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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"So it's just like the Robert Johnson legend, right?" Sam asked as we stood by the car outside of Lloyd's bar as the sun slowly inched its way through the sky, sinking further toward the tree-line. "I mean, selling your soul at the crossroads kind of deal?"
"Who?" I asked.
Dean looked at me as if I had said something crazy. "You don't know who Robert Johnson is?"
"Should I?"
Dean scoffed. "It wasn't a legend. You know his music," he told Sam, who shrugged and looked sheepish. At least he knew who the guy was. "You don't know Robert Johnson songs? Sam, there's occult references all over his lyrics. I mean, Crossroad Blues. Me and the Devil Blues. Hellhound On My Trail?"
"I think my grandpa listened to that," I said.
When Sam looked just as confused, Dean sighed and continued: "Story goes that he died choking on his own blood. He was hallucinating and muttering about big, evil dogs."
"Now it's happening all over again," Sam said.
"Yeah."
"We gotta find out if anyone else struck any bargains around here."
"Right, so, we gotta clean up these people's mess for them?" Dean asked.
"Is that not, like, your job, or...?" I looked between the brothers.
"What? I mean, they're not exactly squeaky clean. Nobody put a gun to their head and forced them to play Let's Make A Deal," Dean stated.
I shrugged.
"So, what, we just leave them to die?" Sam asked.
"Somebody goes overs Niagara in a barrel, you gonna jump in and try to save them?" Dean asked.
"Dean..." Sam began as his brother looked at the ground.
"All right, fine," Dean said. "Rituals like this, you gotta put your own photos into the mix, right? So this guy probably summoned the thing." He picked up the photo of a man from the box. "Let's see if anyone inside knows him...If he's still alive." His arm landed around my shoulder, and he walked off toward the bar.
⛤⛤⛤
"What's this guy's name again?' Sam asked as we walked up the stairs to the next floor of the apartment building.
"George Darrow," Dean answered, hand resting low on my back. "Apparently quite the regular at Lloyd's. This place probably ain't up next on MTV Cribs, is it?"
The place was old, a thin layer of dust on everything. And quiet as if no one lived here.
