Hunts From The Winchesters (Brallon)

One

Brendon downed his coffee like his life depended on it. It was eight am the next day, and he wanted to be on the road in enough time to get some interviews done at a reasonable hour.

He threw his paper cup into the waste bin by the hotel room's door before swiping his suit jacket into his hand. He double checked the pocket, feeling the fake badge he would need before sliding the jacket on. Suited up, already packed, and caffeinated.

He was ready to go.

He strolled out of his hotel room, shaking his fingers through his hair. His car was parked across the small parking lot from his room, waiting for him to hit the road. He smiled at the vehicle. It was a black 1970 Chevrolet Chevelle with two white stripes that ran along the hood. It belonged to his parents before they died. They had never even considered an upgrade from it, and Brendon couldn't bring himself to let go of the memories the cars now held with an upgrade.

"Let's ride." He said to himself with a grin, running his hand along the hood of his car as he made his way to the driver's side of the car.

---

A few hours, and a coffee stop, later Brendon was rolling up on the Utah boarder. He pulled over to the side of the otherwise bare highway he was on to bring the case up on his phone again.

It seemed simple enough. Disturbed graves. Missing person files. Easy.

Brendon swiped through the attachments of the email. There were a few people he would need to talk to, but the first report came from someone named Douglas who worked near the cemetery where the grave disturbances were happening. Brendon copied the address to paste into his GPS. First witness got the first interview.

He set his phone on the seat beside him before reaching into his pocket to pull out his badge. He flicked it open with a grin. Andrew Sinatra. He took the first name from an old friend outside of the game and the last name from someone whose singing could take Brendon away from the monsters. It was the last name that made it his favorite out of the dozen or so false identification and badges he had stashed throughout his car.

"Your route has been calculated."

Brendon flipped the case in his hand closed and shoved it back in his pocket. He could reminisce later.

After another hour of driving, and an unhelpful police station visit, Brendon found himself driving alongside the cemetery from his case files. Brendon kept driving past it, scanning the boneyard for the signs he had read about.

It didn't take much searching.

Police tape surrounded several mounds of dirt that piled next to holes that could only be graves. He silently thanked the hunter method of putting loved ones at rest. A burned body couldn't be disturbed to come back or get used.

At least from Brendon's experience they couldn't.

He continued past the cemetery as the GPS guided him to where he would find the witness. He slowed to a stop, taking in the light blue building he had pulled up to. Dark red curtains were drawn, shielding the inside from the cemetery entrance across the road. A sign pounded into the green yard read Funeral Planning & Arrangements.

Brendon turned off his car and sat for a moment. Should he talk to the witness now or check the cemetery first? There wasn't another car parked around the blue building, and the curtains suggested the building might currently be empty.