Dean walked with Travers, now that they were outside, in a paranoid manner.  He reached forward to grab the man’s collar, keeping his gun pressed against the back of his head as they carefully strolled.  He kept letting images of what Mika might look like, if she was being tortured or worse, if they had killed her, roll through his mind as he growled with every step.

“If she’s not there, you’ll figure out where she is.  Don’t worry…”, Dean growled, tightening his grip on his gun.  He flinched as his cellphone vibrated against his leg, where head replaced it in his pocket.  Letting go of Travers’ collar, he pulled the phone out of his pocket and notice that it was Mika’s phone number.

“Mika?!  Where are you?  Are you alright?”, he asked down the phone. Stopping walking, and grabbing Travers’ collar with his fingers, while still holding his gun near his head.