Alcohol, Bibles, and Demons

By Nan McAdam

Ches Albright isn’t your ordinary Bible salesman. He is a broken man unable to face his past, but can’t seem to leave it behind. He blames God for the death of his wife and son. Selling his billion-dollar tech company, Ches begins his life as a traveling Bible salesman. He stays in cheap motels and lives only to see the bottom of the next bottle of whiskey. He’s a man with many secrets, even from himself. One of those secrets is he can speak to the dead.

When a big account comes along in his boyhood hometown, his boss sends in his best salesman. Ches doesn’t remember much about his childhood only that his sister and other girls were kidnapped, never to be found, and his mother went insane.

Reconnecting with his two boyhood friends begins to bring back long-buried memories. Little girls are disappearing again. His friends tell him he is the only one who can help. Ches only wants to get out of town and escape, but his friend, Stan’s daughter, goes missing.

They’ve fought this demon before when they were children. Why is it back? Why is Ches the only one who can help? Will Ches embrace his past to fight the demon?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Abondante Media
• Release date: Feb 9, 2018
• ISBN: 9780998067131

Nan McAdam

Nan McAdam has had a prestigious career in the agricultural and financial sales arena.  She trained, coached, and mentored individual salespeople, as well as sales teams, for over 20 years. As an author of a blog, Nan has been a fan of self-improvement for many years and has passed her knowledge of leadership, parenting, and how to live a more enriched life to the readers of her blog:  http://www.selfimprovementinformation.com.com. She’s published seventy-eight times in different publications. Nan has spent over 15 years caring for elderly loved ones.  In 2013, Surviving the STRESS of Your Parents’ Old Age was published.  It is a non-fiction book born from Nan’s experience as a caregiver. Nan’s first young adult book was published in 2015.  It is a fantasy adventure for fifth-grade readers and up.  Charlie Kadabra, Last of the Magicians, began a series with the first book, Saving Mim., The Secret Key of Mim, book two of the Charlie Kadabra series, was released in January 2016. Book three of the series, Invasion of the Soul-Eater in Mim, was published in January of 2017. Nan is entering a new stage of her career with the 2018 release of her first horror/fantasy novel, Alcohol, Bibles, and Demons. This book is geared for the mature market. When Nan isn't caregiving or writing, she is spending time with her family.  She is married, has three adult children, and two grandchildren.  She makes her home in the Midwest where she lives with her husband and 2 furry four legged family members.

Book preview

Dedication:

This novel is dedicated to my loving family and my amazing friends. They have encouraged me all along the way to follow my passion of writing. I am one lucky lady to have all of you in my life.

Acknowledgements:

I’ve previously written a non-fiction book and a three-book young adult series. I want to thank my readers of those books for all the precious words of encouragement they have sent my way. My young readers have made me feel like a rock star, and I love you for it. You are the best! I want to thank the readers of my non-fiction book, also, for letting me know how much that book has meant to you.

This is my opportunity to give a shout out to my beta readers: Laura, Sheila, Ken, Kathy, Taryn, and Shelby, whose insights have proven to be invaluable to me. Thank you for all your time and effort.

I would be remiss if I did not take the time to thank my writers’ group for the support they have given me to step out into the adult fantasy/horror genre. We’ve had many conversations about protecting my younger readers from this particular book, which contains subject matter too mature for some of them.

I want to say thank you to my cover artist, Andrew Gaia. This is our fourth collaboration. You are an extremely talented fantasy artist. I was blessed the day I found you. I value the friendship we have developed over the years.

To the readers of Alcohol, Bibles, and Demons, my hope is you find this book entertaining and worthy of a great review. Reviews from readers are the lifeblood of a novel. Without reviews, a book is left to languish on the cyber shelves. Reviews are also the fuel an author needs to continue writing. They are all the thanks a writer needs for a book you enjoy.

Now…let’s get to the story. Enjoy!

Chapter One

Warm, hazy light danced in her thick auburn hair. The silky skin of her cheek pressed against his bare chest. His hand played with the soft wave of her hair as she traced the ragged scar across his torso with the tips of her fingers.

I’ll love you forever, he whispered.

He pulled her up to face him, cupping her chin in his hand, and looked into her moss-green eyes. The light surrounding her grew brighter until it hurt his eyes.

Please don’t go, he said.

Ches, wake up. It’s started. You must wake up, she said in an urgent tone. A rapping sound began and filled his head with pain.

 A tear rolled down her flawless cheek as she disappeared. He opened his eyes. Sunlight spiked through the crack in the curtains, blinding him. He squeezed his eyelids shut and rolled over, pulling the pillow over his head.

The pillow didn’t help; the pounding grew louder. He sat up, cradling his aching dome in his hands. His mouth felt and tasted like an army of evil elves had marched in and taken turns crapping on his tongue.

The knocking grew insistent, threatening to crack the wood. Balling his fist around the sweat-stained sheets, Ches flung them to the side. He threw his legs over the edge of the bed. His head swam for a second, and his stomach did a small flip before settling. He rose to his unsteady feet and wavered, waiting for his head to catch up. Finally steady, he stomped across the slick-stained carpet. Peering out the peephole, he grabbed the doorknob and twisted it with his massive hand, threw open the door, and stepped to the side.

What the hell, man, Ches said. What is so important that you have to wake me up at this hour?

This hour? You must’ve dived pretty deep into your bottle last night. It’s past noon, loser. We’re supposed to meet Stan for lunch at the diner. Don’t you remember? Herb marched into the room. When you didn’t show up, Stan said I’d better roust you out. Ches, you have to get a handle on your drinking. What would Celina think of you if she saw your sorry ass right now? When’s the last time you took a shower and shaved? My God, man, this room smells like a fat man’s crack.

Herb walked over to the window and threw the drapes open. Weak light streamed through the dirty window and then dimmed as a cloud moved across the sun.

Herb, I don’t need your shit. Leave me alone. Ches plopped down on the dingy flowered bedspread.

I don’t care if you’re hungover or not. We need to get moving. Stan is waiting for us at the diner, Herb said. He reached into suitcase sitting on the credenza next to the television, and pulled out Ches’s salesman uniform of black pants, a white button-down shirt, and a thin black tie. He tossed them at Ches, hitting him in the face. And for God’s sake man, take a shower.

Herb dropped into the sunken seat of the green tweed chair. He grabbed the remote off the sticky table next to him. The television sprang to life. He stopped flipping through the channels long enough to give Ches a menacing look.

Don’t make me throw your ass in the shower, Herb said as he shook his head and went back to channel surfing.

Ches grabbed his clothes, stomped into the bathroom, and slammed the door.

He stood in the shower letting the hot water run over his head and body. The water pooled around his ankles in the dirty tub. The smell of mildew and institutional bar soap assaulted his sensitive hangover nose, and he choked as a wave of vomit moved up his throat. His brain felt thick and sluggish, as though the seamstress of hangovers had filled his head full of cotton batting. The moldy shower curtain reached for his legs over and over again like a demented old lady looking for one last hug. The stream soon grew cold and Ches finished his shower and turned the water off.

He threw back the shower curtain and stepped onto the threadbare bath mat. He stood at the sink, not bothering to wipe the mirror of steam from his shower. He’d seen his face too many times and didn’t need the reminder of his decline into jowly middle age. He dried his softening belly while droplets of water dropped down on his shoulders, and thought, if young men knew how fast six-pack abs could turn into a keg, they would probably shoot themselves.

Life passes quickly, but not fast enough.

He took his time brushing his teeth and dressing. Starting another day without Celina and Luke always felt as torturous as another day with the Spanish Inquisition and their instruments of persuasion. He opened the thin bathroom door and stepped to the mirror to comb his hair. Herb glanced up from his Nazi documentary on the History Channel to watch Ches groom his thick hair. He saw the slight shaking of Herb’s head.

The judgment. It’s always there.

Ches closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, the white skunk streak in the middle of his hair, which had been with him since the accident, still surprised him. He paused the comb mid-swipe and closed his eyes again. It only got bearable when he drank. Thinking about drinking made his mouth water with anticipation, and the comb trembled. Later, when he was alone, would be the time for drinking and the sweet embrace of oblivion.

Are you ready? Herb stood and clicked the off button on the remote. You are worse than a teenage girl getting ready for prom. Couldn’t find your razor? How many times do you need to run the comb through your hair? You like to rub it in, don’t you? Herb stood with his back to the window, hands on his hips. The dirty sunlight streamed through his thinning hair creating a diffusion of light around his head like a hazy halo. Come on, let’s go before Stan sends a search party after us. He opened the door for Ches.

Ches drew the key out of his pocket. The plastic tag advertising Life is heaven at the Paradise Motel swung back and forth as he locked the door.

Why do you stay in the worst motel in town? Aren’t you afraid you’ll get bed bugs? Herb asked as a shiver ran down his spine. The richest guy I know, and you pick the worst fleabag motel. What’s up with that? If I had your money, I would stay at the Grand Hotel. He finished cleaning his hands with the waterless sanitizer and held the little bottle out to Ches.

Ches shook his head but didn’t answer. He turned and walked across the cracked, weed-infested parking lot to the street.

Herb caught up with him. So help me, Ches, if I take home bugs to Sharon from your seedy motel, she’ll kill me.

Even the sunshine seemed to wish for a few hours more of rest. The sky darkened with clouds. The disinterested sun tried to peek through a few times before deciding to give the day up to the rain. Ches walked head down in silence. He knew his friend didn’t understand him. He was okay with the judgment. He knew it didn’t help that he wouldn’t try to explain his life. He realized to try to explain himself would be pulling the scab off the wound.

No one touches that, not even me.

Ches and Herb walked half a block in silence, both lost in thought. The birds were unnaturally quiet as if preparing for a storm.

As the two men rounded the corner, Ches looked up to see a woman with a young girl. The mother glared at him and moved between him and her child. They gave him a wide berth, stepping out to walk on the grass beside the sidewalk. The mother’s arm went around the child, pushing her back behind her as they passed him. When they were beyond Ches’s reach, the child turned and looked at him with huge, frightened eyes.

Ches’s eyebrows rose and he shot Herb a questioning look.

Herb said, People are suspicious and scared of strangers right now. You’ve been absent from this community so long you’re a stranger to most people.

Whatever, Ches said as his shoulders slumped. He continued walking, looking down at the weedy, broken sidewalk.

Ches.

Ches’s head snapped up at the sound of the high-pitched voice. A little girl stood directly in front of him. He stopped, rooted to the concrete. His head tilted to the side. Something about her looked familiar.

Her wide blue eyes looked sad. Her dirty face was streaked with tears. Small tufts of hair escaped an unraveling braid, and a single leaf clung lifeless to it. Something crusty and brown was streaked across her grimy Angelica Pickles Rugrat shirt. Her pink clam-digger pants showed a bloody knee through the torn left leg. She wore only one flip-flop and her feet were muddy and scratched.

Waves of pain in Ches’s head intensified. He squinted his eyes against the pain. The tumblers in the wall safe of his brain began to rotate, looking for the right combination of her identity. Another tear slipped down her cheek and fell on her stained t-shirt.

Please help us, she said - then disappeared. Ches stood in the middle of the sidewalk.

Have I finally lost my mind?

 He swallowed hard and wiped his trembling, sweaty hands on his pants.

Herb noticed he wasn’t following and stopped and turned around. Why did you stop? What’s wrong?

Nothing. I think I forgot something back at the motel, Ches said.

The cockroaches will probably eat it for lunch. Come on; Stan’s waiting for us at the diner, Herb said as he walked back and grabbed Ches by the arm to move him forward.

Ches walked beside Herb. He could see the diner sign ahead. He thought about telling Herb to give his best to Stan, turning around, and going back to the motel. He could pull out his good friend, Jack Daniels, safely secured in the bottom drawer of the motel dresser, and pour himself a straight tumblerful. He could dull the pain and forget for a little while. Nothing got rid of his visions better than a bottle of Jack.

Too late. Herb had the diner door open and held it for Ches to walk through. Stan smiled and waved from the back of the tiny cafe. He crawled out of the booth and stood to wait for them to weave their way past the red counter stools filled with lunch patrons. Everyone seemed to be watching him, their eyes narrow with suspicion, as he moved down the aisle to join Stan. Small towns always had their hangouts. He’d seen hundreds of them in his last two years as a traveling salesman. The faces changed, but the diners were all the same. But he’d never attracted this much attention before now.

When Ches got close, Stan stepped forward and grabbed him into a rib-crushing hug. It’s been years, man. I haven’t seen you since your wedding. I’m sorry to hear about your wife and son. That sucks. I tried to call you, but your phone number was disconnected. Are you doing okay? He released Ches and stepped back to look into his eyes. I hear you’re not doing so well. I pray for you, Stan said. He motioned for Ches to sit on the other side of the booth and slid back into his seat.

Shit, shit, shit.

He longed for his darkened room at the motel and his glass of Ches’s little helper.

Ches motioned for Herb to take the window seat in the booth. Herb stood back with his arms folded and didn’t move. You first, my friend. You don’t need to be scooting out before we’re finished.

Ches lowered his six-foot-seven-inch frame down onto the seat of the booth and slid across the red, ripped diner seat patched with silver duct tape, to sit next to the water-stained window. The sky had turned darker and the lights in the eatery seemed unnaturally bright. Thunder rumbled in the distance and the clouds opened up with a vengeance. The rain began to stream down the window. He scrunched his body up and tried to leave enough room for Herb to sit next to him.

I was surprised to hear you were back in town, Ches, Stan said. You haven’t come home since you left to go to college in California. Why did you come back after all this time? Did you hear about it starting again?

My boss sent me here, Ches said as he rearranged his utensils on the table. He heard I was from this part of the country and he sent me. He insisted I work out of this town. I wouldn’t have come back if he hadn’t insisted. There is nothing here for me.

Thanks a lot, Herb said. Your friends are here, or did you forget about us when you went off to surf the waves in Cali? Some friend you are.

Herb made eye contact with the waitress, holding up two fingers. She brought the two mugs held in one meaty paw and the coffee pot in the other. The buxom server set them down and poured two cups of the burnt-smelling brew. Refilling Stan’s cup, a splash bounced over and onto the table.

Well, I’ll be damned, said the waitress. If it isn’t our local-boy-does-good. I haven’t seen you since you graduated from high school. You went off and became rich and famous. I’m glad to see you again, she smiled. You were always a good guy.

Ches looked up at her name tag; it said Millie, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember ever making her acquaintance.

Nice to see you too, Millie. It has been a long time, he said as he picked up his cup for a sip.

You boys give me a holler when you’re ready to order, Millie said, and she waddled away on her short, fat legs to pour coffee for the next patron.

It only took a short time to ponder the small cafe menu, and they called Millie back for their order. She stood listening to what they wanted without writing anything down, and walked away shouting their lunch requests to the cook. Silence fell over the three boyhood friends.

Stan finally broke the silence. I’m sorry about your dad. It was a shame, him dying like that. He’s got a nice spot with your mom over from my parents. I know you couldn’t make it to the funeral because you were in the hospital after your car accident, but I thought you would have come to pay your respects later. Everything kind of hit you at once, your wife and son and then your dad. I guess you couldn’t handle it, huh?

Ches never said a word, just swirled the java around, staring at the dark liquid as he rolled it close to the edge of the cup.

Herb jabbed Ches in the ribs with his elbow, and Ches looked up at Stan. He cleared his throat before he spoke. There was no reason to come back. Dad and I hadn’t spoken in years. Not since Mom died and I went off to school. Our last conversation ended with an ugly fight, and he told me to leave him alone. Said he never wanted to see me again. Not much reason to come here. Dead is dead.

Herb rolled his eyes, and Stan slowly shook his head before he spoke. Ches, maybe if you’d visited his grave you could’ve gotten some closure.

Ches looked up at Stan, his eyes black with pain. There is no such thing as closure with death. That is psychobabble people say to try and make them feel better. Nothing would’ve changed if I’d come here. He’s still dead, and I’m stuck in this hellhole called life. Don’t try to rescue me, Stan. Leave me be. Are we done here? I have a quota to make, and this is burning my time. Ches tried to move Herb with his