Father Gunter Demon Hunter Box Set Page 2

  -2-

  Johann awoke the next morning to a rooster which crowed outside his window. The shrill sound cut through the still morning air and reverberated from everywhere. His eyes opened and glanced at the 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 a little while longer was interrupted by the rooster who crowed again. "Damn. Even has a snooze alarm," he whispered as he got out of bed.

  Johann showered and shaved again to make sure he was as clean-shaven as possible. Gunter hated to wear them, but he dressed in a suit and tie. Under his jacket, he wore a shoulder holster with his .45 caliber pistol. All the ID needed to prove he was Bill Berman, CDC inspector, was in order; he made sure of that. 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. He entered the office, and the same elderly gentleman he met the previous night was still behind the counter. Gunter took a hard roll and poured a cup of coffee. He peered at the older gentleman as he put the cream and sugar into his beverage.

  "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. The man grasped it and gave it a friendly shake.

  "We didn't have a proper introduction last night," Johann said. "I'm Bill Berman. An inspector with the Centers for Disease Control."

  "Harry Weedles," the attendant said, introducing himself. He scrutinized Johann "Did you say you're with the CDC? In Atlanta?"

  "Yes, I did. We received notification about all the babies passing away here. Things like that always call for an investigation. Need to make sure no disease is going around," said Johann. He sipped his morning beverage. "Good coffee. And you were right, by the way. About the roosters I mean."

  Harry managed a weak smile at that last remark. He dropped his gaze; his face wore a sad expression.

  "Them poor families. Too many babies dyin' around here," he said. He glanced back at Johann. "Hope you guys can find out what's goin' on. Heaven knows that Dr. Zou lady doesn't seem to be any help."

  "Did she come here to help?"

  "Yeah, I heard that's why she's here."

  "Know where I might 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. At least now I have a little head start on my investigation."

  Father Gunter walked out of the motel office and out into the morning. Although the sky was now blue and full of sunshine, the clean aroma of the rainfall from the night before still hung in the morning air. He stopped for a moment and inhaled, to savor nature's fragrance. "What a beautiful morning," he thought. "How can there be a goddamned demon here?"

  Johann went back to his room. Once inside, he took the phone book out of the night table near his bed. It's now or never, he thought. He found the number for Bucktown Regional Hospital and dialed it. The telephone only rang a few times before the receptionist picked up the call.

  "Bucktown Regional Hospital. How may I direct your call?" asked the woman who answered.

  "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. He disguised his voice by lowering it, and speaking with a heavy southern drawl, "May I please speak with your administrator?"

  "Yes, sir. Please hold while I connect you."

  "Much obliged, ma'am."

  After a moment another woman answered the phone.

  "This is Olson," she said.

  "Miss Olson, my name is John Sherwood. I am an assistant director at the Centers for Disease Control. How are you today?" said Johann.

  "I'm fine, thank you. What can I do for you, Mr. Sherwood?"

  "We understand that you are experiencing what could only be described as a severe outbreak of Sudden Infant Death Syndrome in your town, is that correct?"

  "Yes, it is."

  "We dispatched one of our field inspectors, Bill Berman. He will arrive there this morning, to investigate this phenomenon. Can we count on your complete cooperation?"

  "Yes, you can. We will do all we can to assist Inspector Berman."

  "Thank you, kindly. If you should have any questions, I would recommend that you contact Inspector Berman directly. His number is 445 555-1021."

  "Alright, 445-555-1021," she repeated to make sure she understood him correctly.

  "That's right. Thank you very much, Miss Olson. You have a nice day, now."

  After he ended the call, Johann decided it was time to head out; look over the town. He would eventually make his way over to the hospital to begin his investigation.

  A few minutes later Gunter drove down the main street. He glanced at the rows of shops on either side of the avenue and made a mental note of some of the stores. Among all the buildings were a hardware store, several small restaurants, a barber shop, a general store, and a small strip mall which housed a few medical practices, and other related businesses. Behind the mall was a much larger building which stood six stories tall. A sign which read "Emergency Room Entrance" told Johann he had located his target destination.

  Farther down the road, he found the local fire and first-aid stations and the police headquarters. After the police station, buildings disappeared, and nothing but farmland stretched out everywhere, save for the one lone church. Being a former man of the cloth, he couldn't help but to stop in and visit the house of worship. He parked his car out front and studied the building for a moment.

  The small structure appeared to be quite old. It was constructed of wood with a tall bell tower above the doors. With a new paint job, it would be reminiscent of a church from a Norman Rockwell painting. Father Gunter got out of his vehicle and walked up the short, brick steps. The two front doors towered above Johann's head and were stained oak. The hinges creaked and moaned as Gunter pulled one of the doors open.

  Inside, the musty air gave the impression the place was, perhaps, a little neglected. Johann smiled at the small porcelain basin containing holy water on the wall near the door. He dipped his fingers in and blessed himself as he entered the church.

  Johann reached the front of the church, genuflected before the large wooden crucifix, and knelt at the altar.

  "Welcome to Saint Isidore," a man's voice said from somewhere to his right. The voice echoed through the empty building. Johann glanced over and spotted a man who appeared to be only a little older than himself standing nearby. His hands grasped each other at chest level as though he were in prayer. The man had short, well-groomed, brown hair and a warm, friendly smile. His attire was the usual black shirt and pants with the little white square visible from his clerical collar.

  "Thank you, Father," Johann responded, as he stood to walk over to the priest.

  "I'm Father Tuttle," the padre said. He reached his hand out in greeting.

  "Bill Berman, Father," said the demon hunter, introducing himself. He took the priest’s outstretched hand and gave it a friendly shake. He hated to lie to a man of the cloth and especially so, in a church. God will understand, he thought to himself.

  "You're new in town." Father Tuttle smiled and made eye contact with the stranger in front of him.

  "Yes," Johann said. He took out his identification and showed it to the clergyman. "I'm an inspector with the CDC. Here to investigate the deaths of the infants and all the miscarriages."

  Father Tuttle gave the ID a critical examination before he returned the small card to Johann. "I'm sure you will find it is the will of God, my son," he said. Father Gunter considered this with great care.

  "I'm sure it is, Father. I just need to make sure there is no other reason," Gunter broke his eye contact with
the clergyman and glanced around the church. "Very appropriate that the church's name is Saint Isadore," he pointed out, trying to change the subject.

  "You know of Saint Isidore?" the padre asked.

  "Oh yes, Father. He's the patron saint of farmers," Johann said. He turned his gaze back to Father Tuttle. "My father was a farmer, and we always asked Saint Isidore for help."

  "I see," the priest said as he turned to leave, "Enjoy your stay in this town, Mister—" He peered back over his shoulder at Johann

  "Berman—Bill Berman."

  "Mr. Berman. Please remember you will always be welcome here."

  "Thank you, Father. I will," Johann said as the priest walked away, back to his rectory.

  Johann turned and again kneeled before the altar. Even though he was no longer a priest himself, he still prayed for help every time he was on one of his gigs. He believed doing so not only made him stronger but contributed to his ability to keep innocents safe from harm.

  Johann finished his business at the altar. He headed back to the door and glanced around. He wanted to take in all he could of the quaint little church. He was unaware of Father Tuttle, who stood in the shadows at the door between the sanctuary and the rectory. He studied every move Johann made.

  Gunter walked out of the place of worship. The stillness of the air was disturbed by the roar of an engine, and the squeal of rubber on tarmac from somewhere close by. He froze in his place, almost mesmerized as a car screamed around the corner. The tires cried and belched smoke as they struggled to retain a grip on the road. The vehicle was a black Dodge Challenger. He suspected the car was the same one that tried to run him off the road the night before. Now he discovered why he couldn't see the driver; all the windows were blacked out. The engine roared, and thick, black marks were left on the macadam as the menacing vehicle sped away. Tire smoke and the oily stench of burned rubber were the lingering evidence of the encounter.

  Johann ran to his car and slammed the door as he got in. He turned the ignition key. He thought he should give chase, but realized that by the time he would be able to turn around the offending car would be long gone. "Damn it," he shouted. He pounded his steering wheel and peered in his rearview mirror. "I'll find you, you son of a bitch."

  Johann put his Mustang into gear and drove away. He never noticed Father Tuttle at the church door. He kept vigil and made a sign of the cross as Johann pulled away. He kissed the rosary he held in his hand. "Please protect him," he whispered as he stepped back into the house of worship and closed the door.

  Father John Tuttle walked back to his rectory and sat at his desk. He glanced around his office as he thought. The padre closed his eyes and clasped his hands together in prayer.

  "Oh please," the priest pleaded as he rested his forehead on his hands. "Tell me what I can do to help."

  After a few moments, he opened his eyes and reached for his telephone. His lips curled into a smile as he dialed a number.

  "Hi. It's me," the clergyman said when the other person answered. "It worked. I told you it would."

  Johann drove through the farmland of the area as he headed back into town. The fragrance of fresh cut hay filtered into his car through his open driver side window. He turned on his radio. The reporter on the news program was from a local station and was saying more infant deaths occurred during the night.

  "Damn it," he shouted as he slapped his hand down on the dashboard. "I gotta find this thing and send him back to the slimy hole he crawled out of."

  Johann motored through town on his way to the hospital. He peered down every side street and in every lot. He was determined to find the black Challenger that menaced him. Gunter soon arrived at the local infirmary. He cruised around in the parking area for a short time before he pulled into a space near the front entrance. He had no luck in finding the Dodge Challenger.

  At the same moment he got out of his Mustang, an ambulance entered onto the grounds. It stopped at the emergency room doors, followed by an old pickup truck. Johann was able to see the young man who drove the pickup, and his wife who sat next to him. It was evident they were with whoever was in the ambulance. The pickup's brakes squeaked as it rolled to a stop. The distressed couple exited and ran to the emergency vehicle as the rescue workers removed the gurney from the back.

  On the stretcher was a tiny person: a baby girl. The EMTs administered CPR to the little infant. They held the parents at bay as they rushed inside. Johann came over and managed to slip in unnoticed in the chaos.

  The area exploded with activity. Personnel scrambled to place the small baby on a hospital gurney and whisked the tiny patient away to an examination room. A female MD walked up to the pair and tried to console them. Johann couldn't help but eavesdrop.

  "Mr. and Mrs. Bridger, you must stay calm. We're going to do all we can for her. "

  "She wasn't even sick," the distraught young mother said, interrupting the doctor. Tears streamed down her face.

  "I know. Rachel is a healthy infant. Please sit here. I will be back as soon as I have news for you both." She walked away toward the room where they had taken the unconscious baby. Johann found it odd that the hospital did not have a chaplain here to comfort the family.

  He went over to the nurses' station. "I'm Bill Berman. I'm an inspector with the Centers for Disease Control, I believe Administrator Olson is expecting me," he said, showing his identification card to the head nurse. "May I ask what the infant, who arrived a few minutes ago, was brought in for, Nurse Hensley?" he asked after he read her name tag.

  The RN studied him and his ID as she tried to make sure he was legitimate.

  "If you don't mind. I will have to clear this with our administrator," she said as she picked up the telephone and dialed Administrator Olson's extension. A moment later Miss Olson answered.

  "Olson here," said the voice at the other end. Johann could just about hear the administrator's voice on the nurse's receiver but thought there to be a pleasant sound to it.

  "Ma'am, I have a gentleman here who is claiming to be with the CDC, but we were never told he was coming," the head nurse said as she studied the stranger.

  "What is his name?" asked Olson.

  "Bill Berman. He gave me his card as well."

  "Yes, I was informed about this today. I didn't think he would get here quite so soon. I didn't even have time to put out the memo yet. Cooperate with him. Give him whatever information he needs, within the HIPAA guidelines, of course." She reminded her RN of the Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act, which governed how patient data was transmitted.

  "Yes, ma'am. Thank you," said Nurse Hensley. She disconnected the call and turned her attention back to Johann.

  "I'm sure you understand, Mr. Berman," she said, glancing down at the chart in front of her. "The doctor hasn't finished her examination yet, but the EMT's reported the infant as being unconscious and unresponsive upon their arrival at the scene," she answered, with a touch of sadness in her voice.

  "I see. Who is the attending physician?"

  "That would be Dr. Zou," the nurse said. She pointed to the examination room where the baby had just been taken.

  "Much obliged. I would like to meet and talk with the hospital administrator, if I may?"

  A heartbreaking shriek came from behind Johann and pierced the muffled din of the room. He spotted the young woman as she collapsed into her husband's arms. Dr. Zou had just left them and walked toward the nurses' station. It was obvious the couple had just learned of their daughter's passing.

  The MD purposely positioned herself a few feet away from Johann. She leaned closer to Hensley and said, almost in a whisper, "SIDS." Her eyes found the man next to her. She all but leered at the man in the suit who put his hand out.

  "Dr. Zou," he said, "I'm Bill Berman."

  "Good for you," she said, interrupting his introduction. "Now, if you don't mind, I have patients to attend to." She turned and headed back down the hallway. Johann dropped his hand to the counter and studied
her as she retreated from him. He turned to the head nurse, who wore an expression of nonbelief on her face. "Is she always this charming?" he asked. His voice dripped with sarcasm.

  "No," Nurse Hensley replied, "I've never seen her like that before. She's usually pretty cordial to everyone. You must have done something to upset her."

  "Interesting,” Johann said. He approached the distraught couple.

  "My condolences on your loss," he said to the grieving pair. All they could do was acknowledge his presence.

  "Thank you," the wife sobbed weakly.

  Johann cut his gaze to the floor for a moment. He glimpsed back at the two. The nurse interrupted him as he was about to speak.

  "Mr. Berman. Miss Olson will see you now."

  He walked back over to the nurses' station. "Thank you," he said.

  "Go through those doors and take the elevator to the top floor. When you exit, go to your left. Her office is at the end of the hall. You can't miss it. I'll let security know you're coming."

  "Much obliged," he said. He turned and began to make his way to visit Administrator Olson.

  -3-

  Johann exited the elevator and walked down the corridor to the hospital administrator's office. The click of the dress shoe heels on the tile floor echoed off the walls in the deserted hallway. When he reached his destination, he found the door open but courteously gave a light knock. The woman behind the desk glanced up and waved him in. "Come on in, Mr. Berman," she said as she continued her work.

  Sylvia Olson was a woman most would refer to as being handsome. Her blond shoulder-length hair well matched her blue eyes. She was in her mid-to-late fifties and was of average build for someone her age. Her perfume was enchanting without being overwhelming. She wore glasses which gave her an elegant, yet authoritative, appearance. She glanced over the eyeglass rims and studied Johann as he entered the room.

  Johann walked over. "Please sit," Sylvia said. He sat in a chair in front of her. She took a moment to finish what she was doing on her computer. After she finished, Olson gave her full attention to the official-looking gentleman now in her presence. "How can I help you?" she asked.