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CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR- SIX STRING HYMNS
"Jim Murphy's dead," John cursed heatedly, pulling the truck around.
"Pastor Jim?" Sam raised an eyebrow. "How?"
"Throat was slashed," John was grim. "He bled out. Caleb said they found traces of sulfur at his place."
"A demon," Dean waited a beat for John's nod.
"The demon?"
"I don't know," John replied tersely. "Could be he just got careless, he slipped up. Maybe the demon knows we're getting close."
Somehow, I didn't think that was what had happened.
"What do we do?" I asked.
John slammed the car door. "Now we act like every second counts. There are two hospitals and a health care centre in Salvation. We split up, cover more ground. I want records. I want a list of every infant that's going to be six months old in the next week."
His tone left no room for argument.
I shuddered as I remembered John's explanation of the demon.
"Dad, that could be dozens of kids. How do we know which one's the right one?" Sam brushed his hair away from his face impatiently.
"We check 'em all, that's how," He answered curtly. "You got any better ideas?"
"No sir," Sam was still sulking.
We turned back to our cars.
~Supernatural~
I sighed as I copied the birth certificate information into my notebook.
The list was daunting.
The sheer number of children was overwhelming.
I slowly walked out of the medical centre, flipping through my notebook.
The white-hot pain shot through my skull, and I clutched my head tightly.
My vision was disjointed, indistinct, and I found myself calling for Castiel in my panic.
Demon.
Translucent yellow eyes, the sharp silhouette of something in the nursery…
A woman's long dark hair, a head turns to a wide window.
A train's long-drawn whistle.
The demon.
My eyes flashed open with a gasp, and I gripped a railing for support.
I pulled out my map.
~Supernatural~
I stood in the park, checking my map again.
I looked up.
The house from my vision was right in front of me.
I started as the woman I'd seen pushed a pram along the road, holding an umbrella with some difficulty.
Deciding fast, I moved over, pulling out the umbrella.
"Hi. Here, let me hold that for you," I smiled. "You look like you don't need that anymore."
"Oh." The woman looked surprised. "Thanks."
I peered inside at the blanketed baby. She stared at me with intelligent hazel eyes.
"She's gorgeous," I meant it. "Is she yours?"
"Yeah."
I tentatively stroked the baby's satin-smooth cheek. "Oh, wow, hi!"
I glanced at the woman again, putting out my hand. "Oh, sorry, I'm rude. I'm Odette. I just moved in with my parents up the block."
She smiled pleasantly. "Hi. I'm Monica. This is Rosie."
I bent down to look at her properly. "Hi, Rosie!"
Monica looked at me indulgently.
"So, welcome to the neighborhood."
"Thanks," I nodded at her. "She's such a good baby!"
Monica grinned, pleased. "I know! She never cries, just stares at everybody. Sometimes I feel like she's….. reading my mind."
That didn't bode well.
"What about you, Monica?" I fought to keep my tone light. "Have you lived here long?"
She cooed at Rosie fondly. "My husband and I, we bought our place just before Rosie was born."
I held my breath. "And how old is she?"
"Six months today," Monica beamed. "She's big, right? Growing like a weed."
My stomach plummeted.
"Yeah," I was distracted. "Monica….."
She looked at me expectantly. "Yeah?"
"Just, ahhh," I paused. "Take care of yourself, okay?"
She smiled brightly. "Yeah, you too, Odette. We'll see you around."
I watched as a rusty station wagon pulled onto the drive, and Monica twirled her baby around in her arms.
The clock stops with a creak, the nursery rhyme that is playing freezes.
An icy wind pulls open the window.
The long black shadow looms over the baby's bed.
Monica pushes open the door.
"What are you…"
Like a puppet on a string, she is pulled back to the wall, and slides up it onto the ceiling.
The blood is bright and unnaturally red.
"Rosie!"
~Supernatural~
"A vision," John's tone was flat. "Both of you get visions."
My response was slow in coming, painful even.
"Yes. I saw the demon burning a woman on the ceiling."
"And you think this is really going to happen?" John folded his arms, clearly skeptical.
If Castiel were here to explain, I was sure things would have been different.
"Dad," Sam's voice was subdued. "It happens. Everything we see, it comes true."
Dean rose and crossed to the counter behind me for more coffee.
"All right," John kicked the chair leg. "When were you going to tell me about this?"
We stopped and turned to look at John.
"We didn't know what it meant," Dean's tone was forcedly calm.
"Something like this happens to your brother, you pick up the phone and call me," John punched the grainy surface of the table.
Dean dumped the coffee jug back on the counter and strode toward his father.
"Call you?" Dean's voice was filled with disbelief. "Are you kidding me? Dad, I called you from Lawrence, all right? Sam called you when I was dying."
He threw his hands in the air.
"I mean, getting you on the phone? I got a better chance of winning the lottery."
The silence was tense.
"You're right," John offered unexpectedly. "Although I'm not too crazy about this new tone of yours, you're right. I'm sorry."
Something like respect for John rose up inside me.
Sam kneaded his forehead.
"Look guys, visions or no visions, fact is, we know the demon is coming tonight. And this family's gonna go through the same hell we went through."
"No, they're not," John's eyes flashed. "No one is, ever again."
Sam's phone rang.
"Hello?"
I could hear an indistinct female voice on the other end of the line.
"Sam?"
"Who is this?" He asked sharply.
"Think hard, it will come to you."
I could have recognized the casual cruelty in that tone anywhere.
I knew before Sam spoke it out loud.
"Meg."
Dean and John started, turning to Sam.
Sam nodded, unsurprised.
"Last time I saw you, you fell out of a window."
"Yeah, no thanks to you," Meg's voice was deceptively light. "That really hurt my feelings, by the way."
"Just your feelings?" Sam's eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. "That was a seven-storey drop."
Meg ignored him.
"Lemme speak to your dad."
Sam looked at John.
"My dad? I don't know where my dad is."
I could hear her laugh.
"It's time for the grown ups to talk, Sam, let me speak to him now."
Sam hesitated, handing over the phone to John.
He grasped it quickly.
"This is John."
"Howdy, John," Meg gushed. "I'm Meg, a friend of your boys and the little kid they picked up. I'm also the one who watched Jim Murphy choke on his own blood….."
She didn't need to finish.
"I'm here," John's voice betrayed not a hint of emotion.
"Well, that was yesterday," Meg chirped. "Today, I'm in Lincoln, visiting another old friend of yours. He wants to say hi….."
"John, whatever you do, don't give…" The raspy voice was cut off abruptly.
"Caleb?"
Dean and Sam reacted to the name instantly, going on alert.
"You listen to me," John spoke through gritted teeth. "He's got nothing to do with anything. You let him go."
"We know you have the Colt, John."
His eyes narrowed. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Oh, okay," Meg said cheerfully. "Well, listen to this."
There was a choked gurgle and a wet squelch, and my face paled.
Everyone knew exactly what that meant.
"Caleb. Caleb!"
John received no response.
"You hear that, John?" Meg lost her chipper tone.
"That's the sound of your friend dying. Now let's try this again. We know you have the gun, John, word travels fast. So as far as we're concerned, you just declared war. And this is what war looks like. It has casualties."
John crushed the mobile in his fingers. "I'm gonna kill you, you know that?"
Meg snickered. "Oh, John, please, mind your blood pressure. So this is the thing. We're going to keep doing what we're doing. Your friends, anyone who helped you, anyone you've ever loved. They're all gonna die unless you give us that gun."
John was quiet, weighing Meg's ultimatum.
"I'm waiting, Johnny, better answer before the buzzer."
"Okay," John forced the words out.
"Sorry?" Meg sniggered. "I didn't quite get that."
"I said okay," John clenched his teeth. "I'll bring you the Colt."
"There's a warehouse in Lincoln, on the corner of Wabash and Lake. You're gonna meet me there."
"It's gonna take me about a day's drive to get there."
"Meet me there at midnight tonight."
"That's impossible," John flexed his jaw. "I can't get there in time and I can't just carry a gun on the plane."
Meg's tone turned light and airy.
"Well, I guess your friends die then, don't they?"