Vengeance ~Supernatural~

Chapter Three: The Sins of a Mother

Breath ragged, I find shelter beneath an old willow tree, only a few streets down from my house.

I cough violently, trying desperately to expel the smoke from my lungs, tears still escaping my eyes and seeping into my mouth, only making the coughing worse. I pull myself into a huddle position and lean against the tree, sobs racking my body.

My mom. 

My mom . . . is dead.

My mom is dead.

Shes dead.

I stuff my fist into my mouth and scream.

I scream until my throat aches, tears still pouring down, my head throbbing.

"No, no, no, no, no," I murmur, bringing my hands up to my head and pushing my palms against my temples, squeezing my eyes shut. I groan, a cough ripping through my lungs violently as I wipe the back of my hand across my face, attempting to get rid of some of the tears but only succeeding in smearing the salty water across the rest of my previously dry face. 

I look down in my lap at the box I'm holding. The one thing that wasn't destroyed by the fire. I graze my hand across the surface of the cardboard. it's just an old shoebox from a pair of shoes that were Mom's--only now, it holds so much more meaning.

I gingerly pull the lid off, revealing an array of items cluttering the box. Another sob threatens to overtake but I push it down, my hands exploring the contents of the box, tears silently slipping down my face.

A paper clip, holding a wad of cash and a debit card, pictures, a brightly wrapped little box, which I can only assume is my birthday present and a large white envelope.

I reach for the letter first, hands shaking as I tear it open, pulling out a few pages.

One of the papers is clearly older than the other two and I choose to read that one first.

May 16, 1999

Dear Zayana,

I'm writing this as I sit next to you, sleeping in your crib. You're only 4 days old and god, just so adorable.

Your room right now is a closet in Charles and Nicole's apartment. I know, I know, that sounds horrible and like I'm unfit to be a mother but I swear, it's huge for a closet and we've fixed it up and everything. Plus, I'm sure you'll be spending most nights in my room.

Anyway, Zayana, if I'm being honest, I'm terrified. I mean, shit, I'm barely 16, my parents have kicked me out, I'm a Junior in high school and I have a baby.

But I wouldn't change any of it for the world.

I know that raising a kid whose father is a Winchester is going to be dangerous, but you're my daughter. And I'd do anything for you.

Even die, I think bitterly, realizing if it wasn't for me she would still be here.

I love you, sweet baby girl

Love,

Mom

I stare at the letter, pressing my thumb over the word 'mom,' so familiar for a second, I simply sit there, another  sob racking my body. I look over the letter again, questions overwhelming me and no one to answer them.

I pull the shoebox back into my lap and
Gingerly, I open it, my hands shaking, to reveal a one paged letter stuffed between some type of tissue paper.

Dear Zay,

   I promised myself the day you were born that someday I'd tell you the full truth about your father . . . and today is that day.

What I've told you over the years was never a lie. But it wasn't the full truth.

Remember how I told you his job was dangerous? Well I wasn't kidding when I said so. Your father hunted things. Dangerous things. Things he claimed I'd never believe actually existed.

After that night with your dad, I began seeing things.

Like humans - with black eyes. Like people with fangs for teeth. Monsters.

And they've been after you ever since you were born.

I've spend a lot of my life protecting you from this - and gladly. Something about your dad must draw these horrible things to you. I don't know why and I don't understand but it doesn't matter.

You're in grave danger.

If you're reading this, it means I've failed. And am possibly dead.

Your friends Robert and Angela, they're in danger. They're after them too. I don't know why and I don't know when. You need to find them both, and you need to run.

You need to find your father Zayana. He's the only one who can help you. The only clues I can give you is that his bag said 'Winchester' and when he was with me, he had driven a 1967 Impala - said he'd borrowed it from his father for the night.

I love you sweetie.

And I'm sorry.

I'm so sorry.

My breathing heavy, I fold the letter back up and and shove it into my pocket.

Winchester.

How the hell am I suppose to find this 'Winchester'?

Monsters? Black eyes? Fangs?

"Please tell me this is a joke," I whisper. "A sick sick joke. Oh my god."

This has to be.

It has to be.

____

Originally published in June of 2014.

Somewhat edited on June 13, 2016.

(I will return to fully edit this chapter;)