Chapter 1

Chapter 1

 

 

 

Jenson was staring down the barrel of a sawed-off shotgun, and the woman wielding it appeared to be deranged. She had wild, curly blond hair, cold blue eyes, and slightly masculine features. He raised his hands defensively, unable to recall how he had arrived in this situation. He seemed to be in an abandoned warehouse.

            “What are you?!” she demanded, shoving the barrel of the gun closer to his face.

            “Jenson Thorne,” he said hesitantly. He began to slowly step backward.

            “Don’t move!” she shouted, and Jenson froze. “I didn’t ask who you were. I said what are you?!”

            He didn’t know how to respond. “Um, a 32-year-old artist?”

            The strange woman scowled at him and reached for a flask at her hip, keeping the gun on him. She popped the top off with her thumb and suddenly splashed the contents onto Jenson’s face.

            “What the-?!” Jenson hurriedly wiped the liquid from his face. It was only water. He looked at the woman incredulously.

            “Well, you pass the holy water test. Hold this for me, will you?” She lowered the gun and handed him a shiny, silver colored knife. As he slowly reached for it, she quickly sliced the blade across his palm, drawing an instant stream of blood.

            “Ouch! D****t, what the hell?!” he growled angrily as he pulled his wounded hand close to his chest.

            “You’re just a human?” she said, sounding surprised.

            “What the hell else would I be?!” He was certain now that she was deranged.

            “Well, you aren’t the demon I’m after. Come with me.” She turned and walked away from him, into a long, dark corridor.

            “Wait a minute! What is going on here? Where am I? Who are you?” He hurried after her.

            “I’m Kristine. You were possessed by a demon, but it’s apparently moved on to somebody else. Just stay with me and you’ll be fine.” Kristine walked on with purpose, constantly monitoring her surroundings.

            Jenson was about to speak when she suddenly stopped and halted him with a raised hand. Without warning, she dove into a room on her left. Jenson heard gunfire and shouts, both male and female. He quickly contemplated whether to run away or help, but, being the good Samaritan he was, he ran into the room. He found Kristine standing over a large man on the floor, who had several bloody bullet wounds in his chest.

            “Who is he?” Jenson demanded.

            “Not who. What.” Kristine turned toward him and smirked. She wiped her brow with the back of her forearm, still clutching the shotgun, and walked past him, out of the room. He took one more look at the body on the floor, then went after Kristine.

            “That was a demon?” he asked when he caught up to her.

            “Well, unfortunately it was a person, but there was a demon inside of him. I had to kill him to stop the demon. That could’ve been you, you know.”

            As Jenson tried wrapping his brain around what had just happened, he heard a strange but familiar beeping sound. “Do you hear that?”

            “Hear what?” Kristine asked, giving him a strange look.

            Yeah, I’m the crazy one, he thought to himself in the seconds before he woke up.

            Jenson reached over and shut off his bedside alarm clock. As he lay in bed, trying to regain his senses, he thought about how oddly realistic his dreams always seemed to be. Other than having an outlandish theme, it had seemed like he was having a real experience. He looked over at his girlfriend, Maggie, who was still asleep. She always looked so lovely when she was sleeping, with her long dark eyelashes resting peacefully upon her lower lids, hiding her big, deep blue eyes. Her short, blondish-brown hair was in a disheveled mess around her small, lightly freckled face, and her full pink lips were parted slightly. He wasn’t sure why he loved the way she looked in the morning, but he had a feeling it was because he was the only one who ever got to see her in such a state of disarray. The moment she woke up, she always ran straight to the bathroom to shower and straighten her hair and cover her face with makeup. She never lounged in her pajamas, not even on weekends, and she refused to go camping or stay anywhere that she couldn’t perform her morning ritual. She was high-class, and while he loved that about her when he had her on his arm at his art shows, he couldn’t stand it at home. He loved her, but it didn’t mean he had to love everything about her.

He sluggishly climbed out of bed without waking Maggie, for he knew that he’d never get in the bathroom if he roused her now. They had a party to attend that afternoon for his grandfather’s 90^th birthday in Jenson’s hometown, and with a 180-mile drive in Michigan’s unpredictable autumn weather, he knew he’d have to make his shower quick if they wanted to arrive on time.

            He lumbered to the bathroom in their small, one-bedroom apartment and switched on the blinding light. He blinked at himself in the mirror, wondering if the dark circles under his bright hazel eyes would fade by the afternoon. He’d started a new painting the previous night, a wilderness scene (which was his subject of choice), and once he’d started, he had a hard time putting down the brush. Despite the sleep deprivation, Jenson thought he still looked pretty good. He had a perfectly symmetrical oval-shaped face, a straight, narrow nose, and a strong, slightly cleft chin. His skin naturally retained a light, sun-kissed glow all year long, which made his fair-skinned Maggie envious. He was well built and just tall enough to be taller than his long-legged girlfriend when she wore high-heels. Whenever he asked Maggie, who was a successful marketing agent, why she was with him, an up-and-coming artist, she would just laugh and tell him that he was the best eye candy she could ask for.

As Jenson brushed away his morning breath, he began to feel a dull ache behind his right eye. He cursed himself for staying up so late the previous night, because he knew that ache would only intensify. By the time he emerged from the shower, the ache had turned into a sharp pain that had spread to the entire right side of his head, and his vision had become compromised in his left eye. As always, his lack of sleep had brought on a vicious migraine. He swallowed more than the recommended dose of pain medication, as was always required to tame his migraine pain, and commenced his typical morning routine.

Once he was clean-shaven and had gelled and spiked his short brown hair, he woke up Maggie. When she rolled over and looked at the clock, she reprimanded Jenson for allowing her to sleep so long.

            “Damn it! I have less than an hour to get ready! I knew I should’ve set my own alarm,” Maggie complained as she hurriedly grabbed an outfit she had set out for herself last night and stomped to the bathroom.

            As Maggie showered, Jenson sat in the bathroom and talked to her. “I had a really crazy dream last night.”

            “And how is that different from any other night?” she replied from behind the floral shower curtain.

            “It’s not, I guess. But in this one there was a weird lady who was killing demons.”

            “You’ve been watching too much TV. How much of your painting did you finish last night?” Maggie changed the subject, straight to business as usual.

            “I got the background completed, but I didn’t get to bed until after 3 AM. And now I’ve got a pounding migraine to reward me for my hard work.”

            “That’s unfortunate, especially since you’re going to have to drive. I’m going to have to do my makeup in the car because somebody didn’t wake me up when they were supposed to.”

            Jenson sighed and went back into the bedroom to pack his duffle bag. He noticed that Maggie already had two suitcases packed and sitting by the bedroom door, and wondered why she would need that much luggage for a one-night trip. He shook his head and commenced his own packing.

            When Maggie had finished blow-drying and straightening her hair, she came out of the bathroom. With one look, she displayed her disapproval of his attire.

            “Please tell me that isn’t what you’re wearing.”

            He looked down at his plain gray t-shirt and his favorite blue jeans. “I guess not,” he replied in annoyance. After three years together, he should’ve known that she would object to him wearing casual clothes to an “event.” He quickly threw on the dress slacks and blue, button-front shirt she tossed onto the bed for him. He hoped his brothers wouldn’t give him too much grief for his outfit when they got to White Dove.

            Waiting for Maggie to pack up her last few items, Jenson thought about how nice it would be to see his brothers. He and his brothers had scattered throughout Michigan over the years, and now it was rare that they were all together. They all enjoyed each other’s company, despite their differing political views and paths in life. His oldest brother, Billy, was divorced and in the process of beginning his own farm. Pete was his next oldest brother, married, with two young boys and a successful career as an automotive technician. His youngest brother, James, was an electrical engineer straight out of college with a lively personality and currently single. The one thing they all had in common, however, was that they loved to sit up all night and drink a 30-pack of beer together, talking about anything and everything that came up �" whether it be cars, politics, guns, or even science. Jenson was looking forward to spending time with them tonight.

            Jenson carried all the luggage out to the parking lot, and after Maggie insisted upon them taking her car (since it was the nicer of the two, and she was all about keeping up appearances), he packed the vehicle while she sat in the passenger seat and began applying the layers of makeup she thought was required to make her look beautiful. As he climbed into the driver’s seat, he had to pause for a moment because the minor change in altitude from a standing to sitting position caused his head to throb painfully.

            “Come on, we’re going to be late,” Maggie said impatiently as she brushed mascara onto her eyelashes.

            Biting his tongue, Jenson rubbed his forehead, started the car, and headed to the expressway.

            Once Maggie had finished her makeup, she reached over and put a disc into the CD player. It was an artist of the pop genre, which Jenson couldn’t stand. If he dared to suggest that they listen to his rock music, though, he knew he would be starting World War III. Instead, he turned the volume down slightly and tried to start up a conversation so he didn’t have to listen to her bubblegum pop.

            “I’m pretty excited to see James's new house, aren’t you?” Jenson asked.

            “Yeah, but I’m not so excited about his big dog and his roommate. I mean, who buys a house and then moves their roommate into their house with them? I still think it would’ve been better if we had just booked a hotel for the night,” Maggie replied.

            “It’ll be fine. His dog is nice, and I like his roommate. Craig’s a bit wild, but he’s a lot of fun. Craig is just living with him until he can afford a place of his own. Besides, if we stayed in a hotel, I wouldn’t get to hang out with my brothers, and you know that’s important to me,” Jenson reminded her.

            “I know, and that’s the only reason I agreed to stay there. But his dog does not like me. She stands up and stares at me every time I move, like she’s about to bite my face off. It’s unnerving. And I don’t think Craig likes me either,” she said.

            Jenson knew Craig didn’t like her, and suspected that James’s dog, Scooter, didn’t like her either, but he would never tell her as much. In fact, he knew that no one in his family, including his parents, was very fond of Maggie. They thought she was too high-maintenance, stuck up, and, to quote Pete, “bitchy.” But Jenson loved her, despite her difficult personality, and his family supported his choices, regardless of whether or not they thought they were right.

            “I’m sure that’s not true,” Jenson lied. “Everybody likes you. You worry too much. You just need to relax.” When Maggie remained silent, Jenson tried another avenue. “So how’s work been going?” That subject always sparked Maggie’s interest.

            He wasn’t disappointed. Maggie talked for thirty minutes straight, pausing only to make sure Jenson was still listening. As much as he didn’t like listening to her talk about work, he liked listening to her music even less. Neither, however, helped his pounding headache.

            By the time they had put 150 miles between themselves and their apartment, the gas light came on in Maggie’s car. As Jenson watched for the nearest exit, Maggie reprimanded him for failing to fill up the tank before they left. He ignored her and rubbed his forehead, thinking that a break from the car was exactly what he needed right now. When he finally saw an exit ramp, he pulled off the expressway and found the closest gas station. It was small and slightly run-down, but he didn’t care. He just needed to get out of the car.

            When the gas tank was filled, Jenson leaned down and tapped on Maggie’s window. “Are you coming in?”

            Maggie just looked at the building and wrinkled her nose in disgust, shaking her head. Jenson didn’t press her any further and went inside. He headed straight for the coffee station and filled up the largest Styrofoam cup they offered with the pungent, black sludge that passed for coffee at gas stations. It might taste terrible, but he hoped the caffeine would help dull his migraine. He brought his coffee to the cash register and placed it on the counter without looking up. He dug into his pocket for his wallet.

            As he rubbed his forehead and thought about how much he dreaded getting back behind the wheel, he didn’t notice when the woman behind the counter asked him a question.

             “Hello?” she said, waving a hand in front of his face.

            “What? I’m sorry-” he began, then froze when he looked up at her face. With the spotty vision in his left eye, it took him a second to realize that the woman before him was the same blond-haired demon hunter from his dream.

            “I asked if we’ve ever met before. You look familiar…” She stared at him for a moment, then realization spread across her face. “Holy crap, I had a dream about you last night!”

            Jenson just stared at her, not knowing what to say.  

            “Yeah,” she continued, “we were hunting demons! It was awesome. I almost killed you. Weird, huh?”

            “Yeah, weird,” he said slowly. Should he tell her he had that dream as well, or would it just make him sound creepy? He was in shock. This couldn’t be possible.

            “Maybe remote viewing isn’t such a fallacy after all. Anyway, that’ll be $44.62.” She popped her gum and stood there, just looking at him like nothing strange had happened at all.

            He paid for his purchase, trying not to stare at the woman, and walked out the door, looking back once just to make sure his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him. It was definitely the same woman from his dream.

            When he returned to the car, his hands were shaking. What had just happened? How could this woman, whom he was certain he had never met or even seen before, have had the same exact dream that he had in the same night? And what was remote viewing?

            “Maggie, you won’t believe what just happened.”