Chapter 27 : No One

by

   It took longer than I had expected to get to Cape Girardeau. I hadn't realized the toll that fake killing John Winchester would take on me, and I ended up crashing in a sleazy motel outside of Iowa City.

      I tossed almost everything there. My old clothes. My phone. Everything reminded me of my past and John Winchester, even the credit cards he scammed for me, which left me with pretty much nothing but my bike and a couple hundred bucks I hustled from a few drunken college kids who thought they were good at pool.

      I had no idea if it was going to work, but I made sure I was quiet for at least a day before I made my way back to the guys and what I found was a shit storm of supernatural if I ever saw one.

     I sat on my bike, trying to comprehend what I had just seen. I wasn't even town five minutes, and I had just witnessed a murder. There was no one around, and it was barely eight am, but the big, black Dodge truck revved its engine a few feet from the lifeless man, and without hesitation, I sped down towards them.

     Blood pooled around the man on the ground, and I stood there for a moment, staring at the truck. No one stepped out of the truck like I had expected, but I had only assumed the driver was in shock about what had just happened.

     "Are you okay?"

     I was still a distance away from the truck, but as I took a few more steps, it revved its engine, and I was surrounded by a cloud of smoke as the tires spun.

      "Oh, you son of a bitch," I muttered to myself as I rushed out of the plume. I hopped on the bike as the truck sped off, and without thinking, I pulled back on the throttle as hard as I could and sped out after it.

      They must have been desperate not to be caught or to throw me off its tail as it served in and out of the lanes, but as I neared eighty miles an hour, I knew I was testing my luck as the road had become too rocky to maintain my speed. In a last-ditch effort to stop them, I pulled my gun from my riding holster and came to a quick stop, aiming at the back tires.

     "What the fuck?" I exclaimed.

      There was nothing. It was gone. The long stretch road was rid of dust and the truck altogether. Confusion flooded through me as I parked the bike.  There wasn't even a tire print. All I found was my spent bullets as if they had just dropped.

      "This isn't happening."

      For a moment, I thought I was just seeing things. Hallucinations that Azazel thought would be funny. My hand instinctively went to my head, almost expecting a sudden throb, but nothing ever came of it, and I made my way back to my bike, trying to process what had just happened. It made sense in a way. That Cassie girl had said there were marks on her father's car as if it had been pushed, but no tire marks, just like now, and I found myself heading back to the poor man in the road, just to make sure I wasn't crazy after all.

       I stood by the man as I tried to decide what to do. A hit and run would require police. This man obviously had a family, but I didn't do cops. Even with the badges and the IDs that John had gotten made for me finally coming in, it was just something I couldn't bring myself to do. The thought of being recognized was too much to handle, and I decided to call Dean as I carelessly flipped through the maps the dead man had been looking at.           It went to voicemail first, which was surprising. The man was usually up at the crack of dawn eating pie and cleaning his gun, but with my new number, maybe he was just hoping whoever had an issue would leave a voicemail. So I tried him again, and after a few rings, his groggy voice finally picked.

     "Hello." He sounded exhausted.

     "I got a body for ya." I spit out quickly.

     "What? Who is this?"

     "It's me. I got a new phone." I explained as I used my boot to move the old man side up enough to grab his wallet from the inside pocket of his coat. "Do you know a Harold Todd?"

     "Andy?" His voice sounded off, and for a moment, I swore I heard a woman ask him if everything was alright.

     Yeah, it was definitely a woman, and it sounded a hell of a lot like the woman I spoke to on the phone the other day. I cringed, but I let it go. I was no one. No one she had to worry about, at least.

   "What was the name again?"

   "Harold Todd, older dude. Businessy kinda guy. You know him?"

     "Yeah," he groaned, and I couldn't help but picture him running his hands over his tired green eyes. "He's the mayor."

     "Well, not anymore he's not."

     I heard a rustling from his end of the line and sighed as his hand obviously muted the muffled voices. I said his name a few times, not caring to listen to him console anyone, and he groaned, snapping at me to stop.

  "Look, I'm sorry if I interrupted your morning rendezvous or whatever, but this dude was just run over by a truck. Kay? So I can call the cops and dip or just leave him here. Either way, I don't care, I've been driving all night, and I'm not in the mood for bullshit right now."

     "Wait!" His voice perked up. "You saw the truck?"

     "Yeah, I saw the whole thing, Dean! That's what I'm trying to tell you. It took off. I chased it. I shot at the back tires, and the damn thing disappeared!" I shouted thankful no one was around to hear how crazy I sounded. "What the hell are you hunting here?"

      "Where are you?" He asked.

      "In the middle of nowhere!" I shouted. "I have no idea. Hold on." I walked over to the map that was sprawled across the table, careful not to step in the man's blood, and scanned it. "I don't know, this map says Dorian Drive? I don't know. There's nothing but trees and a dead body."

      "Jesus Christ," he muttered in frustration. "All right, we'll be right there."

      "And bring me food!" I chimed, but the line went dead. I groaned, slid the phone back into my pocket, and sat back on my bike as I read over the maps.

      Why was it always the small towns? For once, I'd give anything to hunt a surfing shapeshifter or even a vampire raising hell in Chicago. I was sick of little podunk towns and the small-minded people that lived here. I just wanted something big. Something grand. Like the final showdown with that yellow-eyed bastard on top of the Empire State Building.