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EPILOGUE

Abandoned Field
Milford, Connecticut
Saturday, October 7, 2006
11:47 PM

"Again!" John barked as Amelia thrust the kendo stick toward the training dummy sitting illuminated in the bright headlights of his truck, managing to hit the thing straight at the mark for the fifth time in a row. "Again!"

As he watched the girl go through the motions of about-facing fluidly and thrusting the pointed end of the bamboo sword into the heart of the wooden dummy—which had once been a coat rack taken from a motel room years ago, fashioned into the most stable teaching device he could create—John kept his eyes on Amelia while he paced around the area in which she worked, watching as she moved in perfect form as though she had been gearing up for this her entire life. The gracefulness told John all he needed to know about the girl, and all he needed to know about what she was. He just had to test his theory before he could confirm what he had supposed a long time ago.

Amelia's mother, Morgan Callahan, had been exactly like this, a perfect warrior in every aspect of the word, with strength, agility, and skill that surpassed even some of the most practiced of Hunters. When they had first met at that bar in Boston before Valentine's Day in 1985, her working as a waitress in order to pay the rent on a small studio apartment in South Boston, John had automatically assumed she had been nothing but another strapped-for-cash woman looking for tips as she worked tirelessly behind the counter, a woman just like all the others he had met while on the road. However, after an attack on Patty's Pub, one that had been launched by a demon searching for John, he had learned differently. As the bar cleared of screaming people running for the parking lot, only John and Morgan had remained, with the woman unleashing a fury unlike any he had seen before on the demon disguised as a trucker that had lit the west wall of the building on fire. Unfortunately, the creature had gotten the best of her, using its kinetic abilities to throw her across the room, causing enough of a distraction for John to send it downstairs.

At the time, the direct hit from a demon had been the first of many, probably in some early attempt to get John to stop his search for the thing that had killed Mary. He had only been on the hunt barely a year and a half by then, and had only just begun to start digging for clues, but already so much had been revealed to him, some things that he hadn't been able to put into place until much later—such as the fact that the demons were attacking because that was exactly what had killed his wife. Back then, his head had still been reeling with the information that had been dumped on him by Missouri Mosley back in Lawrence and the other things he had learned along the way—the most important at that moment in eighty-five being the lesson Pastor Jim Murphy in Blue Earth, Minnesota had taught him about exorcising pyrotechnically-inclined creatures like the one that had been standing in front of him.

After saving the waitress, Morgan as her nametag read, from the burning building, John had wanted nothing more than to bolt for the motel and take Sam and Dean out of town, as far away as possible from Boston. In those days, John was still the ex-military mechanic who was destined to do nothing else aside from settle down with a family and a house. The world hadn't hardened him yet, and the truth about Mary's death, and eventually about Sammy's future, hadn't broken his spirit—though his heart still yearned for his deceased spouse, then and now. But there had been something about Morgan that had reminded John of his wife, something that had caused John to act irrationally. Though the woman, who had been a leggy redhead with emerald eyes and a strong Irish accent, was the opposite in appearance and manner of Mary, John could sense the confidence and strength in her that he missed the most from the love of his life.

It didn't take long before they had found a motel room of their own, one a quick drive from the bar Morgan worked at, and it took even less time for the deed to be done. By the time John had finished, he had felt worse than after any supernatural encounter he had ever faced, almost as though he had cheated on his wife of twelve years, a feeling that dug a pit deep in his heart. Leaving town without so much as a goodbye, John had tried to put the incident in his rearview mirror, focusing on his sons and making sure to keep the incident out of his journal—aside from the fire and the demon attack. Ultimately, though, the occurrence didn't remain in his past for long.

A month later, John had gotten a call involving news he had never expected. Not sure what to do, he had kept his distance, his mind already overworked from the spirit case he was in the middle of. Putting it off for eight more months, John finally headed back to Boston, leaving the boys at Bobby Singer's for a few days and knowing that they were in good hands. As he appeared in the maternity ward at Carney Hospital just after Morgan had been taken into surgery for her cesarean, following the instructions Morgan's brother had barked on the phone hours ago, John wasn't sure what to do as he waited, leaving the building and taking a drive before returning the next morning to speak to Morgan. The conversation had been quick and to the point when he arrived, with John seeing the desperation of what Morgan was asking written plainly on her face: their daughter needed a name and she needed to disappear, to never know the truth and to never live the life of a Hunter.

Not asking any questions, John had chosen the name of his mother, remembering that his sons had already inherited theirs from Mary's side of the family, and kept his thoughts to himself—something he wouldn't have done in this day and age. Signing her birth certificate to seal the deal, and knowing that carrying the Winchester legacy with her was just as dangerous as Morgan supposed shouldering their infant child with Callahan would be, John listened as the woman informed him that Amelia Mae would be hiding in plain sight with distant relatives, and that their contact information and one other important thing would be forwarded to him in the event that something happened. Taking off the necklace from around her neck, John watched as Morgan dropped a silver-and-diamond crucifix into a heavy envelope before he left for good. Fourteen years later, the address and Morgan's private journal arrived, along with a letter detailing the reason behind the adoption and what the woman truly was.

In the six years since then, John had off-handedly learned some of all he could about Morgan's true identity, trying to keep the information to a minimum and refraining from asking any of his contacts for more details. Truthfully, the longer John was on the road, and with Sammy's ever-growing yearn to head off for college and leave this life behind, the more John forgot about the daughter who had been given away, his mind filling with more important things, such as the steadfastly disappearing signs of anything that would help him in discovering more about Mary's killer. However, there was still some intel that had stuck in his mind, such as the fact that Morgan's condition was heredity, though was sometimes known to skip a generation. In all honesty, John had been hoping that Amelia had managed to escape the life his sons had grown up knowing, instead remaining a normal girl who went to birthday parties and dances and graduated from school. Ultimately, the more John watched his daughter, the more he could see that she hadn't escaped at all.

"That's enough," John said suddenly, watching as Amelia drove the kendo stick so far home that it almost punctured the solid wood she was stabbing at. "Remember those roundhouses I taught you? Show me."

Pausing a moment as she stared up at him curiously, silently asking why he was asking her to do so, Amelia bit her lip self-consciously before going through the motions of pivoting to her left on one foot while the other collided with the head of the dummy, accidentally knocking it from its perch. Jumping back in surprise as the slab of wood skittered away, Amelia placed her hands over her mouth, her eyes searching John's in quiet apology. Shaking his head, and knowing that the device he had used to train Sam and Dean was probably better off destroyed, since he doubted either of his sons would be using it any time soon, John beckoned toward his vehicle, replacing the kendo stick in the hidden compartment under the truck's bed after Amelia carried it over.

Remaining still, John kept his eyes on the girl beside him, noticing that the familiar wave of exhaustion was coming over her, something that he knew was a side-effect of the sudden rush of strength, a deep tiredness that not even the loudest of alarms would be able to awaken. Though she was still a month away from her twenty-first birthday, he knew the signs for this thing showed early, coming intensely until the abrupt abilities leveled out and became manageable. By now, she was probably experiencing heightened senses toward the supernatural that became unbearable, a strength that was quintuple that of the strongest man, and a rush of adrenaline that came in uncomfortable bursts. Fortunately for her, as soon as she hit drinking age, she would be fine—changed and unable to escape the life the Winchesters lived, but fine.

The fact of the matter was, Amelia had it easy compared to what John had learned about Sam and the demon's plan for his other special children. Just as alterations were happening to his daughter, the same was happening to his youngest son in a way that was equally incontrollable, though it was darkness that gripped Sammy, rather than power alone. The more John thought about it, the more he hated the thing that had disrupted his life back in 1983, the demon that had taken everything from his entire family, and tainted one of his children. Though Sam didn't know it yet—and though John didn't know exactly what was happening to his boy, what kind of capabilities he might have manifested—he had gotten the raw end of the deal. Honestly, because of this, John was keeping his distance. Every time he watched his kid from afar, he could hear the nagging voice in his head that told him Sam was compromised. As much as he loved his son, he needed to stay away to figure out his next steps, to figure out a way to return him to normal—something that might never happen before the infection takes hold.

Knowing that that was more important that this, than discovering whether or not Amelia had inherited her mother's skills, John rounded to the driver's side of his truck, getting behind the wheel as his daughter got in on the other side. While he started the engine and turned his vehicle back toward New Haven, John wasn't sure what to say to the girl beside him. Though he wasn't a man of many words, something that had become a part of his personality during his years of hunting, it was his responsibility to inform Amelia of what was happening to her. However, the promise that had been written in the last line of Morgan Callahan's letter echoed in his head before he could say anything, the promise that he would keep the girl as far away from this life as possible. In all honesty, the vow overrode any sense of need to divulge the secret. Having those inherit abilities didn't mean that the girl couldn't be normal, at least until her capabilities were realized. She was supposed to have the life Sam wanted and the life Dean was supposed to have: a house, friends, stability. For some reason, even though it went against everything John was, he couldn't bring himself to lay the truth out for her just yet. He would be back when the time came.

Pulling off the freeway into New Haven, John navigated through the narrow streets leading to the university, debating whether or not to give her the thing hiding in the floorboard of his truck. Amelia had already been introduced to the world of monsters and demons, and giving her the journal Morgan had written in all those years ago would do nothing more than shine a more personal light on the subject. Giving her the book would be the same as when John had given his sons his own journal, almost as though it was the passing of the torch. Though he knew Amelia's mother wouldn't condone it, John had read it enough to know that it only contained information on creatures rather than private tidbits, causing it to read more like a reference guide than an actual diary. It would be just like when he had left her the book on demons, hoping to illuminate the confusion she undoubtedly had.

Deciding to go for it just as Amelia was getting out of the truck, John reached behind him to remove the floor mat under the back row of seats, pushing other things aside as he felt blindly for it. Finally finding the latch he had created long ago, John removed the book from underneath, feeling the cold, worn leather in his hand before holding it out for Amelia to grab. "I want you to have this."

Swallowing hard as she reached for it, her eyes searched John's face. "What is it?"

"It was your mother's," John answered nodding. "It might explain a few things."

Standing speechless, Amelia bit her lip as she hugged the journal to her chest, the words she wanted to say obviously fighting for a way out as her mouth worked to sputter both "thank you" and "oh my god". Grinning to himself, John reached over to shut the open door on her side, switching the truck's gears from park to drive and keeping his foot on the brake for only a moment longer.

"I'll see you around, kid."

In Dwight Hall, Taylor paced the length of the common room, impatience overcoming her as she tried to recall what had happened over the last few hours at the same time as her brain attempted to tell her that something was wrong and that Amy was in trouble. It had been over three hours, why wasn't her friend back yet?

As she walked, Taylor remembered taking those two kids back to their respective homes, having to drive Natalie Hollbrook all the way to Norwich in order to reunite her with her father. While she talked to local police, giving a statement about how she had been driving by with the windows rolled down and heard screaming, and underwent questioning about the captor she claimed to have seen leaving the abandoned factory in Chicklow, detailing a man who looked like Willy Wonka, Taylor had been trying to keep calm. Eventually being released to head home, she had driven back to New Haven to await Amy's return, figuring it would be better than getting in the very-bossy John Winchester's way back in Willow. However, the closer she got to Yale, the more she was convinced Amy needed her help, nearly causing Taylor to turn around and head north.

Thankfully, her mind had gotten the better of her, telling her to return the rental car and head to their dorm to wait it out. As time ticked by, and with no sign of Amy, Taylor had become increasingly convinced something had gone wrong. With every pace, she was closer to hurrying back to Avis for the blue Hyundai. Fortunately, before she could wear her footprints into the floor, the sound of knocking on the door startled Taylor, causing her heart to pound and hope that Amy had finally come home.

"Oh, thank God," Taylor sighed, embracing her friend as soon as she appeared.

Holding onto the girl for as long as she could, Taylor eventually let Amy go, noticing that she had a look on her face that seemed both bothered and curious, marred under a mix of sweat and black blood. Passing into the common area, Taylor saw that her friend clasped an aged leather book in her hand, one that looked as though it was a diary bought long ago. As the two sat down on the couch, Amy set the journal on the coffee table in front of them, staring at it as though it were made out of something explosive. Reaching for it, Taylor went to grab it, only to have her hand pulled away. "No, not… J-just wait."

Frowning, Taylor turned to look at the other girl. "What is it?"

"It used to belong to my mom. My real mom," Amy answered.

Gasping in surprise, Taylor bit her lip, the sudden seriousness of the situation settling over her. "Wow."

"Yeah," Amy sighed, furrowing her brow. "John gave it to me outside. I spent the whole walk over trying to decide if I should open it."

Sitting up straighter, Taylor placed her hands on her knees, trying to suppress the urge to reach out and paw for the diary again. Though she was curious as to what was inside, and though she knew most Hunters kept personal experiences logged in an interesting way, this was Amy's to discover. While the girl almost never talked about her parents, real or adopted, Taylor was certain her friend was even more questioning as to what the book contained than Taylor could ever be. Glancing from between the journal and Amy, Taylor sighed quietly, not sure whether or not she should nudge the process forward or leave her roommate alone. It was obvious that Amy's entire future might hinge on what she found inside, whatever revelations were uncovered about her mother, and ultimately her father, and the kind of lives they lead. Undoubtedly, there was bound to be something contained in the journal that was likely to shatter the world around her friend, probably something that would change the way Amy saw her own life or saw herself.

However, though she knew the decision of whether or not to crack open the book was long from made, Taylor wanted to get the ball rolling, eagerness taking over even though the journal had only been sitting before her for five minutes tops. Clearing her throat, Taylor leaned forward on the couch, inching toward the diary. "What are you going to do?"

At the question, Amy looked up, an interesting emptiness in her eyes that caused Taylor to frown. If she had to guess, it seemed as though every emotion they had encountered during the previous few days had caught up to the girl all at once, from the anxiety of being arrested, to the lack of sleep they experienced, to the adrenaline of finally finding the missing kids, to whatever had gone down after Taylor had left Chicklow. There was a hollowness in Amy's eyes that she had never seen before, the green stare usually containing the permanent etch of curiosity. In all honesty, Taylor could only assume the drained glare indicated that a war was waging inside her friend's mind, as though the "should I or should I not?"was consuming her.

Becoming more worried than inquisitive, Taylor edged away from the journal, waving her hands in front of the girl's face as though to snap her back to reality. "Hello? Aims? Are you alive in there? What are you going to do? Are you going to open it or not?"

Gasping quietly as if coming back to herself, the emptiness disappeared, only to be replaced with the clear weight of the crossroads written on her face. "I, uh… I-I don't know."

TO BE CONTINUED…