Maddison Winchester: Journal 1 {Supernatural} (Editing)

1 The Woman in White: Part 3

When we got back to the Impala, Dean checked it to make sure everything was all right. When he finished, he shut the hood and leaned against it.

"Your car all right?" Sam asked.

Dean nodded. "Yeah, whatever she did to it... seems all right now. That Constance chick, what a bitch!" he shouted angrily.

"Well, she doesn't want us digging around, that's for sure. So, where's the job go from here, genius?" Sam asked as he settled onto the hood next to Dean.

Dean flicked some mud off his shoulder. Sam and I sniffed and frowned at him.

"You smell like a toilet." Sam smirked.

I giggled and nodded in agreement.

Dean looked down at me. "Think that's funny, huh?" He reached over and forced me into a very unwanted hug.

"Great, now I smell like one too." I gave him a dirty look.

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After we drove to a motel in town, Dean put a VersaBank MasterCard in the name of Hector Aframian on the counter.

"One room, please." Dean smiled.

The clerk picked up the card, read it, and gave Dean a look of confusion. "You guys having a reunion or something?"

"What do you mean?" Sam asked.

The clerk shrugged. "I had another guy, Burt Aframian. He came and bought out a room for the whole month."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

We found the room Dad had been staying in, and Sam picked the lock while Dean kept an eye out. The motel door swung open a minute later, and Sam walked in. He looked around the room and then signaled for us to go in. Dean was facing the other way, so Sam grabbed his shoulder and yanked him into the room, then he closed the door behind us. Every single wall had papers pinned to it. There were maps, newspaper clippings, pictures, and notes everywhere. There were books on the desk and an assortment of junk on the floor and bed.

Sam looked around in disbelief. "Whoa."

Dean switched on a light by the bed and picked up a half-eaten hamburger. He sniffed the burger and jumped back in disgust. "I don't think he's been here for a couple days, at least."

Sam stepped over a white, powdery line on the floor near the door. He crouched down and picked up some of it. "Salt, cats-eye shells... he was worried. Trying to keep something from coming in."

Dean walked over and read some of the papers covering the walls.

"What have you got here?" Sam asked as he walked over to Dean.

"Centennial Highway victims." Dean gestured to some of the clippings.

I sat on the bed and read some of the papers. The victims on the walls included Mark somebody, William Durrell, Scott Nifong, who disappeared in 1987 at age twenty-five, and somebody Parks.

"I don't get it." Dean shrugged. "I mean, different men, different jobs... ages, ethnicities. There's always a connection, right? What do these guys have in common?"

Sam walked along the walls and read some of the other papers.

There were papers about the Bell Witch, two people being burned alive, a skeletal person blowing a horn at several scared people with the note, MORTIS DANSE, a column titled, Devils and Demons, another titled, Sirens, Witches, the Possessed, a wooden pentacle, and a note that said, Woman in White, above a printout of the Jericho Herald article on Constance's suicide.