The Raven Flies At Night
Page 1
The Raven Flies at Night
Father Gunter, Demon Hunter Book 2
Janine R. Pestel
Copyright (C) 2017 Janine R. Pestel
Layout design and Copyright (C) 2017 by Creativia
Published 2017 by Creativia
Cover art by xxxxxx
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.
Table of Contents
-1-
-2-
-3-
-4-
-5-
-6-
-7-
-8-
-9-
-10-
-11-
-12-
-13-
-14-
-15-
-16-
About the Author
Books by Janine R. Pestel.
This book is lovingly dedicated to my wonderful husband, Joe, and all my readers.
-1-
The bright, white disc of the nearly full moon shone in stark contrast with the expansive blackness of the night sky. The milky white light of the celestial object dimly illuminated the town below, almost making it appear devoid of color, as a black and white photograph.
The light filtered in through the tree branches, then the windows, of the unassuming two-story colonial home. It cast eerie shadows on the bedroom wall, where a middle-aged man lay on his bed.
He wanted to be asleep, but he was still awake. He stared at the grotesque shadows, as they danced, and played on his wall. The feelings of doom and dread had become too much for him to bear. He glanced to his side, and though his wife of twenty-seven years lay there, he felt alone.
He reached over and touched her now aging face. In his eyes, her youthful beauty never diminished. She appeared, to him, as beautiful now as she did the day they met that summer day, so long ago. Her long red hair, now streaked with strands of gray, still attracted him. And her laugh, although less frequent in the last few weeks, was still infectious.
“I love you,” he whispered. He held his gaze on her for a moment while she slept. The only bright spot in this dark, twisted time of his life now; his wife slept, and was oblivious to the turmoil that raged inside him. She knew nothing of the feelings of failure that drove him mad and clouded his once clear judgment.
He gazed at her, for a few moments, as her breasts rose, and fell, with each breath. He thought back to the time when they were teenagers, and he wanted nothing more than to gaze upon her naked beauty. How so very far away those days seemed now. How very far away, indeed.
Thoughts of their two grown children rushed into his mind. Angela, the younger of the two, and Derek, her older brother. This would definitely affect them, once they learned the news. What would their reactions be?
The small clock on the nightstand bore a grim reminder of how little time remained for him. The illuminated face read two o'clock in the morning. Being an investment banker, he normally got out of bed at six; only four short hours from now.
With the current economic conditions, many of his clients turned on him, as investment gains plummeted. This change in his clients and other things he couldn't quite put his finger on had led to this depression that had all but completely consumed him in recent weeks.
He turned his head to face the window, as a small sound caught his attention. His mouth dropped open when he glimpsed something at his window. It was black and ominous. A chill went up his spine when he saw that it peered in at him. It was a bird, huge and black as night. A Raven.
His lips went dry, as his nerves reacted to the sight of the enormous bird. He wanted to turn away, but fear paralyzed him. His head, though he tried as hard as he could, would not budge.
He and the fowl locked eyes and held each other's gaze for what seemed, to him, to be an eternity. Each one's eyes were glued on the other, as they would be if they were communicating. The bird moved its head. It glanced at and gestured to, the bedroom door. Then, the Raven spread its wings, let out a shrill cry, and flew away into the night.
The investment banker glanced at his wife one more time while she slept. He feared the sound of the bird had awakened her. Relief came to him, to see she still slept as soundly as she was a few moments before. He brushed the hair from her face, being very careful not to awaken her.
“I love you. Now, and forever. Please forgive me. Everything I do, I do for you,” he said, as tears rolled down his cheeks. He got out of bed and put on his robe. He took one final glance around the bedroom, and at his wife, as she slept, Then, having decided the time had come, he left the bedroom.
He walked, deliberately, down the darkened stairs that lead to the ground floor of their modest, two-story colonial home. As he made his way down, he did his best to gaze at each, and every, photograph that hung on the wall. He gently touched each one and remembered the time it was taken.
Once downstairs, he walked into the game room. He went past the billiard table, and the pinball machine in the middle of the room. His destination was a locked cabinet in the corner of the room.
He carefully opened the lock, and the door to the cabinet, which let out a soft squeak, and gave him pause for a moment. He feared that his wife would wake up, come down and catch him in this horrible act. After a moment, he was reassured his wife still slept, so he reached into the cabinet. His heart began to race as his hands found something made of cold steel.
He took his prize and walked over to the fluffy chair that he always used when he sat in the room, and read. He stared down at the shotgun that lay on his lap. His mind raced wildly. One final thought of what brought him to this agonizing moment. He tried desperately to convince himself not to do it. At the same time, he reassured himself it was for his wife, that he did what he was about to do. The internal conflict only served to increase his mental agony.
His heart pounded in his chest, as he placed a shell in the chamber. He closed his eyes for a moment, at the metallic click when he closed the barrel of the now loaded shotgun. Slowly, and deliberately, he pointed the gun at his face. He opened his mouth, thrust the barrel in, and closed his lips around the cold, blue steel. The greasy, and slightly pungent, flavor of gun oil played with his tongue. The lubrication of the oil almost felt soothing, as it moistened his dry lips.
He became all too aware this was to be the last thing he would ever taste. Tears and nervous sweat rolled down his cheeks from his forehead. As his fingers started to tighten on the trigger, he took one final glimpse around the room and closed his eyes for the final time. He thought to himself, over and over, “It won't hurt… It won't hurt… It won't -,”
The explosion of the gunshot and resultant scream from the investment banker's wife woke the neighbors in the house next door. The young couple sat upright in their bed. They glanced around the room, then at each other in confusion.
“What the hell was that,” asked the wife.
“I don't know,” replied the husband, as he got out of bed and walked to the window, “It sounded like a gunshot.” He peered out at his neighbor's house. “It sounded like it came from Doris and Pete's place.”
While this drama played out in the small town of Mountainview, a car made its way through the inky blackness of the night toward the town. The vehicle, a 1970 Ford Mustang contained two occupants. Johann “Father” Gunter and Robert Durling, who Johann sometimes ca
lled Bob.
They were demon hunters, on their way to the town from a farming community called Bucktown, where, only two days before, they had joined forces, and vanquished a demon who killed babies. While in the farming town, Johann impersonated an inspector from the CDC - the Centers for Disease Control - so he could gain access to the local hospital, where he met Robert, who was the coroner.
Johann also met Father Tuttle, the Catholic priest in town, who played a huge role in Robert's decision to abandon his life in Bucktown and hunt demons with Johann.
Johann, a former priest who still allowed himself to be called “Father Gunter,” was the driver, while Robert slept rather noisily in the passenger seat. Johann tried to maintain his concentration while he drove, but found the noise which emanated from Robert to be very distracting. At long last, Johann could take it no more.
“Bob,” said Johann, as he reached over and shook his noisy companion, “Bob. Wake up for Christ sake.”
“Huh? What,” said Bob, confused, as he awoke from his slumber.
“Jesus, Bob. You never told me you snore like that.”
“Did I snore,” Bob asked, as he stretched, and began to wake up. He yawned and glanced at Johann. “What time is it?”
“Just past two in the morning,” said Johan, as he peered at the clock in the dashboard, “We should be in Mountainview in a few hours.”
Robert patted his shirt pockets, as he searched for something.
“What the hell,” Bob said, “What happened to my cigarettes?”
“You threw them away when we left Bucktown, remember,” replied Johann, as he furrowed his brow, “You said you wanted to quit.”
“Oh, yeah. I remember. Damn, a cigarette would be good now.”
“Well, if you want me to stop, I can stop at the next convenience store or something.”
“Nah,” Bob said, as he gazed out his window into the side view mirror, “I want to quit, so I'll just deal with it.”
Bob raised his eyebrows as he realized that his friend told him it was past two in the morning, and the men had been up since six in the morning the day before.
“Did you stop to nap,” asked Robert.
“No. I can go days without sleep if I need to.”
“You know you shouldn't do that, right,” asked Bob.
Johann didn't answer, he glanced at his friend, and took a quick peek at Bob's rotund midsection.
“Hey, hey,” said Bob, as he pat his stomach, “That's gonna go away. Wait, and see.”
“Stick with me, and it'll go away faster than you think.”
Johann drove through the night for another hour. The small throb of pain in his head announced the start of a headache. The kind of headache one gets from not having enough caffeine. An avid coffee drinker, he would often experience caffeine withdrawal if he didn't drink some coffee, soda, or anything at all that contained the drug, for more than 12 hours.
A brightly lit sign up ahead invited travelers to stop at a small roadside café. Johann couldn't help but smile. Happy now, that he may only be moments away from getting rid of the nagging throb in his head.
As they neared the small eatery, it appeared dark, almost like it was closed. Johann and Robert glanced at each other, as though they questioned if they should bother. They drew closer to the dark building, and it became apparent that the lights were, indeed, on. The small, unlit neon sign in the window, proclaimed the place as being “Rupert's Place.” At least, it would have, had it been readable through the dirty window.
“Almost thought they were closed,” Johann said, as he slowed, and turned into the parking lot.
They pulled into the poorly marked parking lot. To their surprise, mixed in with a couple of cars and pick-up trucks, an eighteen-wheel tractor-trailer managed to squeeze into the tiny dirt lot awkwardly.
“Place must be good,” Johann said, as he gestured to the semi. Robert glanced at the Kenworth and nodded in agreement.
“Time for breakfast,” Robert asked, as he rubbed his stomach.
“No. I just need some coffee. I think we'll get breakfast when we hit town.”
“Gotta wait 'till later, Earnest,” Robert said to his belly while he gave it a gentle pat.
“You gave it a name?” Johann asked as he furrowed his brow.
“Why not,” answered Robert, with a shrug, “The thing's got a mind of its own. If I don't feed it regularly, it growls at me.” Johann gazed at his friend for a moment.
“You know you're fucking nuts, right,” Johann asked.
“Oh, what a nice way for a priest to talk,” said Robert.
“Former priest,” said Johann.
“Yeah. Gee, I wonder why,” Robert said, with a wry smirk.
Johann parked the car as close as he could to the small café, and both he and Robert entered the small, rundown building. The first thing that struck them was how simple, and rustic, the inside appeared. The place had a few booths, a counter, and some stools which squeaked when the person sitting on them moved. The aromas of morning coffee, eggs, and greasy bacon attacked their nostrils as they began to make their way to the counter.
The place was so quiet, as to be almost uncomfortable. No music played, no chatter between patrons, nothing. The only sound came from the waitress as she walked back and forth behind the counter. Other little sounds, like cups being placed back on saucers, knives, and forks on dinner plates, and such, could be heard. Bacon deliciously sizzled on the grill in the kitchen.
At the counter, sitting several stools apart were two men. One wore a shirt with a logo which matched the logo on the semi in the parking lot. The logo was simple. A tall tower with a big, black bird on top. The bird's head tilted back in a silent cry. As he studied the logo a little closer, it became obvious to Johann that the tower became the letters ER.
Johann and Robert walked over and sat at the counter between the two men. The waitress walked over after a moment and, without so much as a slight smile, addressed the two strangers.
“What can I getcha,” she asked, dryly, the unspoken “as if I care,” hung in the air. Johann and Robert silently questioned the cleanliness of the place, as she drew a dirty rag over the counter, her apparent method of 'cleaning.' She glanced up and looked past - not even at - Johann and Robert.
“Really,” Johann said, his voice dripped with sarcasm. He and Robert exchanged a glance and smirked before they sat on the stools in front of her at the counter. They brushed the tops of the stools with their hands first, in case there was any dirt on them. Seeing this, the waitress rolled her eyes and shook her head, uncaring.
She was younger than Johann and Robert, perhaps in her thirties. She wore her long brown hair pulled back into a ponytail with a few strands out of place on the front of her face. Her waitress uniform bore the stains of small spills, and she wore no makeup, except for a small splash of lipstick.
“Just a cup of coffee, please,” Johann said, “If it's not too much trouble.”
“Make that two, please,” Robert said, as he tried to remain as polite as he could.
The waitress walked away and lazily prepared two cups of coffee. She placed the cups down on the counter in front of Johann and Robert. As each cup landed on the counter in front of them, a little coffee spilled out. She turned away without giving an apology or even an acknowledgment of the spills.
Johann and Robert glanced at her for a moment, then at each other, and began to fix their coffee the way they like it.
The hot liquid made its way down Johann's throat, and he let out a small exhale. Pleased that his headache would soon be a thing of the past, he began to glance around. One particular family at a booth grabbed his attention. A man, and a woman, with two children. Something, though, seemed a little odd about them. Johann gave Robert a light nudge and gestured toward them.
Robert glanced in the direction of the family but didn't see it. He couldn't see what his friend saw.
“What,” Robert asked, as he took another sip of his coffee.
Robert studied the family for a few moments and turned to Johann. He pouted his lips and shook his head.
“No. They seem like a perfectly normal family to me,” he answered. Johann leaned closer to Robert and whispered in his ear.
“Pay attention,” he said, “Look at everyone here. What do they all have in common?”
Robert did his best to study everyone in the little café, but for the life of him, couldn't see anything obviously strange about them. No one wore the same color as anyone else… or sat the same way as anyone else… or did anything identical to anyone else, as far as he determined. He turned back to Johann, a puzzled expression on his face.
“I have no idea what you're talking about,” he said.
“When was the last time you were in a restaurant, and a family with kids didn't make any noise,” asked Johann. “Look around. Nobody is talking; the kids aren't acting up. No smiles. It's like someone filled the place with robots on Valium or something. Can't you feel it?”
Robert opened his mouth to answer, but before any words came out, he was interrupted by the sound of someone, as they hurriedly entered the café. He and Johann turned to face the door, and sat silently, as two police officers walked in and sat at the counter, a few stools down from where the demon hunters were sitting.
The two officers were older, possibly in their forties and fifties. It became apparent that they had been on the police force in the area for some time, and had been here often. The waitress catered to them a lot nicer than she did with Johann and Robert. She gently placed a cup of coffee in front of each of them before they even asked for one. The waitress walked away, and the two officers began to talk to each other.
“Damn,” the younger of the two said, his head down with an almost blank stare at the counter, “I can't believe he did that.” He glanced up at his partner, an expression of deep sorrow filled his face, “Really sorry, Phil. I had to get out of there. The way Doris carried on, and that damned mess in the game room and all.”