Six months after the funeral...
Jericho, California
Y/N’s POV:
Y/N laid in the back of her trans am. All around her were different maps and files on several cases surrounding fires starting in Nursery’s. Like her father, Y/N’s been hunting down her mother’s murderer. She mostly spent her days following her dad around. Wherever he went, so did she.
In that moment, she sat with a list of newspapers trying to figure out why he was here. Her f/fr (favorite fruit) smoothie was already melted in the cupholder as she held her flashlight in her mouth. One month ago, a man vanished, but his car was found. In April, a similar case. It tracked back years ’04,’03′98′92. Over ten in the past twenty years. All men, all on the same stretch of road within 5 miles of a bridge.
She could feel a headache coming on. Pushing through the three weeks worth of built up trash in the backseat, she stepped out onto the side of the road. Almost immediately, a silver voltswagon narrowly missed her as he zoomed down the road.
“Asshole!” Y/N screamed, flipping the driver off.
The Car stopped only feet from an old wooden sign. At first, y/n thought he was gonna turn around and dove into her drivers seat. But then she noticed the passengers side door open and closed on its own. Her instincts tingled as the car drove off.
“What the Hell?” Turning the engine, she pulled off in pursuit. Staying back a fair distance as not to seem suspicious. When the wagon turned off road, down what looked like a driveway, she flicked off her lights and followed.
They came to an old abandoned house and barn. Without hesitation, the wagen pulled right up to the house and a boy jumped out. He looked around, as if searching for something....or someone. She parked in the shadow of the tree line and watched him call out to someone, walking towards the front door.
“Don’t do it you idiot.” She whispered, reaching for her shot gun loaded with rock salt. She was starting to have a vague idea of what was happening, but still didn’t feel 100% sure with jumping into action.
Sucking in a breath, she grabbed her gun. Just as she was opening the door, the boy was running back into his car. He took off like a madman, speeding down a road clearly labeled closed. Y/n quickly followed suit, keeping her lights off. He crashed through the wooden gate and skidded to a stop.
Y/N didn’t even wait for her car to completely stop, she threw it in park, grabbed her gun, and jumped out. Her heart pounded in her ears, her veins pumped adrenaline. The boy’s car was fogged, but she could hear him screaming for help. When she reached the car she tried to pull the door open, her eyes met the terrified boy’s.
“HELP ME!!!AHHHHHHH!!!
He screams stopped abruptly as y/n tried to smash the window with the butt of her gun. His blood splattered all over the interior of the car. Y/n stood there flabbergasted, in the corner of her eye she saw a white figure flicker away.
Twelve hours later...
Dean and Sam’s POV:
Dean walked out of the gas station, squinting at the sun.
“Hey,” he called, approaching the trunk of the Impala. “want some breakfast?”
“How’d you pay for that?” Sam poked his head out the window. “You and Dad still running credit-card scams?”
“Yeah well,” Dean pulled the pump out of the impala and placed it back in the fueling station. “Hunting ain’t exactly a pro-ball career. Besides, all we do is apply. It’s not our fault they send us the cards.”
“Yeah?” Sam said, tucking the cassettes back into the box. “And what names did you put on the application this time?”
“Uh, Bert Aframian and his son, Hector.” Dean sat in the drivers seat and placed the soda and chips in the back. “scored two cards out of the deal.”
Sam laughed incredulously. “sounds about right.”
“I swear man, you’ve gotta update your cassette tape collection,” Sam dropped more tapes into the box.
“Why?”
“Well, for one, they’re cassette tapes. And two, Black Sabbath, Motorhead, Metallica? It’s the greatest hits of mullet rock.”
Dean snatched a cassette from Sam. “Y/N/N’s rules, Sammy. Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cake hole.”
“Sammy is a chubby 12-year-old. It’s Sam okay?” Sam grunted. “And Y/N would break your nose if she heard you calling her that.”
“Sorry I can’t hear you,” Dean scoffed. “Music’s too loud!”
He revved the engine and followed the highway till they came to a bridge crawling with police. Sam noticed an oddly familiar Black trans Am in the middle of the ruckus.
“Dean!” Sam jumped. Dean pulled off to the shoulder, following Sam’s gaze.
“It’s just a coincidence,” He shrugged. “probably just some teenager with a cool car.”
Dean pulled out a silver tin from the glovebox, grabbing two FBI badges from it. They approach the Officer in charge. A tall, chubby black man with a cowboy hat. (not being racist, I’m just describing him).
“No sign of struggle, no footprints, no fingerprints-spotless,” The ME said. “It’s almost too clean.”
“So this kid Troy-he’s dating your daughter, isn’t her?” The cop asked. ” how’s Amy doing?”
“She’s putting up missing posters downtown.”
“You fella’s had another one like this just last month, didn’t ya’?” Dean asked.
“And who are you?”
Dean flashed his badge. “Federal Marshals.”
The cop looked at them oddly. “You two are a little young for marshals, aren’t you?”
Dean scoffed. “Thanks, that’s awfully kind of you. You did have another one just like this, correct?”
“Yeah That’s right, about a mile up the road And there were others before that.”
“So this victim,” Said Sam. “You knew him?”
“Town like this-everybody knows everybody.” The cop agreed.
“Any connection between the victims?” Dean asked, circling the car. “Besides that they’re all men?”
“No. Not so far as we can tell.”
Sam joined Dean on the opposite side of the Volkswagen. “So, what’s the theory?”
“Honestly? We don’t know.” The cop said. “Serial Murderer, Kidnapping Ring.”
“Well that is exactly the kind of crack police work I’d expect out of you guys.” Dean chuckled at the offended look on the cops face.
Sam stomped on Dean’s foot; hard. “Thank you for your time.”
Sam’s gaze drifted back to the Trans Am....or at least, where the Trans Am had been as dean walked away. He turned back to the officer. “Excuse me officer? I was wondering about the Trans Am that was here a minute ago-who’s is it?”
“Gorgeous car wasn’t it?” The cop smiled. “A L.A.P.D Officer was driving by when she saw the car swerve onto the bridge. Young, maybe early twenties, black hair, green eyes. She’d stopped to help but said the car was empty when she reached it. Sweet Lady, wrong place wrong time.”
“Okay Thank you,” Sam said.
Sam walked so fast he was ahead of Dean in seconds. Dean roughly smacked the back of Sam’s head. “What was that for!?” Sam growled.
“Why’d you have to step on my foot like that?” Dean growled.
“Why do you have to talk to police like that?” Sam retorted.
“C’mon,” Dean groaned, stepping infront of Sam to stop him in his tracks. “They don’t really know what’s going on. We’re all alone on this and if we’re gonna find dad, we’ve got to get to the bottom of this thing ourselves.”
“Yeah, except we don’t, Dean. I talked to the cop, the person in the Trans Am was a Young Lady. Black hair, green eyes-Dean, she even used an LAPD badge! Remember how jealous you were when dad gave y/n that for her birthday?” Sam argued.
“I always wanted to say it,” Dean drifted off in thought before snapping back to reality. “Y/n/n’s dead, Sammy. You saw her body-spread her ashes!”
“Dean-”
Dean cut him off. “That’s enough, Sam! Y/n’s gone! I don’t wanna hear anymore about it!”
“Can I help you boys?”
Sam and Dean turned to face the Sheriff, accompanied by two FBI agents.
“Uh, no sir, we were just leaving,” Dean said. The agents walked past them. “Agent Muller, Agent Scully,” Dean nodded.
Y/N’s POV:
Crap! y/n thought to herself. She was almost caught! as soon as she caught sight of the Black Impala, she ducked behind cars and rushed into her own. She had never left a crime scene faster than she did that day.
Her first stop, Amy, the ME’s daughter. Pulling on her leather jacket, y/n walked onto the sidewalk. (c/n) (car name) was crooked, unlike the other cars. Y/n never did master parallel parking. Amy, the brunette teen in baggy jeans stumbled with a stack of flyers in her hands. Y/N jumped to catch the girl and her stack.
“Oh, thanks,” Amy smiled.
“Hey-Amy, right?” Y/n asked. “Troy told me about you.”
Amy scanned y/n skeptically. “Oh? And you’re Troy’s....?”
“His sister,” y/n smiled reassuringly.
“Funny,” Amy moved around y/n to place a flyer on another bulletin board. “Troy doesn’t have a sister.”
“Actually, I’m more like his adoptive sister,” Y/n clarified. “My family was in a tight spot and him and his folks used to help us out. Our parents were friends. Haven’t heard from him in a while and you know? Got a little worried.”
“Well, I was on the phone with him just last night. He said he’d call me back, but he never did. That’s the last i heard from him,” Amy said, tears brimming her eyes. “He was out on Jericho 7 last i heard, than he just up and vanished.”
Y/n sucked in a deep breath. “You haven’t heard anything? No rumors? Town Gossip?”
Amy glanced around nervously. “well, there is the old legend. Some girl was murdered out on the centennial a long time ago. It’s a stupid story, parents tell their kids when they first learn to drive.”
“What’s the story?” Y/N asked immediately.
“Supposedly she hitchhikes, and anyone who picks her up disappears forever.”
Y/N knew exactly what was happening immediately.
Y/n found herself back in her car, slurping at another (f/fr) milkshake. Her notebook computer (a 2005 laptop) was open in her lap.
She typed into the search index: Hitchhiker Murder
Several articles popped up, but none had anything to do with the case.
Search: Hitchhiker Murder Female.
0 searches.
Suicide Centennial Highway Female.
1 result.
Only one article popped up.
“April 25, 1981. A local woman’s drowning death was ruled a suicide, the county Sheriff’s Department said earlier today. Constance Welch, 24, of 4636 Breckenridge Road, leapt off Sylvania Bridge, at mile 33 of Centennial highway, and subsequently drowned last night.” y/n muttered.
‘Poor woman’ y/n thought. ‘killed herself an hour after finding her two sons dead in the bathtub.’
“That address,” she gasped. “That’s the street!”
y/n slammed her computer closed and weaseled her way to the drivers seat, knocking dozens of empty take-out boxes and cups. Kicking her Trans AM into drive, pulling past the old bridge to the dark driveway she had been on just the night before: on Breckenridge Road.
“You can’t be here,” a withered voice gasped behind her.
“constance?” y/n glanced in her rearview mirror. A beautiful woman with long black hair and tan, smooth skin glared right back.
“You don’t know me,” constance shook her head. “I can never go home.”
“Why Constance?” y/n swallowed hard, an eerie vibe rubbing from the ghost. y/n’s fingers itched to be holding her gun and blast the chick with rock salt. “why can’t you go home?”
She flickered, her face twisting in agony as she considered my question. “I can’t go home.”
y/n swallowed, growing a pair of balls as her hand curled around the pistol beside the drivers seat. “Is it because of your children? Is it because you murdered them?”
y/n recalled the myths of women in white she’d grown up reading. Over the centuries, they all had the same factors. A husband was unfaithful. In a fit of blind fury, the mother murders the children, then out of grief; kills herself. Then spends eternity haunting unfaithful men.
Constance lurched forward, suddenly appearing on top of y/n. She raked her nails down the living girls ribs, shredding the skin. As warm blood seeped into her shirt, effectively ruining one of the few articles of clothing she had, y/n grabbed her pistol and fired a full clip into the bitch.
As Constance disappears with a wail, y/n rushes to park the car outside the abandoned house and rolls out the door, landing in the dirt with a heavy thud. Clutching her gut as if her organs would spill out if she didn’t, she rushed towards the house. Bursting through the front door, she immediately sat against a wall, ripping away as some dusty old drape blocking the front window. She wrapped the shreds tightly around her wound, starting below her abdomen and twisting up to her breasts-just like her dad taught her.
With shaking hands and heavy breaths, y/n managed to reload her gun with the clip she kept in her jackets secret pocket. She knew she had to find the bones and burn them. But to do that, she had to go back out there. Suddenly, she heard the roar of an engine and almost familiar gruff shouting. Popping her head up to look out the window, y/n was almost decapitated by two glowing lights.
Diving to the side, a car crashed through the wall, collapsing half the rubble on top of y/n. Everything was a blur. There were voices, and screams, but she couldn’t lock on to them. She heard footsteps walking past her, whoever was there was gonna leave her!
With the last of her energy, she managed a quiet groan. “Help!” then everything faded to black.
When y/n woke up, there were flashing red and blue lights everywhere. At first, she thought she was in an ambulance, but ambulances don’t have orange and black leather seats. She jumped up, wincing when her whole body felt like she’d been hit by an eighteen wheeler and survived. Honestly, death would have been better than the pain she felt.
She took a glance around at the familiar interior and had about twelve heart attacks. First, she wondered how she got there. Then, she panicked about her brothers seeing her. Again, she wondered what she was doing outside of a college dorm pewing smoke. Then, her instincts kicked back in. she immediately checked for her gun, feeling the seats around her until she found it back in the holster on her waist, right next to her badge.
She creaked the door open slowly, remembering how loud they always were. People were crowded around the caution tape a little ways away. A figure was approaching the car so she scrambled back into a sleeping position. Straining her ears, she heard voices and then the trunk slammed shut.
She kept her eyes closed tightly and managed to slow her breathing down-as if she were really asleep- as the car doors opened and two people climbed in.
“How long do you think she’ll be out for?” -Sam.
“you did basically run her over with my car.”-dean this time.
She felt a hand reach back and move her hair away from her face. The hands fingers lifted a piece of gauze taped to her head she hadn’t even noticed was there.
“this looks pretty bad, her ribs to. Shouldn’t we take her to the hospital?” Sam’s voice was cold and hard, but still carried a sense of fondness with it.
Dean scoffed and y/n could almost picture that obnoxious smirk of his. “Oh yeah, right after we tell them we didn’t mean to almost kill her. She’s fine, Sammy, she’s had worse.”
‘Yeah right,’ y/n thought. ‘you’ve almost killed me more times than I could count.’
“okay, lets say she is fine, and wakes up,” Sam asked as dean began driving off. “what do we tell her about her car? I mean, if memory serves, she broke your arm for touching it.”
Dean chuckled. “don’t worry, they towed it-“
“-THEY DID WHAT!?” y/n shot back to life. Dean panicked and the impala swerved….straight for a ditch.
up next: Chapter 2- the wendigo
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