The guy at the front desk smirked at me when I booked a room for three hours. He leaned around the desk, looking out the front windows.

"So…who's the lucky girl…" He stopped, raised an eyebrow and then shrugged, "eh, each to their own." He passed me the key and my current fake ID. "Have fun dude."

I chuckled and walked out without another word. Let him think we were a couple. It would result in far less questions and issues than if he realised we were actually booking the room so that we had somewhere private to stitch up the wound on Sam's arm.

Most motels didn't appreciate people leaving bloody towels and sheets when they left a room. One of the reasons we were sure to use fake IDs, and keep housekeeping out until we were long gone.

"What are you smirking about?" Sam asked me as I got back in the car to move it round to our room.

"Oh nothing…" I chuckled. "I only booked for a couple of hours…figured we'd better get back on the road today so we can get to Stanford sooner."

Sam smirked, it was not the first time one of us had booked for a couple of hours. He looked in at the reception guy, who was not so subtly staring at us, and gave him a cheery little wave.

We both cracked up as he quickly turned away, clearly embarrassed to be caught out.

I pulled into our allocated car park and gave Sam the room key. "I'll get the duffels, you go in and start cleaning up."

Sam nodded, "And then we need to talk about Taylor and Emily."

"Ok." I got the impression it wasn't good news.

I headed round to the trunk while he headed inside, pulling out both our duffels and the bag of first aid supplies.

I closed the trunk and sighed. I had been hoping for a couple of couple of quiet days to rest and recover before getting back to work on tracking down Amara…looked like I was getting neither.

Still, it wasn't like we had a choice. Both those girls were pulled into this life because they happened to get close to us. We had a responsibility for them now…them and far too many others. Luckily, most of them managed to move on with their lives without any further contact with us.

Of course, there were always those who weren't so lucky. And the ones that got dragged in more than once were usually the ones that never quite got out again.

I hoped for their sake that it was a false alarm. Just a run of the mill human psychopath.

I headed inside.

"Seriously Dean?" Sam had removed his jacket and shirts and was sitting on the edge of the one bed in the room.

I shrugged, "Well, it was the cheapest room they had, and it's not like we're going to be sleeping…or anything else." I smirked at him and he rolled his eyes at me.

I dropped the bags onto the bed behind him and opened the first aid bag.

"Here, take these." I passed him a bottle of painkillers. "Want some water?"

He nodded. I filled a plastic cup in the bathroom…I wasn't kidding when I said this place was cheap. While I was in there I grabbed a towel and wet one half.

I gave Sam the cup, and waited for him to finish it before starting to clean around the wound. "Ok, so what's the story?" I asked, knowing that he'd waited so that he had something to distract him while I worked. Even with painkillers, the prescription kind, stitching his arm was still going to hurt like hell.

He hissed with pain when I touched the wound, then took a deep breath. "Well, I got hold of Taylor. You're not going to believe this…she's at Stanford. She was trying to contact us to tell us about someone, or something, killing medical students."

I raised an eyebrow. "You mean both of them found us the same case?"

"Looks that way." He grit he teeth as I poured alcohol over the wound, our usual substitute for proper disinfectant.

"Ahh, they grow up so fast." I sighed, getting a slight chuckle out of him, before I started to stitch together the nasty wound. "Bastard got in a good shot." I commented.

"I know." He grumbled. "Have I mentioned how much I dislike wendigos?"

I pretended to think about that for a moment. "Oh, yeah, only about a hundred times…in the past two days."

"Shut up. You complained more than I did." He retorted. "And by the way, I'm checking that head of yours when you're done there. Hard headed or not, that was a nasty whack."

I rolled my eyes. "Sure Sammy, whatever makes you feel better."

"Anyway…" Sam continued, "According to Taylor whatever it is has killed a student a day for the past four days. All of them were medical students. And all of them were found, torn apart, on the college grounds."

I grimaced, "Nasty. Anything else that indicates it's our sort of thing?"

He shrugged the shoulder on his uninjured side, "Not that she knew of, but by the sound of it the cops are stumped. And she's scared. Guess what's she's studying these days?"

I groaned, "Let me guess, medicine?"

He nodded. "I told Taylor we'd be there in a couple of days."

"You get hold of Emily?" I asked.

He shook his head. "No, but I left her a message. Let her know that we were on our way."

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