Monachopsis

Chapter III: Chicago, Oh Chicago

We drove for days. Every morning, noon, and night, I called my mother's phone. All four of them. Every time, there was no answer.

I begged John to take me back. I pleaded, screamed, fought. But he wouldn't budge. I had planned to make a run for it two days into our long circle west to Chicago, but he must have suspected, because I woke up the next day in the passenger seat. We had been staying at a ruddy hotel when I'd gone to sleep.

The farther away we drove from Texas, the more I gave up hope that my mother had survived. I couldn't even be sure about what had attacked us that night. Part of me refused to accept that she might not have made it.

She'd fought so many creatures before, said my heart. Why would this be any different?

Because it is, argued my brain. What have we gotten ourselves into?

I barely spoke to John during our journey to Chicago. I stubbornly refused to act civil, only talking when necessary. Every time he attempted to ask about me, I shut him down immediately. I wasn't in the mood for a daddy-daughter heart-to-heart.

When we got into the city, the sun had already set. The streets were cast in orange lamplight, the skyscrapers gleaming with pockets of white fluorescent glow like heavenly sentries overlooking the world. I had been dozing off against the window when we hit the suburbs, but now I was wide awake. I gazed out at the tall buildings in interest.

"Where are we meeting them?" I asked. It was the first time I'd talked in over two days.

"I got a call back at the gas station outside Aurora," John replied. "They're being held in an abandoned theatre a couple miles from here."

"'Being held'?" I repeated, shocked. "As in, held captive?"

"Not for long," he said calmly. But he had gotten a predatory look in his eyes. It would have been terrifying if not for the fact that I wasn't afraid of him.

"And after we rescue them?" I pressed. "What happens then?"

John didn't answer. Since we'd left Fallon, I'd somewhat gotten used to his selective hearing. However, it made it no less irritating. But I didn't have the energy to pick a fight, so I let it lie, changing the subject.

"You do realize that whoever made the call is laying a trap, right?" I asked.

"Yes," he said. He took his eyes away from the road to look at me. "But whoever this demon is, she has your brothers."

I didn't have a response to that. Part of me knew that I should have been concerned for Sam and Dean. Were they okay? Were they injured, or being tortured? Were they even still alive? But a large portion of me just couldn't care. I tried to rationalize it with the fact that I didn't know them, and why should I care about two strangers when my mother had been left behind to fend for herself? But I couldn't tell John that, so I kept silent.

I don't know how much time had past before we pulled up down the block from the old theatre the demon had directed John to. Looking up at it from the truck, it definitely seemed like the kind of abandoned shindig a demon would squat in. The windows were boarded up, and those that were not were broken and cracked. The faded brick façade was covered in layers of graffiti, the painted on theatre name too worn to read.

"What's the plan?" I asked as I dug through my bag for a weapon. John stopped me with a hand on mine. I withdraw it reflexively, but look up at him.

"I'm going alone, Grace," he said. Immediately, I shook my head.

"Like hell." I went back to searching through my duffel. My hands closed on the handle of my dagger.

"I'll go in, get your brothers, and meet you back here," he went on, as if I hadn't spoken.

"No, Dad!" I snapped. I tucked my knife into the holster on my thigh and shoved my hands on my hips. "You did not take me from my mother and drag me a thousand miles from home just to tell me to wait in the truck. I'm going in with you."

"God, you're so stubborn, just like your mother!" he barked.

"I'll take it as a compliment," I shot back.

John narrowed his eyes at me. For a moment I was scared he would tie me to the steering wheel, but before he could, a loud crash erupted from the street side of the theatre. Our heads whipped in the direction of the sound. Instinct had me running towards it before John could stop me.

"Wait, Grace--" he shouted after me. But I didn't wait.

I kept running, rounding the corner of the building and facing the busy cross street. But I skidded to a stop when I saw the body of a young woman sprawled on the sidewalk. Her eyes were closed, her expression peaceful. I could be made to believe she was sleeping, if not for the fact that she was laying on a Chicago sidewalk, and her limbs were bent in every unnatural direction you could think of. Her blood was nearly black against the moonlit concrete.

I had made up my mind to help her when John caught up to me. He took one look at the girl, and clamped his hand on my shoulder hard enough to bruise.

"Dad, what are you--" I began.

"Let's go, Grace," he said, voice cold and hard.

"But what about--"

"Change of plans," he said. "We have somewhere else to be."