Turn the Page -Sequel to More Than a Feeling

Chapter 3

Ruthie set a beer in front of each brother, then settled into a seat at the table with her own cold bottle in hand. The bunker's library, with its sleek wooden tables and shelves of old lore books, had become her favorite place. Especially when she wasn't alone. The cool glow of their laptops lit the men's faces, and she turned her attention to her own screen as the three of them continued to research in comfortable silence.

Her bottle was half empty by the time Sam spoke up. "So get this. A woman's body was found on a boat in Missouri, at Table Rock Lake. Her tongue was cut out, and her feet were bleeding, but there were no wounds on them."

"No cuts or scrapes at all, they were just seeping blood?" Ruthie asked.

"That's what it says."

Dean took a swig of beer. "It's weird; I'll give you that. But what makes you think this is our kind of gig?"

Sam glanced at his screen. "Well, did I mention her legs were fused together?"

Ruthie raised her eyebrows, and Dean did the same. "So, we're thinking witch, then?" Ruthie asked.

"Worth checking out," Sam said.

"Alright, hold on a sec," Dean said, holding up a hand. "I enjoy shanking witches as much as the next guy, but we're supposed to be finding that werewolf, not looking for new cases. I thought we agreed."

Sam closed his laptop. "I know. But there's nothing, Dean. We've been looking for a week; Ruthie's been looking for months, and there's not a trace of it anywhere."

"Yeah." Dean frowned. "Does that seem right to you?"

"No. It bugs the hell out of me. But what can we do about it? The way I see it, all we can do is keep looking until something turns up, and until then, we keep hunting."

Ruthie sat quietly, eyes on her beer bottle, which she clasped with both hands to keep from fidgeting. As far as the guys knew, she had been searching for signs of werewolf activity every day since they'd brought her to the bunker. And she had—for the first week or so. After that, she'd given them a steady stream of cases to work, but told them that despite her efforts, there was no news on the wolf front. The truth was, she'd carefully avoided running any searches on victims with missing hearts, or apparent animal attacks.

If they found the werewolf, they'd kill it. Then she'd be safe.

Then there would be no reason for them to let her stay.

"Ruthie?" Dean watched her, curiosity crinkling the corners of his eyes. He waited for her to answer a question she hadn't heard.

"Hmm?"

"Where were you?"

"I was just...thinking about my dad," she lied. "He used to get really frustrated when a perp would drop off the grid." That part was true. Unexpected tears pricked at the back of her eyes. She blinked them away.

"Oh." Dean shot a glance at Sam before looking back at her. "I asked what you want to do."

She took a breath and set her beer on the table. "I say we go on a witch hunt."

Dean watched her a moment longer. "Okay then." He drained his beer, and stood up. He glanced over the table, then patted his front and back jeans pockets. "Anybody seen my phone?"

Sam shook his head. Ruthie picked up her cell. "I can call it." She hit Dean's name at the top of her favorites list—which consisted of him and Sam. A few moments later, from across the room, came a woman's soulful voice, backed by acoustic guitar. "Chris-TEE-na, ohh, waah, ohhhhh, yeah..."

Dean's head flinched back; he shot a horrified look first at Sam, then Ruthie. "What the hell is that?"

"Chris-TEE-na, ohh, waah, ohhhhh, yeah..."

Ruthie covered her mouth with her hand while the unseen singer crooned the nickname she'd given Dean. She didn't use it on him much anymore, only when she thought he was hiding something, or when she wanted to irritate him. This was her revenge for his attitude at the lumber mill.

Dean threw her a disgusted glare, then hurried across the room and snatched his phone off a bookshelf. He jabbed the screen, and the music stopped. He marched back over to Ruthie and stuck the phone in her face. "Fix it."

She tried to look innocent. "Don't you like Patty Griffin? I heard her coming from your room the other day."

Dean turned his back to her and held out his phone to Sam. "Fix it."

Sam sat back in his chair, put his hands behind his head, and grinned.

Ruthie closed her laptop and picked up her beer. "Come on, Chrissy. Now you'll always know when it's me calling. Give it a chance. It'll grow on you."

He pointed at her, then Sam. "You both suck." He grabbed his laptop and stalked out of the room. His boots stomped up the stairs while Sam and Ruthie laughed behind his back.