Dead End Signs and Wasted Land

“Ma’am, can you please step out of the car?”

Looking scarcely in the eyes of a man who I thought was a heroic police officer doing good by keeping disobedient pests off the state roads, kind of like the three of us I suppose even though all we did was steal a painting out of a museum. I mean that’s not part of a felony or anything. Anyway, in reality this creature leaving me feeling jello-legged was nothing but a wicked vampire, Sam’s first impression anyway. It’s not that I didn’t trust Sam, but I felt like he was just worrying a tad bit more than he should have. Sure, vampires were everywhere just dying to kidnap me and sink their teeth into my flesh for some bizarre, apparent reason. I couldn’t get a good view of what this so called officer’s teeth looked like from inside the car so for all I knew, Sam could have been just being overprotective like usual… or I could be just keeping my hopes up and the son of a bitch was a fake with blood-dripping fangs who was out to get me.

I glanced over my shoulder at the boys in the seats beside and behind me, giving them each a set of weary stares before obeying the officer’s commands. I mean if he really was a cop and not an immortal in disguise, it was better for me to cooperate with him than to go out and blow his brains without being certain. Well, in this case it would make more sense to behead him but same difference.

A depleted sigh forced through my tired lips, opening the driver side door to swing my legs out the side of the car. I exited the silenced Impala with nervousness. I’m sure the boys were sitting on the edge of their seats with a firm grip on the door handle so they could rush to help me if things went wrong, but all was just too quiet for my liking.

My eyes wandered to the pale-skinned man before me. His eyes were dull and a deep shade of blue, but I even noticed there was that tint of redness consuming the whites of his eyes that worried me a little more. I hadn’t noticed it when I was sitting in the car. It could have been because of the poor lighting from the streetlights a few meters down the road.

Bizarrely, I became very light-headed and dizzy like when I was talking to Keith that morning; the air was humid and exhausting. It could've been my time of the month again getting all this hot flashes. I wasn't certain, but it only happened when I was in uncomfortable situations.

“Finally, I’ve found you.” The man said peacefully. “You must come with me, Kayla.”

I caught a glimpse of the tall man standing a few paces in front of me, touching my hand with ease. What was he talking about? I wasn’t going anywhere.

My body began to tremble noticeably. What was I doing? I can’t let this bastard drug me with a lethal touch. How can he even do that? That’s not what the normal vampire does anyway. Was I terrified? No. I'm not a wuss. I'm a stronger hunter than that.

Somehow I found the strength to pull myself together, pushing back all the drowsiness from within me. For a brief moment, I observed vicious fangs becoming visible as he stared at me hungrily. There wasn’t even the slightest hesitation when both Winchesters fled the car like a ferocious shotgun shells. It was like as soon as they knew I was in trouble, I ticker went off in their heads to help, otherwise the bomb would have went off, not that it wasn't common sense or anything to help a girl who is easily immune to heat flashes and is apparently subconscious on things I shouldn't be. Just saying.

The vampire was startled by their quick reactions, which gave me the time to do a little damage ahead of time- a punch in the abdomen and a sock to the nose. He recoiled at the pain that I put him through while Sam pried me away from the vamp’s grasp in a swift manner, giving Dean enough time to put the creature out of his misery with his belligerent decapitating skills, not once blinking an eye as he beheaded him while blood splattered in a thousand different directions.

I gulped silently, staring down at the headless vamp. He must have lacked the intelligence to fight back because taking him out was a piece of cake; that was very unusual in our cases. Shocking, but it left me speechless all in the end. My eyes veered up at Dean, breathing rapidly as blood was painted collectively on his clothing and a few specks along the side of his face. The way he killed him, you would almost think he was cold and heartless. It was pretty brutal.

---

“You just going to stare at the painting all day or are you going to figure this damn case out?” I retorted hastily, glowering at the two Winchesters who were being puzzled by the looks of the painting. We know what it looks like, why are we just sitting around admiring it?

“Pipe down, will ya?” Dean replied, frustratingly. “Hand me the EMF.”

I shot him a confused, disbelieving look, and then repeated the gesture to Sam. Was I the only on with a brain in the room? If they were in the museum, couldn’t they have checked the painting for paranormal activity before actually stealing the damn thing?

“Why didn’t you use it when you were in the museum so we wouldn’t have stolen property sitting in a motel room with us?” My voice may have been firm and demanding, but the two brothers seemed to be filling the room with uncertainty, like the answer was lost among the unruly bed sheets. Sam and Dean exchanged each other a couple of “we fucked up” looks, which lead me to conclude that what they did wasn’t planned. “So much for believing you two could a handle a job on your own, not get it done half-ass.”

“Look, we tried but the burglar alarm went off before we had the chance to; besides, we left it in the car with you. We had nothing else to do but get the hell out of there fast,” Sam declared in all seriousness. “Just get the EMF.”

Rolling my eyes in complete aggravation, I took out the EMF from one of the duffels and handed it to Dean standing across the room. This nuisance of a painting was resting peacefully on an unmade bed, staring back at the three of us uncannily. The string of houses mellowed together as the children played wistfully outside each one of them. After finding out by Sam that each victim was once child molesters, rapists, or abusers, it only made sense to strongly believe these children could be the ones causing the deaths all along, but how?

Dean barely moved the EMF across the perimeter of the painting when it rapidly started making an annoying beeping sound. No surprise to me anyway.

“Wait,” Sam said briefly, becoming aware of something that obviously caught his attention. He had a puzzling look across his face as he approached the painting carefully, gliding his thumb across the frame. “Chowder?” he added in a quizzical manner.

“Creamy Potato or New England Clam?” Dean declared jokingly with a humorous smirk across his face. I instantly rolled my eyes at his nonsense behavior as I moved in closer behind Sam, getting a better visual of what he was seeing. There, a sloppy engraving on the upper left corner of the frame reading, ‘Chowder.’

“I take it we’re supposed to know something about that,” I murmured, pondering at the letters with ‘clueless’ written on my face.

“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out,” Sam sternly replied, pacing quickly across the matted carpet to fetch his laptop sitting on the lonely rickety table. It was Sam that always had the knack to research; that’s how things get down, not just by striking out next suspect because in order to figure out what we’re after, research plays a major role. Unlike Dean who hates to research and just wants to go out and kill evil sons of bitches, though I can’t blame him for that.

Dean turned, veering his eyes from me to his little brother with a puzzling gesture. I practically felt my heart give way from all the lust I was inhaling. God I just wanted to sink my nails into his sculpted frame again.

“You think this- this ‘Chowder’ has something to do with people being killed?” Dean questioned his brother, failing his arms as he as he spoke. It was something I noticed him do often.

“It’s worth checking in to,” Sam replied, not once taking his eyes off the battered laptop screen as he continued to type a mile a minute. Another turn on; guys that want to get the job done with research, or also known as the Walking Encyclopedias of Weirdness.

I let out a heavy sigh, which neither of them seemed to acknowledge. Stupid Dreamland.