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...
"Heavy is the weight that I hold, I carry it cause it's all that I know."
Heavy is The Weight by MMF
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It took longer than I had expected to get to Cape Girardeau. I hadn't realized the toll that fake killing John Winchester would take on me, and I ended up crashing in a sleazy motel outside of Iowa City.
I tossed almost everything there. My clothes. My phone. Everything that reminded me of my past and John Winchester. I even the credit cards he scammed for me, which left me with pretty much nothing but my bike and a couple of hundred bucks I hustled from a few drunken college kids who thought they were good at pool.
I had no idea if it was going to work, but I made sure I was quiet for at least a day before I made my way back to the guys and what I found was a shit storm of supernatural if I ever saw one.
I sat on my bike, trying to comprehend what I had just seen. I wasn't even in town five minutes, and I had just witnessed a murder. There was no one around, and it was barely eight am, but the big, black Dodge revved its engine a few feet from the lifeless man, and without hesitation, I sped down towards them.
Blood pooled around the man on the ground, and I stood there for a moment, staring at the truck. No one stepped out of the truck as I had expected, but I had only assumed the driver was in shock about what had just happened.
"Are you okay?"
I was still a distance away from the truck, but as I took a few more steps, it revved its engine. I clung to the hope that whoever was sitting in the driver seat was simply panicking, but the closer I got the louder it revved, until I was standing there in a cloud of black smoke as the tires spun.
"Oh, you son of a bitch," I muttered to myself as I rushed out of the plume and dove for my bike. There was no hesitation. No second thoughts. I didn't even spare the few seconds to secure my helmet before I was ripping down my visor and throttling off after it.
A car chase was not on my bingo card this morning.
The truck swerved in and out of both lanes. Erratic. Panicked. Scared? Whatever or whoever was trying to flee the scene was desperate not to get caught, and as I neared eighty miles an hour, I knew I was testing my luck as the road had become too rocky to maintain my speed. In a last-ditch effort to stop them, I pulled my gun from my riding holster and came to a quick stop, aiming at the back tires.
After the first two shots, I realized I was shooting at nothing. "What the hell?" I muttered, running my hands through my hair.
There was nothing. It was gone. The long stretch of road was rid of dust and the truck altogether. Confusion flooded through me as I parked the bike. There wasn't so much as a tire print.
