The Winchester Code

Chapter 13 - Play Ball

Play Ball

Chapter 13

This is the third day locked in this stupid motel room. Sam and Dean have gone again and I’m BORED.
This is the day that I’ve been dreaming about – literally. The boys have gone to ‘fix’ Mrs Jackson’s solar panels, or whatever, and I’ve been left here. I want to help! But no.
“You have to stay here.” I mimic Dean. “Stay here, Zai. We don’t want you stuffing everything up.”
“But I can help!” I argue with myself, exaggerating the female crescendo of my voice.
“No.”
“Sam…” I plead with myself. “Oh wait, you don’t give a fuck either way.”
“As long as I’ve got my laptop.”
“Yeah! Well fuck you too, then!”
The TV flickers and fades.
I’m lying upside-down on the couch, my legs halfway up the wall, trying to watch the TV that keeps losing its signal.
I sigh. Blood has rushed to my head, making my legs feel light as air.
I’ve been out of this room once. Once! To go shopping – for pads no less!
The sun in the window is bright and I itch to leave. But Sam and Dean warned me not to. But they’ll never know. I’ll write a note or something, just in case they come back early.
I ungracefully roll off the couch and fall on my face. My legs are numb and I look around, my face flushing with embarrassment, even though I know that no one else is here.
I sit up slowly, dizzy from the blood rush. The TV clears a little as I walk by it, but the boring documentary doesn’t make me stop. There is nothing on in the middle of the day, and neither of the boys would pay for cable so I was stuck watching some old farts channel.
“Paper…” I call as I walk around the kitchenette. “Paper, pens…”
I find a pad of lined paper next to the phone. I pick up the black pen and write a note, ripping it from the pad and placing it in the middle of the table, clearly visible for anyone to see.
I turn towards the door.
They told me not to leave.
Really, I shouldn’t leave. What if I leave and someone attacks me? What if I leave and someTHING attacks me? I shudder as I think of the black eyes… That black smoke, how it touched me, as if it was alive…
I turn back from the door, pacing between it and the table.
I want to leave. I want to be safe. I want to leave. I want to be safe.
I stop in the middle of the room.
The boys wouldn’t have left me without protection. Salt and holy water, sure, but I would need more than that to keep me safe, going by previous experiences.
I walk to Dean’s bed, getting on my hands and knees as I life the bed skirt. I stick my hand under, feeling for his duffle. I pull out the military-grade canvas bag and unzip it. I am met with clothes. A lot of clothes. I shove them aside. More clothes, and – what is that? A pack of gum? More clothes.
Ah ha!
My hand clasps something cold and metallic. A gun. I pull it out slowly, clothes spilling over the sides of the duffle. Somehow, just having the thing in my hand feels dangerous. I’ve never shot a real gun. I’ve played video games before, I’ve been paintballing and done laser tag, but this feels different.
I look at the black metal. Safety on. I know that much. The safety is on. That’s good. I give it a little rattle, keeping my finger well away from the trigger. I’m pretty sure that it isn't loaded.
“Right.” I say, holding it as far away from me as I can. “Where do we put it, Zai?” I pull at my jeans. I know that the boys put their guns in their waistbands, but I can’t help but think that if I do that, I’ll shoot myself in the leg.
I sigh and kick the bag back under the bed. Turn to the mirror, I carefully put the gun in my pocket. The hilt sticks out and the whole thing bulges. It’s far too obvious. A handbag would by the perfect hiding place. But I don’t have a handbag. What about a different bag? There must be a backpack or something around here.
On my hands and knees again, I search under Sam’s bed. I try to remember if he had a backpack when we came.
Ah ha! He did!
I reach for it and pull out the black bag. I tear it open. It looks like a supply pack.
First aid kit, salt, a flask – probably full of holy water… needles. I pull one out with a shudder. I hate needles. This one is full of thick black liquid. A horrible thought crosses my mind. Blood.
I leave the syringe on the bed, digging out the little holster they were in and placing it next to the first.
I rummage through the bag some more. There is a silver knife in a tattered holster. A dirty rag and a little box. I grab the box and open it. It’s full of bullets.
“Great.” I mumble, putting them on the bed. I slide open the little box and grab some out. I press the magazine release and slide it out, loading it carefully. I slide it back in the well and add the gun to the pile, zipping up the bag. Standing, I swing the bag over my shoulder and head to the door.
“Where ya goin’, Lola?” Someone asks. I jump and spin around. Lucifer is leaning against the kitchen table, wearing the same face as a disapproving father.
“I’m going crazy, being locked up in here.” I say. “Obviously.”
“So you’re sneaking out, oh, to the park?” He asks, eyeing the note.
“Isn’t it a little early for you to be popping in on me?”
“Just checking in, Lola.”
“That’s not my name.”
“And my name aint Satan, Lola.”
I roll my eyes and ignore his comments as I head for the door. I break the salt line as it swings opens. A rush of rebellion runs through me as I leave.
I walk around the block, looking for a park to visit. Sometimes there is an oval or something around motels, but no. Just my luck, of course there isn't. Instead, I pick the road I remember driving down to get to the shops with Sam.
The gun in my pack seems to weigh a ton; not to mention the knife!
I shouldn’t have left. I shouldn’t have taken the gun. I shouldn’t have killed those peoples. I shouldn’t have gone with the boys. I shouldn’t have left. I shouldn’t have left!