Reflections

One

Someone sits at a table in a darkened hotel room. A bloodied bandage is tied tightly around her right bicep, and a bottle of whiskey is in her left hand. She takes a long drink, feeling the alcohol begin to dull the throbbing pain in her arm. She breathes heavily, and narrows her eyes at the wall in front of her.

Her phone vibrates on the table, and she holds it up to her ear. “Yeah.”

The person on the other end says a few words, and she ends the call. Putting the bottle down, her fingers reach for the shotgun on the end of the table. Grasping it with her left hand, she fishes around in her side jacket pocket for rock salt packed shells. Satisfied with the amount she finds, she loads and preps the shotgun with one hand, holding the gun by the slide as she jerks it to load the chamber.

She stands up and turns toward the door, kicking the chair back against the table with the back of her foot. Walking across the hotel room carpet, she steps out the door and closes it behind her.

 

My name is Elise. Everyone I love is dead.

And I’m a hunter.

 

My boots cause the gravel on the road to stir as I step. “Novak!” I yell as I approach her beat-up car. “You told me you could handle this one on your own!”

“I told you I could handle one vengeful spirit. Not this little cocktail party.” Claire pulls a knife from the sheath on her thigh and begins to polish it. “There’s six of them in this house up in Stratford.” She gestures up the road with the knife.

“What are we waiting for?”

Claire grins at me. “Let’s go, then.”

I duck into the passenger seat of Claire’s black ‘65 Mustang. I crank the radio up high and Claire goes as fast as she can on a gravel road.

“So, how goes it in your neck of the woods?” Claire asks me. “You didn’t really take much of a break.”

I shrug, rolling the window down. The breeze blows my hair around my face in a light brown halo. “Sam and Dean speak the truth. You can try to escape the life, but it just chases you down again.”

“Preach it, sister,” Claire says from behind the wheel. “I tried to escape, once. I tried to live normally. But they got me. Oh, did they get me. That’s why you’re looking right at the only surviving Novak.”

“Well, you’re looking at the only surviving Glace.”

“Here’s to us, right?”

I take a deep breath and rest my head against the side of the car where the window meets the metal by the headrest of the seat. “Here’s to us.”

An hour later, the Mustang scrapes into a gravel patch that’s supposed to serve as a driveway for the old house in front of us.

The house doesn’t look like your stereotypical haunted house, but then again, what house does? It has cheery light yellow siding and a light brown door. It looks like there should be an old lady inside baking, and the smell of cookies should be drifting out all the way to the Mustang.

If there ever was an old lady, she’s gone now. The only thing I can smell is the cold nip in the air. I pull my jacket closer around me, letting the flannel shirt under it close a little more over my faded ACDC long sleeved t-shirt. I look down at my beat up hiking boots. I’d ditched the Converse a long time ago. I’m still wearing the same skinny jeans, though, just with a couple more rips.

“Ready?” Claire asks me. She’s standing at the open trunk, pulling out extra salt and another lighter.

I nod. “Let’s get this done.”