A man walked down a dimly lit hall way, gun drawn. He cautiously opened each closed door he came to; one on the right side, then the left, then the right again. He came to the end of the hallway and paused, hearing a thud in the last room on the right. He didn't hear someone appear at the end of the hall behind him, he didn't see them raise a gun, all he heard was the sudden, deafening sound of a gunshot before he was thrown against the wall in front of him by the force of a bullet entering his body. The man sunk to the floor, a bullet hole in his chest, right through his heart. Blood trickled over a familiar leather jacket as a man screamed somewhere in the backround.
Sam Winchester jerked out of his sleep, violently. He sat up quickly, his breathing was heavy and his vision was blurred with unfallen tears. Sam hastily wiped his eyes clear and looked over at his brother's bed next to his; Dean wasn't there. Sam pulled the covers off of himself and got out of bed. He walked to the bathroom and closed the door behind him. Turning on the faucet, Sam splashed cool water over his face. The image of blood spilling over his brother's jacket flashed through Sam's mind. He cupped more water onto his face, as to wash away the image. Sam turned off the water and took up a towel, burying his face in it. The darkness of the towel over his face was comforting to Sam; he didn't get much relief from sleep and the towel provided the brief refuge of closing his eyes without the threat of having the reoccurring dream about Dean's death. After awhile, Sam tossed the towel on the side of the sink and left the bathroom. He took his watch off the bed-side table and put it back on his wrist; it read 7:23 A.M. he noted. Sam pulled jeans over his boxers and grabbed his jacket as he exited the hotel room. The sun shone blindingly off the Impala as it sat outside room #12. Sam tapped his index finger knuckled on the shiny, black surface as he passed the car and headed to the diner across the parking lot. A little bell on the door tinkled as Sam walked into the diner. An older woman smiled at him from behind the counter. Sam smiled back and scanned the restaurant. Finally locating Dean, Sam walked to the table he was sitting at. Dean looked up from his paper, a little startled by Sam.
"Morning, Sammy. Was wondering when the Sandman was gonna ditch you."
Sam slid into the booth across from Dean and let out a deep sigh, blinking sleepily. "You're up unusually early."
Dean took a sip of his coffee and looked back down at the newspaper in his hand. "Yep, something about stale, hotel room air just invigorates me."
Sam breathed a short laugh and picked up a section of newspaper off the table.
Dean looked up at him for a moment."You look like crap, what's up with you lately?"
Sam glanced at Dean over the newspaper. "Nothing, I'm fine. Did you find any jobs for us?"
Dean gave Sam a look that clearly stated that he didn't believe that nothing was wrong and tossed an article in front of him.
"This guy, Thomas Monroe, was found shot through the heart in his home Thursday night. No signs of break-in, no signs of robbery." Sam picked up the paper and studied it.
"You have any idea of what it might be?" asked Sam after awhile.
Dean shook his head and leaned back against the booth. "No clue. But, that's why I find the article..." He tapped the newspaper with his index finger. "...And you do the research." He pointed at Sam and gave him his signature smart-alec smile. Sam gave him a look and pursed his lips a little. Dean chuckled and finished off his coffee. Sam read over the rest of the article and came to a name in bold print.
"Here's something; it says a woman named Francesca Lovell, a friend of the victim, found Thomas Monroe dead in his house."
Dean raised his eyebrows. "Does it say where we can find her?"
Sam shook his head and bit the inside of his lower lip. "No, but I'm sure we can find out." He looked up at Dean, smirking mischievously.
Dean smiled and motioned at Sam. "Well, do your thing, college boy."
Sam laughed; a blessed relief from the disturbing images projecting through his head.
They left the diner, Dean a few paces ahead of Sam. A police car pulled up and two officers got out, laughing. Instinctively, Dean turned his face away and Sam caught up to him, obstructing the view of Dean from the officers. Both brothers were relieved when the officers paid them no mind and they finally reached their hotel room safely. Dean took off his leather jacket and tossed it on his unmade bed. He stood in thought for a moment.
"If only we hadn't taken that stupid job in St. Louis, eh Sam?"
Sam felt a pang of guilt for pushing Dean into going to investigate his friend's false conviction of murder.
"I was thinking the same thing." Dean walked to the bathroom and washed his hands.
"Psychic wonder strikes again." He said, looking in the mirror at Sam. Sam half smiled and sat down at the table next to Dean's bed, opening and switching on his laptop computer. He waited for the desktop to load and he typed in a search on Francesca Lovell. A few correctly matching results came up, one of them being a MySpace address. Sam shook his head a little and laughed to himself. Clicking on the link, Sam logged into his own account-which he would never admit to Dean of having- and viewed Francesca's profile.
"Dean, I found something."
Dean walked to Sam and read the screen over his shoulder. "Uh huh, brunette, 25 years old, Scorpio-"
Sam cut him off. "Dean, read lower and think higher, please." Sam pointed to the "Career" part of the profile.
Dean took his eyes off of "Special Talents" and moved them down to the "Occupation". "It says she works at the public library." Sam nodded and looked at Dean.
Dean grinned. "Dude, a librarian? I don't know, that's kinda hot."
Sam exed out of the page. Dean stopped grinning like an idiot and gave Sam a slightly disappointed look. Sam didn't notice, he typed in the name of the library listed on the MySpace sight into Google.
"Here it is, Rich County Public Library: 268 S. Berris St." Sam scribbled down the address on a piece of paper and put it in his pocket. He stood up, shut the laptop and looked at Dean.
"Let's go find out what she knows."