The Bucktown Babies (Father Gunter, Demon Hunter Book 1) Read online

  The Bucktown Babies

  Father Gunter, Demon Hunter Book 1

  Janine R. Pestel

  Copyright (C) 2017 Janine R. Pestel

  Layout design and Copyright (C) 2017 by Creativia

  Published 2017 by Creativia

  Cover art by Cover Mint

  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-

  -17-

  About the Author

  Books by Janine R. Pestel.

  -1-

  The light of the medium sized television set eerily illuminated the sparsely furnished room. The furnishings consisted of a double bed with a small nightstand, a chair, and a dresser - on which sat the medium sized television set. The air in the room was fragranced from old clothes in need of being washed and the recently purchased pepperoni pizza the gentleman lying on the bed was eating as his late-night meal.

  He was about average height with a marginally muscular build. His short hair still retained the sandy blond color of his youth, even though he was now in his forties. He was usually clean shaven, but at the moment he was between what he would call “gigs,” so he allowed himself the luxury of five o'clock shadow. The wire rim glasses he wore fit his rounded face almost perfectly.

  He lay on his bed, and casually munched a slice of pizza while he watched the news on the television. He glanced at a photo which was hanging on the wall; An image of him in his younger years, when he was a priest. His name was Johann Gunter. Most people who knew him still called him Father Gunter. This was something he allowed, even though he didn't like to think about that time in his life. He stared at the photo for a moment, then to another photograph next to it. This one was of his sister who he hadn't seen since just before leaving the priesthood almost five years ago.

  Johann reminisced about his childhood for a moment. He remembered all the fun times he and his older sister Theresa had as children. He grasped the cross hanging around his neck. A present from Theresa when he became a priest. He dropped his gaze for only a moment before returning his attention to the photo. His steely blue eyes seemed to burn with anger, and he managed a sad smile. “I'll find you, sis,” he said as he choked back tears, “I'm coming for you.” He lifted his can of cola in a gesture of salute and drank a sip before he turned his attention back to the news program on the television.

  Most of the broadcast was the same as any other night; crime, racial unrest in some city over something which could likely have been avoided, politicians trying to tell everyone they are the best thing since sliced bread - the usual stuff. But, one story caught his attention. The anchor cut to the reporter on the scene in a hospital in a small farming community. Father Gunter sat up in his bed to better give his full scrutiny to the report as he finished the last slice of pizza he could eat tonight.

  “We now go to Belinda Carstone, who is at the hospital in Bucktown. Belinda,” the anchor said. The picture switched to a young, attractive brunette. She was standing in a corridor. Next to her was a doctor from the hospital. The doctor was also a female, though a little older appearing than the news reporter and with long, raven black hair and very dark eyes.

  “Thank you, Simon,” Belinda said. “With me now is Doctor Zou. Doctor, how many infants would you say have passed away?” She placed the microphone in front of the doctor's mouth.

  “If you include the three tonight, there is a total of ten this week up to today,” the physician said.

  “Ten,” Belinda said, almost aghast as she repeated the doctor's words, “that's a lot of infants. Any idea what is causing this? What did they all die from?”

  “Yes,” the doctor said, “Ten. From what we can tell so far, they all seem to be victims of SIDS; Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. And this, by the way, is not including all the miscarriages of late.”

  Johann opened the drawer in his nightstand and took out a map. He found Bucktown and calculated how long it would take to drive to the small town. The former priest estimated with the way he drives, and given the traffic this time of night, or lack of traffic, more than likely, he would be looking at about a two-hour trip. He got out of bed and walked past his television. “Guess I got a gig,” he said, as he glanced at the TV one last time before entering the lavatory to shave.

  A short while later, he emerged from his bathroom clean shaven and freshly showered. He made his way to his bed and removed the towel he had wrapped around himself. He found his satchel and began to pack his clothing and items he would need for the trip.

  In with his clothes, he placed a Bible, a .45 caliber pistol with ammunition and a small flask filled with holy water. He picked up a long, flat case and laid it on the bed next to his suitcase. This was his last resort weapon. His sawed-off double barrel shotgun. He gently caressed the case for a moment, like a father would a child's face. “I hope I don't need ya,” he said, “I hope this demon goes willingly.”

  After dressing, he took a quick glance at the television, which now had a late-night talk show on he never cared to sit through. He turned on the overhead light and switched off the TV. He grabbed a bottle of drinking water from on his nightstand, and stuffed the liquid filled plastic container, as best he could, in his pants front pocket. He exited, and locked, his door.

  He left the comfort of the little apartment building he lived in and realized the weather had turned, and a storm was happening. The thunder rumbled, and the sky glowed with many flashes of lightning. The rain was steady; not too hard, but not a drizzle, either. Although it was the end of summer and almost fall, the night air was still warm and fragrant with the aroma of wet grass, and the last of the summer flowers. He made a mad dash for his car as he hated the feeling of being both wet and dry simultaneously, which usually came with being exposed to raindrops for a short while.

  He arrived at his vehicle, a 1970 Ford Mustang he restored to like new condition a few years ago. He tossed his bags into the back seat and quickly got in. Of course, when he did the work, he couldn't help but modify the vehicle a little. His ride now sported all-wheel disc brakes, a hot rodded 5.0-liter engine and a 5-speed manual transmission from a newer model year Mustang along with wider than stock tires. He started the car and sat a moment, listening to the deep-throated growl of the v8 engine. He put the car in gear and began his trip.

  As he drove, the steady “schlup, schlup” sound of the windshield wipers almost became hypnotic. He thought about what he heard on the television. “Ten children dead this week. How long has this been going on? How many kids total? That doctor said there were also miscarriages. How many?” He took his hand off the gearshift and ran his fingers through his hair, then placed his hand back on the shift knob.

  “This ain't right,” he said to himself, “There's a demon here. I know there is. I'm gonna squash it like the bug from hell that it is. Can't let anyone know I was a priest. Beast won't come near me
then. This is a job for Bill Berman.”

  Bill Berman was a fictitious person Johann created to use when he performed these investigations. Bill could be anything from an inspector for the Department of Health to a field agent with the FBI. Johann decided this trip Bill was going to be an inspector with the CDC; The Centers for Disease Control. “Glad I had that part-time job in that printing shop,” he thought.

  While employed there, he had enough time alone with the equipment and supplies to make himself fake ID badges for everything he could think of; FBI, Police, CDC - he even made one showing Bill Berman to be a Special Agent with the CIA, although he hadn't used that one yet. The one he used the most was the one he always flashed at the demon before he exiled it. This one read “Father Gunter. Demon Hunter.”

  He pressed on through the rainy night with only the steady beat of the windshield wipers, his radio, and his thoughts for company. Being so late at night, and inclement weather to boot, traffic was very scarce on the road. When, on seemingly rare occasion, he would pass an oncoming car, the headlights would put on a little light show as the light beams would dance with the rain drops on his windshield until the wipers would wipe it away.

  Johann listened to his radio to see if there was any more news about the baby deaths in Bucktown. He was disappointed and, at the same time, a little relieved that there was not. A “welcome” sign on the side of the road told him that he had, at last, reached the outskirts of the town.

  The rain began to subside, and at the same time, his reception seemed to be diminishing on his radio. Johann heard more static than broadcast, so he switched from one channel to another, only to find more static. Frustrated by this, he turned the receiver off.

  The first thing that struck him about this municipality was how small everything appeared. Not necessarily small in size, but small as in the kind of hamlet where everyone knew each other. This was the kind of place where strangers can either be very welcome or viewed with distrust and disdain. He wondered what sort of reception he would have with the locals.

  Johann began to realize the driver in an approaching car had turned his high beams on and appeared to be entering his lane. Johann could feel his heart rate quicken as he started to flash his high beams to alert the driver. The driver was not responding to this, and Johann began to sound his horn.

  The oncoming vehicle was unrelenting in its apparent mission to crash itself into Johann's vehicle. At the last minute, Johann turned his wheel to the right, while at the same time, he stabbed his foot down hard on the brake pedal and the clutch, so the car wouldn't stall. The hot tires cried in pain as he struggled to maintain control of the bucking bronco. The tires began to hydroplane on the wet pavement, which made it that much harder to maintain control.

  The oncoming vehicle sped past as though it was laughing at him, and Father Gunter tried to get a look at the driver. The car was traveling at such a high rate of speed that Johann could not see the perpetrator at all. He did, however, take note that the car was a black, late model Dodge. His years of being a “car guy” came in handy, as he quickly recognized the shape as being that of a Dodge Challenger.

  “Asshole,” he yelled. He made a hand gesture as the car sped past. He sat in the quiet for a moment, and watched in his rear-view mirror, as the attacking car's tail lights disappeared. The sound of his heartbeat seemed to match the low rumble of the idling engine in his vehicle. His heated breath was almost fogging his windows.

  He sat there for a moment to allow himself to calm down and recompose. He wiped some sweat from his face and ran his fingers through his now slightly disheveled hair, then continued on his way, hoping this was not an omen of how the townspeople were going to receive him.

  A brightly lit sign up ahead caught his eye. The bright red neon outlined the head of a buck deer and the yellow neon spelled out the name of the establishment. It read “Bucktown Inn.” Below that, the word “vacancy” flashed on and off in white. “Looks like I found myself a home for a few days,” he muttered out loud to himself as he parked at the office. “Time to be Bill Berman,” he said.

  An older gentleman at the counter greeted him as he entered the small rustic lobby. “Evenin', stranger,” the man said, eyeing Johann up as though he may have done something wrong. “You be needin' a room?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do,” said Father Gunter, trying to sound a little more sophisticated than he actually was, “For a few days or so.” He opened his wallet and produced a driver license with a photo for ID. The clerk glanced at the photograph, then at Johann and back again at the license. “Okay, Mister Berman,” the clerk said, as he took out the motel guest register, “I can put ya in room 66. It's right down that way. Just follow the building around. You'll find it,” he said, with a nod, as he pointed.

  “Well, thank you kindly,” Johann said as he signed the guest register. The old man gave him his key.

  “The room rate is twenty dollars a night. On the day you leave, check out is at 11 o'clock. Every mornin' we serve a continental breakfast of a hard roll and coffee. Except for Fridays. We have bagels on Friday.”

  “Thank you again,” Johann said, as he took the key. “By the way, can I get a wake-up call?”

  The old man gazed at him for a moment and almost laughed out loud. “We don't do that here. This ain't no fancy Hilton, you know. There are plenty of roosters in the area. You'll hear 'em,” he said, as he made a gesture toward the outside.

  Johann held his gaze on the old man for a moment, not knowing quite how to answer that. “All right then,” he said, as he gave the man a pleasant smile, “Good night. I look forward to your continental breakfast.” He adjusted his glasses on his nose, turned and walked back out to his car.

  “Did he really say roosters,” he thought to himself. A few minutes later he found his room, parked his vehicle, took his bags into the chamber and closed the door.

  -2-

  Johann awoke the next morning to the sound of a rooster crowing outside his window. The shrill sound cut through the still morning air, and reverberated from everywhere. His eyes opened and he sleepily glanced at the alarm clock on his nightstand. The time read six o'clock. “I'll be damned,” he said, “that guy was right about the roosters.” His decision to lay in the bed for another moment or two was interrupted by the rooster, who crowed again. “Damn. Even has a snooze alarm,” he whispered as he got out of bed.

  Johann took a morning shower and shaved again to make sure he was as clean-shaven as possible. To appear more official, he dressed in a suit and tie. Under his jacket, he wore a shoulder holster with his .45 caliber pistol. He made sure all the ID needed to prove he was Bill Berman, CDC Inspector, was in order. He combed his hair, checked himself out in the mirror and left his room.

  Johann stopped at the motel lobby to grab himself some of the continental breakfast the clerk told him about the night before while he was checking in. He entered the office and the same elderly gentleman from last night was still behind the counter. Johann took a hard roll and poured a cup of coffee. Father Gunter glanced at the old man as he put the cream and sugar into his coffee.

  “You still here,” he asked, “Don't they let you go home?”

  “I am home,” the old gent replied, “I own the place. I live here.”

  Johann walked over to the man; his hand outstretched in greeting, and the man grasped it.

  “We didn't have a proper introduction last night,” Johann said, “I'm Bill Berman. An inspector with the CDC.”

  “Harry Weedles,” the clerk said, as he introduced himself. “I own the place.” He scrutinized Johann “Did you say you're with the CDC? In Atlanta?”

  “That's right. We received notification about all the babies passing away here. Thought we should check it out. Make sure no disease is going around,” Johann said, as he sipped his coffee. “Good coffee. And you were right, by the way. About the roosters, I mean.”

  Harry managed a weak smile at the remark about the roosters, and dropped his gaze
, sadly.

  “Yeah. Them poor families. Too many babies dyin' around here,” he said, as he glanced back at Johann. “Hope you guys can find out what's goin' on. Heaven knows that Doctor Zou lady can't seem to help.”

  “Doctor Zou? Did she come here to help,” asked Johann.

  “Yeah, I heard that's why she's here.”

  “Know where I can find her office?”

  “Nope. I don't have any idea. I'm sure they can tell you at the hospital, though.”

  “Alright,” Johann said, as he shook Harry's hand again, “Thanks for the information. I'll start my investigation at the hospital.”

  Johann walked out of the office into the fresh morning sunshine. Although the sky was now blue and full of sunshine, the clean aroma of the rainfall from the night before still hung in the still morning air. He stopped for a moment and deeply inhaled the air, to savour nature's fragrance. “What a beautiful morning,” he thought, “How can there be a God damned demon here?”

  Johann walked back to his room. Once inside, he took the phone book out of the end table near his bed. He found the phone number for the hospital, and dialed the number. The telephone only rang a few times before the hospital operator answered the call.

  “Bucktown Regional Hospital. How may I direct your call,” asked the woman who answered the telephone.

  “Good morning, my name is John Sherwood. I'm one of the assistant directors here at the Centers for Disease Control in Atlanta, Georgia,” Johann said, disguising his voice and using a southern drawl, “May I please speak with your administrator?”

  “Yes, sir, I'll connect you. Please hold.”

  “Thank you, kindly.”

  After a moment, another woman answered the phone.

  “Administrator Olson,” she said.

  “Administrator Olson, my name is John Sherwood. I am one of the assistant directors here at the Centers for Disease Control in Atlanta, Georgia. How are you today,” Johann said. He was hoping he sounded as professional as he thought he did.