Supernatural: One Year Gone by Rebecca Dessertine Read Free Book Online Page B

jean-skirt all night. She had given him a couple of glances, but nothing that told him she was interested. That was, until closing time rolled around.
    Sam had downed what he thought was a good amount of beer, but he was as lucid and sober as he’d ever been. Her name was Jodi, and Sam chatted with her as she closed out her night and counted her cash tips. They shared another drink and then Sam invited her back to his motel room.
    Sam was amazed. It was usually Dean who bagged the chicks. Sam had never had much of a taste for it. But something had changed. He enjoyed himself. In fact, it was the best sex of his life. And he didn’t understand why. The girl was cute, but by no means would you stop the car to look at her. She had a good body, but it wasn’t like she was a keeper. Sam couldn’t understand what had changed, until he realized that emotionally—he felt nothing.
    He didn’t feel bad about leading her on and telling her that he had a new job in town and was looking to settle down with the “right girl.” He didn’t feel bad when he lied and said, yeah, he thought she was beautiful. He didn’t feel anything but pure physical pleasure. No guilt. Usually, if he had sex with a girl, he would immediately think of Jessica and the moment would be ruined. But now: nothing. No guilt. It was the most free he had ever felt in his life.
    But more pressing things demanded his attention. He was pretty sure there was a werewolf in town somewhere. The question was—where?
    The next morning he decided to visit the infamous Sheriff Littlefoot, posing as a fed this time, so as to outrank him. Sam walked into the sheriff’s dimly lit office. The metal blinds were cinched shut and made it difficult to see. The sheriff was a tall man of Native American descent. He was handsome but had grown paunchy around the middle.
    “Mind if I open these up?” Sam said, moving toward the windows.
    “Actually, I do. Sorry, stigmatism in my eye. Doctor says it’s best to keep the light low.”
    “I’ve never heard that before,” Sam said as he made himself comfortable and let the Sheriff sweat a bit.
    The Sheriff ran through the usual nervous questions and answers a small-town law officer asks when a federal agent is in their jurisdiction. “What was this about?” “These things happen all the time in ranching areas, it’s just wild animals.” “I’ve seen this a million times before and it’s usually over-active imaginations.”
    Sam listened, then asked to look at the files and if the Sheriff would mind if he stopped by at his house to drop them off later.
    The sheriff resisted, saying, “Me, my wife, and the boy might be having dinner.”
    Sam assured him that he wouldn’t interfere, he just wanted to get the files back in the sheriff’s hands as soon as possible.
    That afternoon, Sam sat outside the sheriff’s house until the evening. It was a nice neighborhood; kids played in the streets, mothers pushed baby carriages. Sam registered this and continued to gaze intently at the sheriff’s house. But the small clapboard house was silent all afternoon, the curtains drawn tight.
    About seven in the evening, when the sun had gone down, and the prairies surrounding the town gave off a silver sheen, the lights inside the house clicked on, and the sheriff’s little boy came out to play for the first time all day.
    Shortly thereafter the sheriff came home. Sam slid low in his seat. The sheriff gathered up his son and went inside.
    Sam took out one of his new guns and made sure it was loaded with a silver bullet and then approached the house. As he got closer a sickening baying came from inside. Sam tried to peek through the window but the curtains were still drawn. He needed to find another way in.
    On other side of the house, Sam pushed open the small bathroom window. Through the open doorway and down a hallway he could make out the faint outline of a regular living room, complete with a small TV and worn couches.
    Sam