He hesitated as he raised his fist to knock. He wasn't sure he should be here. He could have waited until she went to work or sat there til he saw her. No he couldn't have. He shook his head. Not the time to be a coward Dean. He needed to see her, talk to her. Apologise for being a jerk. He swallowed loudly and knocked. After a few more moments, he knocked again. Nothing. He frowned. She never worked on a Tuesday night. He moved over to peer through the windows. It was too dark to see anything. Damn it! Where was she?
"What are you doing ?" an old voice rang out to him. He jumped in shock and turned to see her neighbour glaring at him. Great. It had to be the neighbour that hated him. She claimed that Mrs Evans hated everybody and not to worry about it. But it was hard to ignore someone who constantly glared at him whenever she saw him and mentioned that his girl could do better with someone who was around a lot more and wasn't a hooligan. Crazy old bat.
"Hi Mrs Evans. It's me, Dean." He waved and gave her a cheery smile. He saw her frown deeper. Yep, still hated him.
"What are you doing here?" Maybe she didn't remember him. It was a long shot…the old bat seemed to remember every time his 'obnoxious oversized hooligan beast' parked a centimetre into her block. Baby was NOT obnoxious…she was perfect.
"I lost my key while on a job and she doesn't seem to be home. Thought I would surprise her when she got home." He walked down the stairs and over to the hedges so she could see him properly. And so they weren't yelling for the whole neighbourhood to hear. The cover story for the neighbours that liked to stick their noses in other everyone damn business (it was one of the reasons why he hated the apple pie life style) was that he was a freelance reporter and often covered the war torn areas of the middle east. It helped explain some of the wounds he would come back with after a particularly hard hunt. Mrs Evans was use to him coming and going as well as 'losing' his keys.
"You won't find her in there." Mrs Evans said, pulling her pink dressing gown closer. Dean frowned. Sure she didn't move? Well why would she tell him if she did? Or maybe she was with someone else? Oh no let's not go down that path.
"Any idea where she might be?" Dean asked pushing the bad gut feeling he had away. She wasn't with anybody else. She couldn't be. She was his. No matter what he had said, she was always going to be his. He KNEW leaving was a mistake. He'd hunt down the bastard who is with her and gut…
"Oh you poor son of a bitch. Come on in." Mrs Evans didn't wait for his answer before returning inside her house. Dean looked around, feeling a weight settle in his gut. He didn't like this. Something was wrong.
"I ain't waiting around all day boy. Get inside." Mrs Evans had reappeared again. He swallowed once and made his way over to the old coots house. Walking up the stairs, she rolled her eyes.
"While were young would be nice." She snapped. Dean held back the retort dying to escape. Mrs Evans turned her back on him and turned left to what he presumed was the living room. His girl use to visit here all the time to look after Mrs' Ellis plants and crazy cats when she went to visit her son in California. He was never allowed to as there was absolutely no way that "that hooligan" was allowed to enter. Dean swallowed loudly, a million and one things running through his head. Was she ok? Was she…? No. No. he refused to think about that. That would never happen. He left so it wouldn't. She was fine. He entered the small house and wrinkled his nose. The smell of cat was overwhelmingly strong.
"Shut the door boy, where you born in a barn?" Mrs Ellis hollered. Dean rolled his eyes and shut the door. The house was small. The kitchen seemed to be down the hall from where he was standing, the lounge must have been to his left and a small dining area was to his left. There was a set of stairs a few feet away that must have led to the bedroom. The walls were painted a hideous pale green like faintly reminded him of a witch hunt he and his dad went on. The witch had vomited on John after he had ganked her. Dean grimaced. That was one thing he wished he could forget. He freaking hated witches.
"Hurry up boy." Mrs Ellis hollered again. He sighed and went left, hoping he was right. Mrs Ellis sat on her faded pink lounge that looked like it had seen better days. The stuffing was threatening to explode for the well-worn seats. There were three cats sitting on the back staring at him. Three more cats were surrounding Mrs Ellis.
"Sit!" Dean sat quickly, dodging another two cats on the separate armchair. He felt nervous and uncomfortable.
"How long you been gone this time?" She asked, stroking a black cat and reminded Dean of an old movie villain.
"Nine months, give or take." He answered. She scoffed. Mrs Ellis never really approved of him leaving his 'dear, sweet girly' behind for months at a time. She had always said it never bothered her as she knew he would always come home to her when he could.
"Where you been?" she snapped.
"Away." He gritted his jaw. Freaking busy body.
"No one contacted you?" she tilted her head at him.
"I was away from everything. Very remote. What happened?" he lent forward and clasped his hands that were starting to tremble.
"She was attacked." What?
"What?" he could feel the colour leave his face. No no no no no no!
"About a month or two after you left this time, she was attacked. She didn't show up for work one day and Mr Falling at number nineteen found her in an ally around the corner while walking that mangy mutt of his." Mrs Ellis continued to stare at him, patting the black cat softly.
"What happened?" he asked croakily. She hesitated. There was a first. It made him feel sick to his stomach.
"What happened?!" He yelled. He had to know, he had to know what happened. She flinched and then glared at him as the cat scattered.
"They believe it was a wild animal. Vicious things. Attack anyone and everything. Global warming, mark my words they're be more."
"Did…did she…did it kill…?" He stuttered unable to ask the question he needed to know. She placed a hand on his arm. Another first.
"There was nothing anyone could do." She muttered. He stood abruptly. His heart was beating so loudly it almost had it impossible to hear anything else.
"I'm sorry" Mrs Ellis said, for the first time showing another emotion other than distain. Sorrow and pity.
"Thank you for telling me" he said. He had to leave. He had to get out.
"Wait... I have some of her things. The police gave it to me when they couldn't reach anyone else." She threw him a glare but he pretended not to notice. "Did you want it?" He nodded once. She nodded and hurried out of the room, cats scattering everywhere. Dead. No more smiles, no more kisses, no more laughter. Dead. His girlfriend was dead dead dead the word echoed over and over in his head. If he had been there he could have saved her! He should have been there! He dug his hands into his hair and tried to keep away the tears. He had left to save her and had ultimately left her to die. She had died alone, mauled to death by some beast. He had no illusions that it was a wild animal like everyone believed. It had to be the werewolf. I'll kill it. I'll rip its goddamn heart out myself.
"Here." Mrs Ellis thrusted a box at him. It was her personal affects judging by the evidence bags. He gulped and nodded in thanks. There was her mother's locket she never took off, the necklace with the ancient protection symbol on it he had given her after the third date. She had laughed at him and asked if he was mocking her degree. He had just smiled and kissed her. Keep it together. Her charm bracelet that he added to every time he visited a new town. The look in her eyes when he gave it to her always made his insides turn to glue. Keep it together. Her peach scarf he brought her for her last birthday. It sent a shiver through him. He looked away from the box that held the only remaining things of his Callie.
"Thank you for your time Mrs Ellis and for this." he nodded once and moved to the door. Keep it together man. Just a few more steps.
"I'm sorry. I actually liked that one. Sweet, kind, caring she was." She said softly as he stepped onto her porch. He smiled weakly at her and walked back towards the car. Dead. She had died alone something she always feared. He pulled up the door and all but fell into the driver's seat. He sat there trying to breathe through the lump in his throat. Gone. He pulled her scarf out of the box on his lap and brought it to his face, taking a deep sniff. That woody sweet smell filled his nose and head and made his heart ache. It was the smell that reminded him of home. It would be the first thing that hit him when he returned home from a hunt. Followed shortly by the smell of cookies and the thud of her colliding with him, happy to have him home safe. It was that smell he'd bury his nose into before falling asleep. The smell that surrounded him when he woke and warded off the bad dreams. It was home and comfort and love. Home. Gone. Dead. And now it was all he had left of her. Dead. Dean bowed his head and sobbed. She was gone, dead, he'd failed her. Dead.
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Wicked