Double Identity by Elizabeth Shawnessey

8/3/2019 Double Identity by Elizabeth Shawnessey

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SUPERNATURAL DOUBLE IDENTITY

ELIZABETH SHAWNESSEY 1


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HISTORIANS NOTE:

This novel takes place between the season one episodes of Shadow and Hell House.

AUTHORS NOTE:

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of theauthors imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be considered real. Any

resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely

coincidental. Additionally, the characters of Sam, Dean, and John Winchester belong wholly

to creator Eric Kripke, his writing staff, the actors who portray them, and the CW Network.


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Copyright Elizabeth Shawnessey, 2011


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PROLOGUE

Green River Post OfficeGreen River, ArkansasTuesday, June 20, 2006

4:34 PM

General Manager Michael Kissling had been having a really good day, as Tuesdays aroundthe Green River Post Office commonly were. It was the day of the week where most peoplecame in only to buy stamps or to have a chat while finding out how much it would be toship a package to family members in the larger cities like Little Rock or Jonesboro. It wasthe kind of day where Michael was light on his feet and didnt have to watch the clock toknow when it was time for lunch or time to leavesince the day just seemed to sail by.

As half past four came and went, Michael took the keys to the front door and turnedthem twice, a habit he had accumulated since he had first started working there back in highschool as a precaution to make sure the building was shut down for the day. Pocketing the jangling metal, he turned on heel from the dim, gray-and-white interior of the office andlooked out at the sunny, warm afternoon that was cascading down on Green River. Theroad outside, the aptly named Main Street that lead in and out of town, was wafting withheat as the sun beat unfiltered rays onto the blacktop. On his side, two buildings lined Main:Mel Fitchum Library and Fentons Pool and Barthe latter of which he would bereturning to later that night. Across the street sat the general store, a real estate office, andthe very small Green River Police Department, which was essentially a one-room buildinghousing four officers. The road was otherwise bare except for one brown-and-white trucksitting still in the parking lot outside of the real estate office, its grill facing Michael, and itsdriver nowhere to be seen.

New resident, Ill bet!Michael thought, grinning to himself at the thought of a newface around town. Sometimes seeing the same people everyday that he had seen for the pastthirty-five years of his life got a little old, especially in a town where everyone kneweverybodys business. Sometimes the people that came into the post office for a shippingestimate were a pair of the towns oldest gossips, Mrs. Brody and Mrs. Fitch, who liked toshare a little too much information about the divorce of the Parkers or the seedytransactions Mr. Cooper was dealing in the back alley of his general storedespite the factthat there was no back alley, just a vast, empty space. Both women were, of course, niceenough to accept a grin in recognition of their claims and not expect any kind of feedback,but that was probably because that was all they ever got in return. Anything that was saidaloud to either woman was bound to be repeated.

But that was how a small town such as Green River worked. With barely over twohundred people inside the city limits, and without a movie theatre at arms length, thepeople had to make their own entertainment. Strange claims, juicy divorces, and other

squabble wasAll My Childrenbrought to life, and Michael didnt mind it in the slightestaslong as nothing about him was being spread, not that there was anything to say in the firstplace.

Taking out his keys and reminding himself to ask Mrs. Brody if a house was beingbought around townshe was the woman to ask seeing as her husband owned the realestate office across the streetwhen she came in to ship a care package to her daughterLaurie at University of Arkansas, Michael headed to his gold, 99 Honda Civic parked in thelot between the post office and the library. It was the only one sitting in the thick, two semitrucks-width dirt lot, and almost blended into the ground below it. When Michael had first


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bought the car from the auto dealer in Searcy, he hadnt liked the paint job nor the sand-colored interior, but now he understood why his wife, Susan, had chosen it. Green River,which he hadnt realized until that day was neither green nor near a river, seemed to kick upmore dust than any other place he had been to, though that was a small list. Susans blackCRV was often covered with dirt and had to be cleaned at least once a week, so owning agold car had been beneficial to him seeing as he didnt want to spend his weekends cleaning

off the thick layer of grime that accumulated during the workday.Hey, Mike! a voice called behind him, causing him to whip around just as he was

about to put the key into the car door. Long time, no see, buddy!Shielding his eyes against the bright sun, Michael could see Fenton Banks, the

owner of the pool hall on the other side of the library, with the customary towel swung overhis shoulder. It seemed to be there no matter what the occasion, either tending bar or not,and appeared out of place whenever it was missing from its perch. Even now, as he headedtoward Michaels Civic with his sandy blonde hair soaking up the rays, his hands grabbedabsently for the white cloth as if getting ready to clean a glass while talking.

Only since last week, Fent, Michael said, reaching out and shaking the mans freehand. Ill be there tonight, though. Dont think Im skipping out on you now!

It wouldnt be the first time, Fenton joked with a sly wink. I know how frivolous

you can be when it comes to nights out with the guys. I know youd rather spend your timeat that strip joint over in Jacksonville.

Michael laughed, knowing full well that Fenton was poking fun at him. In the pastten years since the Tuesday night meet-up between the two of them and a couple of guysthey had gone to high school with, Michael had always arrived early and had never skippeda session, regardless if he was sick or out of town. He always made sure to make it. It hadearned him nicknames over the years such as Mr. Reliable or Old Faithful, but he didn tmind it. In fact, Michael prided himself of his timeliness and attendance, something that hadalways been pointed out and used as an example both in school and in the workplace.

Whats on the agenda tonight, Fent? Same old, same old? Michael grinned.Well, since the wives would have our heads if we did anything different, yeah,

Fenton chuckled, elbowing Michael in the ribs. Though I think we should switch it up and

have a shot of whiskey instead of our everyday brews.Oh, I dont know! Michaelsaid, putting on a voice of false astonishment. I think

Susan would put me in the doghouse for such a radical idea!Yeah, yeah, Fenton laughed, clapping his hand on Michaels shoulder. Speaking

of, how is that old broad? Havent talked to her since shoot, I cant even remember. Sheand the kids still doing alright?

Better than, Michael smiled. Susans still working on the novel shes been writingsince Christmas and the kids are bouncing off the walls in excitement. I told them Id takethem to the lake this weekend and they havent calmed down since. Im pretty sure Susan isgoing to punish me for that one later on. Probably cant concentrate with all the noisetheyve been making since schools been out, made worse by the anticipation of staying up atLake Conway. Michael paused for a minute to laugh at the idea of his eight-year-old twins,Anna and Harold, bothering Susan with questions about camping. What about you andyours?

Same as always, Mike, same as always. Millys still pregnant and her mom stillwont leave, Fenton grinned. Im about ready to kick that old bat out of my house.

Dont blame you, Michael grimaced, remembering how loud and demandingGertrude Wells, Fentons mother-in-law, could be. The last time he had encountered herhad been at a barbeque at a friends house, and the old woman had been insisting that thechef was hell-bent on giving her salmonella. Shaking off the memory, Michael cleared his


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throat, then turned to put his key into the door of his car, certain hed hear more of Mrs.Wells antics later tonight. Anyway, I better get a move on and relieve Susan of herwarden duties so she can get dinner on the table. See you tonight, alright?

Alright, alright, Fenton nodded, shaking Michaels hand again before turning toleave. Dont be late!

Smiling to himself, Michael sank into the drivers side of his Civic and started the

engine, watching as Fenton returned to his bar with the towel back on his shoulder. Pullingout of the alley, he shot a glance at the brown-and-white truck to see if the driver wasinside, but saw that the cab was still empty.

Oh, well. Guess Ill find out tomorrow morning.

After a quiet dinner with the kids occasional questions about camping, a short chat with hiswife about her day while he helped her clean up, and a quick change of clothes, Michaelstared at his reflection in the mirror to make sure none of the Hamburger Helper Susan hadcooked for dinner had gotten on his face. All that stared back at him was his olive skin, darkeyes and hair, and the distinct Italian nose he had inherited from his mother.

Smoothing his hair back with his hands for a second time, Michael nodded to hisreflection and headed back into the living room. By that time, night was on the horizon and

the kids had been settled down in front of a DVD ofSpongebob Squarepantsplaying on loop.Kissing Susan on the cheek then going to hug his distracted twins, Michael bid

them all goodnightwith the promise to return at a reasonable hourbefore making hisway out the front door and locking it twice.

The air was crisp and clean for a late-June night, and breeze swayed the trees asMichael made his way down the twisted walk of his brick-front, ranch-style home to hisCivic parked in the driveway. Though he knew a night of drinking and pool was ahead, healways made sure that he was under the legal limit before making his way back home.Despite the fact that the police department was small, and despite the fact that Michael wasfriends with all four officers, he didnt want to take the chance of being sighted with a DUI.Things like that spread quickly, and would probably affect his job. The manager of the postoffice before him had been arrested for the same thing, which was how Michael had comeinto the position in the first place.

Pulling out of his driveway, Michael looked in the rearview mirror for oncomingtraffic before switching gears into drive. As he looked at the dark, empty street with onlytwo houses aside from his own on both sides, he saw an odd thing: the truck that had beensitting outside of Mr. Brodys real estate office was now parked beside the front gate of theWilliams home, the front of it facing the same direction as the Civic. Mr. and Mrs.Williams, from what Michael had learned in the ten years he had been their neighbor, hadhardly any relatives that they were on good terms with, so it was unlikely that the truckbelonged to someone they knew.

Waiting a long minute as his car idled in the middle of the rural road, Michaels eyesstrained to see into the dark cab of the old Ford, only taking in the red lights of his bumperreflecting off the windshield. Swallowing hard and shrugging, he lifted his foot off the brakeand headed back into town, toward Fentons bar.

Black blurs sailed past his window as he drove. A little way down, Michael sent afurtive glance into the rearview mirror to ensure that he was the only one on the darkstretch of highway. Though the reflection test came up blank, he couldnt shake the feelingthat he was being followed. That truck showing up twice in the same day couldnt becoincidence.

Rolling his shoulders back in an attempt to appease himself, Michael reachedforward to tap on the radio then continued to sink comfortably into the cloth seats of his


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car. As the quiet strains of Coldplay hovered over the road noise, he became eased that thiswas all part of his imagination.

Ten miles passed before he saw something that changed his mind.Fifteen minutes outside of Main Street, Michael saw the blinding headlights of a

large vehicle in his drivers side mirror. Speeding up and tuning out the sounds of Shiver,Michael attempted to put enough distance between him and the driver so that the lights

would reflect off of the ground rather than straight into his eyes. Ultimately, all the largebeastwhich was either a truck or SUV, he couldnt be suredid was follow closer behind.Though he couldnt see the car, he could only imagine it to be within an inch of his bumper,causing him to want to floor the Civic. In a moment of rash decision-making, he did. TheCivic buckled under the horsepower, having never gone over sixty miles per hour, beforequickening its pace.

As the odometer sailed past seventy and eighty, Michael bit his lip and checked therearview mirror again. The bigger automobile was now a safe distance behind, havingslowed down to what he would guess was forty, giving him the reassurance he needed totake his foot off the gas and let the Civic coast.

When he was almost back in town, Michael let out the deep breath he hadntrealized he had been holding and took in another. Turning onto Main Street, he could see

Fentons in the distance, but the squeal of tires took over his attention. Looking in therearview mirror, the truck he had seen outside of the real estate office and outside of theWilliams, which he now saw to be the same one trying to run him off the road, camescreeching around the corner before barreling toward Michaels Civic.

There was a sharp crunch of metal as the trucks grillhit the Civics trunk, and bothcars suddenly spun out of control. As Michael tried to keep his car from fishtailing into Mr.Coopers general store, he half-wondered why the truck was after him. In the past week, theonly surly person he had dealt with had been a customer of Fentons he had met during hismorning break on Thursday, who had been refused alcohol before 10 A.Mbut that wasbecause it was state law. This guy, though driving erratically, didnt seem to be the manwho had stumbled into the post office smelling strongly of bourbon. He doubted adisgruntled alcoholic would take such severe steps to get back at the man who had escorted

him out of a building in the most genial way he could. This was something else.As the car finally came to a rough stop, Michael stayed frozen behind the wheel,

unsure what to do. He could continue driving and hope the truck would stay where it waslong enough for him to lose it, or he could get out and confront the man.

Deciding on the latter, Michael pushed open the door with a shaky hand andswallowed hard as he got to his feet, not bothering to turn off the engine. The man in thetruck, it seemed, had come to the same conclusion, and Michael watched as the door to thecab swung open and a pair of cowboy boots hit the pavement below. There was a jingle ofmetal, like spurs, followed by the crunching of feet on the uneven asphalt, reminding him ofone of those Westerns his son loved to watch on weekend nights.

Looking up, he saw a dark face hidden in shadow from the one overhead streetlamp.As the man came closer, Michael suddenly felt uncertain of his decision to confront thedriver, and as the stranger crept toward the headlights of his truck, dread washed over him.The man that stood there, dressed in the cowboy boots, acid-wash jeans, and the button-upshirt of a rodeo cowboy, was wearing his face. All too familiar brown hair, brown eyes, largenose, and thin lips stared back at him as if he were looking in a distorted mirror.

Jumping back as his cowboy double came near, Michael put the hood of his carbetween them, the headlights of his Civic brightly illuminating the slacks and polo shirt hewas wearing.

Who who are you? Michael stammered, earning him a mischievous grin from


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his clone. Dont come any closer!Without a word, Michaels look-alike sank into the drivers side of his Civic and

slammed the door shut. As the brake lights flashed from red to white while the doublechanged gears and revved the engine, Michael stood stunned and rooted to the spot as theheadlights of his car illuminated the driver inside. On his own face, he saw the twisted smileof his double before the car peeled away from where it had stopped right outside of Coopers

General and plowed him to the ground.The last thing Michael remembered was the quiet strains of Coldplay carrying

through the windows of his car as the tires thumped mercilessly over his chest.Your skin, oh yeah, your skin and bones


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ONE

The Kissling ResidenceGreen River, Arkansas

Wednesday, June 21, 20065:18 PM

Sam Winchester sat in the passengers seat of his older brother, Deans, 1967 ChevroletImpala as it sped down a country road, a copy of the Log Cabin Democratthe neighboringtowns newspaperfolded in his hands to display the article he had been reading for hourson end since discovering one similar to it in the Louisville Courier-Journal. It was an articledetailing the reason why they were here, in a small town somewhere near the middle ofArkansas that didnt seem to have much going for it aside from the wild story that had beenplastered across every newspaper, paranormal blog, and even the odd Christian website.

He had first found it while sitting in a diner back in Louisville, Kentucky afterworking a job there involving the ghost of a witch who had been attacking people distantlyrelated to a handful of women that had hung her seventy years ago. The adrenaline, hesupposed, hadnt worn off from the previous nights hunt and was still pumping, causingSam to want to get to their next case as soon as possible. Thankfully, he had found this onethe minute he had opened the front page of the Courier-Journaland hadnt needed to talk hisbrother into working this one like he had with their job back in Louisville.

Sam and Dean Winchester werent normal guys. In fact, they were as far fromnormal as possible. Their dad, John, had raised them to be Huntersa group of people whoput their lives on the line to defend the rest of the world from the supernaturaland hadleft them on Halloween night to pick up where he had left off while he went chasing afterthe demon that had killed their mother, Mary, when Sam was six months old. The nightDean had shown up in Sams living room to alert him that their father had left his post, Samhad been disgruntled and begrudging, not really wanting to leave the comfort of theapartment he shared with his girlfriend, Jessica, to rejoin a life he had thought he had left in

the dust. Apparently his first instincts about staying where he was had been the right one,seeing as when he returned from hunting a Woman in White on an abandoned stretch ofroad in Jericho, California, Sam walked into the place he and Jess had called their own onlyto find her deadpinned to the ceiling above his bed in the same way his mother had diedtwenty-two years ago to the day. Without anywhere else to go, Sam had rejoined Dean onthe path their father had laid out for them, but the transition hadnt been easy.

From almost day one, Sam had had trouble sleeping, and rightfully so. Not only wasthe death of Jessica weighing heavily on his mind, but it seemed as if he brain didnt wanthim to forget it by replaying her final moments over and over again every time he shut hiseyes to go to sleep, resulting in a snappy, sleepless Sam that took his frustration out onDean whenever possible. As time went on, the nightmares of Jess began to lessen, only to bereplaced with upsetting visions of people about to die. At first, they had come to him as

flashes of images, but soon developed into full-blown dreams about people he had never metin a place he had never been. Though they didnt happen all that often, Sam still had a hardtime adjusting to his new-found ability when they did. The headaches that accompaniedthem were something fierce, something that not even a bottle of aspirin could kill.

Clearing his throat, Sam turned back to the article he had nearly memorized by nowand let his eyes scan it once more:

MIRACULOUS SURVIVAL IN SMALL TOWN


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GREEN RIVER, ARK.Its said that good things come insmall packages, and some miracles come in small favors, butit seems as if both are true for Michael Kissling, 35, of GreenRiver, Arkansas, who survived being run down by his owncar on Tuesday evening.

Kissling, who manages the post office on Main Street,

told reporters Tuesday night that he was standing outside ofhis 1999 Honda Civic, helping a stray rabbit that he wasafraid he had run over cross the street, when his car suddenlylurched forward and rolled over him.

I dont know what happened, said Kissling. Oneminute, I was standing there trying to pick up one of thosehares when I heard the engine to my car rev. The nextsecond, I was on the ground staring up at the underbelly.The only thing I could think about at the time were my wifeand children and not seeing them again. It was terrifying.

According to Kissling, the car only rolled a few feetbefore he was able to get up and chase it down, narrowly

avoiding the front of the Green River Police Department.When asked for a statement on what they saw, GRPDchoose not to reply.

Still, the father of two couldnt be any more gratefulthan he already is, attributing his survival to The ManUpstairs for giving him a second chance.

Letting out a deep breath, Sam set the newspaper down once again and bit his lip.Cases like this always made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. The articleseemed normal enough, since it was perfectly plausible that the car hadrolled forward on itsown due to some kind of brake malfunction, but something about it seemed odd.

In his and Deans line of work, they had run into anything and everythingwerewolves, skinwalkers, spirits, and demonsand most of the cases they found started outsounding innocent enough. A majority of it, Sam had figured long ago, was due to the factthat three-fourths of journalists and bloggers edited out the strange-sounding details tokeep from scaring their readers. However, there was the remaining one-fourth who kept allthe information in and also sounded like a lunatic, so sorting through those claims wereequally difficult. But he and his brother had been doing this job for a long time, and whensomething sounded weird, it usually was, which was probably why Dean had agreed to thiscase at once.

For the past month, Sam and Dean had been ordered to stay on lockdown in a motelroom in Fort Wayne, Indiana ever since coming into contact with a team of demons whowere intent on killing their father. At first, Sam had agreed to the hole-up, thinking itwouldnt last more than a few days and spent that time catching up on very normal newsstories. After a week had passed without a call back from Dad, who Sam knew was also inhiding, he had begun to grow restless. He had taken a break from school to hunt, and if hewasnt doing that, there was no reason he shouldnt return to Stanford and pick up where heleft off by taking summer classes. Unfortunately, when he presented that idea to Dean, hisbrother had exploded, the words deserter and selfish coming out of his mouth a fewdozen times. It was almost enough to sent Sam packing, but he thought better of it andstayed quiet.

Eventually, the restlessness had come back, sending him into late-night drives and


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early mornings in diners, before finally stumbling on a workable case in Louisville,Kentucky. Dean hadnt wanted to go, that much had been obvious, but once he saw that theWaverly Hill Sanitarium had been up to no good, his brother had been on board, evenadmitting at the end that Sam had been right all along.

Still, that didnt change the fact that Sam missed the normalcy of Stanford morethan he had missed hunting during the month on lockdown. There would be times where he

felt the need to go back to school to have some boring, intellectual debate about poly-centriccultural norms just to shake the swallowing feeling that hunting was becoming his one andonly future.

Sighing, Sam kicked the thought away and looked out the window. His ownreflection stared back at him in the bright glass of the Impala, though distorted to make hislong, thin face topped with tousled ash brown hair and punctuated with emerald-coloredeyes, an up-turned nose, and full lips seem gaunt and pale.

Hey, you alright? Deans deep voice asked to his left, causing Sam to snap out ofexamining his reflection to look at his brother.

Im fine, Sam lied, hoping that Dean was only asking due to the quiet that filledthe car aside from the strains of Dazed and Confused. At his brothers demanding look,Sam sighed and rolled his eyes before indicating the newspaper in his lap. Just trying to

figure this out before we get there.Always working, Sammy, Dean nodded.Figuring his brother had accepted his less-than-truthful answer, Sam gave Dean a

small grin before turning to look at him. Deans profile was different than Sams in manyways: where Sams nose sloped upward, his brothers was straight with a bump at the bridgefrom when he had broken it on a hunt during their teenage years; where Sams eyes weredeep-set, Deans were large and almond-shaped; and where Sam had features similar to theirfathers, Dean resembled their motheror as much as Sam could see in pictures, anyway.

It was their difference in looks that allowed them to hunt the way they did,pretending to be FBI agents or newspaper reporters, without anyone giving them a secondglance. Though Sam and Dean were brothers, it was only with the finest eye that someonecould spot the likeness between them, and Sam liked it that way. Their difference in

appearance was equal to their difference in personalitieswhich were also polar opposites.Dean was loud and confident where as Sam was quiet and awkward. Whether it was anolder brother, younger brother thing, he didnt know. What he did know was that it workedfor them, both as people and as Hunters, and they were about to put that dynamic to gooduse.

As the Impala slowed to a stop outside of a brick-front, ranch-style home, Dean letthe car idle as the pair stared up at the house. The house itself was long and flat, with astone walkway that twisted and turned in two directions: one that lead to a driveway wherea black CRV was parked while another winded its way directly toward where they werestalling. Trees lined the yard, along with a low fence, as if to let the neighbors spaced outaround them know where the properly line was drawn. Green grass cloaked the rest of theenclosure, moist as if just watered down, with one of those old-fashioned sprinklers fastenedto a hose near an old oak tree with a tire swing hanging from its branches.

So this is where Miracle Man lives? Dean asked, killing the engine and poppingopen the door.

Thats what it says, Sam answered, pulling a scribbled note from his pocket tocheck the address against the numbers tacked to the front of the house. 6536 Grouse Run.

Hmm, was all Dean said, getting to his feet and stretching. Sam did the same, onlyhis stretching was accompanied by the satisfying crack of his knees unbending from his longlegs having been folded in an uncomfortable position for the greater part of eight hours. At


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the sound, Dean smirked. Nice. Old man.Shut up.So, what are we today? Dean asked, glancing down at his jeans and t -shirt as if to

make sure he wasnt wearing anything that would betray their cover. Obviously not FBI.Reporters from News of the Weirdmagazine.Does that even exist? Dean laughed.

No, but I doubt they know that, Sam grinned, despite his mood. When you werein the bathroom at that rest stop back in Bradford, I called them and told them we weredoing a piece on Michael Kisslings miraculous survival. They jumped at the chance to talkto us.

Thats my boy, Dean said as he rounded the front of the car and clapped hisbrother on the shoulder. Cmon. Lets go talk to these poor saps before the sun goes down.

Nodding, Sam followed Dean up the twisting walk to the front door and waitedwhile his brother pounded his fist against the solid wood. It was a little rough, but Deandidnt generally do things gently. After a few minutes, a short, plump woman, about mid-thirties, with mousey brown hair and gray eyes appeared in the threshold, looking as if shehad just woken up. Hi!

Uh, hi, Dean said, visibly surprised at the womans enthusiasm by the way he

leaned back. Are you Susan Kissling?Thats me, she replied, running a hand through her hair as if that would help the

frazzled state it was in. Excuse my appearance. Michael said we would have time to um,never mind. Blush reddened her cheeks as she threw an embarrassed glance at the ground.Anyway, come in. Ill get my husband and get cleaned up. Do you want anything to drink?

No, thank you, Sam answered before his brother could suggest a couple of beers.Alright! Susan said, freeing up the doorway for Sam and Dean to pass her.When they were inside, Sams eyes began to scan the interior of the house. The

walls in the hallway and two rooms on either side were the white color of an undecoratedliving space, with nothing hanging off of them except a framed painting of a fruit basketabove the couch in the sitting area to the right. The room to the left was nearly empty asidefrom a golden chest and a couple of laid-out yoga mats. Susan pointed to the former andlead them to the sofa. Wait right here. Ill be back in two shakes.

At that, the woman turned on heel and disappeared back into the hallway. When sheseemed out of earshot, Dean leaned forward and looked at Sam. That womans excitable.

Yeah, tell me about it, Sam agreed, letting his eyes browse the interior of what hewould guess to be the living room, which was just as empty as the rest of the house exceptfor a television in the corner with a DVD rack leaning against the wall beside it. Nothingstrange or suspicious stuck out to him.

A minute later, Susan returned, her hair up in a ponytail and her pajamas switchedout for a tracksuit, with who could only be Michael Kissling attached to her arm. Theirhands were intertwined so tightly it was obvious to Sam that Michael was feeling thepressure of her grip by the pained look on his face. Attempting to shake her off, Michaelpried himself loose using his other hand and flexed his fingers once they were free.

Honey, these are the men from World Weekly Newsmagazine! Susan said, her voicesqueaking in excitement.

Uh, its News of the Weirdmagazine, Sam corrected her with a small smile, thenstood up to offer his hand to Michael. I hope were not here at a bad time. We can comeback at a more decent hour if

Nonsense, Michael grinned, waving off Sams offer before accepting his handshake.Im glad youre here.

Oh, yeah? Dean frowned. Whys that?


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Spread the word and all that. Ive always wanted to be famous for something!Well, nows your chance, Dean mumbled sarcastically, leaning forward to retrieve

the small notebook he had placed in his back pocket somewhere between here and Bradfordwhile Sam pulled out the EMF meter that could easily be construed as a beat-up taperecorder. So, Mr. Kissling

Michael.

Michael, Dean smirked. In your own words: what happened last night?In the pause between Deans question and Michaels answer, Sam noticed that Susan

had leaned against the wall beside the television and crossed her arms over her chest, herexpression eager to hear the story for what he was sure to be close to the hundredth time.Michael shot her a sly smile before taking a deep breath and beginning:

Well, it was just like every other night. I was driving to Fentons bar on Main andsaw a rabbit hopping across the street. I didn t think anything of it from the distance andthought it would make it by the time I got to where it was, but it suddenly stopped hoppingin the middle of the road and I was sure I had hit it. So, I pulled over to the side of the roadand saw that it was gone. When I looked down, it was at my feet, and I bent to pick it up.Thats when the car started rolling forward and ran me down.

Would you say it hit you hard? Sam asked, raising an eyebrow as he looked the

man up and down. Dark brown hair, hooded brown eyes, and a thin frame stared back athim without a bruise or a scratch. You seem alright.

I told him to go to the hospital! Susan piped up, pushing herself away from thewall and biting back an excited smile. But he just wouldnt have it. He came home, his car awreck, and wouldnt tell me what happened. Just ignored me and went straight to bed.

Your car was wrecked? That wouldnt happen to be the black one out in thedriveway, would it? Dean asked, though Sam knew Dean knew different.

No,no. That ones mine, Susan grinned. He drives a Civic.How did your car get wrecked if it rolled forward on its own?Sam recognized the skepticism in Deans tone and cleared his throat before his

brother could ask any more questions that might scare away the Kisslings. At the lapse inconversation, Michael smiled and shook his head. On my way back from the ordeal, I wentto help our neighbor across the street, Mr. Keiser, with his trashcans. Unfortunately, it wastoo dark to see and I accidentally backed my car up into them. Safe to say, I wont behelping that guy anytime soon.

Good Samaritan, Dean murmured, causing Sam to smirk to himself.Anything else I can answer for you, gentlemen? Michael asked, his voice suddenly

rough. If not, my wife and I would like some time alone, if you dont mind.Taking the mans raunchy wink as a signal that their interview was over, Sam

grabbed his EMF meter and shut it off while Dean shoved his notebook back into hispocket. Shaking Michaels hand again, Sam held back and let his brother lead the way out ofthe house and down the walkway. When the door behind them was shut, the two remainedsilent until they were in the privacy of the Impala.

Is it just me or was something up with that guy? Dean asked, shooting Sam a lookas he reached forward to stick the keys in the ignition.

Not just you, Sam sighed. Something was definitely up. A lot of the things he saiddidnt make sense. Either hes making the whole thing up or

Orhes hiding something, Dean finished for him with a nod before starting the car.At the roar of the engine, Dean paused for a minute to listen to the growl before snappingback into the conversation. I think the first step is to find that car and see if theres anykind of mechanical failuresyknow, something that would cause it to act up.

Howre we gonna do that? We dont even know if he put it in the shop.


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He did, Dean said, putting the Impala into drive and making a U-turn to head backinto town using the Kisslings driveway. If the guy wants credibility, hes gonna put his carin the shop. If hes seen driving that thing around after it ran him over, it would kill therealism of his story and make it look like he made the whole thing up.

Taking his word for it, Sam nodded and leaned back in his seat while Dean drove.After a few minutes of watching the spaced-out farm houses pass by as blurs in the window,

a thought suddenly struck him. How do you know where he took it?Town this small cant have many body shops. Im betting he took it to the one we

passed by near the Interstate.Alright, Sam frowned, returning his gaze to the road, watching as the green and

brown grass mixed together with the blue horizon and occasional white house. Thelandscape reminded him of Lawrence, Kansas from the one time he had been. On the drivein, it had been nothing but flat land and abandoned barns, but he had liked the spacioussurroundings. It had given him a temporary feeling of home, like he was returning to aplace that held a significance to him. That feeling, though, was quickly wiped away themoment he had walked inside his familys old house and been attacked by the poltergeistliving there. Since then, he hadnt been fond of empty plains, especially since wherever hewent that contained them meant something bad was either happening or about to happen

and Sam had a feeling this time wouldnt be any different.Looking over at Dean, Sam saw that his brother was driving on autopilot, his brain

clearly elsewhere. Deciding not to disturb him, Sam relaxed farther into his seat and staredout the window.


15/45



TWO

Costa Automotive RepairGreen River, Arkansas


Yep, got er in this morn, repair shop owner Jim Costa answered as he hunched over th efront desk near the middle of a steel-gray room with auto parts covering the walls. The manwas at least fifty, with a prominent beer gut and a trucker cap covering what was sure to bea bald head. His smoke-colored eyes were the same shade as the painted walls, which werethe same color as some of the things tacked to it.

When he had first walked into the office, Dean had been surprised to see the place.The floors werent clean, the glass door was hardly see-through, and the pictures hangingnear a door to a separate room could use some dusting, but Dean had to admit, the spacehad kind of a tranquility to it. The sound of metal-on-metal grinding outside, the hum of thehydraulics lifting a vehicle off the ground, and even the odd shout of Olly, get your assback to work! coming through the door calmed him down.

When he was younger, in the days before he knew what Dad really did for a living,Dean had always imagined himself working with cars. He saw the way Dad handled theImpala and the way he could fix it using a set of tools and his bare hands, and to Dean, thatwas the epitome of a happy career. Before long, he had started learning how to tune up acarburetor and change the oil, the dream of becoming a mechanic when he grew upbecoming all the more real to him. Unfortunately, the dream didnt last. By the time he wastwelve, Dean had learned the truth about his future, the pre-destined plan that he was totake up the family business, him and Sammy, before and after their Dad was gone.Thankfully, in the time between hunts, Dean got to practice at least some of what he hadlearned from Dadthough most of what he knew about fixing cars came from automagazines and books. It was what calmed him down and kept his head screwed on straight,

which he especially needed now that Dad was missing in action and hadnt called in at leasta month to let his sons know where he was. Dean worried, but hunting and the Impala kepthim grounded. Without those two things, he didnt know where he would be.

Whatd yew say yew needed ta see er fir, gin? Jim asked, his heavy Southernaccent slurring his words in a way that was almost incomprehensible.

Were with the Honda manufacturing plant, Dean lied, hoping that the manwouldnt try to ask for ID since neither he nor Sam, who was staring at a hubcap tacked to awall near the door, had any to show. The two had decided that they wouldnt try to usetheir magazine cover to get in to see the Civic, seeing as both of them doubted it would gainthem access. They had also decided that Sam would remain silent and out of the way, sincebetween the two Winchester brothers, Sam was the least knowledgeable about carswhichwas pretty much the only thing Sam was clueless aboutand would probably blow their

cover if questions started being asked.Alrigh. Lemme jus check on this here computer an see if shes bin werked on.Dean nodded and waited for the man to bow his head and focus on the monitor in

front of him before shooting a look at Sam. His brother raised his eyebrows in the questionofAre we good?, in which Dean smiled in return.

The people in Green River didnt seem too concerned with checking foridentification, which Dean figured would work in their favor since he didnt see a copy shoparound town to make a few fake badges if need be. The Kisslings hadnt bothered to keepthe name of the magazine Sam and Dean claimed to work for straight, nor did they bother


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to ask anything else involving the article the two reporters were working on. It seemedthe same was true about Jim Costa. The man had taken Deans word for it when he said heworked for Honda without asking for a name or a phone number to double check.

Either these people are really dumb or really trusting.Got er, Jim said, breaking Dean out of his thoughts. Hasnt bin werked on yit.Do you think we can check her out? Dean asked, feeling weird calling a 99 Honda

Civic a her considering he only referred to his 67 Impala in the female sense. At themention of we, Jim raised his eyebrow and scratched his temple. Deciding to cut to thechase, Dean beckoned toward Sam, who was hanging back near the door. That intern overthere. Hes new to the company and, between you and me, a little tooeager to get himself adesk job, if you know what I mean. The quicker hes out of my hair, the better.

I ear yew, Jim smiled, revealing yellowed teeth with one missing on the left side.It took all of Deans willpower not to recoil at the grin, but instead smirked in reply. Illtake yew bolth out back ere in jus a min. Gotta use the John firs.

Nodding, Dean turned and headed toward Sam while Jim disappeared in a roombeside the front desk. As he got closer, Dean could see his brothers brow was furrowed inconfusion. Whats going on?

Nothing. Were good. He just had to hit the head before we head out.

At this, Sam frowned. Something about this town bugs me.Like the fact that they dont seem to ask for ID? Dean supplied quietly, shooting a

glance over his shoulder in case Jim had reemerged.Not just that, though that is a big part of it, Sam whispered. I dont know. Its like

theyre too trusting or something. We could probably stroll into a bank right now and claimto be millionaires and theyd fork over some dough without any questions asked.

Maybe its that small town thing. You know, everybody knows everybody, sotheyve gotten used to not checking into things, Dean frowned as Jim appeared in thedoorway he had disappeared from. Look, lets just take one thing at a time, alright? Checkup on the car, see if theres anything wrong with it, thenwonder if small-towners are crazy.

Sighing, Sam nodded. Yeah, alright.Yew boys ready? Jim asked as he finished buttoning the shirt he had been stuffing

back into the front of his two-sizes-too-small pants. The brothers nodded in reply, earningthem another yellow, toothless grin. Wail, cmon thin.

Leading the way, Dean followed Jim past the front desk and out a door to the back.Bright orange sunlight seared Deans eyes for a minute from the difference between thedark office and waning light of day, and he stopped to blink a couple of times beforecontinuing toward a gold sedan parked in the middle of what looked like a automotivegraveyard. To his right, two vehicles were up on hydraulic lifts as two men worked beneatheach one, while the entire left half of the lot was covered with dusted-over, rusted cars,some underneath tarps while most were exposed to the elements.

Thiss er, Jim said, stopping beside the gold Civic. Don know what ta tell yewboys cept the guy tha brung er in said the ol girl ran im down. Jus tol me ta repair erand let er go. Easy nough werk seein as ony the cabooses bashed in.

Deans eyes fell on the back of the car a few feet in front of him. Sure enough, thetop of the trunk was scratched and dented, as if something had hit it from behind. Steppingcloser, Dean peered at the chipped paint and indentations heading toward the back window,stopping only an inch short of shattering the glass. The guy say what caused this?

Wail, e came in ere spewing all sortsa infermation tha I wasn much listenin to. Ithink e said somethin bout a trash can, but I can be sure, Jim answered with a slow shakeof his head. Man, I knew tha guy was jus blowin smoke up my ass. Ain no trash cancausin this. Didn get a good look at it till now.


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Before Dean could ask anything else, one of the men working underneath a liftcalled for Jim. Damn. Scuse me a min, gents. Got sum stupid questions ta answer.

As the man turned to leave, Dean waited until he was out of earshot before lookingat his brother. Sam seemed just as fixated on the scratches as he was, nearing the back of thecar and pressing a finger to one of the dents. He had to have been hit from behind. Thesemarks look almost identical to those cars that were wrecked after that racist truck in

Mississippi hit them. Think we have the same deal?No, Dean smirked, rounding to the front of the car as he thought about their ca se

in Mississippi and Cassie. Snapping out of it, Dean cleared his throat. With that thing, itdidnt leave any survivors. Suddenly, Dean stopped just as he was about to open his mouthand make another comment. The front of the car, it seemed, was covered with a brown andred residue, as if someone had attempted to cover up the blood on the grill by tossing dirtonto the sticky liquid and hoping for the best. Kneeling down, Dean reached his handblindly under the car and felt around, not sure what he was looking for until he found it.Something soft and frayed met his fingers as he patted near the underside of the engine.Got something.

Sam headed to his side as Dean removed whatever he had felt, grimacing at what hesaw once it was free: a patch of dark hair with the scalp still attached hung limply from

Deans grasp. Kneeling down so that the front of the car hid his giant frame, Sam took themass from Deans hand before he could drop it in revulsion and gave it a closer look. Idsay Michael Kissling didnt survive.

Then what the hell were we talking to in his living room? Shapeshifter?I dont know, Sam frowned, but we better find out before we go charging in after

the guy. If we go in prepared to take down a shapeshifter and he winds up being somethingelse, then were screwed.

Alright, Dean said, glancing at the patch of hair again. Get rid of that thing, willyou? I doubt Jim the auto repair man will believe our cover if he comes over here and seesyou holding that.

Nodding, Sam stood up and turned his back to the front office before tossing thepatch of hair into the car graveyard. As the blur of black and red sailed deeper into the

rusted skeletons, Dean about faced to peer out at the landscape while Jim made his way backto them. Yew two admirin my yard?

Something like that, Dean replied, looking down at Jim before nudging Sam withhis elbow. Anyway, I think were done here. If we need anything else, well come back.

Thank you for your time, Sam said cordially, causing Dean to want to roll hiseyes.

Alrigh. Yew boys need anythin, gimme a call. Were open til the sun goes down.Grinning in response, Dean clapped his hand on Sams shoulder before heading back

through the office and toward the Impala parked by the curb.


18/45



THREE

Main Street MotelGreen River, Arkansas


If Sam didnt know any better, he would have confused the Main Street Motel with a barn,both inside and out. The faade of the building was the red wood of such, while the interiorof their room was papered with cartoon livestock, straw-colored bedspreads, and pitchforkstacked to the walls. Upon first entering their suite, as the desk clerk had called it with achipper smile, he and Dean had stood in the doorway with frowns on both of their faces.Even now, an hour later, the grimace didnt seem to be fading.

Unfortunately, this motel was the only one for the next twenty miles, so both he andhis brother had to ignore the strange dcor for bigger fish, which was what they had beendoing in the gap of time between now and when they had left Costas Auto Repair. Thefinding of the hair and part of the scalp pointed to strange activity, but neither Sam norDean seemed to have any idea what that activity was.

When Sam had first read the story in the newspaper back in Louisville, he had beencertain that they were dealing with either a truck acting on its own or some kind of spirit.As he suggested the case to Dean, he had been surprised at his brothers willingness toinvestigate, thinking that Dean would automatically debunk the claim and look forsomething else. Apparently the vibes the article had given Sam had also struck his olderbrother.

Now that they had a case, however, they were stuck. With no clue as to what hadactuallyhappened the night the Honda Civic had run down Michael Kissling, and with noidea as to whether the man was still alivethough all signs pointed to noSam wassearching the Internet for anything that might be considered similar to what they weredealing with now. Ultimately, though, his search was running shallow. With no reports of

someone being trampled, hit, or plowed down by their own vehicle surfacing on the webexcept for one woman who claimed she saw her ghost driving her car, but she had beencommitted to a mental hospital a year before thatSam was forced into checking for dirt onthe Kisslings. Unfortunately, all he could find was a clean slate.

Glancing up, Sam shot a furrowed look at Dean and let out a sigh. His brother waslying on the bed, his legs sprawled out around the right corner, with Dads journal heldover him. The book was old and overused, with the binding bowing under the weight ofgravity in the middle, and as Dean turned a page from his flat position, one of the leafletsfrom inside fell onto his chest. Before returning it to where it belonged, he glanced at it andshoved whatever it was back into a hidden pocket in the cover.

As if feeling his brothers gaze, Dean propped himself up with one elbow and raisedan eyebrow in a silent, What do you want? before repositioning himself against the

headboard. Shaking his head, Sam looked back down at the computer screen and bit his lip,wondering if his brother was any closer to finding something than he was.Suddenly, as if reading his brothers mind, Dean snapped Dads journal shut and

tossed it toward the end of his bed. ManWhat? Sam frowned.Nothing in there about cars that run people over on their own, unless theyre

possessedcars, which I dont think so. You did an EMF sweep on that thing right? Deandidnt wait for Sams nod to keep going. So I think its high time we talk to the locals.

You just want an excuse to head to that bar down the road, Sam smirked.


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Damn right I do, Sammy. You comin?Taking a minute to consider it, Sam tapped his fingers absently against the base of

his laptop before shaking his head. No. I think you should go solo on this one. Ill try to seeif I can find anything on Michael Kissling.

You can do that in the bar, you know, Dean said with an eye-roll. Im sure theyhave Hi-Fi or whatever the hell its called.

Wi-Fi, Sam grinned. And Im sure they do, too. I just think I should keep at itwithout any distractions is all. You go and do some thinking with your downstairs brain,alright? Call me if you find anything.

Sam Winchester telling me to chat up the ladies, Dean laughed as he shrugged onhis leather jacket. Hell mustve frozen over.

As Dean walked into Fentons Pool and Bar, he hadnt expected it to be so dark or crowded.The inside was dimly lit with the overhead lamps often seen hanging over pool tables, whileneon signs advertising beer brands illuminated the bar section of the large, pentagon-shaped room. Bodies, mainly male, filled the booths and stools between an L-shapedcountertop and empty stage, and while there were a few women, two brunettes and ablonde, sitting randomly along the bar, all three of them looked as if they were only there

because they were waiting for someone to finish their billiards game.The bartender, a tall, thin man with sandy hair and a hunched posture, was toward

the end of the L, talking to the blonde woman sitting alone. Deciding that was as good aplace as any to start asking around, Dean rolled his shoulders back and beelined towardthem. As he approached, he could hear the girls voice over the crash of pool ballsraspywith a thick Australian accenttelling the bartender how she was taking a road trip withher father before heading back to Yale in the fall.

Yale? Thats a pretty impressive school, the bartender said as he wiped down thecounter in anticipation for Dean to take a seat. What brings you to Green River? Whereare you two headed?

Dunno ye. Thinkin California if we get the chance, the blonde answered with agrin. Migh even stop into Losngeles and ave a looksee aroun.

Los Angeles? Big place, Dean said, sitting down beside her. At the expectant lookthe bartender gave, Dean nodded toward him. Corona. As the man disappeared to retr ievehis beer, Dean smiled toward the Australian, who seemed surprised to see him andimmediately looked down at the glass in front of her.

Gday, mate, she muttered before taking a sip of the Coke she was drinking, thewords coming out sounding like Good eye, mate.

So, where are you from? Dean asked as the gray-haired man brought back hisdrink and set it down on a napkin near his hand. No, wait let me guess: Sydney.

Is tha the only Australian city yknow? the girl smirked, turning her attention tohim and pushing a tuft of blonde hair behind her ear. Large, sage-green eyes stared back athim behind wire-framed glasses, the black of the wire matching the thick eyeliner she waswearing. At the pause in conversation, Dean took the opportunity to look her up and down.She was thin with shapely legs and a really nice bust, the brown tanktop she was wearingaccentuating her breasts even more. Her hair fell to her shoulders, curling under at the endsand framing her oval face, while a small silver cross hung loosely from her neck. Somethingabout that piece of jewelry seemed familiar, but he couldnt put his finger on what. Focusingon it, Dean saw that it was a simple silver crucifix with inlaid diamonds. Nothing special orabnormal stuck out to him about the pendant.

Seeming to notice what he was doing, the girl wrapped her arms around her chestand crossed her legs protectively. Clearing his throat, Dean nodded and answered her


20/45



question in an attempt to ease the tension that had accumulated from his staring. Yeah, Idont know many cities in Australia. By the way, Im Dean.

Brenda, she nodded, uncurling herself slowly. An Im from Melbourne.Melbourne? Ive never heard of it, Dean admitted with a grimace. And youre

on a road trip with your dad? You sure picked a weird day to roll into town.Yeah? Whys tha?

Taking a sip of beer, Dean swallowed hard. Nothing, never mind.Oll-righ, Brenda smiled, straight pearly whites as opposed to Jim Costas

yellowed grin. Anyway, thas im over there. See ya, mate.Sliding out of her seat, Brenda headed toward a dark corner of the room and

disappeared. Turning back around, Dean looked down at the beer in his hand, silentlywondering if he had come on too strong for someone not from the States. Shrugging it off,he searched the counter for the bartender and found him talking to a squat, plump man atthe corner of the bar, a look of impatience on his face.

Jerry, I didnt call you here to talk about Michael, the bartender whisperedharshly, though not quiet enough to keep anyone from eavesdropping over the clatter ofbilliards behind them. I told you I dont believe that bullshit hes peddling and thats that.If you want to find someone to sell it to, go talk to Susan. Im sure shell listen to you. She

hasnt shut up about it since her husband came to you last night.I was only doing my job, Fenton. I hadnt sent in a freelance piece to the Democrat

in a month and I was in a pinch. I didnt think people would eat it up. Now, cmon, Jerrysaid, leaning forward on the bar, just give me a quote and then we can talk about what youwanted me here for.

Alright. Heres a quote for you: no comment. Happy? Fenton snapped, throwingthe white towel he had been using to whip off the bar over his shoulder. Now can we talkabout the gambling bets you owe me or should I take it up with someone else?

Okay, okay. Geez. Do you hassle all your customers like this?I save it just for you.Dean watched while Jerry pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and placed a pair

of crisp hundreds in Fentons hand. After the bartender held the bills up to the light tocheck for counterfeits, he nodded at the shorter man before letting him turn to leave.Clearing his throat, Dean waited a few moments before slipping off of his stool and headingtoward Fenton, who now had the look of contempt plastered on his face.

So, you dont believe that Michael Kissling crap, either? Dean asked, leaningagainst the bar in front of the man as he pawed at the towel hanging over his shoulder.Cant say that I blame you.

You dont? Fenton smirked. Youre about the only one in town that doesnt, andthats only because youre an outsider.

What dyou mean?Michael Kissling, family man, right? Ive known him my whole life and hes never

pulled a stunt like this, ever, yet I get the feeling somethings up.What dyou mean? Dean asked again.Glancing around conspiratorially, Fenton cleared his throat as he leaned toward

Dean. I shouldnt be telling you this, but seeing as youre the only one here that believesme He cleared his throat again and sighed. See, usually we have these get-togethers onTuesday night, right? He shows up every night, almost alwaysearly, and doesnt leave untileveryones gone. But last night? Man pulls a story out of his ass so huge that I wouldntbelieve it no matter who told it to me. Mother Teresa could have told me she was hit by herown car helping a bunny cross the road and I wouldnt buy it. We see jackrabbits aroundhere maybe once a year, and on that once a year, Michael happens to get run over by his


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own car? On top of that, he goes straight to Jerry Rhodes instead of heading to thehospital? Something isnt right about that, man. Im telling you right now.

Well, at least someone in this town has their head screwed on straight, Dean smirked tohimself as he downed the last of his beer and placed the empty bottle on the bar. Within asecond, Fenton had replaced it. On the house.

Thanks, Dean nodded. So what do you think your buddys trying to pull,

anyway? Some kind of fifteen-minutes-of-fame thing?At this, the bartender frowned and sighed. Honestly, if you had asked me that last

night, I would have laughed right in your face. Michael wasthe conservative type. He nevercared about fame or fortune. Hell, he managed the Post Office for damn near fifteen years,and hes been working there since high school. Not a glamorous job, but he always seemedto love it. It paid the bills and thats all he needed. This, though, seems completely out ofcharacter. Almost like something possessed him.

Now it was Deans turn to frown. Scratching the back of his neck, he let out a fakechuckle and bit his lip. Yeah, possessed.

Anyway, I have to get back. Stick around, play some pool, maybe catch up to thatAustralian girl before she leaves, Fenton winked, then turned on heel and headed towardan elderly couple who had just walked in. Dean watched as the bartender helped the pair to

a booth not far from the entrance and asked them what they were having. The womanshook her head while the man ordered a ginger ale. Coming right up, Mr. Cooper.

As the girl to Deans right slid off her stool and left with a man emerging from thepool pit, Dean pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and flipped it open to find Samsnumber. Dialing it, he listened to it ring before the inevitable, What?

Geez. This a bad time? Dean asked, rolling his eyes.Sorry.Yeah, well you should be, Dean teased, hoping it would lighten Sammys mood.

At the sound of his brothers smirk on the other end of the line, Dean grinned. Anyway, soI talked to the bartender here. Apparently hes close friends with this Kissling guy. Dudesays he doesnt believe a word coming out of the guys mouth and thinks somethings up. Hesaid the hes acting, and I quote, like something possessed him.

Like a demon? Sam sighed. That wouldnt make any sense. Why would a demonbe peddling the story that they ran themselves over? Theyre not the type to draw attentionto themselves unless they need to.

I dont know. Im just saying, if the guys best friend says hes acting weird: hesacting weird. Even you said that when we left their house, Dean said, pausing a minute towatch the blonde Australian, Brenda, slip out through a back door and furrowed his brow.

Dean?Yeah, Im here. Anyway, I think Im going to get out of here and scope out the

guys house for awhile. Yknow, see whats what. Unless you want to come with.Sam stopped for a minute, the sound of his fingernails drumming against the base of

the computer sounding even over the cracking of pool balls. No. I think Ill keep at it.Something about this is bugging me and I wont be able to sleep until I figure it out.

Thats funny, coming from you, considering you dont sleepperiod, Dean frowned.Yeah, yeah. Whatever.Im serious, Sammy. Get some sleep tonight, alright?Ill try.Thats a lie, but Ill take what I can get, Dean grimaced. Okay. See you later. Without

waiting for his brothers farewell, Dean snapped shut the phone and shoved it back in hispocket. Focusing back on his beer, Dean saw that it was still full and took a huge swig.

Sams sleeplessness bothered him more than he lead on. He understood the visions


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and the nightmares about Jessica, but Dean sometimes had a feeling Sam was using thosethings as excuses when it came to the real problem: Sam didnt want to be hunting. Asmuch as it pained Dean to think about it, he could tell that his little brother had the distantId rather be anywhere but here stare whenever he was in the passengers seat of theImpala. Back in Chicago, Sam had even admitted as much, though he wasnt aware of it,when he claimed that as soon as they were done hunting the demon Dad was after, he was

going to return to Stanford. The words had stung more than Dean had anticipated, but hehad bitten it back for as long as he could before eventually snapping.

Still, Sams statement haunted him: I'm not going to live this life forever. Dean, whenthis is all over, youre going to have to let me go my own way. His brothers words, though hedoubted Sam knew this, were the reasons behind him accepting the hunt in Louisville,Kentucky and now in Green River, Arkansas. If he could appease Sam long enough tochange his mind, maybe they could go back to the way things were before he left for college.It was a long shot, but Dean didnt want to risk losing his brother again. The few years thatSam was away in California were some of the worst years of his life. As soon as Sam wasgone, Dad had become distant as well, eventually going his own way and leaving Dean tohunt alone. Though being by himself never really bothered him before, mainly because healways knew Dad was taking care of Sammy while Dean was away, a swell of dread had

overcome him during every close call he encountered while hunting solo. What if Dad washurt? What if Dad was dead? What if something happened to Sammy? Whos going to take care ofthem if something happens to me?

Draining the last of his beer, Dean slammed the bottle down on the countertopbefore sliding off his stool and heading toward the door.


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FOUR

First Bank of BradfordBradford, Arkansas


The thing that now called itself Michael Kissling stared into his reflection in the rearviewmirror of Susan Kisslings black CRV. It had taken the mans wife, life, and name and wasplanning to ruin it accordingly. The first step of this plan, the one he had been working onsince leaving Anchorage and since earning the man a little publicity, was standing beforehim in the form of the brick edifice of the First Bank of Bradford.

The interior of the floor-to-ceiling windowed building was dark, with the blink of ared light in the corner telling him the security cameras would be watching his every moveas soon as he entered through the back door as sloppily as possible. When the alarms weretripped, he would barrel out of there and speed away, hopefully with as much cash as hecould pocket, and head to the nearest strip club.

Creatures like him hated people like Michael: clean-slate humanitarians who onlycared about the good of the people around them. If it werent for that news story on KTUU,he wouldnt have even thought of picking a small town for his next destination ofdestruction. Usually, he stuck to big cities like Anchorage or Philadelphia, places where thepopulation swelled and the citizens wouldnt notice a few missing bodies, but he decidednow was the time for a little riskand, man, was it a good decision. When those reportersshowed up in his living room, he thought he was done for. He had definitely smelledsomething about them that was different, the taller one especially, but he guessed he hadfooled them well enough into leaving. As soon as they were gone, he had made sure to pathimself on the back before taking Susan up to the bedroom for a little reward.

And he would do it again as soon as he soiled Michaels name a little bit more.Getting out of the car, he headed toward the back of the bank and kicked open the

door. A rapid red flash under a desk told him that the silent alarm was now sending a signalto the authorities, so he had seven minutes to make an entrance, steal some money, andspeed away to the nearest hideout.

Heading behind the tellers stand, he reached for a locked drawer beneath themarble countertop and pulled until it broke free. As it rolled out, the thing calling itselfMichael smiled and pocketed the cash inside, then repeated the action four more times.When his pockets were stuffed and sirens were in the distance, he glanced up at the securitycameras and laughed before turning to leave.

Flashes of red and blue were about a mile down the road as Michael climbedbehind the wheel and tore out of the parking lot. Turning once to the left, then to the right,he stopped in an alley between a small bookstore and a coffee shop and killed the engine.The sirens had stopped now, probably all clustered around the front of the bank, and he sat

waiting for the commotion to die down before backing slowly out of the alley and headingin the opposite direction toward Sensations strip club in Jacksonville. It was about an hourdrive, but it would be worth it by the time he got there. With a pocket full of over athousand dollars, he would make sure to spread his wealth wisely

The brick front of Sensations was illuminated with bright neon lights flashing the wordsGirls multiple times in a line down the building. The entrance door was swung open witha few men crowding the threshold sucking on cigarettes, the loud music from insideblasting into the parking lot.


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Pulling into a stall, he jumped out and headed for the door, slipping the bouncer acrisp twenty as he walked by. The inside of the building was dimly lit with a soft redoverhead light, the only other illumination coming from the lined stage where two beautifulwomen were gyrating against poles, one even hanging upside down to let the guys belowget a good look at her

Hey, big boy, a girl whispered in his ear, taking his arm. You new around here?

Turning to face her, Michael saw that the voice belonged to a short brunettedressed in nothing but a corset, a thong, and a pair of platform shoes. As the music pumpedin his ears, so did his blood, causing him to lose concentration for a minute. Shaking her off,he headed straight to the bar toward the back and kneeled on top of the stool to get a heightadvantage over the rest of the crowd. Drinks are on me tonight, boys!

His proclamation earned him a hearty cheer and Michael wasted no time betweenhis words and his actions as he whipped out a wad of hundreds and slapped them into thebartenders hand. Adjusting himself in the seat and turning his back to the crowd, hewatched as the man behind the counterthe tall, bouncer typebegan pouring drinks foreveryone sitting around him. When he finally stopped at Michael, he grinned widely,displaying an impressive set of three teeth on top and two on the bottom. I reckon yourenew to this town. Whatll you have?

Whatever youll give me, and keep it coming.The man nodded before turning around and grabbing a bottle of Jack Daniels off the

top shelf and pouring it into a shot glass on a napkin. Michael promptly downed the shotand nodded for another. You might want to slow down there, son.

Michael laughed and slapped a twenty on the counter. Not tonight, big boy.Down the hatch. Cmon. I plan on getting plastered before midnight.

You dont have much time, the bartender chuckled, glancing at the cheap watch onhis fat wrist. Only a few minutes now.

How much for the bottle?Son, I cant in good conscience give you this. I have a feelin youre up to no good.You dont even know the half of it, Michael grinned, reaching into his pocket for

another wad of bills. Counting out five hundreds, he placed them on the bar and slid themtoward the man.

Are you sure now?Im sure, Michael smirked. Damn sure.Taking the heap of cash and pocketing it, the bartender left Jack beside his

customers hand and walked away, as if his leaving meant that he was no longer a part ofwhatever the stranger was planning on doing. Screwing off the spout attached to the top,Michael tossed it aside and raised the bottle to his lips.

The whiskey went down hot and satisfying.Taking two deep pulls from the three-quarter full bottle until the liquid was below

the label, Michael began to feel the effects of the liquor. His cheeks felt warm and his lipstingled while the rest of him began to calm.

This is agreat night!he wanted to shout, but didnt. Though his aim was to draw asmuch attention to himself as possible, he didnt want to do so when he was only tipsy.Getting kicked out of the bar after being inside for twenty minutes and still having half abottle of booze to chug down wasnt his goal. Getting plastered, a lap dance, and maybeeven a girl to take home to Susanjust to see the look on her facewas on his agenda forthe night. Any kind of buzz-kill would be unacceptable.

Hey, a quiet voice said behind him. Turning around, Michael could see that theshort brunette was back, this time with a redhead friend. You look a little lonely here byyourself. Why dont you take Jack over to our VIP lounge, and well show you both a good


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time ifyou know what I mean.Cant argue with that, Michael smirked, sliding off of his stool and following the

two girls to an area partitioned off with a beaded curtain. As he passed the screen, he couldsee that it lead to a hallway with doors open on both sides. The girls lead past two openthresholdsboth containing a man and a gyrating, half-naked womanthen stoppedbeside an archway with a large number three over it.

Well? the brunette asked, flattening her back to the door and biting her lip.Which one of us do you want? Or do you want both like the naughty boy that you are?

Michael put on a show of glancing the two women up and down before eventuallypointing to the brunette. Sorry, Red, but youre just not my type.

Looking somewhat hurt by his statement, the redhead turned and left while thebrunette grinned playfully and pulled her playmate into the room by the lapels of his blazer.Michael, in measured steps, let her tug at him as he kicked the door closed. At thesurprised look on her face as it snapped shut, Michael frowned and put on a shamed face.Sorry. Its just habit.

No worries, the brunette laughed.You should be worried, Michael grinned. Ive got a new idea for you.As she lowered him onto the chez-lounge near the middle of the room, Michael

stared deeply into her eyes. Brown met blue for a long moment and he waited for the swellof personal information to flow from the connection. After a minute, he was satisfied and lether continue to thrust herself against him before making his move.

Tiffani Stone, Michael said suddenly, stopping the girl cold. Nineteen years old,originally from Newark, New Jersey. Came here for college but found this to be a morelucrativecareer. I must say, wise choice.

The girl stared at him as she placed her platformed feet flat on the floor and backedup. Whatre you? A cop?

Something like that.Getting up from the couch, Michael pushed Tiffani to the ground and grabbed a

stray chair. Shoving the back underneath the doorknob, he then pulled to make sure it wassecure before turning back to his new victim.

Tiffani stared at him with wide, horror-filled eyes and Michael took a minute todrink in the deliciousness of it. This wasnt what he had in mind. It was so much better.

Picking up a floor lamp, Michael pulled it free from its wall socket and turned theshaft over with two hands like a baton before letting it land with the base pointing towardTiffani. As if understanding his next move, the girl screamed, her voice piercing throughthe dull base encompassing the building, and ducked behind the chez.

Michael grinned. Murder in the first would be the perfect stain to add to the realMichael Kisslings perfect record. Though he hated to losethe mans skin and all-too lovingwife, he was certain taking over Tiffanis form would earn him some love on a whole newlevel. She wasnt exactly squeaky clean like Post Office Manwhat stripper was?but itwould be a good enough temporary home until he tracked down his next skin, and healready knew who that was going to be.

Throwing the couch aside, Michael pulled the girl to her feet and dragged herkicking and screaming into a wall. Tiffani was breathing hard now, her plastic chest risingand falling in rapid succession, and Michael took a moment to stare, wanting to get everycurve right. When he was done, he drew back the lamp post before shoving it clean throughher face. The heavy breathing stopped almost immediately, and both lamp and stripper fellto the floor.

Grabbing her legs, Michael did as he did with the original Michael Kissling andstashed the body in an obvious place. With Michael, it had been the side of the road behind


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a thick bush; with Tiffani, it was going to have to be the closet.After unceremoniously tossing her corpse into the empty cupboard and turning the

lock until he heard the satisfying click, Michael kicked the chez-lounge against the wall tohide the prominent bloodstain and turned toward the mirror. His transformation hadalready begun while he was working to cover up the mess, with Tiffanis blue eyes staringback at him instead of the hooded brown of the dead man. His body popped and cracked as

the rest of his appearance shiftedhis chest swelling, his torso shrinking, and hisextremities becoming feminine.

By the time he was done, he shook the long brown hair out of his eyes and looked atthe double of Tiffani Stone in the mirror. Michaels former clothes now hung off her smallframe and the creature ripped the overshirt offas a clue to the cops, if nothing elsesothat the now-girl was wearing nothing more than slacks and a white v-neck that was nearlysee-through.

Im gonna need new clothes.Shrugging once, Tiffani removed the chair from the door before taking the keys to

the CRV from her loose pants and heading toward the main entrance.


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FIVE

Main Street MotelGreen River, Arkansas

Thursday, June 22, 20066:02 AM

In our top stories this morning, Michael Kissling, the man who claimed to have been run over by hisown car, is making headlines again, this time in a much different way. Good morning everyone, ImJanice Richardson for KTGR. Sitting up straighter, Sam reached for the dial on thetelevision and leaned closer toward the screen. Michael Kissling, Green Rivers most trivialsubject, has a warrant out for his arrest this morning after video surveillance taken at the First Bankof Bradford captured the man breaking into the building and robbing it.Only on KTGR will you seethis exclusive video.

As the news report paused, the door to the bathroom swung open to reveal Deanwith a toothbrush in his mouth, wearing nothing but boxers. As the black-and-white clip ofMichael heading into the bank and ripping open a few cash drawers played on the small

television, Dean continued brushing his teeth while staring fixedly at the set. In the last fewmoments of video, the man started straight at the camera before it went blank. Huh.In additional news, the man was reportedly seen at Sensations strip club in Jacksonville

before midnight. This morning, authorities confirmed that a girl who worked there, a Miss TiffaniStone, was found dead, locked in a closet, after a co-worker saw the two heading toward a privatearea of the club. Police firmly believe the two crimes were committed by the same man, though aconflicting report claims they saw the girl leave the club and drive home not long after a privatemeeting with Kissling, but that has not yet been confirmed.

Told you we had a fricken shapeshifter, man! Dean blurted out after spitting a gobof foam into the sink and turning on the tap to wash out his mouth. We couldve stoppedthat thing dead in its tracks yesterday, too! We were so close.

I dont think its a shapeshifter, Dean, Sam muttered, rolling his eyes at Deans

inattentiveness. Remember that shifter in St. Louis and the retinal flare? This guy lookedstraight at the camera and nothing happened.Well, he definitely aint human.Ill agree with you on that.Sighing, Sam watched his brother disappear back into the bathroom before lowering

the volume on the TV and lying down on the bed. Last night, he had been doing all he couldto figure out what was going on with Michael Kissling, searching everything from arrestrecords to history on the car he had purchased. When both of those came up clean, he hadtried looking for a spell or a curse that could have been placed on the Civic to make it act onits own. Unfortunately, that had alsocome up clean.

At close to three, when Dean had come back from his stakeout outside of theKissling residence, Sam had finally called it a night. As his brother filled him in on the

uneventful watch of the couples housesaying that the car in the driveway was gonebefore he got there and that the inside was dark Sam hadnt thought much of it andinstead stayed up a little after Dean had fallen asleep before doing the same himself.

What he hadnt expected that morning was the story on the news. After waking upat half past five and making enough coffee for him and Dean, something had told him toturn on the television. As soon as he had sat down, the story on the screen told them ofwhat Dean had narrowly missed the night before. Sam knew his brother had only returnedto the bathroom to wallow in silent frustration.

Getting up to his feet, Sam headed toward his laptop and opened the lid, waiting for


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it to spring to life. When it did, he Google searched the surveillance video and watched ittwice more before Dean emerged from the bathroom, fully dressed with a look ofdetermination on his face. You just gonna sit around, Sammy, or are we actually going towork today?

Shutting the computer, Sam rested his elbow on top and raised an eyebrow at hisbrother. He understood that Dean took failure personally, especially when it came to a case,

but didnt understand why he was so intent on taking it out on his younger brother.Whats your problem?

Nothing, never mind, Dean sighed, gritting his teeth and rolling his head back ashe took a seat on the bed Sam had just abandoned.

Deciding to ignore it, Sam crossed the room and headed toward the bathroom,grabbing his clothes off the top of the sink. Look, give me a minute to get dressed and wecan go, alright? Well figure out whats doing this before anyone else gets hurt.

Dean didnt believe Sams mantra of Well figure this out, even after an hour of hearing it.Deciding the first place to check out would be Susan Kisslings house, the two drove thetwenty miles out of town to get there, only to discover that the house was swarmed withpolice cars and other official-looking vehicles.

Theres no way were getting in there, Dean had said, nodding toward the FBIagent walking through the front door. Unless you want to try the Homeland Securitybadges again, but even last time was a close call.

No, Sam sighed then, biting his lip in thought. Lets try the police station. Maybethere wont be many people inside. We just need to change first.

Man, Im not putting a fricken suit on for this.Yes, you are.Thankfully, the police station wasnt far from their motel, so changing and heading

over hadnt been that much of a deterrent. Unfortunately, when they walked through thefront doors, they found that the building was empty.

Well this isnever a good sign, Dean commented.Their dress shoes tapped against the linoleum floor as Sam and Dean looked around,

hoping to find someone inside. After a few moments of looking around, a blonde headappeared behind the desk, preceding a tan police uniform clothing a firm, supple body. Asthe female officer stood with her arms crossed over her somewhat voluptuous chest, Deancaught himself staring and cleared his throat. You work here?

No. Im getting ready for Halloween, the officer snapped in a raspy voice thatsounded like she had been screaming herself hoarse. Can I help you with something or areyou just here to hang out?

Something about this woman seemed familiar to him, but Dean couldnt figure outwhat it was. Scanning her features for a minute, Dean took in the oval face, brown eyes, andshort blonde hair before pushing the feeling away. Actually, he paused to flash the FBIbadge he had retrieved from his coat pocket. Were here for some information.

I gave your buddies all the information they need, the officer said, taking a pencilout from behind her ear and jotting down a note in a planner before her. So unless youguys are all experiencing extreme memory loss, maybe you should ask one of them.

We would, Sam lied, stepping forward to relieve Dean of having to think up anexcuse, but theyre from a separate office. See, our AD is having a bit of a bitchfit over theLittle Rock office becoming sloppy, so he sent us out from Chicago to handle it. After askingaround, it seems like the other teams preparing to close up shop while were still working.So any and all information that youve given them is just going to go to waste.

Taking a moment to consider his words, the blonde tapped the eraser of her pencil


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against her full lips before grinning. Alright. Whatever. Its not like I have anything else todo. What do you need to know? And make it quick before everyone else comes back. Werenot a big precinct, but the other guys that work here are pretty much the biggest assholeson this side of the equator and try to make up in size by kicking other people around.

Well be quick, Dean smirked and stepped forward to lean against the desk theofficer was standing behind to get a good look at her nametag. So, Cooper, huh? Any

relation to Alice? Officer Cooper cleared her throat and shot him a glare. Alright, alright.What can you tell me about the body of the dead girl found at the strip club?

Reaching over to retrieve a file from under a pile of papers, Cooper flipped it openand scanned the page inside. Died of blunt trauma to the face. Witnesses claim she wentinto a room with Michael Kissling and they heard sounds of struggling. Of course, it wasinside of a strip club, so the moans could have been anything. Stopping to flip through thedocuments inside, the officer sighed. Other reports say she was seen leaving the club in ablack Honda CRV. Surveillance shots and a registry run point out that the vehicle belongsto Susan Kissling, though she has no memory of loaning the car to the woman. A cell phonecheck shows that the two never had contact before, so Im inclined to believe her.

Theres no video of the girl getting into the car? Sam frowned.The cameras there only take a series of pictures once every minute. We have the

car heading into the lot, parking, Michael Kissling heading in, then the car leaving. Nodriver is indicated.

What about traffic cameras? Dean asked.Towns as small as Jacksonville or Green River dont have those things, boys. In

fact, the Internet here still runs on dial-up in most places. Only the motel and the bar havehigh-speed, and thats only because both owners have the money to pay for satelliteservice, Officer Cooper shut th

Documents

Double Identity by Elizabeth Shawnessey