Hellhound (Supernatural #1)

13: Time Out

Tiny update: changed the chapter name and the dictionary definition at the beginning. I didn't have my offline draft with me and I forgot what I had called the chapter and the word I chose.

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Solo, adjective.

1. Alone, without companion or partner.
2. Performed alone, not combined with other parts of equal importance.

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I ran my chopsticks through the noodles in the takeout box. While I did this most times, I wasn't looking for shrimps for once. Dad had already finished his dinner and had cracked open his fortune cookie. From the way he had eaten, it wouldn't surprise me if he hadn't taken his lunch break. He probably hadn't eaten anything since breakfast - if he had remembered to eat breakfast. I, on the other hand, had a stomach that was twisted in knots and didn't agree with any food at the moment.

Just sitting across from Dad, I felt so guilty. Looking at the wall behind him, that feeling only amplified. Dad's board with notes hung on the wall behind him; it was much better organized than what Tate and Dean had had. Only they had been looking for their next step, the next person to kill, I suppose. Dad was looking at previous steps, the person who had committed the murder. The urge to tell him was sometimes overwhelming; all I had to do was give him the address and he could handle it from there. He would find all the evidence he needed. The killers would be locked up before morning.

Except, there was no way I could tell him.

Not only had I promised Tate I wouldn't utter a word, but even if I hadn't promised him I would have kept it to myself. The horrible thing was that both Dad and the brothers were doing the right thing. Neither of them was 'the bad guy'. Dad was trying to catch a killer and reassure everyone in town; Tate was trying to find missing people and protect the supernaturals. It was what made my guilt crescendo whenever I thought of it; as much as I wanted to hate him for letting me discover the truth when he knew how I worried I had been about Dad, I could still understand why he was acting, why he could want my help. Did he have to kill people though? Aside from introducing me to supernatural creatures, he had also introduced me to magic. Was there not some kind of magic that could make the mortals forget everything once he was done with them? Surely there were better ways to deal with this than leaving dead bodies behind? If anything, they could just take them to the graveyard and bury them.

"Sawyer? How are you doing? You have hardly touched your noodles," Dad said, dragging me back to the present.

I sighed and tried to smile at him as I put the box on his desk. "Sorry, I'm not very hungry right now. I think I might be coming down with something."

"Maybe you were out in the rain too long that day." I frowned, not sure what he was referring to. "That day when your friend called. He said you have been working on something on the roof."

"Oh, right." Another thing I was lying to him about. When had I started lying to Dad? "Maybe..." I didn't want to talk about this. It would only cause the guilt to tighten the knots in my stomach. However, I didn't have anything else I wanted to talk about either. What with Tate taking up so much of my time, I hadn't had the occasion to find some gossip to share. Something that wasn't important that might distract us both. Now that we needed it both I had nothing. Nada. "Are you gonna come home tonight? Before I go to bed I mean?"

"Oh, I don't know, Sawyer. It might be another late night." I sighed again but nodded regardless. There was nothing I could do to change that, aside from giving him the identity of the murderers. Which I kind of couldn't do either. So really, there was nothing. "Don't look so sad. Honestly, with how little we have to go on, the cases might be put on non-active sooner than normal."