Capri Coleman was a normal girl, getting ready to graduate college when her life fell apart. Her close friend died in a mysterious fire, she learns that her family's death from years ago might not be what she always thought, and she is thrown into t...
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Sam set the mirror on the bed as Dean shut the window. Dean tossed him the black light as he tore through the back paper on the mirror.
Sam moved the light over the back of the mirror to find a handprint and the name Gary Bryman.
"You know who that is?" Sam asked Charlie after she repeated the name
"No."
⛤⛤⛤
"There is no need to take up that much space," I said, bringing my elbow down onto the top of Dean's thigh as we sat on a park bench. He was sitting slightly sideways, arm resting on the back of the bench behind my shoulder and his knees spread apart causing one to brush against my thigh. "Dude, move."
"I'm sitting normally, you weirdo," he replied, absentmindedly twirling a piece of my hair around his finger. "Jeez."
"Gary Bryman was an eight year old boy," Sam said, joining our side. "Two years ago, he was killed in a hit and run. The car was described as a black Toyota Camry, but nobody got the plates or saw the driver."
"Oh my God," Charlie mumbled.
"What?"
"Jill drove that car," she stated.
"We need to get back to your friend Donna's house," Dean said.
⛤⛤⛤
After finding the name Linda Shoemaker on the back of Donna's mirror, we had a few questions for her.
"Why are you asking me all this?" she questioned as we stood in her kitchen.
"Look, we're sorry, but it's important," Sam replied.
"Yeah. Linda's my mom, okay? And she overdosed on sleeping pills. It was an accident and that's it," Donna insisted. "I think you should leave."
"Alright, Donna, just listen—" Dean began.
"Get out of my house!" Donna yelled before storming off.
"Oh my God," Charlie mumbled. "Do you really think her dad could've killed her mom?"
"Maybe." Sam shrugged.
"I think I should stick around," Charlie said.
"Alright. Just, whatever you do, don't—" Dean shook his head.
"I won't say it."
⛤⛤⛤
Once again, I sat across from Dean in our motel room that night. He was scrolling through articles on the computer, face illuminated in blue as he read. Papers and photos were being printed at my right as I read through the every growing stack.
