One More Time

51

"Your half-caff double vanilla latte is getting cold over here, Francis," I smirk.

"Bite me," Sam says, sitting beside me.

"So, anything," Dean asks.

"I had them check the FBI's missing-persons databank. No "John Does" fitting that description. I even ran his plates for traffic violations," Sam sighs frustrated.

"Sam, I'm telling you, I don't think Dad wants to be found," Dean says.

"All right, check this out," I say, turning the computer toward them. "News item out of Plains Courier, Ankeny, Iowa. It's only about a 100 miles from here."

""Mutilated body was found near the victims car, parked on 9 mile road."," Sam reads.

"Keep reading," I say.

""Authorities are unable to provide a realistic description of the killer. The sole eyewitness, whose name has been withheld, is quoted as saying the attacker was invisible."," he finishes.

"Could be something interesting," I say.

"Or it could be nothing at all. One freaked out witness didn't see anything doesn't mean it's the invisible man."

"But what if it is? Your dad would check it out," I point out.

"Fine," Sam nods.

"I knew you'd give in," I smirk.

*Ankeny, Iowa*

We hop out of Dean's car, and Sam speaks. "One more time. Why are we here?"

"The victim lived here," I answer, walking toward some people working on a car.

"Nice wheels," Dean says. "We're your fraternity brothers from Ohio. We're new in town-- transfers. Looking for a place to stay."

"Who's the hottie," one of them asks, checking me out.

"My girlfriend," Dean lies, making Sam glare at him.

"All right," he shrugs.

Once we're inside the house, we walk into a room to see a guy painting himself purple. "Who are you?"

"We're your new roommates, and this is my girlfriend," Dean answers.

"Do me a favor. Get my back. Big game today," he says to Dean.

"He's the artist. Things he can do with a brush...," Dean says, pointing back at Sam. He plops down on the couch, and I plop down next to him. "So... Murph, is it true," he asks, flipping through the magazine.

"What?"

"We heard one of the guys here got killed last week."

"Yeah," he nods, glancing back at us.

"What happened," Sam asks.

"They're saying some psycho with a knife, maybe a drifter passing through. Rich was a good guy."

"Rich was with somebody," I question.

"Not just somebody-- Lori Sorenson," he corrects like she's a big deal.

"Who's Lori Sorenson," Dean asks. "You missed a spot down on the back," he adds to Sam.

"Lori's a freshman. She's a local. Super hot. Not as hot your girl, though. And get this-- she's a reverend's daughter."

"You wouldn't happen to know which church, would you," Dean asks.

~ ~ ~

"And now, as time heals all our wounds, we should reflect on what this tragedy means to us as a church...," the reverend says when the door slams behind us making everyone look back. I glare at them. "...as a community, and as a family. The loss of a young person is particularly tragic. A life unlived is the saddest of passings," he continues as we take a seat. I notice a girl staring back at us. Sam offers her a smile, before she turns back around. "So, please, let us pray for peace, for guidance, and for the power to protect our children."

After the service is over, we head outside, and I spot the girl that was looking at us. "Are you Lori," I ask, walking over to her.

"Yeah."

"My name is Callie. This is Sam and Dean. Uh, we just transferred here to the university," I lie.

"I saw you inside."

"We don't want to bother you. We heard about what happened," I say.

"We wanted to say how sorry we were," Dean adds.

"I kind of know what you're going through. I-- I saw someone get hurt once. It's something you don't forget." Her dad walks over to her.

"Dad, this is Callie, Sam, and Dean. They're new students."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, sir," Dean says, shaking his hand. "I must say that was an inspiring sermon."

"Thank you very much. It's so nice to find young people who are open to the Lord's message."

"Listen, we're new in town, actually, and we're looking for a...," Dean starts, walking off with the reverend.

"Tell me, Lori, what are the police saying," I ask.

"Well, they don't have a lot to go on. I think they blame me for that."

"What do you mean?"

"My story. I was so scared, I guess I was seeing things."

"That doesn't mean it wasn't real," I sigh.