Red Rain: Lightning Strikes: Red Rain Series #2 by David Beers Page B

Charles could help.

    * * *
    D ark bags hung under Kaitlin’s eyes. Her boss had said something at work today, asking if she was feeling alright. Kaitlin said yes, she felt fine, though nothing could be further from the truth. She hadn’t slept in days. She stayed up all night, chain-smoking cigarettes and looking out this window. Every half hour or so, she leaned forward and peered through the blinds, trying to be as stealthy as possible.
    She couldn’t call Eve over anymore. The girl spent the last two nights with Kaitlin, and at some point, Kaitlin had to face this on her own.
    She watched a car roll slowly down the road, the driver not glancing up at her, but holding a phone to his ear.
    Kaitlin didn’t even know what she was looking for anymore. Was she losing her mind? Not a rhetorical question. Perhaps she was going insane, night after night, unable to sleep or stop thinking someone was outside, watching her. Perhaps none of this was happening at all, but only her mind creating ghouls where none existed.
    Perhaps.
    She didn’t think so, though.
    Someone was outside. Maybe not every night, but some nights, most certainly.
    Kaitlin wanted to call the police, God she did, but they started all this. They came to her, asked her questions, and then left her here without even a life raft. Just floating in the ocean, sharks smelling her blood and swimming to her as fast as they could.
    She stood up from her chair and put out the cigarette she held in an ashtray. She picked up a knife sitting next to the ashtray and then walked to her bedroom. She carried the knife everywhere she went now. She didn’t remember when she picked it up, but now if she was at work, it was in her pocket, and if she was using the restroom, it sat on the sink.
    Kaitlin climbed into bed, not sure if she would be able to sleep.
    Not sure of much.

    * * *
    F ather Charles put his collar on, looking at himself in the mirror.
    His hands shook as he made sure it fit correctly. Had his hands ever shook like this when dressing? Not since he first left the seminary, speaking his first sermon at his first church. That was years ago, and when compared to now? Almost silly.
    “What do You want me to do?” he said.
    He knew God wasn’t going to answer him, though. He said it out of spite. Out of anger. He hated this position, powerless, yet forced to act.
    Charles had to get out of his own head if he were to have any chance of helping. He needed to focus on that, on helping , instead of his anger at God. The anger would do nothing to solve this problem, leaving him waking up sweating and with heart palpitations.
    “Guide me, Lord,” the priest said.
    He didn’t know what to say when John arrived. He only knew he had to try.

    * * *
    T he lights burned from inside the cathedral. John watched them from the parking lot, both he and Harry silent.
    Father Charles was in there and the only thing keeping John from getting out of the car was Harry. His dead friend remained silent, but John still felt his pull easily enough. Harry had been close to getting what he wanted tonight, and somehow John drove him here, the last place he wanted to be.
    How was I able to do it? John said.
    “Because you’re a fool,” Harry said aloud. “You think this is going to stop something and it’s not. It’s going to make things worse, I promise. What do you think is going to happen when you go in there? That all of a sudden everything that’s made you from the time you were ten until now is going to disappear—that some holy light will shine down and clean you of all your impurities?” Harry looked over to him. “John, there is no stopping this. I don’t know why you are this way and I don’t care. The priest won’t fix you. God won’t fix you, if he even exists.”
    “Shut up,” John said quietly, his eyes closed.
    “Go on, then. Let’s get this over with.” Harry opened his door and led the way, not waiting for John to get out of his side.
    He followed,