Chapter 5: Buffalo! Continuation 2
Dean shakes his head without looking at the aunt, and the latter, realizing that the idle interest of the guest is over, leaves behind the counter, especially since there are a couple of truckers, laughing and stinking then, in short, the desired guests.
We finish in silence and pay the price.
When we come out of the diner, my face is shining with small splashes of rain. This time, however, not as extreme as then, at the church. Nevertheless, the weather clearly decided to frown. I remember my mother telling me that when it rained, God cried. Apparently, God's life is going through a very difficult time right now. He probably needs psychoanalysis. Shouldn't I go to God for psychoanalysis? That would be fun...
I keep giggling in the car, imagining a dude in a white sheet on the couch.
The first couple of miles we drive quietly, and then suddenly under some kind of pointer we abruptly turn off the federal highway. A few more minutes the brothers are silent, then Sam asks:
- Are you going to go to this village on the case of that witch?
- Of course, what to do in Buffalo," Dean grumbles. - The weather sucks, there's no entertainment, and we'll sit in four walls all the time.
I don't understand a word in this conversation. A witch? Entertainment?
- Actually, we're going to meet Michael's mommy," says Sam.
- Ooh, meeting your parents? It's interesting, of course," Dean quits. - And who does he marry? If it's for me, it's the first time I've heard of it.
He's trying to stab me again, but after what Scott did to me, I'm immune to such acutenesses.
And I really can. I haven't seen my mother for at least four years, and it's not like she's going to meet me with open arms, and those occasional memories of her warm hands and gentle words aren't just nonsense. I also have this strange feeling that I need to be with my brothers, that I am safe with them. - Let's go where Dean wants to go.
Dean mutters that I wasn't really asked, but Sam doesn't mind anymore because my permission has had an effect.
October 31, 13.45am.
If I'd known we were around the corner, I'd have smoked a dozen cigarettes, wondering if I should get involved. In fact, I'm not afraid of the dangers, and my work isn't so unlikely to come across a maniac. Sherstyle was our one and a half year ago - then turned out to be the most respectable priest. The guys went to talk to him in the heart, right into the church. Was it a joke, four boys in two months in the hospital, striped like tigers from broken ribs. I wanted to go too, but Scott wouldn't let me in. I didn't go myself. He said he wasn't ready to go to jail yet. The priest, however, managed to escape, but the guys crushed his cozy parish, I saw the report on TV.
In general, I already have my own crazy world, where clerks and saint fathers turn into madmen at night, and I don't need someone else's crazy world for nothing. But I'm still in trouble, joyful and curious, like a puppy.
We came to a small village, asked passers-by about some girl and slowed down at the inconspicuous house. It's strange, it's almost November, and she had real roses blossoming along the fence. And not pathetic bumps, but such with large velvet buds. Although now it doesn't seem strange to me.
Dean swung over the fence, despite his wounded shoulder, Sam just stepped over it, and I climbed over carefully: afraid, no matter how sneakers came off. So I didn't take part in the action itself, just standing there, leaning against the kitchen door, and watching.
And she didn't seem scared at all, even though I'd be scared if three strangers came into my house. And she just looked up with her chin and said: "Well?" Dean asked: "Hackie?" And then again, she said, "Well?
And then Sam said: "Hackidonmuya?" And then she got scared, white, though it was hard to imagine with her skin color. She grabbed the knife and told me to tell her who we were, otherwise she threatened with some unthinkable punishment. And there's nothing you can do until the moon rises. You're a witch at night, I know who was named after. And now it's a white day. And at night you wouldn't do anything to us, you weakness, just enough strength to pimple your opponent's face with pimples. I would probably like to kill, but it did not work.
Here the girl was naturally wheezing, and suddenly she had a fireball in her hands. A real fireball, I wiped my eyes specially. And she threw it as hard as she could at Dena, like a little lightning, and even the air smelled of ozone. And then there was a second incredible event: Dean raised his hand towards the ball - and he seemed to be drawn into the palm of his hand, without causing any harm to anyone. I noticed the thing that flashed in his hand, with which he managed to cope with the lightning. At that point, I thought I knew the name of the thing, but I was wrong.