3 Gates of the Dead (The 3 Gates of the Dead Series)

by Ryan, Jonathan

  Books, the mainstay of any minister’s office, lined the wall behind Father Neal’s desk. Instead of the theological discourses of a Presbyterian minister, the books looked old, cracked and most likely out of print. A Celtic cross made of solid oak hung over a wooden desk. I couldn’t help but wonder if they’d been made of the same tree. I leaned over and knocked on the desk. Solid Oak.

  I sat back in my chair. My eyelids started to droop again, and I held them open with my hands.

  Come on, Aidan, stay awake.

  I looked at the pictures on Father Neal’s desk. A stunning, gray-haired woman sat on a park bench surrounded by three adult girls. The girls appeared in other frames on the desk and looked just like the older lady. Father Neal had a group of lovely women, I thought. I gazed around to other frames and badly cut paper flowers and bugs. Most of them contained variations of “Daddy, I love you” and “You’re the best daddy in the world.”

  I looked at my watch, thinking fifteen minutes had passed. It had only been three.

  I stood up and walked around, but I felt dizzy. The whole atmosphere seemed to swirl around me. I knew that I had been in Father Neal’s office for at least fifteen minutes. Or maybe ten.

  Or maybe I was just losing it.

  I sat back down and closed my eyes. As I slipped into a dream world, everything glowed. I looked around for the source, but I couldn’t find it anywhere. A woman behind me cleared her throat. I stood up and turned, thinking another church worker had walked in and caught me sleeping.

  Amanda stood behind me, smiling and shining with light. She raised her hand in greeting. Her hair appeared almost white, and she moved toward me as if she were made of air.

  I tried to speak but couldn’t. She stared at me with an expression I’d seen on her face when I first proposed to her. I ached to touch her and reached out to try. As I did, another voice spoke. I couldn’t tell what it said, but Amanda turned to the voice and nodded. She looked back at me, gave me one of her half smiles that I’d loved so much, and disappeared.

  “Aidan, my son, wake up. Wake up.”

  I jolted out of my chair and came face to face with who I presumed to be Father Neal. “Amanda. Where is Amanda?” I asked, looking around the room.

  “Amanda is not here, son. It’s just you and me. I’m Father Neal.” He wore all black like a catholic priest. His hair was white and he walked with a gnarled, black cane, topped by a white wooden cup.

  “But … I know … I saw her. The room was…”

  “I think you are tired. Please sit.”

  I sat down, feeling a bit embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened. I just felt really sleepy.”

  “I’m sure you did, lad. It’s okay, I understand.” He smiled, straightening the deep wrinkles of his face.

  The fogginess of sleep passed. “I’m sorry?”

  “You are a pastor, aren’t you? You’re like me then, probably don’t get much sleep.”

  As he sat at his desk, he examined me with bright, blue eyes. I shifted in my seat as I wondered if he could see right through me.

  “Well, lad, you falling asleep in my office is not the worst thing to ever happen here.” He chuckled. “Though people usually wait until my Sunday homilies.”

  His voice reminded me of Ian McClellan’s, a deep, upper class British accent that had a tone of command. I would have bet money that he never needed to raise his voice to his daughters.

  “Now, Aidan, how may I help you?”

  I didn’t know where to begin or how to start. Father Neal beat me to it.

  “I heard Zoe visited you the other day,” he said.

  “Um, yes, she did.”

  “And what did you think of what she said?” The corner of his mouth twitched a bit.

  “Well, I guess, I don’t know, it was a little bit…”

  “Unusual?”

  “To say the least. I would have dismissed her except for one thing.”

  “Yes?”

  “Well, it’s a long story.”

  “Try me.”

  I stared at Father Neal for a moment as I figured out what to say. He got up from the desk, limped around it, and sat down beside me. He touched my arm and a jolt of electricity ran through me as if I’d stuck my finger into a light socket. I pulled away from him.

  “What have you seen, my son?”

  His question startled me. “I … I don’t know what you mean.”

  Father Neal sighed. “Aidan, you have the look all over you.”

  “What look?”

  “The look of a man who has seen things he can’t quite believe.”

  I replied without thinking. “That’s for damn sure.”

  He smiled. “As for damnable, that remains to be seen. I’m guessing, however, you’re starting to see what most people refer to as ghosts.”

  “Ghosts? Seriously?”

  He gave me a wide smile. “I know what you’re thinking. White sheets. Scooby Doo. But it’s not like that at all.”

  “And how do you know?”

  Father Neal paused, and he stared off into space. At first, I wondered if he fell asleep, but his mouth moved.

  “Father?”

  He started to speak and then abruptly stopped. “Forgive me, my dear boy. Old age is not very kind. My mind drifts from time to time. To answer your question, I’m going to ask you a question. What did you see? Was it Amanda?”

  Goose pimples shot up my arm, and I swallowed hard. “Father, I couldn’t have seen her. She’s dead.”

  He put a shaking hand up to his head. “I know, lad.”

  “You saw it on the news?” I asked, perplexed.

  Father Neal gave me a sad smile. “Something like that. Now, why do you think I asked you if you saw her a few minutes ago?”

  I stared at him. This conversation had veered into weird shit territory.

  “I have no idea. I mean, I saw her, but I was dreaming.”

  He shook his head. “No. I saw her too.”

  “Um, what?”

  “I saw her. She was here with you. She is what you might call a ghost, although that term is terribly misleading.”

  “Right. Ghost. Sure.” I edged my chair back.

  “You don’t believe me?”

  “Not really, no. I don’t believe in ghosts.”

  “Why not?” He leaned forward, his intense eyes boring into mine.

  “Well, I mean, come on. Ghosts? Isn’t that just something to scare teenage kids around the campfire?”

  To my surprise, his face muscles tightened, and his eyes seemed to blaze with fire. “Don’t you believe in the unseen world, Pastor Schaeffer?”

  “Why does everyone keep asking me that? Of course, I’m a pastor, but I don’t think believing in ghosts is the same thing.”

  He gripped his cane and leaned forward. “Don’t use the term ‘ghosts’. It’s not right or proper.”

  I couldn’t help but ask. “So, what is proper?”

  “Are Presbyterians required to know all of the Bible and the Creeds? Or just Paul’s letters?”

  I scoffed. “Depends on who you ask. What does that have to do with ghosts?”

  He pointed his cane at me. “Everything, dear boy, everything! Your Presbyterian education has made you dull to the seen and unseen world. Do you think it’s an accident that the Creeds start off with God is the creator of all things seen and unseen?”

  “So, what? When people die, they walk around and see us?”

  “That’s exactly what they do, Aidan!”

  Father Neal stared at me and waited for my response. I struggled for words and decided to change the subject.

  “Zoe says she has a ghost group. Are they like Ghostbusters or something?”

  “I believe they like to call themselves paranormal investigators. I think they’d find the notion of ghost-busting offensive.”

  “Who you gonna call?” I grinned.

  “Aside from the fact that Ghostbuster’s is the last funny movie that Dan Akroyd and B
ill Murray made together, it’s terribly inaccurate.”

  “Score one for your pop culture knowledge. What does this group do?”

  He frowned. “Did you ever see a show on the Sci-fi channel called Ghost Hunters?”

  “Can’t say that I have.”

  “They go to places that are haunted and scientifically investigate them.”

  “Oh? How do they do that? I didn’t think ghosts were in the realm of science,” I said as I ran my fingers through my hair.

  Father Neal waved his hand. “I can’t describe it to you. I think you might just need to see for yourself.”

  Mrs. Ryder walked in with two mugs of tea. “Here you go, Pastor Aidan.”

  “Thank you very much,” I said, taking the mug.

  When she left, Father Neal got up and opened a drawer in his desk.

  “Would the Irishman like a bit of whisky for his tea?”

  I nodded. “Mother’s milk, Father.”

  He tipped a small amount into my cup. I took a sip and coughed.

  “Been awhile?” he asked, as he poured himself some in a shot glass.

  “Yeah,” I rasped, the whisky burning my throat. “Usually I just drink Guinness.”

  “Aidan, my lad, you’re a stereotype.”

  We both laughed, and I pointed at his pictures. “Your family?”

  The lines in his face softened as he smiled. “Yes, the ladies in my life. That’s my dear wife, Judy, who passed away a few years ago.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Ah, don’t worry. I will see her again.”

  The confidence and faith in his voice made me shift in my seat. I didn’t want to broach that topic with him. “Do your daughters live around here?”

  He paused as he stared at the pictures. The lines on his face tightened.

  “No, sadly. They’re all back in England.”

  “Why don’t you move back to England to be close to them?”

  “Ah, well, I don’t feel a release to go yet.” He avoided looking at me.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to get so personal.”

  “No worries, lad. I’m always glad to talk about my angels.”

  I took another sip of tea. “So, about Amanda. Do you see dead people like Zoe does?”

  He smiled. “Not exactly. Our gifts are … different, you might say.”

  “How so?”

  “Zoe doesn’t always see through the veil. She gets breaks. I do not.”

  “I’m not sure I follow.”

  Father Neal looked at me. “Not only do you not follow, do think you’re ready for my explanation.”

  I sat the tea down. “Why do you think I came here?”

  “I don’t know, lad. Tell me.”

  “Zoe came and talked to me.” I balled my fists. “I thought I explained that.”

  “I heard you the first time. And what did you think about what she told you?”

  “That she was bat shit crazy, excuse me.”

  “No excuse needed. She might be crazy. I happen to think her brain has been somewhat damaged from all the chemicals she ingested in her youth.”

  His frank confirmation of my suspicions floored me.

  “But Aidan, that doesn’t mean she is wrong. Besides, if you thought she was so warped by drugs, why did you come to me? You could have just discarded her message.”

  He had me on that one. I would have to tell him everything that’d happened in the past week.

  “Why don’t you start at the beginning?” he said as if reading my mind.

  I started at Edna’s dream and finished with my trip to Fields of the Lord. When I was done, he stared down at the floor.

  “Father?”

  He mumbled something I couldn’t hear and then looked up. “I suppose you’re wondering how we all knew Amanda, eh?”

  The abrupt change of subject jarred me. “Yeah, now that you mention it. I would like to know when she started with your group.”

  “She came to me about four months ago. Nervous about something, but she would never spell it out.”

  “Did she ever?”

  Father Neal frowned. “No, sadly. She hinted at boyfriend problems, but she never elaborated. Zoe latched onto her, and they discovered a shared interest in the other.”

  “The other?”

  “The unseen realm, my lad. Anyway, Amanda went on some investigations. She disappeared a few weeks ago, and we were wondering what happened. Now we know.” He looked at me. “She talked about you all the time, you know.”

  My throat tightened. “Why didn’t she talk about Mr. Spiritually wonderful?” I lashed out.

  “As to that, I have no idea. I do know that when she started talking about her most recent boyfriend, she would stop, turn white, and then not say any more.”

  “And you didn’t find that odd?”

  Father Neal sighed. “Of course, I did. I still do. Something happened with Amanda beyond just the normal abusive relationship.”

  “And why do you think that?”

  “Because, she was drawn here, to this church and to me.”

  His words made me shift in my seat. The room began to shimmer and swirl in a variety of colors. The smell of incense wafted through the air. The world seemed to tilt as Father Neal stood up. His black priest outfit morphed into a white monk’s robe. Voices started singing in a language I didn’t understand. I glanced at Father Neal and gasped. His white hair glowed, and the age dropped from his face. In his right hand, he held a cup that pulsed with a golden light.

  My heart started to race, and I fell out of my chair. I crawled for the door.

  “Aidan, are you okay?” Father Neal said.

  I looked up, and everything had gone back to normal.

  “I … uh … I … I don’t know. I … you… What the hell? What is wrong with me?”

  Father Neal limped over to me and gave me his hand. I took it lightly, and he pulled me up with surprising strength. “Nothing, lad.”

  “Then what?”

  “Something … other.” He smiled.

  I had to get out of that room, that church, and away from him. “Father Neal, it’s been great. Thanks. I gotta run.”

  He reached out and grabbed my arm. “Aidan, I want you to come on a ghost hunt with me.”

  That was the last thing I expected to hear from him. “I’m sorry?”

  “A ghost hunt. There’s one tomorrow night. I want you to be there. Meet me here at seven.”

  “But Father Neal, I can’t…”

  “I won’t take no for an answer, Aidan. Seven o’clock sharp, please.”

  “But…”

  “There are things you must understand.”

  I walked outside and headed to my car. The snow had begun to fall again in slow, lazy flakes.

  Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

  I turned around and saw no one.

  Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

  I looked down and saw bare footprints appearing in the snow again. Not just one pair but dozens of them coming toward me from the church. The church building itself seemed almost alive, its walls bulging, roof shifting and windows reflecting a shimmering presence that looked right through me.

  I stood, unable to move. The snow came down in a torrent now, almost blinding me as each footprint appeared, filling the air with the pop of hardening flakes.

  Horror gripped my throat. I forced my legs to function, threw myself into the car, and sped off.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “So, that was my day,” I said as I ate my High Street pizza full of meat and olives.

  “Sounds like an interesting day among the clergy of our city.” Jennifer picked at her half-eaten veggie burger. “So, why aren’t you going back?”

  “You’re joking right?” I folded my arms and leaned back in my chair. I hadn’t told her about the Amanda dream or Father Neal turning into Other-World Man.

  “No, I’m not,” she said. “It sounds interesting, a ghost hunt.”

  “Yeah, but there is one problem.
I don’t believe one word of it, remember?”

  She frowned and leaned forward. “Why don’t you believe in God anymore, Aidan? We didn’t talk about it last night.”

  I shifted in my seat and picked at my straw. I needed to open up. I couldn’t handle bottling it inside any longer. Jennifer seemed trustworthy; at least, she hadn’t tried to run me back into jail. She’d seen the footprints and heard my offhand comments about God. But I couldn’t find my tongue. “Yeah.”

  Jennifer smirked. “You know, for a preacher, you don’t really have a way with words.”

  “Sorry. It’s just not something I want to talk about, really. You don’t have me in an interrogation room now.” I hoped she would take that as a joke and drop the subject.

  “I’m sorry.” Her face flushed a bit. “I’m just curious.”

  I shrugged. “It’s cool. I’m just trying to find the right words. But first, let me ask you a question.”

  She raised an eyebrow at me and took a sip of her ginger ale. “Ask away, preacher.”

  “What do you believe?”

  “About God? I guess I believe there is one.”

  “What does that mean?” I folded my arms across my body, the way I did when teaching a Bible study lesson.

  “Well, I’m not really sure. I mean, I was raised Catholic, but I don’t go to Mass much anymore. I don’t hold to most of what the church teaches.”

  “Doesn’t that usually go with being an American Catholic?” I laughed.

  “True,” Jennifer said. “I guess I have my own religion. You know, I believe in God and spirituality. I’m spiritual, but not religious.”

  “Okay, let me stop you there. What does that mean, ‘spiritual but not religious?’”

  She stared out the window, watching the Gallery Hop Art patrons stream by our table.

  “You know, I have never really thought about it. I guess it means acknowledging God, being thankful, nice to people, helping in the community and all that. I guess a little praying gets thrown in there too, especially on some of the cases I have to investigate.”

  “Okay, so this God you pray to, what is He or She like? Can you describe this entity?”

  “Well, no, I guess it’s more of a feeling.”

  “Exactly. Why do you need God to be a good person? You don’t. People can be nice without worrying about God hanging over their head.” I took a sip of beer.