Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Amy woke to darkness. The chair she fallen asleep in was uncomfortable. But she didn't care. All she cared about was whether she'd missed anything. Amy got up quickly and rushed over to the window. The car was gone, so must they have been. They'd be back. They were on a hunt. Hunters don't abandon hunts like they are worth nothing. People could get hurt, maybe killed.

From experience, Amy could tell that they were hunting a spirit, a vengeful one and that they'd need to salt and burn the corpse to get rid of it. Tonight seemed like the right time for them to do it. They would probably leave tomorrow.

That's when she'd do it. Tonight, when they were out. Across the parking lot and into their room. Anything could be a clue. A tiny clue to where they were going next.

Usually there was nothing except old newspapers and obits behind, but sometimes there were little things left in the trash that would give a huge hint to where they were heading.

And often she didn't need a hint. She'd studied their behavior for the past month, scrutinizing every little thing and figuring out why. One was a player, he went to bars, got drunk and slept with numerous women. The other was quiet, more reserved. As if it was illegal to be like the other.

Amy knew them well. Well enough to know who were their friends and who were their enemies.

She was still standing at window when she heard a shuffling noise behind her. She turned and saw the thing that was standing there. Amy wasn't scared. It would not harm her.

"Hello, Amy. I see you are still on task." It said, with a hint of a slight sneer in its voice.

"Yes, I am."

"I know you want revenge, so I'm here to help you get it." The creature was talking low and calmly, enunciating every word clearly. "I have resources, resources that could push it further along."

"No, I can do it alone."

"Really? It's been a month and all you've managed is a few cold calls. Looks as if you're losing your grip on the situation. Let me help you."

"Help me? Why would a demon want to help me?" asked Amy.

"Because I'm not like other demons. I care about you. You remind me of someone I used to know. Let me help you."


"Yes, really."


I can't believe she agreed to it. She should know never to trust a demon. Well, someone like myself shouldn't really be trusted, should I? I mean, I just lied straight to her face and she believed it all. She believed I wanted to help her just for the sake of it, when in fact it goes much deeper than that.

I want them dead, and so does she. Why can't someone else do my dirty work?

I know it's cruel, but hey I am a demon after all. We're not supposed to be all caring and sharing, are we?

She's driven and she'll achieve her goal. And with little old me behind her, she'll be unstoppable.


Dean finished digging and climbed out the grave. Sam passed him the gasoline and the salt. He salted the rotten remains and poured the gas over it. Sam struck a match and threw it into the hole.

The flames lapped at the bones turning them to ash. Soon that was all that was left, and the boys filled in the grave. The smell of burnt rubber still hung in the air. It was a smell the brothers had grown used to. The stench of death.

They picked up their trash and made their way back to the impala. Dean drove them both back to the motel, where the gathered up their stuff ready for when there were leaving tomorrow.


Amy threw the small plastic on the table. Opening it she took out the newspaper and laid it next to the bag. It was dog-eared and worn from the days it had spent in a duffle bag.

Amy trawled through page after page until she found what she was looking for. The obituaries. She looked along the first page and came across a circled one. A switched turned in her head, and she figured this was where they were heading next.


"Sam, have you seen the newspaper I had?" asked Dean.

"No, what do I look like, your own personal newsstand?"

Dean shut up as soon as he saw Sam's annoyed look. He wasn't usually this bad-tempered.

"Whoa Sammy, what's got you all riled this morning?"

"I can't find the newspaper, some of my razors are missing and we've run out of toothpaste." Explained Sam.

"Calm down, Sammy. God you need to get laid, you seem a littleā€¦." Dean stopped as soon as he saw Sam's scowl. "Okay, okay. I guess I'll go and get you some toothpaste. If it'll make ya happy."

"Yeah, it will." Dean put on his jacket and grabbed his car keys. He left the motel, climbed into the Impala and drove off in the direction of the nearest minimart.


Usually, Amy didn't have dreams, but last night was different. Her mind was flooded with memories of her lost brother. Happy memories, but that's all they were, memories.

She woke up in tears and rushed to the table where the small plastic bag was located. She tipped the contents out onto the wooden surface and picked up one of the small razors.

Amy sat down on the bed and gently pressed it onto the skin of her forearm. The pain of the cutting brought immediate relief. The blood seeping from her skin told her that she should stop doing it, but she didn't want to. The sadness dripped from her body and she could finally relax a little.

That was until Amy heard the roar of an engine as it left the parking lot. She knew who it was and why they were leaving.

She placed the bloody razor onto the nightstand. It was nearly time to go, so she began packing, as she wondered what the next destination held for her and the two guys she was hunting.