This work would not have been possible without his patience and guidance when I was a brash unfocused young man.
May he rest in peace.
Wächtergeist (pl. die Wächtergeiste):
Wächter (vey-sch-ta, German) Guardian.
Geist (gai-st, German) Spirit (pl. die Geiste).
This book deals with the complex topics of death, the existence of the spirit, the afterlife as well as demonic forces that might beset us if given the opportunity. The story also depicts hand to hand violence, gun violence, adult language, sexual assault as well as psychological manipulation and child abuse. Know that no instance of the latter is gratuitous but serves to drive the narrative as a whole. The reader will be shown the horrors of human trafficking and the drug trade with a close up personal look at how these crimes affect the individual men, women, and children tangled in that web. Although this novel was inspired by months of researching actual accounts, nothing is based in anyway on someone's true story.
Chapter One
Lying on the pavement, racked with pain, Clay came to grips with a slippery series of insights.
Make the hard choices or they’ll get made for you. What’s more, you can count on the hardest choice rearing its ugly head... at about the worst possible moment.
The light flickering from within his eyes, Clay caught another glimpse of tiny white sneakers nestled in blades of grass.
Hard choices wind up being opportunities, either to save yourself or to sacrifice yourself. To either be reborn or to die a little more.
Maybe both.
Hopefully... both.
The epiphany brought on, once again, a desperate longing for a life just out of reach.
𓂓
Clay’s consciousness materialized from a darkness so complete it seemed as though he had fallen into one of the many orphaned oil wells wildcatters left scattered across Texas. Focusing upward, he saw a small disc of light. It took his last bit of strength to reach for it. The conversation from above sounded distant, barely breaking the silence that enveloped him. Clay tried to speak, then felt his form lift. In response to his determination, the aperture descended. Closer now, the voices became more distinct.
Then he pulled through and the harsh light of day had him.
Clay’s senses overloaded. Unfamiliar noises all around. Hands and arms moving over him. The front end of a large truck loomed off to his side. He shifted in the stretcher, alarmed he couldn’t move his head. Mouth dry, his eyes darted. The steamy smell of an early morning rain shower evaporating off pavement made him want to gag.
“How is he?” asked the officer.
A deep moan squeezed Clay’s throat. “U-ugherarr.”
The paramedics leaned back in shock, then rallied. “Stay still, sir,” one of them urged.
Clay’s mouth didn’t seem to work. Spittles of bloody saliva bubbled across his lips as he pushed a desperate breath through clenched teeth. His hands formed empty fists to help manage the pain. He tried to move his legs, but nothing happened.
One of the paramedics answered the officer’s question. “He just regained consciousness. Stable but agitated, not responding... “
Clay’s mind seemed to blink randomly like a faulty light bulb. A question flickered to life in the confusion. Is she okay? As if his concern had summoned it, Clay felt the soft touch of a hand on his before the paramedics lifted him into the ambulance.
“Thank you...”
That connection gave him a sense of peace so foreign that, at first, he didn’t recognize it until the calm that ensued washed over him entirely.
Is this what death feels like?
Clay didn’t begrudge the notion, nor his apparent fate. But he struggled to recall how a typical morning had led to this. Like most days, it started with a short drive accompanied by the guitar from So Much to Say threading out through open windows and into the early morning mist.
𓂓
The truck and trailer creaked and groaned to a stop. Clay let the powerful V10 of the well-maintained F250 settle to a rhythmic idle before turning it off.
He and Sean sang the chorus, hitting the high note with Dave, “...little baby,” to end the song as they stepped out onto Haynesville Woods Avenue. They stood in front of a modest-sized contemporary nestled in the suburbs west of San Antonio. It sat on a curve in the road, so it had a unique shape to the front yard, which appeared to be in the midst of a large-scale renovation. A large Live Oak stretched muscular branches from the left of the driveway, which curved up to the garage.
Clay paused to rub the back of his neck, trying to clear the throbbing haze left by the tawny port. Last night would have been their anniversary and he had commiserated the occasion by draining every drop of burgundy-brown liquid from the bottle. Not gonna think about her today. He grabbed his thermos, breathed in the healing smell, and finished off the last of his honeyed black coffee.
Chatting about the day ahead, they set to unloading until a loud metallic crack jolted them from the task at hand. Their heads snapped up from the tools at the ominous sound of groaning steel that followed. The garage door crept up like an oil-parched machine unfolding itself, slowly revealing the stout figure lurking in the shadows. Sally stood with arms crossed, feet firmly planted in bedroom slippers, thin pink robe billowing in the crisp breeze. “Clay!” she shouted.
Clay winced at the sound of his name. He turned to Sean, speaking in hushed tones, “Time for the daily dress down.”
Sean chuckled. “You got this.”
Smoothing his hands over his Dickie’s khakis, Clay turned to face her. “Good morning, Sally,” he said, forcing a tight smile.
“Morning,” she said, tapping her foot impatiently.
Clay turned to Sean. “I’ll be right back.”
Sean busied himself by organizing the rest of the tools while a heated discussion took place out of earshot. He only heard the tail end, “...you came highly recommended...” Sally turned and stormed off. “...and I’m having a hard time understanding why.”
Clay stood in the driveway, a pained look on his face while the garage door creaked back down. It finally closed with a tinny thud. Clay paused there for a moment before walking back to the truck, silently shaking his head side to side.
