Maddison Winchester: Journal 1 {Supernatural} (Editing)

10 Asylum: Part 1

April 3rd - April 8th, 2006

We were still trying to find Dad, so we decided to take a quick pit stop from cases to make some calls to anyone who might have any idea of where he could be.

I usually didn't complain about the motels we stayed in. However, on this particular occasion, the motel room was horrible. Mostly because the entire room was decorated in different shades of red. The beds, the couch, the walls, the lamps, the floor, all red. It honestly didn't matter, but it just amplified the fact that I wanted to get back on the road and search for real clues to find Dad.

Sam was on the phone. "No, Dad was in California last we heard from him. We just thought... he comes to you for 'munitions... maybe you've seen him in the last few weeks. Just call us if you hear anything." He nodded. "Thanks." Then he hung up with a sigh.

Dean looked up from Dad's journal. "Caleb hasn't heard from him?"

Sam shook his head. "Nope. And neither has Jefferson or Pastor Jim. What about the journal? Any other leads in there?"

"No, same as last time I looked." Dean chuckled. "Nothing I can make out... I love the guy, but I swear he writes like friggin' Yoda."

"You know, maybe we should call the Feds. File a missing-persons'," Sam suggested.

"We've talked about this. Dad'd be pissed if we put the Feds on his tail," Dean said.

Sam sighed. "I don't care anymore."

Dean's phone started buzzing, so he got up and started rummaging through his duffel bag.

"After all that happened back in Kansas, I mean... he should've been there, Dean. You said so yourself. You tried to call him and... nothing," Sam said, trying to state his case.

"I know!" Dean said, frustrated, still rummaging through his bag. "Where the hell is my cellphone?"

"You know, he could be dead for all we know," Sam said.

Dean nearly snapped his neck to look over at Sam. "Don't say that! He's not dead! He's— He's—"

"He's what? He's hiding? He's busy?" Sam asked.

Dean finally found his phone and flipped it open. As he read the text message, a smile grew on his face. "Huh. I don't believe it."

"What?" Sam and I asked in unison.

"It's, uh... It's a text message. It's coordinates," Dean said, looking up from his phone.

Dean quickly walked over to the table and opened his laptop. He sat down and started searching for the coordinate location.

"You think Dad is texting us?" Sam asked.

"He's given us coordinates before," Dean responded.

"The man can barely work a toaster, Dean," Sam said.

Dean looked up from his laptop. "Sam, it's good news! It means he's okay, or alive at least."

"Well, was there a number on the caller ID?" Sam asked.

Dean shook his head. "Nah, it said 'unknown.'"

Sam looked disappointed. "Well, where do the coordinates point?"

"That's the interesting part. Rockford, Illinois," Dean said.

"Okay, and that's interesting how?" Sam asked.

"I searched the local Rockford paper. Take a look at this," Dean said, tilting the laptop so Sam could see it. "This cop, Walter Kelly, comes home from his shift, shoots his wife, then puts the gun in his mouth, blows his brains out. And earlier that night, Kelly and his partner responded to a call at the Roosevelt Asylum."

"Okay, I'm not following. What does this have to do with us?" Sam asked, confused.

Dean picked up Dad's journal. "Dad earmarked the same asylum in the journal. Let's see..." He flipped through the pages until he found what he was looking for. "Here. Seven unconfirmed sightings, two deaths... 'til last week at least. I think this is where he wants us to go."

Sam scoffed and got up. "This is a job... Dad wants us to work a job."

"Well, maybe we'll meet up with him? Maybe he's there?" Dean suggested.

Sam shook his head. "Maybe he's not? I mean, he could be sending us there, by ourselves, to hunt this thing."

"Who cares! If he wants us there, it's good enough for me!" Dean shouted angrily.

"This doesn't strike you as weird?" Sam asked, "The texting? The coordinates?"

"Sam! Dad's tellin' us to go somewhere, we're goin'." Dean got up, walked to the bed, and started packing his things.

"Oh, thank god. I cannot wait to get out of this place," I said, getting up and packing my bag too.

"What, you don't like the motel I chose?" Dean asked, confused.

"Do you see this room? It's like someone was murdered in here, and they tried to cover it up by putting red everywhere," I said, gesturing to the room.

Dean chuckled. "You've got problems, kid."

"Yeah, well." I shrugged. "What can you do?" I grabbed my bag and walked out to the Impala.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

We parked in front of a bar called The Old Terminal Pub, where Sam figured out that Walter Kelly's partner would most likely be. They had this whole good cop, bad cop routine planned out to get the information we needed out of the partner.

"Okay, let's go over the plan one more time," Sam said.

Dean rolled his eyes. "I'm Nigel Tufnel from The Chicago Tribune. I'm gonna talk to him about answering questions for the newspaper. You're gonna shove me and tell me to quit botherin' the guy. Then you're gonna get what we need outta him."

"Good, I just wanted to make sure we were on the same page," Sam said and walked toward the bar.

Dean shook his head, sighed with frustration, and then followed Sam.

I decided to read while I waited for them to come back out.

After a few minutes, Dean came walking out and leaned up against the side of the Impala. I got out and sat on the hood of the car, and we waited for Sam to come out together.

"Why do you look annoyed?" I asked.

Dean looked over at me. "Huh? I'm not annoyed." He gave me a big cheesy smile.

I reached up, grabbed his face, and shook it. "I know your smile... that's a fake."

Dean smirked and then looked over at Sam, who was now walking out of the bar toward us.

Dean put his hands out. "Shoved me kinda hard in there, buddy boy."

"Oh, that's your problem," I said.

Dean gave me a glare.

Sam smiled. "I had to sell it, didn't I? It's method acting."

"Huh?" Dean asked.

"Never mind," Sam said and walked over to the passenger door.

Dean turned to face him. "What'd you find out from Gunderson?"

"So, Walter Kelly was a good cop. Head of his class, even-keeled, he had a bright future ahead of him," Sam said.

"What about at home?" Dean asked.

"He and his wife had a few fights, like everybody, but it was mostly smooth sailing. They were even talking about having kids," Sam said.

"All right, so either Kelly had some deep-seated crazy waiting to bust out, or something else did it to him," Dean said, and we all got into the car.

"Right," Sam agreed.

"What'd Gunderson tell you about the asylum?" Dean asked.

Sam laughed. "A lot."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *