The Little Winchester Sister

Chapter 10 - Asylum

Me and my brothers were in a motel room.

I was sitting on the couch, cleaning some of the guns.

Dean was sitting on a chair, going through Dad's journal.

Sam was sitting on one of the beds, speaking on his phone with a man name Caleb, "No, Dad was in California last we heard from him. We just thought... he comes to you for 'munitions... maybe you've seen him in the last few weeks. Just, call us if you hear anything. Thanks."

Sam hung up.

"Caleb hasn't heard from him?" Dean asked.

"Nope," Sam answered. "Neither has Jefferson or Pastor Jim."

I looked at Dean. "What about the journal? Any leads in there?"

Dean shook his head. "No. Same last time I looked. Nothing I can make out." He chuckled. "I love the guy, but I swear, he writes like freaking Yoda."

"Maybe we should call the Feds, file a missing person's," Sam told us.

"We've talked about this," Dean told him. "Dad would be pissed if we put the Feds on his tail."

"I don't care anymore," Sam told us. Dean shut the journal and got up from his chair, heading to the other bed where his duffel bag was. "After all that happened back in Kansas, I mean... he should've been there. You said so yourself, Dean. You tried to call him and... nothing."

"I know," Dean told him in annoyance. "Where the hell is my cellphone?"

"You know, he could be dead for all we know," Sam told us.

Dean looked at Sam. "Don't say that! He's not dead. He's--"

"He's what?" Sam asked. "He's hiding? He's busy?"

Dean finally found his phone and flicked it open. "Huh. I don't believe it."

I frowned, standing up. "What?"

I walked over to Dean. He showed me a message;

From: Unavailable

Subject:

Meg: 42, -89

"What is it?" Sam asked.

"It's, uh... It's a text message," Dean told us. "It's coordinates."

Dean sat down on the bed, grabbing my laptop from my bag, opening it. I frowned, "You think Dad was texting us?"

"He's given us coordinates before," Dean pointed out.

"The man can barely work a toaster, Dean," Sam told him.

Dean looked at us, "Guys, it's good news, it means he's okay, or alive at least."

"Well, was there a number on the caller ID?" Sam asked.

"No, it said 'unknown'," I answered.

"Well, where do the coordinates point?" Sam asked, turning back to Dean.

Dean was looking at the screen. "That's the interesting part. Rockford, Illinois."

Sam and I exchanged a look before looking back at Dean. "And that's interesting how?" I asked. 

"I checked the local Rockford paper," Dean told us. "Take a look at this." Sam and I sat on both his sides. Dean clicked on the picture of a deputy. "This cop, Walter Kelly, comes home from his shift, shoots his wife, then puts the gun in his mouth, blows his brains out. Earlier that night, Kelly and his partner responded to a call at the Roosevelt Asylum."