G | ~1200 words Mary runs her fingers over battered leather. Sam said the journal belonged to his grandfather, John’s father, though she’d never seen it before that night. Cried through a box and a half of Kleenex, reading his failures and struggles, lessons she’d learned with her ABC’s. She’d been so naï—
House comes into view again and her what’s-it, her, Uber driver meets her eyes in the rearview, losing patience.
“Just, slow down some, okay?”
“Listen, lady, if you’re stalking these people—”
“I’m not.” She stares out at the yard. Tree trunks, too thick for her memory and concrete steps, that iced up and nearly killed her and Dean both, the winter he was born. Mary silences the soft voice wondering… “I used to live in this house, is all. Just wanted to see what’s changed.”
The driver huffs but she doesn’t slow down much. “So where you been? If I’m not being nosy.”
“Paradise,” Mary blurts and winces.
“Well. What on earth brought you back to Kansas?”
Mary swallows. “Family.”
*
She’s in her element. Greasy spoon symphony of voices, dishes, sizzles.
“Yeah I knew Bobby Singer. Mean drunk. Pain in the ass sober.”
She’d found coordinates for Sioux Falls, city center, over and over. Picture stuck in the pages gave her Singer Salvage. Thrilled to discover 555-1212 still worked, not surprised it turned up nothing.
“That other fella though, Winchester?” Her waitress hands back the photo. “I dunno. Singer had a lotta shady characters come through that junkyard.”
Elsewhere, newsstand receipt, Martin Wells in what she guessed to be Sam’s writing. They’d bought a paper and a pack of gum, right across the street.
“Can you give me directions?”
“You can Google Map it.”
“Nah.” Whatever that means. “I hate those things.” Mary figures that’s true.
*
She hesitates on the steps, lifts her hand to knock, balks. Behind the screen the main door opens.
“Well don’t stand out there in the heat, honey, come on in.” Missouri Moseley shepherds her into the parlor, same in every detail as the last time Mary’d been here. “Mary Cambpell.”
“Winchester.”
“M-hm.” Missouri takes a seat, gestures for Mary to do the same. “Back from the dead and back to huntin. Sure would make your daddy proud.”
“Missouri—”
“You know why.” Black cat bones rattle out of a velvet bag into a porcelain cup. “Every high-up in Heaven and Hell was moving against your family. Nothing I’da told you woulda mattered, and you’da lost those years raising Dean in peace.” Missouri passes the cup to Mary and covers her hands in red cloth. “Shake.”
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timeasmymeasure
Fill: "In the Bones" 1/3
Date: 2016-11-12 12:26 am (UTC)Mary runs her fingers over battered leather. Sam said the journal belonged to his grandfather, John’s father, though she’d never seen it before that night. Cried through a box and a half of Kleenex, reading his failures and struggles, lessons she’d learned with her ABC’s. She’d been so naï—
House comes into view again and her what’s-it, her, Uber driver meets her eyes in the rearview, losing patience.
“Just, slow down some, okay?”
“Listen, lady, if you’re stalking these people—”
“I’m not.” She stares out at the yard. Tree trunks, too thick for her memory and concrete steps, that iced up and nearly killed her and Dean both, the winter he was born. Mary silences the soft voice wondering… “I used to live in this house, is all. Just wanted to see what’s changed.”
The driver huffs but she doesn’t slow down much. “So where you been? If I’m not being nosy.”
“Paradise,” Mary blurts and winces.
“Well. What on earth brought you back to Kansas?”
Mary swallows. “Family.”
*
She’s in her element. Greasy spoon symphony of voices, dishes, sizzles.
“Yeah I knew Bobby Singer. Mean drunk. Pain in the ass sober.”
She’d found coordinates for Sioux Falls, city center, over and over. Picture stuck in the pages gave her Singer Salvage. Thrilled to discover 555-1212 still worked, not surprised it turned up nothing.
“That other fella though, Winchester?” Her waitress hands back the photo. “I dunno. Singer had a lotta shady characters come through that junkyard.”
Elsewhere, newsstand receipt, Martin Wells in what she guessed to be Sam’s writing. They’d bought a paper and a pack of gum, right across the street.
“Can you give me directions?”
“You can Google Map it.”
“Nah.” Whatever that means. “I hate those things.” Mary figures that’s true.
*
She hesitates on the steps, lifts her hand to knock, balks. Behind the screen the main door opens.
“Well don’t stand out there in the heat, honey, come on in.” Missouri Moseley shepherds her into the parlor, same in every detail as the last time Mary’d been here. “Mary Cambpell.”
“Winchester.”
“M-hm.” Missouri takes a seat, gestures for Mary to do the same. “Back from the dead and back to huntin. Sure would make your daddy proud.”
“Missouri—”
“You know why.” Black cat bones rattle out of a velvet bag into a porcelain cup. “Every high-up in Heaven and Hell was moving against your family. Nothing I’da told you woulda mattered, and you’da lost those years raising Dean in peace.” Missouri passes the cup to Mary and covers her hands in red cloth. “Shake.”
Mary shakes.
*