[Comprehensive Yingmei] I am not I do not have

"Cass didn't answer my prayers or answer the phone." Dean sat impatiently in the corner of the fast food restaurant and told Sam that he had finished his own plate, leaving only a few cheeseburgers Sesame seeds sprinkled on top, and Dean poking a fork at the green bean sticks on Sam's plate.

Sam shrugged. "He doesn't answer my prayers a lot of the time."

"This is different!" The fork in Dean's hand scraped across the plate, making a harsh sizzling sound, Sam twitched his forehead, and moved the plate away, "Cassidio is..."

"Your guardian angel alone, I know, I know."

Dean pretended not to see Sam's eyes that were about to roll out, "Seriously, do you think Cass is scared? He might not be able to beat Muke."

"Dude, are you still insisting that Muke, the inhuman guy from the eastern hell, is a murderous monster?" Sam said, "You can't just think that because he has special powers and is from hell. Birdmen with wings aren't necessarily good guys, and demons in hell—well, demons are all bastards."

"Neither do I, we have enough enemies, but the evidence tells me so," Dean insisted.

"Based on the Internet news and local horror tabloids that have only recently emerged in the past few days? Maybe that place just writes scary stories just to attract tourists."

"But we still have a column report from 40 years ago, a witness, although he is a lunatic, but you have also seen the few paintings he painted, that is Mu Ke."

In addition to inquiring about the latest folk rumors, the demon hunters search for some bizarre murder cases in the tabloids of various channels. A few days ago, they just saw a collection of news about abnormal deaths on the Internet. Crick interview.

Crick was admitted to a Virginia mental institution when he was 15 for stabbing his biological father in the chest nine times.

Of course, under such circumstances, his poor father must have died, but the cause of death as determined by the medical examiner was not a knife wound on the chest, but brain death of unknown cause.Crick himself had mental problems, so he was given nine knives after his father died.But under the forensic evidence, even if the prosecutor wanted to convict, he could only give one crime of desecrating a corpse. Crick lost his only guardian and was locked up in a mental hospital.

In this network news collection of deaths, the cause of death of the other victims was also brain death of unknown cause. Judging from the information on the victims found by Sam, several of them had criminal records or mental problems, but most of them were just ordinary people. people, even good people.

As usual, they disguised themselves as federal agents to visit Crick, who lived in a mental hospital. The doctor said that part of the reason for his illness was that he saw the murderer of his father and the crime process.But he didn't know the man, and there was no way for the police to catch the killer.

Crick remembered the face, though.He drew a lot of pictures, not accurate enough, at least not enough for the police 40 years ago to post a wanted list to find a murderer who fits the facial features, but enough for Sam and Dean to see that the person on the painting is 70% similar to Muke .

"Don't forget who Cass said he is. He is a staff member of Huaguo Xiu'an Department in North America. Even if he really kills someone, there will be a reason."

"Hey, Sammygirl, as you said, we can't say that a person is a good person or a bad person just because of where he comes from or what abilities he has. Demon hunters don't have a government organization. Are we bad people? Government The staff must be good people? How can we be sure that the damn repair department is not a place where a group of monsters discuss how to rule humans. It would be best if he didn't kill people. If he did kill people, then we need to solve this problem .It's not my bias or mere speculation, it's my belief that we have to figure this out, and you see his power."

"But we don't know what he is at all." Sam leaned forward, "Bobby didn't find any records about him in the book, and we don't know how to kill him. More importantly, we have no way to find out now." Him. The FBI caught him, but released him before a trial."

"And we all know that the hangman kills demons," said Sam.

"But those dozen or so brain-dead people aren't demons, they're human. And we still have Colt guns."

"OK," Sam resigned temporarily, Dean hated monsters far more than he did, and Sam...he was fed demon blood as a baby, and the demonic powers that came with it made him feel like he had become a monster potential, and this disgusting psychology became stronger after knowing that he was the devil's skin.But his soul doesn't want to be a monster.

"Then how do you find him. His case was accepted by the FBI. You know that our two faces have recently been listed in the most prominent positions on the most wanted list."

"There is always a way."

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"Mr. Sam Lawrence?"

"Yes, it's me."

"Come in." Hannibal smiled and turned to let Sam through the door.

Sam nodded restrainedly, and walked in to look at Hannibal's office.

Hannibal closed the door behind him as usual, and the sound of the door closing made Sam jump, and the instinct of the witcher made him turn his head in an instant.

Hannibal looked at Sam's instantly wary expression, and smiled friendlyly, "Mr. Lawrence is not used to closing the door of the room?"

Sam realized that the action just now was a bit suspicious, he waved his hand, "No, I'm just a little sensitive recently."

"We can chat about this, if you wish." Hannibal raised his arm and pointed in the direction of the seat, "Please sit down."

Sam took a seat facing the door and took a gray rucksack down at his feet.

"You don't need to be nervous." Hannibal looked at Sam's tense sitting posture. "The first meeting is just an ordinary conversation. After that, you can decide whether to continue the treatment. Is this the first time you have come to see a psychiatrist?"

"No."

I had seen a psychiatrist before, also to find some information about the case, and the doctor talked to him about a bunch of nonsense about the brothers' overly dangerous dependency relationship.

"But you don't look like him." Sam looked at Hannibal's neat three-piece suit.

"Which places are different?"

"He's wearing the white coat that any doctor would wear. We're talking in a general hospital room, not a room full of, well, hardback books."

"The doctor's exclusive clothes and the smell of disinfectant in the hospital can make some patients subconsciously nervous. But psychotherapy needs an environment that makes people feel peaceful and safe."

"It's really nice here," Sam said. "When I came over, I saw that the garden of the house opposite was full of lavender, and it smelled wonderful."

"Yes, my neighbor is a good gardener."

"But they're growing outside the flower beds and your neighbors aren't home at this time? No one takes care of them."

"He's not here. Mr. Sam Lawrence, this is your own therapy time, and you paid for it. It would be more helpful to talk about yourself, too."

"Sorry, I've been a little nervous lately. You know, Doctor Lecter, conflicts are inevitable on a long-term two-person trip."

"You don't need to apologize. You are my patient."

Sam nodded. "May I have a glass of water?"

"No problem. Is coffee okay?"

Sam caught sight of a jug of iced coffee and several upside-down plain white coffee cups on a standing table against the wall.

"Is there any tea? I don't drink coffee."

"There is black tea, but it will take some time to brew. This is your healing time, you can decide for yourself."

"A cup of hot tea will help, thank you doctor."

Hannibal stood up happily, "I'll be back soon." He opened the door and walked out of the office calmly.

Sam watched the delicate wooden door close again, and heaved a sigh of relief.Jump off the couch.When he got up, the soft and ugly sofa made him restless.

He unzipped the backpack, held the backpack in his hand and rushed to the bookshelf on the first floor.There are paper or plastic file boxes and some file paper bags on a row of bookshelves in the left corner, which should be Hannibal Lecter's files.

Sam's eyes flicked over the names of the files, thankfully Hannibal had arranged the files by the relevant initials.

He found Blanche Mu's information bag in area b. It was almost an inch thick, but the packaging was very new, and it should have been put on the bag not long ago. Sam opened the bag and took a look at the shapes of the photos and various documents in the bag. Confirming that this is the report on the FBI's hangman case that he wanted.

He put the document box into his bag, and then adjusted the distance between the document bag and the document box on the shelf to cover up the sudden gap after taking away the materials, and quickly returned to the sofa and put the schoolbag back to its original position. bit.

After a few more seconds, Hannibal pushed open the door and came in with a tray in his hand.

"Darjeeling, and sugar and milk."

"Thank you." Sam didn't add anything, he pinched the side of the teacup, picked it up and took a sip.

He actually prefers coffee, the kind with bad creamer and sweetener.

"Perhaps you would like to talk about your traveling companions now?"

Sam choked.

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When Sam hurried back to the motel, Dean was studying a map, and there were some leftover pizzas, empty beer bottles, and a few unopened bottles of beer on the table.

Sam threw his knapsack on the bed, sat down wearily at the table and opened a beer.

"Are you tired?"

"What do you think? Hannibal Lecter's chat made me feel like I was a poor student who was nervously talking to the principal. The materials were all in the bag, but he didn't talk too much about Muke, yes No, Mu Ke is not at home recently.",

"Sounds like a lot of money on Lawrence's credit card that we stole. The profession of psychiatrist is really lucrative."

"Any profession is more profitable than a witcher."

"Like a lawyer?" Dean raised his eyes.

Sam shook his head and shut up.

Dean took the file bag and weighed it, "We're busy tonight."

"What's your plan?"

"I have two plans." Dean sat across from Sam, moved the carton on the table aside, folded his arms and put them on the motel's always shabby table, "Plan A, we found him, directly Ask him if he killed those people, if not, that's best, if so, we give him a bullet."

Sam frowned, "Ask directly? You must not be serious."

"I think so too." Dean made a negative gesture with his palms sideways, "So plan B, we use the information to investigate whether those people were murdered by him, if not, then let's leave it alone and go to our The shit called Apocalypse, if it is, we'll find him and give him a bullet."

"Sounds very Dean Winchester."