Burn It to the Ground

Kassia's POV

"I could really go for a brownie," I blurted out, staring out my windown at the trees flying by swiftly and aimlessly. My head was still throbbing with a migrane, whether it was from the hangover or the side effects from my technopathy powers. I felt a werid churning in my stomach,

This wasn't a good sign.

"Er- pull over," I gunted to Maura, who was gawking at me a bit jittery when she noticed the color draining from my face. "Oh shit," she muttered under her breath, as she hastily pulled over on the side of the road, letting the engine idle as I opened the car door and heaved over it just enough to let it all out.

"Not in the car! Not in the car!" Maura shouted, shifting in her seat and leaned over a rubbed my back in a circular motion, hoping it would make me feel better. I spit up chunks of God knows what, as fluids burned coming up my throat. Damn, this should be a lesson learned on not to drink away pain. Then again, this never stopped me before, so why start now?

After a couple minutes went by, I heard a rumbling engine pulling up to the Firebird. It was the Winchesters. I heard one of them asking, "Is everything okay?" I peered over my shoulder a little to see Maura nodding her head. "Yeah, my sis is just spilling her guts out from last night. Go ahead, we'll meet you at the bar." With that, the Impala driving away, as I heard the addictive sound fading away.

I wiped my mouth on my arm and gave Maura a flat, glare. If looks could kill, I would've sliced her into bits. "Bitch," I mumbled malevolently, as the tires skidded against the tar when she pulled back onto the highway. "You didn't need to tell them I was spewing my guts everywhere... especially around Dean," I stressed his name in a pleading and weary tone.

"Sunshine," she said in a cheery voice, "Dean won't want to be around you if your breath smells like a burning pit for pepperoni pizza, lacking the large amounts of alcohol;" she reached into her pocket revealing a red pack of Big Red, "have some gum."

I gritted my teeth and growled. "Bite me," I snapped back hatefully followed by a smack to her forearm, but took a piece of the cinnamon substance and popped it in my mouth. Maura laughed, but it wasn't in the least bit amusing. I rested my head against the window the way to the bar, as Maura was filling the car with another Nickelback cd. I really wanted to bust out to every song just like I always did, but I felt like I had been shot in the head with the world's worst hangover. I wasn't going to be doing any head-banging any time soon. I knew it was going to be another interesting and stressful day.

We pulled into a dirty parking lot of The Tumbleweed Bar next to the Impala, as rolls of dust sprawled out from behind the Firebird. Maura had already gotten out of the car before I even opened the door right. I dragged myself out of the car lazily and walked over to where Sam and Maura were standing.

"How is the hangover coming along?" Sam asked with a bright smile. I grunted and flipped him off, rolling my eyes and went to catch up with Dean, who was already halfway through the door. I sprinted up to him, as he held the door open for me. He smirked back at me and proceeded through the bar.

First thing I noticed was the stron g smell of an ash tray and whiskey. I recoiled with a disgusted face, and saw how the floors were starting to rot from all the beer being spilled on it every night. There were tall tables and chairs surrounding the lonely bar, as occasional neon lights and pictures would make it more welcoming. There was a man around his late 40's with a scruffy gray beard, cleaning glasses and placing them in their right order on the shelves.

"Bar's closed," he stated in a dilapidated tone, not looking up once at us. "Opens back up at four."

I exchanged glances with Maura, as we both shrugged our shoulders. Boy, was this man going to be a bear to talk to?

___________________________________________________________________

Dean's POV

I stared at the rough looking man, who reminded me of a badass Santa Claus. Maybe this isn't going to be as easy as we thought.

"Are you the owner?" Maura questioned skeptically, running her hand through her dark brown hair nervously. The man didn't say anything, so I felt that it was my turn to speak up, but Kassia beat me to it. "Sir, we'd like to ask you a few questions."

The man's beady eyes turned toward our direction now. "Who are you people? And my name is Walter, but call me Walt.

"We're with Times Magazine. We're doing an article on the murders of Robert West, Sheila Thomas, Ross Butler and Laura Lovegood; all regulars here am I correct?" I exclaimed, getting glances from both of the girls like I was joking. I ignored their baffled gestures as Walt narrowed his eyes. "I don't understand. Why would anyone want to be writing column in your magazine if this has only been going on for about a month?"

The confusion of the man's voice scared us with silence for a few seonds. "News travels fast," Maura said bluntly, as she pulled out a small notebook and pen from her jacket, "now, those for victims my co-worker had mentioned are all regulars here, right?"

Walt nodded. "Robert was here more so than the others," he said, distantly staring at the counter. "He was a good man; had a steady job as an attorney outside of town. He'd come here every night after work and have a drink, a few shots of whiskey to be exact."

"Did he ever mention anything about issues with his wife?" Sam spoke up, as the man looked at him strangely. "If your asking if Robert was domestically violent, you are sadly mistaken. He always said how he had the perfect life; a great job, wonderful group of kids, and desirable wife. What more could the man want?"

"And what about the others? Ross? Sheila? Laura?" I continued on with the brief questioning, not leaving any time to spare.

Walt stood there for a moment, placing the glass in his hands on the counter, tossing the white rag he was cleaning it with over his shoulder. "Ross had a wild side, but wasn't violent. He never really mentioned his wife like Robert, so she could've been vicious I don't know. According to the police records, she was as innocent as a stuffed teddy bear."

"Pfft," I grunted, getting stares from everyone. Maybe, that wasn't the best response on my part. "Sorry," I apologized and let the owner of the bar continue with his ranting and raving.

"As for Laura and Sheila," he paused, looking up at me, "they were bartenders here. Laura worked part-time on weekends and Sheila was here full-time. They made one hell of a team working together when rush hour passed by. Mournfully, Sheila passed about three weeks ago; said that the husband had tied her up to the bed and beat her to death. Laura was commonly the quiet one, but she was extremely sensitive after her passage. Just this week as you probably already know, Laura was found in her house, but tied to a chair- died the same way. Her boyfriend of five years was caught with her blood on his hands. Apparently, he told police that he found her there and there was another man in the house."

"Any portrayal on who the man could've been?" Sam asked professionally, as Walt turned to him, narrowing his eyes a little. "Our editors are very descriptive with the information we post."

The man nodded slowly, but went fourth again with more details. "The man said he saw himself in the house with him? I think the guy is a complete nut case and has been killing these people to make it look like the other spouses, God knows how-"

"Why do you suspect it to be him and not any of the other spouses?" Kassia questioned with a puzzled face, not understand why he would jump to conclusions so quickly. It was somewhat obvious; who wouldn't find a man to be delierious if he said he saw himself in the room, and it wasn't his reflection in the mirror?"

We all nodded about the same time, knowing that the suspect most likely wasn't insane. "Is there an address you could give us, so we could stop by to ask a few questions with by other family members?" I asked sternly, but all I got was a irritated look from Walt. "I don't that'll be necessary. Wasn't asking me enough? Don't let the familes suffer anymore after being bombarded with enough questions for one week."

"We're sorry," Sam chimed in caringly. "Thank you for your time."

When we started to head out of the bar, I turned to look at Sam lowering my voice so only he could hear me. "What are you doing? We need an address to see the crime scene."

Sam sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets. "We'll figure something out, we always do."