Dead End Signs and Wasted Land

I heaved over the the toilet one last time, before I gasped for air and leaned my back against the side of the bath tub. My head was pounding, feeling the urge to just crawl in a hole and never come out.

"God, why did you ever create such a horrific hangover? Oh wait, because you're teaching me a lesson that drinking is bad. Well, I don't give a flying fuck. I'd do it all again when I have the chance." I whispered to myself, whether God was listening in for not. I wasn't really a hundred percent sure that he was even real anymore after my family's death, but I still wanted to believe he was.

I sighed, washing my face and my hands, followed by brushing my teeth to get the awful taste out of my mouth. Ugh, it was nasty. I hated throwing up but what else would you expect? Nothing, I knew it was gonna happen. That's usually what happens in hangovers.

I changed around into my hunting gear, just in case we had another case, and then braided my hair to the side. Creeping out of the bathroom, I noticed a little light peeking in from behind one of the curtains where the sun was shining through the window. It lit up the room just enough that I could vaguely get a glimpse of Dean and Sam's sleeping faces. I smiled to myself before deciding to go outside on the deck for some fresh air. Closing my eyes, I inhaled slowly and exhaled peacefully as if I was meditating. It was a gorgeous day to just relax, but I knew we had to hit the road in search for another case. Demons were what we chase; we had to do what we had to do... Family business as the Winchesters put it.

Suddenly, I felt a big warm hand cover my mouth, and an arm wrapped around my waist pulling me close to their body. I panicked and attempted to squirm my way out of their grasp.

"Kat, relax it's just me." Sam's voice sounded in my head, as he spun me around to face him, observing him in a suit and tie. A sigh of relief escaped from my mouth. Damn him for making me spazz out. I hated when he did that.

"Jesus Christ, Sam. You scared the hell outta me. Don't ever try to scare me like that again."

"Sorry," he apologized with a concerned face. "I got worried when I didn't see you inside." Sam turned around about to head back inside when he stopped to face me again. "Oh, and next time you might want this," He tossed me a gun. "Just in case, alright?" I nodded.

"Thanks," I replied, half juggling it in my right hand before tucking it in the back of my jeans, as my black jacket covered it from sight. "So, I take it we have another hunt on our hands?"

"Yeah, down in Lake Buena Vista, Florida," Dean chimed in, peering by the door frame while putting a white shirt and tie over his head. I caught a glimpse of his well-sculpted abs, but veered my eyes up to his. He tossed Sam and I our bags. "We have a long drive ahead of us, so we better get moving."

---

Dean drove the Impala down an open back road from Garland, Texas straight to our destination in Florida. I was sprawled out on the black leather of the back seat, sleeping like a baby the entire ride until my senses told me we were where we had to be.

I sat up and gazed out one of the windows. Bittersweet memories started to flood back into my mind of my family and I, spending many winters down there to get away from the brutal cold up home in Pennsylvania. As much as I tried ignoring it, the pain kept coming back, haunting me with great agony.

"So, what's the big deal coming down here anyway?" I asked, not taking my eyes off the view of the beautiful palm trees lined up in an unorganized fashion, breezing by swiftly as we continued down the endless highway. I could feel the pain getting the best of me, as I did everything I possibly could not to let the dam burst in my eyes. It was so horrible that I just felt my heart being torn into a million little pieces that could never be put back together.

There was a brief silence filling the empty space of the Impala. I acknowledged Sam and Dean exchanging a couple of looks at from the corners of their eyes; like I wouldn't have noticed their faces?

Dean spoke up, occasionally glacing up at me in the rearview mirror.

"The Walking Encycolpedia of Weirdness over here came across unusual murders in the downtown Orlando area. All sliced and diced and ready to be put in a serial killer's salad." Sam turned and shot Dean a 'shut up' look, but he just continued explaining the case. "The latest victim was only fourteen. There were others, but all in their teens."

"Any particular time of day?" I questioned curiously, turning to look at him.

"All in the middle of the night in their sleep," Sam said, reassuringly.

"Where does the last victim live, Sherlock?" Dean asked, glancing over at him before veering his eyes back on the road. However Sam wasn't very amused with his humor today. He gave him another glare of annoyance.

"Just a mile up the road," he declared.

---

Once we got to the crime scene, nobody was around except for lots of yellow caution tape marking the perimeter of the house. Of course, it's not going to stop the Winchesters and I to go in and find some evidence. The neighborhood was abandoned so it was real easy to sneak in the house through a window.

The house didn't have very many windows to light up the dark space, so the three of us turned on our flashlights and continued our way through the two-story home. The home was kept in good condtion; very clean and kept after on a daily basis. It didn't remind me of a crime scene; it reminded me a lot of my old house.

As we made our way upstairs, the air was overpowered by the smell of must, or it could have been the dry blood that was splattered across the bed of what I assumed was once occupied by a sporty, yet very girly teenage girl; trophies and various-colored medals on a dresser; Justin Bieber and Taylor Lautner posters plastered on the walls and ceiling, a soccer uniform throwning on a chair in front of a computer desk, which the computer had different color sticky notes attatched to it with reminders to study for exams. This girl really seemed like the sucessful, honor-roll type, so why would anyone want to hurt an innocent and intelligent girl?

Right beside the computer was a photograph in a pink frame of two girls, hugging each other for dear life and flashing picture-perfect grins at the camera. They could almost pass for sisters. I smiled to myself, remembering back in the day when I used to be so happy with a great amount of friends. My best friends were like sisters to me. I don't think I could ever get that back after being gone for so many years.

"It looks like a room from young Barbie's Dream House but in the end, young Barbie and young Ken got into an arguement and it turned into The Hell House of Teenage Barbie and Ken." Dean pointed out, eyes wandering around the room. "I'm not seeing anything unnatural here-"

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," Sam replied, staring intently at a girly cell phone, with sequins aligned perfectly on the back that read, Bieber Fever. "There is one text message that was sent the night of the girl's death. It's a forward message by a restricted number."

I attempted to glance over Sam's shoulder to view the message myself, but Sam was a giant. Dean continued to wander the room as he ignored the evidence his little brother found.

"Don't go looking through any photos, Sammy. Jail Bait!"

"I don't think he has a chance against the Biebs or Lautner." I added with a childish smirk. Dean nodded with a similiar expression as he witnessed the posters behind him. Sam just ignored our immature behavior, showing me the message lit up on the screen. "See," he whispered, leaning into me close enough to easily get a wiff of his musky aroma. "Read on."

now that you've opened this you can't stop reading it, or close it. hello, my name is jazmynn, I'm a site model, and I'm 16. i died on march 1st, 2008. i was raped and killed by a man named Marcus. he saw me walking one night with my friends, he put us all in his van and tied us up. he let my friends watch me get raped, then killed us. later, i came back to haunt him. he eventually got so scared, that he committed suicide. a boy named Collin read this, thought i was hot, but closed this message. later that night, i came by his bed, and stared at him all night, when he awoke, i smiled at him, then quietly slit his throat. i left a rose on top of him, though. a girl named Jessica read this, cried, and sent it on. later that night, i came by her bed, kissed her cheek, and left her a note saying thank you. i still come by her house every night to make sure she's okay. send this to ten people, and please let people know what happened to me. no send backs.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" I questioned Sam, turning my head to look up at him.

"This is it," he began to explain as Dean paced over to us. "This message, there was a kid named Collin Wilfred who was killed two weeks ago. Police said there was a rose placed on top of him when his parents found him, slice to the throat. I think we have something here."

"Well Holmes, looks like you need to start researching this hot, yet freaky Jazmynn girl." Dean smirked at Sam.

"What do you mean him?" I retorted, glancing at him and Sam. "We're in this together."

"And dude, the girl is- what sixteen... awkward." Sam pointed out, with a weird disgusted look on his face.

"Hey, don't objectify with me. You're the one checking out a fourteen year old's Bieber-fied cell. We need to head for a hotel and get some grub!" Dean declared as the three of us crept out of the house, quickly and quietly.