“What?” Dean said, alarming Christie.
“Whats wrong?” Christie asked, standing up.
“Sam, what the hell are you saying?” Dean said into the phone.
“We went to the lake,” Sam explained, “She showed me where he was found and where she last saw him and then the next thing I know, she dragging me into the lake! Dean, she had a tail!”
“A tail?” Dean asked, confused.
“Dude! She’s a mermaid! But nothing like in the movies!”
“Sammy, did you hit your head?” Dean asked, sitting on the back of his chair.
“Dean! I’m serious!” Sam sighed.
“Listen, find out how to kill it and I’ll be there as soon as I can,”
“Yeah, alright,” Dean sighed, hanging up the phone.
“What happened?” Christie asked.
Dean tossed the cell phone on the table next to him and turned to Christie with a sigh.
“What do you know about mermaids kid?”
Sam walked through the door as Christie continued to scroll through endless sites full of folklore having to deal with mermaids. He was soaked head to toe and was dripping onto the carpet.
“Du-,” Christie tried to say something, but Sam interrupted her.
“Don’t. Say. A thing,” he said to Christie, emphasizing his words, “I think there’s a fish in my pants,”
Sam awkwardly waddled to the bathroom as Dean and Christie tried not to laugh at him. He walked in the bathroom and shut the door as Dean and Christie turn back to their computers. A few minutes later, they both heard a loud thump coming from the bathroom and Sam swearing.
‘Did he just fall?’ Christie mouthed to Dean.
Dean nodded, trying not to laugh. Christie turned back to her computer with a smirk, continuing to scroll though like she had been for the past half hour.
She’d been trying to find something useful enough to prove to Sam and Dean that she could help, but so far? Nothing. Only things written by Disney fanatics and weird people saying that mermaids love seashells and sparkly things and could never hurt a tadpole. Oh, how wrong they were.
“What about this?” Christie asked, standing up. She walked over to Dean, who was sitting at the table by the door. She sat her laptop in front of him, sat next to him and Dean looked at a snippet of a book on folklore Christie had found. “This could work,” he muttered quietly. Finally, Christie thought to herself.
“How are we supposed to get the bone of one of her victims?” Christie asked, giving Dean a curious look, “Wait until she kills someone else and be the first one there when the body washes up?”
“No,” Dean chuckled, “We can get one from the morgue. Her last two vics should still be there,”
“Seriously?” Christie asked, with a blank stare.
“It’s not like you’re going to go,” Dean sighed.
“Seriously?!” she groaned.
Christie stood up and opened the door and stepped outside. She ran her fingers though her dark hair. Taking a deep breath, she kneeled down and rested her arms on her legs, looking out at the fading sun behind a bundle of trees. Why am I even here? she thought. Her hands ended up reaching to her necklace, fumbling with it. She looked down at the heart charm in her hand and opened it slowly. She rubbed her finger over the engraving as she stared at the picture of her mom and Dean.
After a few minutes of sitting outside and thinking, Christie stood up and walked back inside the motel room.
“I’m going with you,” she said to Dean.