Lucifer's Lamb

Book One: Chapter One

Danielle looked around her bedroom one final time. All that she intended to take along with her was packed inside her duffel bag, which was sitting beside the door. Her bed was perfectly made, what possessions she left behind were boxed up and divided with names on them - each box was destined to go to one of her roommates. Both of which were sleeping, so Danielle picked up her converse sneakers and let her sock covered feet muffle her final steps out of the room. She picked up her bag on the way out the door and headed down the hallway. At the door, she paused and reached into her pocket, from which she withdrew her key ring. From her key ring, Danielle removed the blue painted house key, leaving it on the shelf by the door. For the final time, Danielle opened the door and walked out, letting it shut behind her. Outside, under the cover of night, she tugged on and tied her shoes before heading down the wooden steps for the driveway. She’d planned this meticulously for a month - as one didn’t just vanish overnight. 

Her bag thrown in the backseat of her dark blue jeep, Danielle slipped into the front seat behind the wheel and slid the key into the ignition. The jeep rumbled to life, and Danielle wasted no time in backing out onto the road and driving off into the night.

One month ago, Danielle had caught word through the grapevine while working in the roadhouse that Dean Winchester was dead. Not only dead - he’d been salted and burned. She recalled how she’d reacted to this news..she’d dropped the glass she had been pouring for a patron. That was the night that Danielle decided to track down the Winchester’s location ; and dabbling in a little scrying had pinpointed Dean’s brother, Sam. That was all she needed to decipher a location so she could leave a memorial of whiskey. An outsider would be confused as to why this would lead to her vanishing, to her disappearing. Danielle had been lying about her last name for years. Her name was not Danielle Masons,no. Her true surname was Winchester. What she didn’t know was if she was perhaps related to the famous hunters? Regardless, Danielle had decided to leave a memorial and vanish - become an unknown face, become a hunter herself. 

The drive to Lebanon took Danielle just under a total of twenty three hours, but she finally arrived as the sun was setting. The outside of the location didn’t look like a place where anyone lived! Yet there sat unmistakable proof, just ten feet from the front end of her jeep - the black ‘67 Chevy Impala. Danielle steadied herself and stepped out of the jeep, grasping a bottle of Jack Daniels to take to the door. She realized she was shaking and did her best to steady herself. This had taken a month of planning, a week of stealing her nerves and preparations. Surely by now, her roommates were confused and trying to piece together why she’d just up and left but Danielle shook those thoughts from her mind. “Leave the bottle, say a prayer..or take a shot..and leave. You’ve gotta start hunting somewhere,” she told herself.

Danielle approached the door, pausing to open the bottle and bring the opening to her lips. “To Dean Winchester,” she said aloud to herself, taking a long swig. What Danielle didn’t plan on, nor take into the realm of possibilities, was that old heavy door suddenly swinging open. To add to her shock, as the girl choked on the whiskey and sputtered in surprise, there stood a disheveled man with short dark brunet hair and tired green eyes. He wore an old band t-shirt - AC/DC, the logo was faded but recognizable - and sweats ; he leaned on a cane, but it appeared he was trying to hide this from Danielle. “Can I help - is that whiskey?” Danielle nodded, sheepishly offering the bottle to the man. He reached out and grasped the neck, sighing gratefully. “Kid, you just became my most favorite person.” He tipped the bottle at his lips, taking a long swig of the bitter alcohol. When he’d swallowed, those green eyes studied Danielle. “You okay? Need help?” Danielle cleared her throat, shoved her hands in her pockets, and promptly fell on her face when realizing the way she was awkwardly standing robbed her of her balance. “Jesus, how much have you had to drink?,” the man muttered, shifting the whiskey bottle towards his hand on the cane and reaching out with the now free hand to help Danielle up.