Hunters and Hackers

Chapter Two

"So you're telling me, that not only did Joel Cooper believe you when you told him about The Ghost, but he actually agreed to choose hunters as an urban legend?" Mickey stared at me in astonishment. "What the hell did you feed him?"

After class had finished, Mickey and I were fulfilling our tradition of buying cheap coffee and talking about the woes of the world. We were currently sitting in a bustling cafe called Little Fox, discussing our task partners.

"I don't know, he just seemed really cool with it. I guess the idea of badass monster hunters appeals to some people." I shrugged, bringing my coffee cup to my lips and wincing at the burnt taste. "Please tell me just one more time why we buy coffee here, of all places?"

"Because, one) it's cheap, two) the food is decent, and three) there is absolutely nowhere else to get coffee in this crap-heap of a town," Mickey replied, holding up a finger for each reason.

"Yeah, you're right, as always," I smirked. "Anyway, tell me about Jennifer Goodman. She as stuck up as she looks?"

"Haha, very funny. And yes, she is. So much for being extremely attractive, her personality is horrific. Not only did she immediately take control over everything, she complained when she couldn't come up with an urban legend, even though I had supplied her with numerous options!" my friend exclaimed.

I grinned into my coffee. "And how many of those options were actually appropriate for the task?"

"All of them!" Mickey declared. "Most of them. Maybe only two or three."

I smiled at my friend, not quite up to laughing again. Mickey noticed, and his usual mischievous look dropped. "You feeling okay?" he asked, concern in his eyes. Despite his joking around, Mickey was a good person and a great friend, someone that I could always trust to come around and eat his feelings with me, a task he has taken up on numerous occasions.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," I replied, clutching my coffee cup with both hands and attempting to gain as much warmth as I could from the drink. "It's just that time again."

"What, that time of the month?"

I levelled Mickey with a signature glare. "No smart-arse, that time of the year. The tenth anniversary actually."

Mickey nodded his head slowly as the pieces clicked together. The tenth anniversary of my father's death. "Y'know, it's strange. Sometimes it doesn't feel like he's gone. I mean, I'll catch myself looking at my phone. expecting him to call me, even after this long."

"I'm sorry Allie. I wish there was something I could do. Did you want to come over tonight? Watch some crappy movies, eat some crappy food. The perfect night in."

I shook my head at Mickey's offer. "Thank's, but I should get back to my apartment. I should probably call my mum as well, make sure she's feeling okay. Dad's death was hard on her, especially how it happened."

"Alright, well, do you want me to walk home with you?"

"That'd be great Mickey, thanks."

Together we downed the rest of our cold coffee, gathered our things and left the warm interior of the cafe. Unfortunately, living in a small town in northern Wisconsin, things were constantly a little chilly. We hastily made our way through the streets, bracing ourselves as much as we could against the crisp wind. Thankfully, we made it to my tiny apartment building before our extremities started freezing. "See you later, Allie," Mickey called, before running back down the street.

I waved, slightly preoccupied with fitting my key into the lock. I was grateful when I finally made it inside, and started climbing the stairs to my apartment, my only source of exercise. Living on the fourth storey with no elevator was a bitch sometimes, but at least I was keeping my fitness level up.

After reaching my front door and traipsing inside, ensuring that the rickety old gas heater was pumping out at full volume, I dumped my stuff next to the door, and sunk into my old leather armchair. Instantly a heavy weariness settled on my shoulders, and I let my head hang forward. Needless to say, it had been a long and involved day, dealing with pushy partners, my history re-surfacing and my father's passing.

The rising memory of my father reminded me of my mother, and my promise to call her. I hauled myself out of the comfort of the sagging chair and plucked the phone from its hook. My mother answered on the second ring, her bright voice lifting my spirits a little. "Hey Mum, it's Allie. I was just calling to see how you were doing."

"I'm fine, thanks love. I'm handling things surprisingly well, considering. How are you going? How's the new class? Is Mickey still acting the fool?" Her barrage of questions caught me a little off guard, and I could tell she was trying to make both of us feel better.

"Yeah, everything's going great. Mickey's still an idiot. The class is alright. A little tough-"

"Oh, but sweetheart, you love folklore." My mother sounded worried.

"I do Mum, it's just that they don't know what we know. They expect us to take everything with a grain of salt, to constantly doubt the old myths. Oh and uh, pun not intended with that 'grain-of-salt' line."

"Yes, very funny," my mother replied sarcastically. "Just give it a chance, I'm sure you'll be able to accept it soon."

"Yeah," I mumbled into the receiver. "Actually, I was wondering if you remember the name of the guy who helped us out when Dad, uh, when he died." I could hear my mother humming on the other end of the line as she searched her memory.

"Yes, I do," she said after a minute. "It was John Winchester. Gosh, that was ten years ago, I'd be surprised if he remembered us. Why do you ask?"

"Just doing some research. Anyway, I've got to go. It was great talking to you."

"You too, sweetheart. I do love when you call. Make sure you take some time off soon to come and visit me. Goodbye."

"Bye Mum," I said, hanging up the phone. John Winchester. Now that I had a full name, I could start searching, looking in all the metaphorical nooks and crannies.

The rest of my evening was spent with a warm cup of tea in my hand and my laptop balanced precariously on my lap, uninterrupted other than work calling about a shift later this week. I managed to trawl through hundreds of police reports, searching for the name Winchester, finding a Christopher, a Dean, and a Matthew, but no evidence of any John. Fortunately my skills with computers and software meant that I had quickly spent all state resources and I was now focusing on delving into the FBI database, a surprisingly open network, easily accessible through my laptop. Unfortunately, the FBI database provided me with even less options than the state police records. Around three o'clock in the morning, with little more than what I began with, I retired to my bedroom. I would try again before class tomorrow, but had lost a lot of the hope I previously held.

From what I had gathered and experienced, John Winchester was too smart to even be noticed by the authorities, evading every watchful eye that may have glanced in his direction. For now, my search had drawn to a stop.