Those first few days after Lisa's death were little more than a blur. I existed as if on autopilot. I went through the motions of living, making the necessary arrangements, signing the necessary paperwork. I wish I could tell you the funeral was beautiful. In all honesty, I don't even remember it. It passed in a haze of tears, covered dishes and whispered words of sympathy. One minute I was straightening Ben's tie before we left for the church, the next I was sitting on the grass next to Lisa's casket holding him while he cried.

I don't know if it was easier or harder for him, the fact that Lisa and I were twins. He called me 'Mom' more than once in those first few weeks. Every time he said it, his breath would catch and his face would fall. But only for a second. Ben tried so hard to be strong, to be the man of the house. He caught me in Lisa's closet about a week after we'd buried her, balled up in one of her sweaters crying so hard I felt like my heart and lungs would burst with the weight of my grief. Without a word, he curled up next to me and threaded his fingers through mine then gave my hand a squeeze.

"It's okay, Aunt Lily," he said finally. "I miss her too."

Did I mention that he was an amazing kid? I was about to tell him as much when the telephone rang. It had been ringing off the hook. Lisa's neighborhood was a tightly knit little community, even more so following that bizarre series of accidents that happened last fall. Every time I turned around, one of the neighbors was bringing by baked goods or just calling to see if Ben and I were okay and could they do anything to help us out?

I wiped my nose on the back of my hand in childlike fashion and flashed my nephew a forced and somewhat watery smile. "Guess I better get that, huh?" I asked him.

Ben went back to school a week later while I began packing up the house. We'd talked about what he wanted to do, if he wanted to stay in Cicero. It had taken him the better part of two days to come to a decision. He'd chosen Chicago. So there I sat in my sister's living room boxing up the remnants of her life when I came to the startling discovery that I might not have known my sister half as well as I'd thought I did.

Hidden behind a row of thick coffee table books on art history and the Orient, I found several dog eared tomes on demonology and the occult. I thumbed through a couple of them and my eyebrows nearly hit my hairline when I recognized Lisa's handwriting in the margins. What had my sister been into? This went way beyond a passing interest if her notes were any indication. She'd actually believed in this stuff.

I tossed the lot of them into the garbage pile and promptly forgot about them for the next several hours. It wasn't until I stubbed my bare toe on the stack in the middle of the night that I remembered they were sitting there in the center of the rug. The small tower tumbled over as I was hopping around on one foot cursing a litany of "fuck, fuck, FUCK's" beneath my breath. When the throbbing subsided to the point that I could put both feet back on the floor, I reached down and began throwing the books in the kitchen garbage can.

It was by sheer dumb luck that I saw it. Three names and phone numbers scrawled in rather hurried and obviously masculine handwriting on the back page of one of the books. My eyes fairly bugged out of my head when I recognized the first name written there: Dean Winchester. Surely not THE Dean? I mean, it couldn't be, could it?

I don't know if fate has a sense of irony but the question of whether or not I should call him was answered the very next day when I found the letter. Its envelope was yellowed with age but bore his name and I knew it was important somehow. Then I found Ben's birth certificate while I was packing up Lisa's office and had the whole thing spelled out for me. Once upon a time when I'd asked my big sister about the man who fathered her son, she'd laughed and said he'd just been some random guy she'd hooked up with one weekend. Deep down I should have known better. I should have known by the moony-eyed expression that stole over her face whenever she'd talked about Dean. She'd denied it emphatically, but I'd always known Lisa was just a little bit in love with him.

I waited until Ben had gone to school the next day before I called him. His number had been disconnected. Next, I tried Sam Winchester, someone I could only assume to be a relation, but was greeted by the same message telling me the number I'd reached was no longer in service. The third number belonged to someone named Bobby Singer. I struck pay dirt this time though I didn't actually reach Mr. Singer, just got his answering machine. My message was brief.

"This is L.J. Braeden. I'm trying to reach Dean Winchester in respect to a personal matter of some importance. I can be reached anytime via my cell, 312-555-6538."

Okay, so it was a little cold and impersonal, but can you blame me? This really wasn't the kind of thing you wanted to dump on some poor sod's voice mail. In all honesty, I didn't expect anyone to call me back so I was more than a little surprised when my cell rang two nights later as I was spooning marinara sauce over Ben's spaghetti.

I licked a dollop of sauce from my finger tip just before I flipped my phone open and said, "This is L.J."

"Miss Braeden?" the caller asked.

"Yeah," I answered. "Who's calling?"

"Uh, this is Bobby Singer. You left a message on my machine a couple of days back looking for Dean Winchester."

I'd been laughing at Ben's impersonation of the chef from the Muppet Show but sobered instantly at the mention of Dean's name. "Yes, I did. Do you know how I can reach him?"

"That would depend," Bobby replied.

Growing impatient, I demanded, "On what?"

"On how you got this number."

"I got it from my sister, Lisa Braeden."

There was a long pause before he said, "I'll get a message to him and have him call you." The call disconnected a moment later. I looked at the phone, perplexed. And here I thought we cops were a strange and secretive bunch.

"Uh, Aunt Lily?" The tremor in Ben's voice was far more alarming and effective than any shout could ever be. I looked up and there he was in living color, my imaginary pal, complete with hideously unflattering trench coat and wind blown hair. I don't know how he got inside the house but I did know that if Ben was seeing him too then the odds of him being something as simple as a hallucination were slim to none. I was reaching for the knife block on the counter when he spoke.

"Don't be afraid. I'm not here to harm you."

Just like that night, his voice was rich and soothing, a soft tenor that chipped away at my defenses causing my fingers to hesitate for just a moment before they gripped the blade.

"Sell it somewhere else, buddy. Get the hell outta of this house," I hissed.

I watched as he sighed heavily. "You have to leave this house, Lily, and you have to leave now. They're coming."

"Who's coming? What the hell are you talking about?" I stepped closer to Ben and shoved him behind me. If this guy was some kind of psycho nut job, which it was looking like he just might be, I didn't want him anywhere near my nephew.

"They're coming for the boy. You have to leave. Head west. Don't stop until you've reached South Dakota. You must find Dean."

The knife fell from my fingers. "How did you...?"

"There isn't time. Go. Now."

Maybe it was a little crazy but on some primal level I didn't know I possessed, I knew he was telling the truth. Without a second's thought, I swiped my keys from their hook, grabbed Ben's hand and my purse and headed for the car. I don't even remember turning off the stove. If someone was really coming for Ben, I wasn't about to take the chance of finding out for sure.