The Last Customer

The Last Customer

A Novel by

Daniel P. Coughlin

The Last Customer is a work of fiction. Characters, names, place, incidents, organizations are a product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.

The Last Customer

  
Daniel P. Coughlin

Copyright © Daniel P. Coughlin 2012

Published by Hellfire Publishing, INC.

http://
www.hellfirepublishing.com

All rights reserved. No part of this document or the related files may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, by any means (electronic, photocopying, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Digital ISBN: 978-1-937179-93-9

Cover art by:
Dara
England

~Dedication~

This novel is dedicated to John and Kristine Coughlin.
 
Thank you for nurturing and encouraging me to act on my dreams…however sick they may be.

The Last Customer

By Daniel P. Coughlin

Part 1: The Introduction

Chapter 1

1

    
Father Leslie Gardner, standing six foot two inches tall with stout posture and shaggy brown hair—with a bit of a dark complexion—ran his brown eyes across the twelve-by-twelve inch paper calendar pinned to the far wall of his small dorm room. The calendar’s bottom corners were faded and curling. His pointy right index finger traced the thick glossy paper until it fell upon the square box which revealed the date as August 18, 1980. He double taped the box, making sure it was secure by applying pressure with the pad of his finger.

He was staying in a catholic rectory. His living quarters were standard at best. The room was a basic eight-by-eight cube with no windows and baby blue walls. The rectory sat to the side of a beautifully constructed catholic church. In this small town, the steeple was visible for miles, giving the panoramic view a picturesque quality. The interior of the holy structure held a vaulted ceiling. The body of the church was accented with brand new pews, freshly varnished. Every inch of the building was polished to perfection. The recently waxed floors shined bright. The stained wooden pews gave off a lemon scented glimmer. The statue of Christ held not a speck of dust.

Father Gardner had only been residing in this small Iowa town for eight days. The town rested forty miles west of Sioux City. His assignment was to assess, evaluate, and conclude whether or not a young woman had been seized by a demon—a foul presence.

Within ten minutes of meeting Donna Shaney, an average sized woman of thirty years, he’d concluded that she’d been the victim of demonic possession. All of the symptoms were prevalent. Her eyes held a ring of white fire.

Upon entering Donna’s room, on the first day, Gardner immediately wanted to cup his nose. The stench was awful. The odor hung in the air like fog, but he wouldn’t allow the demon to sense any weaknesses. He refused to cover his nose. Even a small gesture such as masking-a-scent would reveal a weakness to the demon, allowing the demon to prey on it. Breathing deep, Gardner allowed the foul air into his nostrils. He became accustomed to the smell, eventually getting over it.

Gardner had conducted many exorcisms. He knew that the demon was looking for any avenue to exploit him. If the demon found a weakness, it would certainly utilize it, and the result could interfere with the rite of exorcism. That was unacceptable.

Father Gardner went into every assignment clear headed. At least he tried to. Over the years, he’d developed a thick shell. He’d enabled himself to disregard foul smells and insults. He’d been desensitized to the ways of the demon.

           
Donna’s room was freezing. The wallpaper had begun to peel because the pores had dried up, which was the result of the unnaturally cold temperature. Gardner shivered as he made eye contact with the demon, while walking to the right side of the room. He took a seat in a wooden rocking chair near the queen sized bed. He leaned forward toward the girl, causing the chair to creak. As he moved closer he glanced at the bed. The sheets were covered in yellowing sweat stains and foul waste.

He then spoke to the evil presence inhabiting the girl—
the demon.
And as always, the demon lied. At first, it had claimed to be a serial killer from the nineteen fifties. Gardner knew this to be false. Serial killers were unable to possess the human body. Possession was the fallen angel’s game.

The demon recited many subjects that the young junkie woman could not have known. It spoke in Latin and German languages and it insulted Gardner with both. It laughed when asked questions about Judas and other biblical characters. The demon spouted out specific instances in which it had possessed others, laughing as it threatened to destroy Donna. Gardner found this threat valid.

After taking vital signs—a strenuous chore—it was revealed that Donna was severely dehydrated. Every organ in her body revved on failure. Her skin had turned a sickly yellow, indicating her liver was failing.

Gardner visited with Donna every day for a week. He needed to perform psychological testing. In the past, Gardner had disproven many possessions. Mental illness was often misconstrued as possession but after going through his checklist, Gardner approved the exorcism.

           
On the eighth day, Gardner awoke early. He forced down a decent sized breakfast of toast and eggs, knowing he needed his energy. Then, he prayed intensely for over an hour. He begged for strength. In his heart, he felt the awareness of the power of good. The Holy Spirit was breathing within him.

After leaving the rectory kitchen, he jogged down the cement stairs from the second floor. The nuns had gathered in the small rectangular shaped lobby near the coffee table. They stood from their seats as he entered the room. They were frightened and intimidated by his presence. None of them said a word. They stood erect with their lips sealed. Gardner could feel their judgment. It was written amongst their cold gazes and faithless expressions. Not a lack of faith in God, but zero
trust
in him.

Gardner didn’t wear the traditional uniform of a catholic priest. Or any other priest for that matter. He was dressed in simple black slacks and a cheap button down white-shirt with a black tie.

Nodding toward the middle aged women dressed in their traditional gowns and hoods, he stepped into the light of the new day.

           
The brisk morning air refreshed his clean face, while filling his lungs with crisp oxygen. His heart rate quickened as he continued down the walkway.

Gardner was a handsome man of thirty. There were no prominent wrinkles in his skin. His face appeared vibrant, soft skin accentuated the candy-brown eyes that were set neatly on his face. His square jaw gave him a masculine appearance. His hair had growth, but it wasn’t too long.

As he continued toward the sidewalk. His thoughts and attention deviated when the pigs from the slaughterhouse across the street began to scream as he walked by. Gardner picked up his stride, moving quickly past the large cement warehouse that contained the swine about to be processed. The squeals of fright and terror spilling from behind the thick concrete walls were nowhere near as unnerving as the sounds that he would hear upon entering the house on Cleveland Street.

2

The morning walk through town was pleasant and much needed. It gave Gardner a chance to review his thoughts and settle his nerves. Before he knew it, the sidewalk ended.

A
Dead End
sign stood to the right, in the center of the street’s end. A cluster of elm trees led way to the forest behind the long rectangular wooden plank with a large reflective orange octagon bolted to the middle.

Gardner glanced up at the sky and gave thanks before turning to the two-story brick home on his left. He always gave thanks for the gift of life. Every day was a battle, but Gardner cherished his life. He understood his purpose. Purpose was a luxury that most people didn’t have and his purpose was to fight evil—to destroy it before it spread like disease.

He traveled across many countries conducting the business of holy cleansing. At first, it was hard to accept—
His calling.

Gardner grew up in a good home. He was raised by a fine family of God fearing parents. Both Ethel and Peter Gardner were strict and loving. His childhood was ordinary, happy even. Then he discovered his gift.

The spiritual world, which existed beneath the earthly plain of existence, showed itself to Gardner at the age of ten. At first, he wasn’t able to grasp what was happening. His life had suddenly become different from the other children. For a boy of Gardner’s age, that was hard to accept— impossible to talk about. Even at such an early age, he acknowledged that he was special. It was frustrating. He wanted to be like the other children, playing kick ball at recess and baseball after school, he tried his best to hide the things that he knew.

The first awareness of his unique gift had been revealed to him on a warm September morning on his way to school.

Lolling down the cracked sidewalk of Elm Street with his school books tucked under his left arm, he was struck by a blinding vision. At first, his sight went hazy. He dropped his books and stumbled back a few steps. Everything went bright as if a light bulb had exploded. His gaze washed white, blinding him. Scared, he waved his arms in front of his face then wiped his eyes, hoping the feeling would stop. He quit moving as the darkness set in. Everything became silent. There was no movement, not even the wind. The passing cars seemed to stop. The air was still as the sky parted and peeled back as if the world was merely a two dimensional painting. Before him, he saw more dimensions. A realm of existence was exposed beneath the world’s surface. The silence turned into a whirlwind of pain and screaming. Gardner was scared. The parallel world where demons and angels battled had opened up to him. Good and evil clashed. Everything was fire orange or black. The world in front of Gardner had become a supernatural warzone. There was torment and agony. Even the angels fought with brutal tenacity.

Gardner tried to run. His legs wouldn’t move. He stood frozen while snarling creatures surrounded him. They circled in on him with glossy eyes and watering mouths. Their fangs jutted from their scaly mouths. Some looked like wolves. Others appeared as dark shadows with razor sharp teeth.

Gardner feared that he’d lost his mind. A scaly creature snarled while galloping toward him. He closed his eyes and prayed to be somewhere else.
 

Again, there was silence. When he opened his eyes, he was back on Elm Street. His school books were strewn across the sidewalk. His math book lay in the grass near the curb. He wiped the tears from his eyes as he picked up his belongings.

Looking around, he saw no one and no one had seen him. There were no worried neighbors. No dogs barked and no bullies laughed. He blew a long sigh of relief and wiped away more tears. He took a deep breath and continued to school.

The images that he’d been
shown
 
to
him on that day scared him. He wanted to tell someone.
But who would believe him?
He figured it would be best to keep the vision a secret.

The entire incident had only lasted seconds before it was gone. It wasn’t until years later that he would be experience another and on that day, he was given his first guiding vision. From then on, he received visions of the future—images of places and people that he would need to help. The visions called to him and the answers were revealed. They eventually led him to the ministry and from there he’d been able to meet others like him. It was comforting to know that there were others with the
gift.
Together, they were able to organize their supernatural gifts and assignments were distributed. His life as a holy warrior began.