Andi King didn't know how to play nice, because quite frankly, she didn't like people. She was a loner and that was how she liked it. Especially with a sadistic demon dead set on destroying her and anyone she got close to.
But that all changes when...
"All in all, you're no good. You don't cry like you should."
What Lies Beneath by Breaking Ben
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Days had passed, and I didn't do much other than catch up on sleep. Every once in a while, Sam or Dean would knock on my door to make sure I was still there, but after I threatened to shoot them for the tenth time, they had resorted to phone calls from two doors down.
We couldn't do anything until the next service. Roy and Sue Ann were set for one of their biggest to date, and even though he refused to see me again, everything was still going according to plan.
Sam still hadn't told Dean about his father being the one who sent us this way, but he was making damn sure that there were no other casualties. The two of them had stalked and talked to nearly everyone that had been healed in the last few months and to the families of those who had lost someone.
So far, they had managed to talk to three of which remembered seeing the pale man that Dean had seen standing by the reverend. There was no doubt it was a reaper, but the only theory we had was standing on the edge of black magic, and the boys were not as well versed in that area as I was.
It was already Saturday, and I was lying on my bed as I had done most of the week. Clad in nothing more than my t-shirt and a screwdriver playing peek-a-boo with my head. The cold leather of my journal against my legs sent shivers up my spine as I read the statements over and over again. The one sticking out the most is that of Layla Rourke. The twenty-eight-year-old elementary teacher had been healed from an inoperable brain tumor.
Layla was the only one I had gone to see, and despite her specific recollection of her miracle, it wasn't the wrinkly old man touching her head that intrigued me. It was her story before Le Grange. Her symptoms. The headaches, the mood swings, the intense sexual frustrations that riddled that devoted Christian woman. She had lost her husband, and her mother had been on the brink of breaking, not able to put up with the nightmares that hid behind the sweet facade of a woman.
It was all too familiar, but instead of dwelling and making myself sick over the thought of our similarities, I tossed my journal into my bed and decided to feed this sudden need for human interaction.
I shot Sam and Dean a quick text before heading out. The closest bar was only a block down the road, and the fresh air was doing my head wonders. The pounding had subsided by the time I pulled open the door, and the yearning in my stomach took over as the stench of cheap beer and stale cigarette smoke clouded around me.
"Whiskey," I said to the blond bartender with a smile.
She went to work quickly as I settled into my stool, not taking my eyes away from the college students racking the balls at the table in the corner. I watched for a while until I settled on the tall, brooding looker. His shaggy hair fell at his shoulders, but it was his brazen smile that led me to him. I set my drink and a fifty-dollar bill down on the table and smiled as I picked through the beaten pool sticks on the wall.
