A Fork In The Road

Chapter 1: The Bar

The sound of the lock opening on the bar door jarred me. How long have I been standing here?

"Well well now, don't usually get pretty ladies like yourself in here this early. Hell, we don't usually see pretty ladies much 'round here at all," the bartender said as he motioned for me to come inside. I wasn't fond of his enthusiasm.

His eyes examined every inch of me as I squeezed past him into the dark, musty bar. Ugh... it smells like wet socks and vomit in here. It's hard not to notice the awful clash in décor, even with the strong odor. Deer heads, NASCAR posters, and chipped red paint. Classy.

My left hand started to twitch as I realized my portly, middle aged host was still staring at me. What was left of his thin gray hair was neatly combed over his obviously balding head and a grin rested on his thin lips. Why is his shirt stained if he just opened?

"Have a seat there darlin', what can I do ya for?" He cheerfully asked this as he wiped the bar top down with a dingy yellow rag, then preceded to wipe the sweat from his brow with the same piece of cloth. Thank God alcohol kills germs. Rather die from it than salmonella or who knows what else.

"Beer please. Guinness if you have it on tap." I replied, hoisting my aching body onto the bar stool. "Make it two."

"She speaks!" his voice boomed.

"Sorry. Not trying to seem rude. Long night."

He could tell by my tone, (and appearance I'm sure), that I was not in the mood to discuss my night or anything for that matter.

A few moments later an ice cold Guinness appeared and I gulped half of it down immediately. Before the last few sips of that one were gone another showed up. The beer was my clarity, I needed it... a recent development but there is no functioning without it for the time being.

I'm not the best hunter but I get by. The last year has been pretty rough since mother passed. She was my rock, my teacher, my rescuer. Trying to walk in her footsteps is nearly impossible for me. Can I do this without her?

It was just she and I after my father, Harrison Guerrero, passed away in the fall of 1999. My mother hunted from that point until she passed last year. The doctors ruled dad's death an accident but my mother knew better. She blamed herself and her curiosity for his death. She studied everything from the paranormal to the supernatural in college and even more so after. She briefly came in contact with a hunter during an overnight visit in a haunted house. The house was filled with vengeful spirits, one of which let her in on the fact that she was pregnant with me. The hunter she met was John Winchester and he saved both of our lives that night. Whenever my mother suspected something strange was happening she would give John a ring and he would handle it. She convinced my father that John was a distant cousin from her mother's estranged side of the family and when John was on a hunt nearby he would have my mother check in on his 2 boys, Sam and Dean, and give her bits and pieces of stories to wet her palate.

Catherine Guerrero was only 5'4 and a buck 20 soaking wet but she could hunt, and fight. My mother made every woman jealous. Her long blonde hair and emerald green eyes put every man within a ten mile radius in a coma. Her looks gave her an edge when it came to hunting. She was distracting and not intimidating so she had a spectacular advantage. The moment a monster let his or her guard down they lost their life. She passed on as much as she could to me before the cancer poisoned her entire body. Now every day I'm doing my best to make her proud.

The ticking of the wall clock interrupted my sulking. 10:16am. Shit, already?

Small details about my surroundings were coming into to focus. The bar is silent, no music or chatter, probably because it was still just Chubbs and I. Ok, that was awful. I could hear mother in my ear, "Not the smallest cub in the litter yourself, Gabby."