Supernatural: War of the Sons by Rebecca Dessertine, David Reed Page A
Authors: Rebecca Dessertine, David Reed
Tags: Fiction
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stood on the other side with his back to Dean, and a box truck idled outside the loading dock. The man was tubby and middle-aged. He turned around slowly, looking as if he’d been caught committing a crime.
Dean politely nodded a greeting. “Guess I’m lost,” he said. “Where’s the little boys’ room?”
Instead of answering out loud, the man simply pointed back the way Dean had come.
“Great,” Dean said. He was about to call off his reconnaissance mission, when he saw what the security guard had been hovering over—it was a simple wooden crate, damaged on one end, covered in strange characters. Probably worth getting a better look at , Dean decided. “Actually... I think I can hold it,” he said. “I’m gonna get some fresh air.”
Under the guard’s watchful eye, Dean maneuvered his way past the crate and to the edge of the loading dock, but he wasn’t able to get a better look at the contents. Damn security goon and his thighs , Dean thought. He jumped off the loading dock and walked down the alleyway, rounding the corner onto Park Avenue, then stopped.
Hebrew? Could the lettering have been Hebrew? By pure chance, he may have just come impossibly close to the scrolls, and he couldn’t pass up such an opportunity—even if that meant beating the ass of a civilian. He turned around and started back to the loading dock.
James peered inside the truck. Barney’s crumpled body was pushed to one side on the floor, his neck twisted at an unnatural angle. The sight of his nephew’s corpse prompted no reaction in James. If anything did, it was the smell. Meat , James thought. Still fresh .
James turned and grabbed a black rubber hose attached to a waterspout. He turned on the water and sprayed down the inside of the truck. The water ran pink as it flowed out and over the bumper. He turned off the hose and pulled Barney’s body onto the dock. Then he picked the body up easily with one hand, opened the top of the crate and pushed it inside.
Clunking the crate closed, James wheeled the carton into the back of the Waldorf Astoria.
It’s still safe , he thought with pride. She’ll be pleased with me .
Holding onto his stupid bellhop hat, Dean hurried back down the alleyway. He slid back around the corner just as James disappeared into the hotel. With finesse, he jumped onto the dock and banged through the steel doors.
The security guard and the carton were gone.
After a couple more unproductive hours at the library, Sam decided to stop off at the new apartment; he wanted to call Dean. As he fiddled with the key in the lock, he noticed out of the corner of his eye one of their neighbors walking toward him down the hallway. He half-nodded a greeting as the young woman brushed past him in the narrow corridor, briefly glancing up to admire her petite dark-haired figure as she moved away from him, before carrying on fiddling with the stubborn lock.
Finally there was a click as the key connected with the mechanism and Sam managed to get the door open. By this point his mind had wandered far from the mission at hand to fantasies about living a normal life—one that held room for girls and movie dates and romantic dinners. It all came crashing back as he took in the sight before him. The apartment had been completely ransacked.
Sam wondered how, after being in 1954 for less than twenty-four hours, he and Dean had already made an enemy.
SIX
No sulphur, Sam noted, sniffing the air. It wasn’t a demon.
He kicked at the shards of glass that littered the scummy tile floor of the apartment’s tiny bathroom. The intruder had been thorough, upending or smashing just about every object in the small space that wasn’t built into the floor. They even smashed the toilet, Sam realized. The bathroom mirror had also been broken, which accounted for all the glass on the floor. Just what we need, he thought, more bad luck. Sam closed the water valve leading to the sputtering half-toilet.
It wasn’t like there was
Dean politely nodded a greeting. “Guess I’m lost,” he said. “Where’s the little boys’ room?”
Instead of answering out loud, the man simply pointed back the way Dean had come.
“Great,” Dean said. He was about to call off his reconnaissance mission, when he saw what the security guard had been hovering over—it was a simple wooden crate, damaged on one end, covered in strange characters. Probably worth getting a better look at , Dean decided. “Actually... I think I can hold it,” he said. “I’m gonna get some fresh air.”
Under the guard’s watchful eye, Dean maneuvered his way past the crate and to the edge of the loading dock, but he wasn’t able to get a better look at the contents. Damn security goon and his thighs , Dean thought. He jumped off the loading dock and walked down the alleyway, rounding the corner onto Park Avenue, then stopped.
Hebrew? Could the lettering have been Hebrew? By pure chance, he may have just come impossibly close to the scrolls, and he couldn’t pass up such an opportunity—even if that meant beating the ass of a civilian. He turned around and started back to the loading dock.
James peered inside the truck. Barney’s crumpled body was pushed to one side on the floor, his neck twisted at an unnatural angle. The sight of his nephew’s corpse prompted no reaction in James. If anything did, it was the smell. Meat , James thought. Still fresh .
James turned and grabbed a black rubber hose attached to a waterspout. He turned on the water and sprayed down the inside of the truck. The water ran pink as it flowed out and over the bumper. He turned off the hose and pulled Barney’s body onto the dock. Then he picked the body up easily with one hand, opened the top of the crate and pushed it inside.
Clunking the crate closed, James wheeled the carton into the back of the Waldorf Astoria.
It’s still safe , he thought with pride. She’ll be pleased with me .
Holding onto his stupid bellhop hat, Dean hurried back down the alleyway. He slid back around the corner just as James disappeared into the hotel. With finesse, he jumped onto the dock and banged through the steel doors.
The security guard and the carton were gone.
After a couple more unproductive hours at the library, Sam decided to stop off at the new apartment; he wanted to call Dean. As he fiddled with the key in the lock, he noticed out of the corner of his eye one of their neighbors walking toward him down the hallway. He half-nodded a greeting as the young woman brushed past him in the narrow corridor, briefly glancing up to admire her petite dark-haired figure as she moved away from him, before carrying on fiddling with the stubborn lock.
Finally there was a click as the key connected with the mechanism and Sam managed to get the door open. By this point his mind had wandered far from the mission at hand to fantasies about living a normal life—one that held room for girls and movie dates and romantic dinners. It all came crashing back as he took in the sight before him. The apartment had been completely ransacked.
Sam wondered how, after being in 1954 for less than twenty-four hours, he and Dean had already made an enemy.
SIX
No sulphur, Sam noted, sniffing the air. It wasn’t a demon.
He kicked at the shards of glass that littered the scummy tile floor of the apartment’s tiny bathroom. The intruder had been thorough, upending or smashing just about every object in the small space that wasn’t built into the floor. They even smashed the toilet, Sam realized. The bathroom mirror had also been broken, which accounted for all the glass on the floor. Just what we need, he thought, more bad luck. Sam closed the water valve leading to the sputtering half-toilet.
It wasn’t like there was
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