Supernatural//[ON HOLD]

Supernatural//12

Twelve.

“She's pretty.” I murmured, stroking the edges of the photograph while Ryan fiddled angrily with my phone. He had left his at home, on his nightstand, so he had to go through the trouble of figuring out how mine worked. So far, he hasn't had any luck since he kept grunting and cursing every time his fingers missed the too-small keys and he had to start over. I didn't have to the heart to tell him there was a clear button because his reactions were too funny and I needed a good laugh after the tidal wave of confusion and new-bearing problems that came with the discover of the photograph. My fingers rubbed over something in the back and I flipped the photo over, squinting at the tiny words written in black ink. When I could make out the letters, I read it to myself slowly, not wanting to alert Ryan; he had finally keyed in his ten digit house number and was waiting for it to connect. My breathing hitched when I finished deciphering the message: He'll know how I felt after her death. He'll know real soon.

What does that mean?

It has something to do with Ryan and someone's death. But who? The one thing I was positively certain is that the 'he' whoever is referring to, it's Ryan. And the 'I' is Cameron but I still don't understand. I racked my brain then decided that I'll have a better chance at understanding it if I broke it down. After a while, I figured out who the 'her' was. It was Lila. Now, piecing the pieces together, I got: Ryan will know how Cameron felt after Lila's death. Ryan will know real soon.

It's foreseeing someone's death. Or, more specifically, someone close to Ryan; so close that her death will make him rogue.

I swallowed.

Should I tell him? The obvious answer was yes but why was I hesitating? I would want him to be warned...right?

The words tumbled out before I could make up my mind, “Ryan,” I called.

He stopped in the midst of arguing with his father and turned to me, brows furrowed, mouth set in a thin line. “What?”

I cringed at his vexing tone but forged ahead. He needed to know this. “There's writing on the back of this.” I held out the photograph, backside showing, and he took it, cupping one hand over the receiver of my phone.

His eyes scanned over the message and I saw them flickered to me. Or, I thought they did. I might just be misinterpreting things but I didn't miss the way his eyes lifted slightly and caught my gaze then dropped back down to the parchment. I knew he came to the same conclusion as I did: his brother wanted to hurt him. But he gave no indication to what he discovered, he only tossed the photograph dismissively onto my comforter and stared out at the setting sun with wistful longing. My phone was still in his hands and he gave no signs of resuming his conversation.

“Ryan?” I asked softly, gingerly placing a hand on his shoulder. “Who is going to die?” The question seemed incredibly blunt. I felt like I should've sugarcoated it before saying it but after I said it, I was glad I didn't beat around the bushes. It was better to receive straightforward answers rather than vague ones that made my head spin.

When he looked at me, I was startled by the sadness deep within his jade green eyes. Was I the cause of such sadness? Surely not. I hadn't done anything wrong, had I? No, I concluded firmly, I didn't. “It's nothing. Don't worry about it.”

“It's something.” I pressed. “And I will worry about it. The photograph obviously went through a lot of trouble to get into my room. Why? I have no idea but I know it involves me and as much as you're worried I'll run screaming in the opposite direction, that's not happening any time soon.” I huffed, exhaling deeply.

A hint of a smile touched his lips and he responded, “But it's dangerous.”

“It is.” I agreed. “But you told me you were going to protect me, or at least you implied it.” I mumbled.