take his eyes off the boy.

"You coming?"

"Yeah." Then he turned to the counter and asked, motioning toward the boy, "What's he in for?"

"Fighting again." She shook her head. "Poor boy." She leaned as far over the counter as her small frame would allow and he leaned down to hear her. "Having to live with, well, you know," she shook her head. "All that mess with his father. And kids can be so cruel." With that she pulled back and returned to her stacks of files.

Sam grabbed his arm and pulled him into the hallway, which was filling up with students rushing to class.

"Who's Amy?"

"My lady from last night." Dean was smiling, that full dimple smile again.

"You almost blew it."

Dean pursed his lips and blew, then strutted down the hall.

Sam caught up to him. "Hey. I'm serious. That kid knows something's wrong. He's probably on the phone to his mom right now!"

"Yeah." He grinned. "Ain't it great!"" and on he strutted, leaving a very confused Sam standing.

The group of teens huddled on the bleachers in front of them, eagerly staring up at Sam and Dean. Although only three had been there, the story had been told and re-told so many times that the other five or six would often jump in to help answer the questions. It wasn't often they got a chance to miss class and impress 'big city' detectives.

"So how long was he gone before you started worrying?"

"Not long. Five minutes maybe."

"At first we thought, you know…" the girl lowered her head, embarrassed, "he just needed time." The others chuckled.

"Yeah," Dylan continued from behind, "but after a while we started yelling for him and – no answer."

The others just nodded and smiled, except for the dark haired girl who had been James' date. She stared down at the seat in front of her. Sam sympathized with her.

"No reason you know of he would just – take off?" Sam was asking.

They shook their heads, "No!"

Dean felt her before he saw her. She was standing at the other end of the bleachers, staring down at them.

"I think that about does it for now, don't you?"

Sam turned questioningly to Dean, but he was staring down field at the rather stern looking woman coming towards them – that damn smile back on his face.

"Uh, Yeah,Uh, we'll be in touch." Sam's heart was pounding, "You can go back to class now."

The kids groaned, reluctantly gathering their things and heading off.

Sam's gaze moved from Dean to Detective Bryant, who continued to approach with determination. The juxtaposition between his smile and her frown was amazing.

"You owe me a breakfast." Dean sang out once she was in range. Sam just stared in disbelief.

She moved closer, making no acknowledgement of this comment.

"Det. Paige. Det. Plant. I'm Det. Zeppelin."

Dean lowered his head, chuckling slightly.

"You, uh, caught that, did you?" Looking back up with a sly smile.

"The accent doesn't mean stupid, DEAN."

Sam wasn't sure whether to be confused or scared – he opted for both. He stood there, mouth open, heart in his throat.

"I met your son."

"I heard." With this, she cross her arms and shifted her weight to one hip, exposing the Glock .45 holstered there.

"You any good with that?"

"You really want to find out?"

"No." he shook his head, the smile was fading slightly, "not really."

"What are you doing here?"

He nervously shifted his weight, then the smiled returned.

"Would you believe, looking for you?"

"Sure, because when I got up today I decided to start falling for every line I hear."

Her face began to thaw and Sam detected a slight up turn at the corners of her mouth and his heart started to slid back down to his chest.

"Speaking of getting up today. . ." She blushed.

Sam felt like he had been transported into a John Hughes film. The pair was just standing there, staring at each other. He cleared his throat.

"Oh." Dean looked over at him. "This is my brother, Sam Winchester."

He looked at him in disbelief. Was he giving this CHIEF Detective their real names?

"Hello." He muttered.

She nodded back.

"So. . ." she motioned to the bleachers and the three of them sat down. "I know you're not out of Paduca. I know you're not Detectives."

"You sure?" Dean's teasing was met with a matter of fact nod, but there was still that trace of a smile in her eyes.

"What's you interest in the Carson boy's disappearance?"

"The family asked us to…"Sam began a stock lie, but Dean held up his hand, cutting him off.

"Do you suspect foul play?"

She exhaled heavily and shook her head.

"But not human." Dean was all business now.

Their eyes locked. Sam stared on dumbfounded.

She finally broke contact and stood up. "Tell you what. It's too late for breakfast, but I'll let you buy me lunch.

"Fair enough."

"You still at the Motel?"

"Yeah, but I had to, eh" Dean chuckled, "I had to change rooms. Last one got a little. . . messy. You know how it is."

"I can imagine." She smiled slyly.

God, he wanted her again. Right then, right there.

"Okay. Why don't you two run by Tastee's and pick us up some burgers – and rings. I've got to run by my office, and I'll meet you out there in, say, 45 minutes. Room?"

"216." He nodded. ". Sounds good." As she turned to leave, he grabbed her arm, sliding his hand down, past her wrist until his hand had grasped hers – fingers entwined. He pulled her close and lightly kissed her. "Thanks." He whispered.

They left in separate directions, none of them aware of Jason staring down from the second floor Chemistry Lab.

"Are you crazy?" They were 5 miles down the road before Sam found his voice.

Dean grined over at him, Zepplins 'What is and What Never Should be' blaring

"What?"

"You realize 'going to the office' is code for 'finding out who you are and getting back up."

"I don't think so, Sammy."

"Why, because you screwed her so hard she pulled down the shower curtain?"

"Hey!" Anger washed over him. Dean pulled the '67 Impala to the side of the road and jerked it into park. He turned his body to face Sam, sure to make his point. "First, you don't talk about her, or me, like that again. I don't expect you to understand what happened between us, but it wasn't something sleazy. Second," a smile crept across his face, "I'm the one who pulled down the shower curtain."

With that, he pulled back onto the road and headed to Tastee's, drumming his fingers to 'Riddin the Storm Out'.

"Can I at least eat before they show up and haul us off?" Sam was sitting at one of the two chairs positioned around the small table. The new room didn't have a desk.

"Go ahead, I'm going to wait for her." Dean lay calmly across the first bed, staring at the picture of bears on the wall. Apparently the management thought the rocket ships may have been a little dangerous for them.

Sam jumped when the knock came. He clenched his fist and stared over at Dean, who was grinning at the loss of color in Sammy's face.

"Dude, you really need to relax."

Amy looked down at Samas she entered, his arms were half raised, surrendering.

"What's with him?"

"He's. . ." Dean made a circular motion in the air, "Special."

Sam shot him a mean look and lowered his arms. "Just stretching." He tried to lie.

"O-K" She laid the stack of files on the table in front of him. "Sorry I took longer than I'd expected. I had a few lose ends to tie up at the office before I could take off.

She was wearing jeans now, and a light cotton T-shirt. The V-neck reveled the top of her ample breast. As his eyes moved up, Dean noted a charm around her neck, held there by a leather strap. His eyes began to move to those lips – wait – he went back to the charm.

"I'll be dammed." An Amulet, identical to his tattoo that she had admired so innocently last night.

She ignored the comment, walking further into the room.

"First things first – where's my onion rings?"

Dean moved to the other side of the table, pulling out the chair for her.

"Milady." He said. Once she was seated, he began laying the food in front of her. He opened the small refrigerator in the room. "I didn't know what you'd want. I got Coke, Diet, Water, Juice. . ."

"Coke's fine."

He opened her can and set it in front of her along with a plastic cup full of ice.

He looked down at the bewildered Sam. "You through?"

"Huh?"

"Eating, Sam. Are you through eating?"

"Ahaa, yeah. . . Sorry." Sam quickly cleared away his wrappers and can, making way for Dean to sit down and spread out his own lunch next to hers.

Unsure what to do at this point, Sam stood there wringing his hands.

"Sam." He jumped when she addressed him. "That top file is the Carson boy."

He nodded, still staring down.

She spoke slower. "Why don't you take a look while we finish?" she raised the burger to indict 'eating'.

"Oh, yeah." He chuckled nervously, grabbing the file and sitting on the edge of the bed.

"He is special, isn't he." She half-whispered, smiling over at Dean.

Sam started at the grinning couple in disbelief. 'Just read the file' he told himself.

Inside the left cover was a standard Police Report. 911 received a call at 3:37 a.m., lost in swamp. Two officers arrived at scene, called in search and rescue.

Found at the scene approximately 50 yards from campsite; 1 shoe, believed to be from the missing boy.

Sam read through the written statements from the three other kids – the statements identical to what they'd been told earlier that day. There was a manila envelope containing twenty-seven 8" x 10" color photos with circles and arrows and a paragraph on the back of each one. They had pictures of the entrance way, and the exit way and the scene from the north, south, east and west. There were even aerial photographs of the area as well as a map with grids. Each grid had letters or numbers he didn't understand, he'd ask later.

He sat the file aside and reached for the next one on the stack. Amy grabbed his wrist.

"Does Special boy here get queasy?" she asked Dean.

He swallowed hard, shaking his head.

"Nah, Sam'll be alright."

Still holding on, she tugged at his arm for his attention. Looking directly in his eyes, "This is the unofficial file. You understand?"

Sam shook his head slowly, trying to convey that he understood the seriousness of what she was about to let him see.

She released his hand and returned to her onion rings.

He opened the file. On top was a picture of a purple Chuck Taylor high-top marred in mud – foot still inside. No leg. The bone had been ripped off about two inches above the ankle. The flesh and sock lay over the rim of the shoe – soaked in dried blood. He quickly flipped to the next picture – a close up of the ripped, dangling flesh. Sam gagged. He dropped the file in the floor and ran to the bathroom.

Dean and Amy pushed the remains of their lunch away as the sounds emanated from behind the door.

"I thought he was okay."

"So did I." Hesitantly, Dean bent down and gathered up the pictures Sam had dropped on his way out. 'Understood, Sam' he thought, as he closed the file quickly.

"Probably should have saved those for last." She commented. He looked up at her and nodded. Sam could still be heard inside the bathroom.

"Look, Amy. . ." Dean started, "About last night. . ." he was looking up into those deep, layered brown pools.

"Don't worry about it – I'm not going to try to hold you to anything."

"No." He grabbed her hand. "That's not what I meant."

Sam opened the door before she could respond. "Sorry" was all he could say.

"My fault. I should have warned you, Special." She walked over and handed him a bottle of water from the refrigerator.

Sam drank it fast, ignoring Dean's chuckling at the nickname. When he was ready, he looked over at her.

"I'm sorry, I just wasn't ready for. . . that." He motioned.

"I understand." She was watching him, gauging him. Not in a bad way. He didn't feel anything but genuine concern from her at that moment.

After a few minutes of silence, she sighed and leaned back in her chair. "At first we thought a gator had come up the river. Happens from time to time. It's a little cool right now, but…" she shrugged. "The first one, Tom Johnson, he's a hunter. Stayed out there on the lowlands after deer. We've busted him several times for poaching.

He was gone two days before his wife called it in. We didn't even find his boat until three days later. Most of his gear was still there, along with 3 coons and 5 squirrels."

Sam swallowed, "Is that important?"

"A gator would have took them, too, I'm guessing." Dean jumped in.

She shrugged. "Could be, everybody just got to figuring Tom had wondered off from the boat, sooo."

"Now, " she grabbed one of the files from the stack, "Arvin Keats. He lives down on the water. Retired, raises beagles. He'd been calling in complaining of kids in the swamp, you know, making noise, upsetting the dogs and stuff." She shrugged, "It's not uncommon for a bunch to get out there drinking and partying."

"The next day, two of Arvin's dogs go missing. He figured the kids had 'borrowed' them, but he wanted us to come out and check it out. I sent two guys over to his house. When they got there, no Arvin. He's not been seen since.

"We started searching the area for him" She pulled a map from the file she was holding and began pointing. "Starting from Arvin's house, here," she explained, "we moved into the woods and made our way down to the river." Dean nodded. According to the lines drawn, they had widened the search as they moved deeper into the swamp. This all seemed logical to him.

"During the search, one of my deputies went missing."

The brothers looked up and she nodded back.

"Last transmission we got from him, he said he was going to check out some noise around one of these fishing shacks." She pointed to several small squares along the riverbank. "We checked them all out, but. . . nothing."

"Couldn't it still be a gator?" Sam asked.

She rummaged through the 'unofficial' file. "Could be, but these are the pictures of the area where we found James Carson's, eh, remains."

She passed the photos, one by one, to Dean, who was still sitting in the floor at her feet. He passed them on to Sam. Most depicted nothing more than ground covering, brush and tree roots. One picture, taken from a distance showed a deputy with a measuring tape, dragged from an undetermined item to a tree. The next picture she handed focused on the root of the tree, a single drop of blood lay there. The tape measure read "74.

"No blood - no guts - no gator." Dean sighed, getting up and moving into the chair as Amy shook her head.

"I've got a friend over in Tennessee. He works for Fish and Wildlife, but he's a specialist, too." Before they could ask any questions, she went on.

"Anyway, he's going to 'find' me a gator. That should satisfy most folks around here – keep them from running around in there trying to hunt down the damn thing until somebody else goes missing."

"And in the mean time?" Dean asked.

"In the mean time, I've got to figure out what's really out there and kill the son of a bitch."

"Wait." Realization spread across Sam's face. "You're a hunter?"

"No, Special." She leaned forward to look him directly in the eye, "But I can be a killer, if the situation calls for it."

Her words hung heavy in the air.

"Oh, shit." She jumped up. "Look at the time. I've got to pick up Jason. I'm going to run him to my mom's to stay for a few days. I want him out of town while all this is going on, so I'll be a few hours.

"Want me to come with?" Dean asked, grabbing his wallet and keys.

She turned from the door and stared hard at him, "Now why would I want that?"

"I just thought," he lowered his eyes, "you might want some help with him, he, uh…"

"I can handle my son just fine all by myself, Dean." She looke to Sam, "I should be back around nine or ten."

He nodded his understanding as she walked out the door.

"Man! Where did you find her?"

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