The River

Chapter 3 - Shotgun Blasts

I stuffed another forkful of scrambled eggs in my mouth and savored the flavor. It wasn't too often that I got a hot breakfast being on the road, but Sam and Dean had insisted on it in the morning.

I was hell-bent on jumping in my truck and leaving the two behind me in the dust first thing that morning, but my stomach groaned at the thought of a nice meal, so I decided to stick around for my appetite's sake.

"So River," Sam started. He sat across from me in the booth, Dean at his side. Dean was sloppily eating a breakfast sandwich and he didn't seem to be paying attention to much else.

"This thing you were hunting," Sam continued. "What did you find out about it?".

"Well," I started, taking a long pause with my eyes darting between the pair. I was still being cautious. I had never worked with other hunters before and I tried to avoid them for the most part. It seemed we were all a little (or a lot) fucked up, and I had enough crazy on my own without adding anyone else's baggage into the mix.

Sam looked at me expectedly, awaiting my response. "As far as I can tell, it's a vengeful spirit," I continued, deciding to trust them with this much. My deep-rooted instincts were screaming at me in objection.

"I wasn't sure who it was at first until the bitch attacked me. It's the wife of the manager who worked at the warehouse in the 1950s. As far as the newspapers reported, she had gone missing and was never found. Some people thought her husband killed her, but no one could ever prove he did it."

"So the husband ganked his wife, and she comes back majorly pissed," Dean mumbled. It was nearly incoherent because his mouth was still full. I crinkled my nose in disgust but Dean wasn't phased. He shrugged his shoulders and continued to eat.

"Makes sense," Sam agreed. "But why now? There's never been any ghost activity in the place until now." He picked up his coffee and gulped as he thought over his own question.

"I have a theory," I mumbled. The pair looked up at me and waited for me to continue. "Well, it's been said that remodeling or renovating a place can disturb spirits, as I'm sure you know, but there's something else. The wife's body was never found... I'm thinking it's stashed somewhere in that warehouse. That's why she's killing the construction workers..."

"It doesn't want to be found," Dean finished.

I nodded in agreement. "Exactly."

"So, we're going to have to search the whole place to find the wife's bones. It's not going to be easy, it's going to be all hands on deck," Sam stated, looking at me. I took this as an invitation to join them on the hunt. He didn't seem to know that I didn't need one since it was my hunt to begin with.

"I started this thing, I'm damn well not leaving here without finishing it."

Sam nodded and smiled at me, clearly pleased that I had, not in so many words, agreed to work with them. Dean stared at me, looking a bit astonished. I didn't know what sparked the change. So far, all he had shown was his annoyance towards me. He clearly didn't like working with other hunters and I couldn't blame him.

"Let's go," Dean said while jumping up from the booth and throwing down a few dollar bills to cover the meal. "We got work to do."

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We pulled up to the warehouse in the boys' car after midnight. I wanted to take my own truck but Sam insisted we stay together. Dean said he doesn't hunt without his baby, which turned out was his Impala.

I hopped out of the back of the car and took a mental note of all my weapons. I had a silver knife tucked into its holder inside my Timberland boot. I was holding a shotgun loaded with rock-salt bullets. My pistol was tucked into the waist of my jeans. In the pocket of my grey leather jacket was a container of salt, the other pocket had a box of matches. Finally, my most prized possession was my charm bracelet dangling from my wrist.