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Description
Chapter 4

Warning: High level gore. Adult themes and swearing.

     "Six girls. No patterns in who they were, what they did, family, et cetera. All the police know is that they were found with their stomachs ripped open," Sam said, throwing an aged newspaper onto the table.
     Dean picked it up and flicked through the pages, glancing at the contents.
     "The police passed it off as a raccoon or a rabid dog - but I mean, seriously, what would do that?" Sam continued, beginning his ritual pacing.
     "I dunno, Sam," Dean said, distracted by a black and white picture of a young girl in her early twenties. Next to the picture, the headline 'Parents Want Answers From Animal Patrol' was clearly printed. Dean skimmed the article, getting the general idea that more people were becoming worried about the 'mad animal’ attacks.
     "We’re hunting little mutant bunnies now?" Dean queried sarcastically.
     Sam rolled his eyes and grabbed the article. "Not bunnies, Dean. We're looking at something bigger than a coyote. To kidnap and torture girls like that... It's just not natural..."
     "Since when is anything we do natural, Sam?" Dean grinned, knowing that it would annoy his brother.
     "Dude," Sam said, stopping and raising an eyebrow, "do you have any idea how wrong that sounds?"
     Sam opened his laptop and scrolled down the list of sites he had already searched. All the girls were different. Different was an understatement. He tried basic connections of heritage, physical features, work, but nothing matched. It was like the girls were from different worlds.
     "This isn't making sense!" Sam said exasperatedly. "I know this thing is paranormal, it just doesn't follow the rules. I mean, they're meant to have guidelines, patterns... They're meant to be careful but this just makes them seem as if they don't exist."
     "Who's 'they'?" Dean inquired while glancing up from the newspaper.
     "I don't know," Sam said while checking over the information again. "'They' is whoever is causing this havoc."
     Suddenly, the boys heard the bathroom door unlock. They turned to see the door swing open, a freshly-clean Beclyn standing in the doorway. Dean's jaw almost hit the ground. The messed-up girl he had seen before had completely transformed. Beclyn was tallish, with long, straight, almost-black hair that matched her pale complexion perfectly, and the darkest, most intriguing blue eyes he had ever seen. He guessed that she was in her early to mid twenties. He couldn't help but let his gaze wander to her well-placed curves – especially her chest. It made her seem like she had just walked off the page of Victoria's Secret or some other male-prone magazine. Even Sam had to try and slow his pounding heart as she sauntered into the room.
     Flashing his most charming smile, Dean gazed into her eyes, hoping the magic in corny romance movies was real, and that she would instantly fall in deep lust for him.
     "What the fuck are you looking at?" Beclyn snapped.
     Perhaps not.
     "Uhh..." Dean felt like an idiot. He couldn't help but wonder where all his charm had escaped to.
     Luckily, Sam saved him. "Beclyn, you should get some sleep..."
     "I've been sleeping enough to last me years, kid," Beclyn retorted snidely. "Though I would ask you to shut up for a few hours. I have work to do."
     "Whoa," Dean smirked. "Ever heard of please?"
     "Ever heard of cruel and unusual torture?" Beclyn retaliated nastily.
     Sam blinked, completely taken aback. The girl had definitely transformed from the helpless maiden in distress to a man's ultimate nightmare. Turning away, he pulled a newspaper clipping from the pile on the table and offered it to Beclyn. "We're working on this gig at the moment, and we were wondering if you had any idea about it," Sam explained.
     "'We'?" Dean suddenly broke in. "'We' weren't wondering anything, let alone asking for help about it. This is a job for us. Beclyn said she was here to get her work done so we'll do our own."
     Trying to snatch back the article, Dean missed as Beclyn turned away to read the text. Her eyes skimmed the letters for a second before throwing the paper down on the desk. "Just a few murders." She shrugged off the significance.
     Sam shook his head, doubting her words. "They're girls who died the same way. I think that something's behind it..."
     "Something's behind it?" Beclyn mimicked to intimidate Sam. "It's great that you've figured out something's going on, but how about using your brain for once and figuring out what could be causing it."
     Dean snorted as she insulted Sam.
     "Look," Sam tried to defend himself, "all we need is a lead and I'll know exactly what we - my brother and I - are dealing with."
     Beclyn leaned across the table and grabbed a pile of pictures of the girls. She laid them across the table and leant back to gesture at Sam to take a look. "There's all the leads you need," she said with a shrug.
     Sam stared at the pictures until they faded into a blur. The pictures marked 'before' were sorted on the left-side of the table - they mostly consisted of smiling girls with family or friends. On the right-side, the photos marked 'after' were scattered. The same girls were crumbled on the ground in a mess of blood and intestines, their mouths open in disbelieving horror. Not finding any clues of what they were after, Sam frowned but continued to look as if he knew what he was doing. He began to feel perspiration on his forehead as he sensed Beclyn's sneering glare on the back of his neck.
     "Okay," Sam finally muttered, humiliated that he couldn't find anything. "What is it that you see that I can't?"
     Beclyn lifted a finger and pointed to the 'after' pictures. Her chewed fingernail jabbed at a picture of one of the older girls. Her loose sun-dress lay in tatters around her while her naked body was sprawled across the floor of her kitchen, blood covering the walls and furniture.
     Sam instantly flicked through the girl's file, checking over the information.
     "She was pregnant," he said while shaking his head, "but she was the only one. I barely see that as a lead."
     Beclyn rolled her eyes and moved to the next picture, a girl in blood-stained jeans lying on a set of stone steps outside of an apartment.
     "She was a student studying art," Sam explained. "Nothing important."
     Looking irritated, Beclyn drifted her finger to another photo.
     "Her specialty was aromatherapy," Dean explained before Sam could say anything. "Not exactly what you'd call out-of-this-world."
     Looking up to glare at the older hunter, her finger drifted sideways to another picture.
     "Twenty-eight, single and worked an eight-hour job at a local pizza place," Sam picked up his explanations.
     Another photo.
     Dean grinned and said, "I like this one. Twenty-three, lived alone and was a stripper."
     Beclyn glowered at him as she pointed at the last photo.
     Both boys looked at each other with a shared expression of knowing.
     "She was a teacher," Sam finished. "She worked with first-graders."
     Dean looked slightly put-off by the photo. "What a waste," he muttered. "She was gorgeous. She could have at least made six times the amount of money if she got into bar work. Man, I would pay to see her."
     Both boys glanced up at Beclyn to see her face contorted into a furious snarl.
     "What?" Dean asked. "You can't tell me that she wasn't at least pretty..."
     "You have completely missed the point!" she yelled. She swept her arm around the pictures to form a pile. Straightening them, she held up the photos. The girl which had been the teacher was first.
     "She worked with kids. She was doing a cutting activity when she severely gashed her elbow," Beclyn hissed. Sure enough, there was a blood-soaked bandage around the girl's arm.
     Beclyn flipped to the next picture. Aromatherapy girl. "Was stacking shelves when one of the bottles smashed on her foot." There was a large medical patch on the top of the girl's foot.
     Pizza-place girl. "Pulled a pizza from the oven without protection." Band-aids covered her palms and fingers.
     Stripper girl. "Got into a fight with a fellow stripper and received a broken arm." A splint was lying limply with her detached arm.
     Student. "Jogged for her after-hours sports program. Tripped, fell and fractured her ankle." Bandage around ankle.
     Pregnant woman. "Was moving into a new apartment with her husband and dropped the couch on her toe, successfully snapping the bone in three places." A large wad of white bandages was wrapped around the woman's big toe.
     Dean and Sam blinked, confused and slightly afraid as Beclyn became snappier. Turning to the laptop, Beclyn typed in a set of keywords where twelve more pictures of different girls popped up on screen.
     She pointed to each of them, stating other injuries.
     "Fractured hip..."
     "Broken collarbone..."
     "Sliced shoulder..."
     "Twisted wrist..."
     "Fingernails ripped off..."
     "Crushed nose... Are you getting this?" Beclyn demanded as the boys’ eyes began to glaze.
     Dean's mouth was slightly hanging open while Sam's eyes were bulging.
     Realization had dawned on Sam in the first six girls but Dean suddenly said, "They all were hurt in some way."
     "Not in 'some way'," she corrected. "They were all hurt that could be easily seen. That's the connection between them. This thing likes to go after helpless targets."
     Dean and Sam threw a glance at each other, astonished at the simple detail they had missed. Sam sighed and rubbed his eyes, trying to think. So they had found a lead - now what was the thing killing them?
     "You sound as if you already know what it is," Dean told Beclyn. "Mind enlightening us?"
     Beclyn heaved a sigh and pulled up a chair. She looked irritated. Finally she looked up at the cautious brothers.
     "So, tell me," Beclyn said clearly, "what do you know about werewolves?"
     Dean tucked his hands behind his head in an arrogant stance while Sam suppressed a smirk.
     "Dude, we've been hunting werewolves since we were seven," Dean stated.
     Beclyn didn't seem deterred by the fact as she leaned forward on her chair. "You think you've been hunting werewolves since you were seven," she clarified. "I'm not talking about the little 'turn into a raging dog at night and kill a few people' werewolves. I'm talking about the werewolves that sold their soul to the devil so that they could devour the human flesh they sorely crave."
     Dean shrugged and muttered, "Doesn't sound so different to me..."
     "Ever heard of Peter Stubb?" Beclyn threw the question at Dean.
     Dean hesitated for a second before saying, "Yeah, of course I've heard of him. He was the... uhh..." Dean threw a glance at Sam for help.
     "He was the most dangerous werewolf captured," Sam answered for his brother. "He sold his soul to the devil so that he could transform at will despite the formations of the moon. He went on a raping and killing spree, massacring women, children and livestock."
     Beclyn rolled her eyes as she nodded, not caring about the answer.
     “Well, you asked...” Sam muttered, trying to patch his bruised confidence.
     “I’m sorry. Were you after a treat?” Beclyn snapped condescendingly.
     Dean tried to keep up with the explanation about the werewolves, but kept getting lost. He masked his confusion by coughing while throwing a glare at Sam. Ignoring his older brother, Sam watched as Beclyn ripped a piece of paper from a notebook and scribbled a basic map of buildings in the area.
     "This is where I'm sure these sons of bitches have been hiding..."
     "Whoa, wait," Dean interrupted. "First, I thought you said this was nothing supernatural, and second – ‘sons of bitches’? There's more than one?"
     Beclyn continued drawing her map, ignoring him. Once finished, she placed the pen on the table and said, "In the early 18th century, three brothers sold their souls for the capabilities of being a werewolf. They were never caught and in fear, they travelled around the country, using the trust of young girls as a way of free accommodation and lunch. In the late 20th century, more secretive hunters stepped forward to put an end to their attacks. Through unknown sources, they entered New York and have resided here ever since. However, they are extremely hard to find because they don't have the normal qualms of having to live by the moon formations. It's no help that there’re over sixty boarded-up buildings in this area that they could hide in. Now, it's only when they attack that they become these brutal, fearsome beasts which tear their victims apart. The only thing we have to go on is that they have a short temper when they're in their human form and the fact that they might stalk a bit."
     Dean rubbed his chin, processing the information. Sam sighed and began to chew his nails, wondering how to hunt something that may as well not exist.
     Finally Dean leaned forward and said, "Since you know so much about this, I suppose this was the thing you came to Manhattan for."
     Beclyn glowered, not answering his question. Dean could tell he was right. Yawning, Sam began to clean up the mess of papers and files.
     "There's no point working on this until tomorrow," Sam pointed out while closing his laptop. "We should get some food, sleep for a few hours then figure out a plan."
     Dean nodded, grabbing the car keys. "I'll get the food. You guys clean up."

- - -

     Dean twisted and turned on the motel floor. He thought he had been lucky when he saw a patch of carpet outside of the bedroom to sleep on but then realized that he may as well be lying on needles. What did the hotel owner do – clean his carpet with glue?
     He cursed himself silently for letting Beclyn take the only bedroom. She hadn't even thanked him for his kindness. In fact, she had been incredibly rude to him ever since she had pointed out the similarities between the victims. When he went to retrieve lunch, he had asked her what she wanted but she had given him a sharp glare as a reply.
     Rolling over, Dean watched as Sam slept soundlessly near the mini fridge. Being typical brothers, they had fought over what they were to get for lunch, who would get the bathroom first - apparently, Dean always left the bathroom in shambles or whatever the younger brother had whined about, and who would get to sleep on the only patch of carpet. Dean had only won by threatening to steal the younger man's phone.
     He scratched his back irritably.
     Damn, this carpet is a pain in the ass, Dean thought angrily.
     Leaning up against the door for support, he relaxed slightly and closed his eyes. Inside the room, he heard the soft rustle as Beclyn moved around. Dean had to suppress a smirk as a thought hit him. Maybe, even in the slightest chance, she was getting changed. The possibility stirred him. Dean decided that it would only be in the best thought to check on her. That was his excuse if he walked in on her naked anyway. Giving an inaudible soft tap on the door, he turned the doorknob quickly and entered the bedroom. His excited expression morphed to confusion when he didn't see anyone. Walking to the bed, he found the covers neatly tucked into the frame. No one had slept there in days.
     "Beclyn?" Dean called, pacing to the other side of the room. A wide window sat open, the curtains rustling loudly as they billowed in the breeze. It was then that Dean realized what had happened.
     She had escaped.

- - -

Description
Chapter 4

Warning: High level gore. Adult themes and swearing.

     "Six girls. No patterns in who they were, what they did, family, et cetera. All the police know is that they were found with their stomachs ripped open," Sam said, throwing an aged newspaper onto the table.
     Dean picked it up and flicked through the pages, glancing at the contents.
     "The police passed it off as a raccoon or a rabid dog - but I mean, seriously, what would do that?" Sam continued, beginning his ritual pacing.
     "I dunno, Sam," Dean said, distracted by a black and white picture of a young girl in her early twenties. Next to the picture, the headline 'Parents Want Answers From Animal Patrol' was clearly printed. Dean skimmed the article, getting the general idea that more people were becoming worried about the 'mad animal’ attacks.
     "We’re hunting little mutant bunnies now?" Dean queried sarcastically.
     Sam rolled his eyes and grabbed the article. "Not bunnies, Dean. We're looking at something bigger than a coyote. To kidnap and torture girls like that... It's just not natural..."
     "Since when is anything we do natural, Sam?" Dean grinned, knowing that it would annoy his brother.
     "Dude," Sam said, stopping and raising an eyebrow, "do you have any idea how wrong that sounds?"
     Sam opened his laptop and scrolled down the list of sites he had already searched. All the girls were different. Different was an understatement. He tried basic connections of heritage, physical features, work, but nothing matched. It was like the girls were from different worlds.
     "This isn't making sense!" Sam said exasperatedly. "I know this thing is paranormal, it just doesn't follow the rules. I mean, they're meant to have guidelines, patterns... They're meant to be careful but this just makes them seem as if they don't exist."
     "Who's 'they'?" Dean inquired while glancing up from the newspaper.
     "I don't know," Sam said while checking over the information again. "'They' is whoever is causing this havoc."
     Suddenly, the boys heard the bathroom door unlock. They turned to see the door swing open, a freshly-clean Beclyn standing in the doorway. Dean's jaw almost hit the ground. The messed-up girl he had seen before had completely transformed. Beclyn was tallish, with long, straight, almost-black hair that matched her pale complexion perfectly, and the darkest, most intriguing blue eyes he had ever seen. He guessed that she was in her early to mid twenties. He couldn't help but let his gaze wander to her well-placed curves – especially her chest. It made her seem like she had just walked off the page of Victoria's Secret or some other male-prone magazine. Even Sam had to try and slow his pounding heart as she sauntered into the room.
     Flashing his most charming smile, Dean gazed into her eyes, hoping the magic in corny romance movies was real, and that she would instantly fall in deep lust for him.
     "What the fuck are you looking at?" Beclyn snapped.
     Perhaps not.
     "Uhh..." Dean felt like an idiot. He couldn't help but wonder where all his charm had escaped to.
     Luckily, Sam saved him. "Beclyn, you should get some sleep..."
     "I've been sleeping enough to last me years, kid," Beclyn retorted snidely. "Though I would ask you to shut up for a few hours. I have work to do."
     "Whoa," Dean smirked. "Ever heard of please?"
     "Ever heard of cruel and unusual torture?" Beclyn retaliated nastily.
     Sam blinked, completely taken aback. The girl had definitely transformed from the helpless maiden in distress to a man's ultimate nightmare. Turning away, he pulled a newspaper clipping from the pile on the table and offered it to Beclyn. "We're working on this gig at the moment, and we were wondering if you had any idea about it," Sam explained.
     "'We'?" Dean suddenly broke in. "'We' weren't wondering anything, let alone asking for help about it. This is a job for us. Beclyn said she was here to get her work done so we'll do our own."
     Trying to snatch back the article, Dean missed as Beclyn turned away to read the text. Her eyes skimmed the letters for a second before throwing the paper down on the desk. "Just a few murders." She shrugged off the significance.
     Sam shook his head, doubting her words. "They're girls who died the same way. I think that something's behind it..."
     "Something's behind it?" Beclyn mimicked to intimidate Sam. "It's great that you've figured out something's going on, but how about using your brain for once and figuring out what could be causing it."
     Dean snorted as she insulted Sam.
     "Look," Sam tried to defend himself, "all we need is a lead and I'll know exactly what we - my brother and I - are dealing with."
     Beclyn leaned across the table and grabbed a pile of pictures of the girls. She laid them across the table and leant back to gesture at Sam to take a look. "There's all the leads you need," she said with a shrug.
     Sam stared at the pictures until they faded into a blur. The pictures marked 'before' were sorted on the left-side of the table - they mostly consisted of smiling girls with family or friends. On the right-side, the photos marked 'after' were scattered. The same girls were crumbled on the ground in a mess of blood and intestines, their mouths open in disbelieving horror. Not finding any clues of what they were after, Sam frowned but continued to look as if he knew what he was doing. He began to feel perspiration on his forehead as he sensed Beclyn's sneering glare on the back of his neck.
     "Okay," Sam finally muttered, humiliated that he couldn't find anything. "What is it that you see that I can't?"
     Beclyn lifted a finger and pointed to the 'after' pictures. Her chewed fingernail jabbed at a picture of one of the older girls. Her loose sun-dress lay in tatters around her while her naked body was sprawled across the floor of her kitchen, blood covering the walls and furniture.
     Sam instantly flicked through the girl's file, checking over the information.
     "She was pregnant," he said while shaking his head, "but she was the only one. I barely see that as a lead."
     Beclyn rolled her eyes and moved to the next picture, a girl in blood-stained jeans lying on a set of stone steps outside of an apartment.
     "She was a student studying art," Sam explained. "Nothing important."
     Looking irritated, Beclyn drifted her finger to another photo.
     "Her specialty was aromatherapy," Dean explained before Sam could say anything. "Not exactly what you'd call out-of-this-world."
     Looking up to glare at the older hunter, her finger drifted sideways to another picture.
     "Twenty-eight, single and worked an eight-hour job at a local pizza place," Sam picked up his explanations.
     Another photo.
     Dean grinned and said, "I like this one. Twenty-three, lived alone and was a stripper."
     Beclyn glowered at him as she pointed at the last photo.
     Both boys looked at each other with a shared expression of knowing.
     "She was a teacher," Sam finished. "She worked with first-graders."
     Dean looked slightly put-off by the photo. "What a waste," he muttered. "She was gorgeous. She could have at least made six times the amount of money if she got into bar work. Man, I would pay to see her."
     Both boys glanced up at Beclyn to see her face contorted into a furious snarl.
     "What?" Dean asked. "You can't tell me that she wasn't at least pretty..."
     "You have completely missed the point!" she yelled. She swept her arm around the pictures to form a pile. Straightening them, she held up the photos. The girl which had been the teacher was first.
     "She worked with kids. She was doing a cutting activity when she severely gashed her elbow," Beclyn hissed. Sure enough, there was a blood-soaked bandage around the girl's arm.
     Beclyn flipped to the next picture. Aromatherapy girl. "Was stacking shelves when one of the bottles smashed on her foot." There was a large medical patch on the top of the girl's foot.
     Pizza-place girl. "Pulled a pizza from the oven without protection." Band-aids covered her palms and fingers.
     Stripper girl. "Got into a fight with a fellow stripper and received a broken arm." A splint was lying limply with her detached arm.
     Student. "Jogged for her after-hours sports program. Tripped, fell and fractured her ankle." Bandage around ankle.
     Pregnant woman. "Was moving into a new apartment with her husband and dropped the couch on her toe, successfully snapping the bone in three places." A large wad of white bandages was wrapped around the woman's big toe.
     Dean and Sam blinked, confused and slightly afraid as Beclyn became snappier. Turning to the laptop, Beclyn typed in a set of keywords where twelve more pictures of different girls popped up on screen.
     She pointed to each of them, stating other injuries.
     "Fractured hip..."
     "Broken collarbone..."
     "Sliced shoulder..."
     "Twisted wrist..."
     "Fingernails ripped off..."
     "Crushed nose... Are you getting this?" Beclyn demanded as the boys’ eyes began to glaze.
     Dean's mouth was slightly hanging open while Sam's eyes were bulging.
     Realization had dawned on Sam in the first six girls but Dean suddenly said, "They all were hurt in some way."
     "Not in 'some way'," she corrected. "They were all hurt that could be easily seen. That's the connection between them. This thing likes to go after helpless targets."
     Dean and Sam threw a glance at each other, astonished at the simple detail they had missed. Sam sighed and rubbed his eyes, trying to think. So they had found a lead - now what was the thing killing them?
     "You sound as if you already know what it is," Dean told Beclyn. "Mind enlightening us?"
     Beclyn heaved a sigh and pulled up a chair. She looked irritated. Finally she looked up at the cautious brothers.
     "So, tell me," Beclyn said clearly, "what do you know about werewolves?"
     Dean tucked his hands behind his head in an arrogant stance while Sam suppressed a smirk.
     "Dude, we've been hunting werewolves since we were seven," Dean stated.
     Beclyn didn't seem deterred by the fact as she leaned forward on her chair. "You think you've been hunting werewolves since you were seven," she clarified. "I'm not talking about the little 'turn into a raging dog at night and kill a few people' werewolves. I'm talking about the werewolves that sold their soul to the devil so that they could devour the human flesh they sorely crave."
     Dean shrugged and muttered, "Doesn't sound so different to me..."
     "Ever heard of Peter Stubb?" Beclyn threw the question at Dean.
     Dean hesitated for a second before saying, "Yeah, of course I've heard of him. He was the... uhh..." Dean threw a glance at Sam for help.
     "He was the most dangerous werewolf captured," Sam answered for his brother. "He sold his soul to the devil so that he could transform at will despite the formations of the moon. He went on a raping and killing spree, massacring women, children and livestock."
     Beclyn rolled her eyes as she nodded, not caring about the answer.
     “Well, you asked...” Sam muttered, trying to patch his bruised confidence.
     “I’m sorry. Were you after a treat?” Beclyn snapped condescendingly.
     Dean tried to keep up with the explanation about the werewolves, but kept getting lost. He masked his confusion by coughing while throwing a glare at Sam. Ignoring his older brother, Sam watched as Beclyn ripped a piece of paper from a notebook and scribbled a basic map of buildings in the area.
     "This is where I'm sure these sons of bitches have been hiding..."
     "Whoa, wait," Dean interrupted. "First, I thought you said this was nothing supernatural, and second – ‘sons of bitches’? There's more than one?"
     Beclyn continued drawing her map, ignoring him. Once finished, she placed the pen on the table and said, "In the early 18th century, three brothers sold their souls for the capabilities of being a werewolf. They were never caught and in fear, they travelled around the country, using the trust of young girls as a way of free accommodation and lunch. In the late 20th century, more secretive hunters stepped forward to put an end to their attacks. Through unknown sources, they entered New York and have resided here ever since. However, they are extremely hard to find because they don't have the normal qualms of having to live by the moon formations. It's no help that there’re over sixty boarded-up buildings in this area that they could hide in. Now, it's only when they attack that they become these brutal, fearsome beasts which tear their victims apart. The only thing we have to go on is that they have a short temper when they're in their human form and the fact that they might stalk a bit."
     Dean rubbed his chin, processing the information. Sam sighed and began to chew his nails, wondering how to hunt something that may as well not exist.
     Finally Dean leaned forward and said, "Since you know so much about this, I suppose this was the thing you came to Manhattan for."
     Beclyn glowered, not answering his question. Dean could tell he was right. Yawning, Sam began to clean up the mess of papers and files.
     "There's no point working on this until tomorrow," Sam pointed out while closing his laptop. "We should get some food, sleep for a few hours then figure out a plan."
     Dean nodded, grabbing the car keys. "I'll get the food. You guys clean up."

- - -

     Dean twisted and turned on the motel floor. He thought he had been lucky when he saw a patch of carpet outside of the bedroom to sleep on but then realized that he may as well be lying on needles. What did the hotel owner do – clean his carpet with glue?
     He cursed himself silently for letting Beclyn take the only bedroom. She hadn't even thanked him for his kindness. In fact, she had been incredibly rude to him ever since she had pointed out the similarities between the victims. When he went to retrieve lunch, he had asked her what she wanted but she had given him a sharp glare as a reply.
     Rolling over, Dean watched as Sam slept soundlessly near the mini fridge. Being typical brothers, they had fought over what they were to get for lunch, who would get the bathroom first - apparently, Dean always left the bathroom in shambles or whatever the younger brother had whined about, and who would get to sleep on the only patch of carpet. Dean had only won by threatening to steal the younger man's phone.
     He scratched his back irritably.
     Damn, this carpet is a pain in the ass, Dean thought angrily.
     Leaning up against the door for support, he relaxed slightly and closed his eyes. Inside the room, he heard the soft rustle as Beclyn moved around. Dean had to suppress a smirk as a thought hit him. Maybe, even in the slightest chance, she was getting changed. The possibility stirred him. Dean decided that it would only be in the best thought to check on her. That was his excuse if he walked in on her naked anyway. Giving an inaudible soft tap on the door, he turned the doorknob quickly and entered the bedroom. His excited expression morphed to confusion when he didn't see anyone. Walking to the bed, he found the covers neatly tucked into the frame. No one had slept there in days.
     "Beclyn?" Dean called, pacing to the other side of the room. A wide window sat open, the curtains rustling loudly as they billowed in the breeze. It was then that Dean realized what had happened.
     She had escaped.

- - -