Not Just Another Hunt

Three

JACK CUPPED HIS hands around his eyes as he gazed through the car window. It was dark, but with his powers, he could see just enough. Sam and Dean were walking back to the car, both with a grave expression on their faces.

    Quickly sitting back in his seat, Jack waited for Sam and Dean to get in the car. As the brothers sat down, Jack leaned forward. "So, what happened? Is it a witch? Vampire?" He lowered his voice to a whisper. "Zombie?"

    Sam furrowed his brow as he glanced back at him. "N-No. Neither." He shrugged. "We don't know what it was. There was no visible wound. We found a symbol on her wrists that I want to research—"

    "Her?" Jack interrupted.

    Sam sighed as he exchanged glances with Dean. Dean shook his head, but Sam spoke anyway. "It was Callie," he said, softly.

    Jack's eyes widened as he leaned back against the cold seat. Callie? Why would someone want to kill her? A thought entered his mind. "Do you think someone was looking for the prize money?" he asked. "Someone who hadn't gone to the game, but knew who the last contestants were?"

    Sam shrugged. "I guess it's possible."

    Jack eyed Sam. "Are we going to find out who did this to her?"

    "It's not our case," Dean interrupted. "We'll find a place for the night and go over the symbols, but from what I can tell, this doesn't seem supernatural."

    "So what? She just fell over dead?" Jack asked. "Because you said there was no visible wound."

    "Anything's possible," Dean said, starting up the impala.

    Jack couldn't let the thought go. There had to be more to it. Callie was a fit young lady. There's no way she would've just collapsed dead for no reason. Something happened to her, and it sounded an awful lot like a witch.

    Another gruesome thought arose. He swallowed a lump in his throat as he began, "What if someone's targeting players?" 

    Dean made a 'tsk' sound. "That's highly unlikely. I'm telling you, Jack, whatever happened here has nothing to do with you. Let's just go pick up some food from that diner I mentioned and hit the hay. Or..." He gestured between himself and Sam. "We'll hit the hay anyway."

    An hour passed before they finally settled into a motel room. Opening the door, Dean huffed from up ahead. "We just won ten thousand dollars. Could we not get a nice hotel for once?" He walked through the door followed by Sam, and Jack brought up the rear carrying a duffle bag on his shoulders.

    Stepping inside the motel room, he glanced around at the cracked blue walls. The light flickered over the kitchenette to his left, and the carpet, a dirty brown, was full of stains—actually, the carpet might've been white years ago.

    Sam dropped his duffle bag on the floor beside a round table with two chairs that sat close to a smaller-than-normal fridge. "Because, Dean," he said, "if someone really is targeting players, a fancy hotel is going to give Jack away."

    Dean furrowed his brow. "And Jason Silvers, the millionaire, isn't?"

    Sam rolled his eyes as he sat down in one of the chairs at the table. "Let's just lay low for tonight and get out of town tomorrow." He pulled out his computer from his backpack as he rested it against the chair legs. Placing it on the table, he opened the top. "Until then, I'm going to try to find out more about those symbols on her wrists."

    Dean huffed and plopped down on the green sofa in front of a small TV that rested on a table. He reached for the remote and flicked on the TV.  The channel that popped up was "Channel 9"—the news.