Part 3

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I stared up at the house skeptically.  John had been adamant that we didn't go to his old hometown. When I had allowed him to finally check his voicemail as I did once every month, he had become quiet for a moment. I knew something was up the second I saw his face. 

"Put in on speaker," I prompted, and when he did, I heard a voice on the other end. 

"Dad? I know I've left you messages before. I don't even know if you'll get 'em." The person recording the message cleared his throat. "But I'm with Sam. And we're in Lawrence. And there's somethin' in our old house. I don't know if it's the thing that killed Mom or not, but... I don't know what to do. So, whatever you're doin', if you could get here... Please. I need your help, Dad." The voice was emotional, his voice was breaking, and his breath was shaky. 

"Dean?" I guessed. John nodded, and the sorrow in his eyes made my heart break. "John... You know I want to go there, but if your sons are there..."

"They need me."

I rubbed a hand over my face, trying to think, and I felt his eyes burn through my every move. 

"Okay." I regretted it the second the word left my lips. "But we need to avoid them. We check out what's going on. If there's no possibility to avoid contact, I am the one to make it." 

"Yes, ma'am." 

I'd smirked at that. The way his eyes lit up only for a second. 

"I hate psychics," I mumbled under my breath. John looked over at me with a knowing smile. 

"They're not the easiest to deal with," he admitted. "but Missouri Mosley is an old friend. She's good." 

I stared at the house, knawing on my lip. He patted my shoulder and started walking up the walkway, giving me no choice but to follow. Without knocking, we stepped right in and sat down on an old leather sofa by the entrance. It only took a few moments for the woman to come get us. 

She was a heavyset woman with dark skin and a warm smile on her lips. Her eyes scanned John with delight, and a chuckle left her lips. 

"John!" She greeted, and when he stood up, she wrapped her arms around him in an embrace. "Why are you hiding from your kids?" She pulled back and took his hand in hers. She gave him a sad smile and patted his hand a couple of times. Then Missouri's eyes found mine. 

"Missouri, this is..." John began but was interrupted. 

"Willow Wren Price." Missouri finished for him. "You're the reason why this man isn't with his boys." It felt like an accusation. 

"All I hear is that I'm doing my job right." I offered a bitter smile, and she 'tsked' with her tongue and waved her hand for us to follow her. 

"Your boys are here, John, in Lawrence. I sent them to get some supplies. They'll be back here soon." Missouri's voice was calm and smooth, a stark contrast to the hoarse sound that came out of my mouth every time I spoke. 

"They came to see you?" John asked her, sitting down on another couch in her back room. 

"Yes. They figured out I was the one who told you about what's out there. Took me back to the house." 

"And? What's your opinion?" I asked, clasping my hands behind my back, straightening to my full size. Missouri eyes me wearily, and my first thought was that she was afraid of me. 

"Girl, I'm not scared of you. You've just got a lot of things going on up in that big brain of yours. Sit." I stiffened at her words, scolding myself for having such loud thoughts. 

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