Lucas Drayke: The Gates of Paradise

By Alexander Lounsberry

Trapped in a boring, mundane life, amnesia stricken with no one to turn to, Lucas isn't having the best of luck lately. Tack on a visit from actual, biblical demons and angels, and things certainly aren't getting much better. Luckily, there to help ease Lucas into the new world he's fallen prey to is a band of angels with one mission: To fight the good fight.

If Lucas is to recover his own memories and stop a new threat that looms over the horizon, he'll have to trust his new friends and embrace his own destiny.

Perilous danger awaits....

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jan 17, 2017
• ISBN: 9781365689888

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Lucas Drayke: The Gates of Paradise

Lucas Drayke: The Gates of Paradise

Copyright

Copyright © 2017 by Alexander Lounsberry

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or scholarly journal.

First Printing: 2017

ISBN: 978-1-365-68988-8

Alexander Lounsberry

228 W Hickory Hills Dr.

Havana Illinois 62644

www.184.158.236.105.com

Special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, educators, and others. For details, contact the publisher at the above listed address.

U.S. trade bookstores and wholesalers: Please contact Alexander Lounsberry Tel: [phone] or email: [e-mail].

Prologue

Always home to many bizarre and unusual things, Los Angeles is the kingdom of ignorance. Those who call the city home rarely glance twice at what others consider odd or even disturbing. But as the woman with platinum-white hair opens the doors to the little, run-down diner on the outskirts of the city, everyone's attention falls on her.

Frankie, the diner's owner, can feel the hairs on his neck stand as he looks up from the counter he's cleaning. Frankie has seen many odd things in the thirty years he's run the place since his father passed, but never has the seasoned man felt so chilled by a customer. Even crazy Doomsday Jack, who sits at the counter on a daily basis, spouting Bible verses and how the world was coming to an end, doesn't bother him this much. There's simply something off about this woman.

Besides her hair, the entering woman is by all appearances normal. She wears faded jeans, and a purple hoodie over her white t-shirt. For a fraction of a second she stops at the door, eyes scanning the room, before heading to the counter. She sits on a stool next to Doomsday Jack who is, like every day of the week, rambling random nonsense.

Frankie has never been very fond of old Jack, but as long as he paid and didn't scare the other customers away, the diner's owner doesn't care what the crazy loon does. Owning a rundown establishment on the outskirts of Los Angeles only invites the most sketchy and out of place characters one can think of. Frankie is lucky to have more than five people in at a time. Today is busy, with six customers currently in the diner. All of whom have taken their attention away from the platinum-haired girl and gone back to whatever they'd been doing before.

Frankie himself is a balding, African American man who looks as though he's probably had one too many rounds. His palms are firm from the hard work he's grown accustomed to, and enjoyed. He's the kind of man that believes a hard day's work is its own reward. In other words, he's a complete contrast to the woman now sitting in front of him.

Can I help you? Frankie asks the woman as he throws over his left shoulder the rag he'd been cleaning the counter with.

Frankie notices Doomsday Jack, who is crouched on his stool barely two feet from the lady, is impolitely staring at her. He thinks he may have to say something to him, but she doesn't seem to notice Jack anyway.

Can I have some bread, please, the woman asks, gently placing her hands on the counter. Her eyes stay focused on Frankie, as though she's sizing him up.

It isn't overbearingly apparent, but although the man in the corner booth of the diner has gone back to his newspaper, and the old woman with her grandson has begun eating their meal again, everyone is listening intently to what the mysterious woman is saying.

Bread? You want bread? Frankie asks puzzled, putting his hands on the counter and leaning forward to make sure he can hear her correctly. You don't want a hamburger to put on it?

No thanks, bread will do me just fine. I've always thought you could never beat some bread to eat. Unless you had wine with it, which I'm assuming you don't?

Frankie shakes his head. Frank's Diner, which is a little more than off the old beaten path, isn't exactly a wine kind of place

I have beer. Plenty of regular old beer, but no wine.

Eh, well I'll have a regular old beer then I guess. Whatever you have is fine.

Frankie suspiciously nods, walking to the kitchen window to tell the chef, his little brother James, to get some bread and a beer.

After giving his brother a questioning look, which Frankie shrugs off, James quickly does as he's told, giving him a plate of hamburger buns and a semi-cold beer. The woman gives Frankie a polite smile as he slides her the plate. There's a loud pop of the can being opened, followed by the woman thanking Frankie. The diner's atmosphere goes slightly back to normal after this, with Doomsday Jack resuming his ramblings to a barely listening Frankie.

Anyway Frank, as I was saying, Hell is a predominant feature in most major religions, belief, or even human instinct. Supposedly, Hell is this place of immense evil, hatred, and pain, a place where evil doers go to pay for their sins. Some might call this justice, others revenge, but they'd be wrong. Hell is a made up place to make people feel safe, secure. In their mind, as long as you stay faithful, or always do good, you'll never have to deal with the agony of true evil, which resides solely behind the gates of the Underworld. Unfortunately, I'm afraid the truth is far more complex than this.

Frankie is a skeptic through and through. He isn't much into religion or beliefs in general. He's always believed that the only help you are getting in life is that which you make yourself.

Don't get me wrong, continues Jack. "True evil does exist. It just isn't contained in a made up world beneath our feet. It's here, among all of us. Hiding, plotting, and hurting those who are guilty the same as those who are innocent. You want Hell? Look no further than where you're standing right now."

Frankie begins to slowly drift his attention away from the white haired woman, quietly eating her plain bread, towards Jack again. He can't help but laugh at the crazy man.

You're saying Los Angeles is Hell? Ha! I can't argue with that. Does that mean that the crabby-ass guy who owns my apartment building is the devil? Because I sure could believe that too. I swear the old bat wants me dead.

No, Doomsday Jack says, as the fellow diners seemingly mind their own business. The devil isn't who you should be scared of in this world. He leans forward to look Frankie in the eye, his voice grim. It's demons.

Even James, who's quietly listening through the window from the kitchen, bursts into laughter at this. Doomsday Jack is on a roll today.

Oh yeah? Then where are these scary demons you talk about? Frankie says, trying to give the loon a tough time like he usually does. If you could point them out I'd sure appreciate it.

It could be anyone! Jack boasts, getting louder the further he gets into the conversation. He turns in his stool to look at the five customers inhabiting the diner. The sunset is casting an eerie glow on all of them, a red tint that makes the whole diner seem like it could be Hell itself.

Demons can look like us; that's part of their deceptive nature. For all we know he could be a demon, Jack says frantically pointing to the man with the newspaper in the corner booth before turning to point at the other end of the diner Or even that innocent looking grandma with her little boy.

The other two guests in the diner, a young couple that look to be in their twenties, seem relieved that the crazy man didn't point at them. Their booth is by the glass double doors the mystery woman had entered not five minutes before. They quietly go back to ignoring Jack's existence.

Frankie sighs upon seeing the couple uncomfortably ignoring Jack. He begins shaking his head. Look Jack, I let you come in here, despite the way you are, but I can't have you bothering—

He's interrupted by Doomsday Jack jumping off his stool violently, almost as if it's a searing hot pile of coals. Jack, who's dressed like one would imagine a doomsday, religious fanatic would be, pulls back the sleeve of his tattered old coat. He hectically glares at his busted but still working watch.

I-It's almost sundown! he declares, pulling out his billfold and throwing a fifty on the counter with haste. Jack always overpays, due to his thoughts that the world is going to end soon. This is about the only reason Frankie keeps letting him come back.

Frankie knows the other patrons are listening, and he imagines they probably wonder why it matters that the sun is almost down. He, however, doesn't. Doomsday Jack always leaves the diner right at dusk because he believe that night is when demons come out.

No matter his reason for leaving, Frankie is, as always, happy to see him go. Jack starts in the direction of the door before the white haired woman looks up from her plate for the first time. Having been like a statue the whole time, it nearly makes Frankie jump.

What about angels? she asks Jack.

I'm sorry? he replies, confused. His hand presses against the glass doors, but he hesitates to listen to what she has to say.

You sound so sure that demons are around and among you, she continues, going so far as to rotate her stool so she sits facing him. What about angels? There can't be demons without angels, right?

Jack looks up at Frankie for a fraction of a second before looking back into this woman's beautiful, green eyes. He feels he could get lost in their warming, green depths if he stares too long.

Maybe, he falters, unsure about the woman. But with the way things in this world have been going lately, I don't know if I'd trust angels. If they are watching over us in secret, then they're not doing a very good job.

Well, perhaps it's not their fault for how things in this world are, it's humans themselves and their never-ending desire to destroy themselves. When they behave like children, it's impossible for angels to do much.

Frankie simply stares with his mouth hanging. He'd felt something strange about this woman this whole time, but she hadn't seemed like the type to be ranting about angels and scripture. Her appearance is that of a woman in her early twenties who's moved to Los Angeles trying to make something of herself. This town swallows people like that whole. Frankie believes her to be much sturdier, much stronger than that, though.

Her face shows dislike and bitterness as she continues to batter him with words. Eventually, Jack looks down at his watch, back up at the fraction of the sun that remains, and flees through the door while she's still talking. The young couple in the booth by the door turns to watch him as he runs, the glass doors slamming shut behind him.

A smile on her face, the woman slowly turns her stool back around until she's at the counter again, facing Frankie. The red glow of the diner remains, becoming more and more prominent. There lingers a subtle eeriness that would scare anyone who wasn't a Los Angeles native away.

Sorry if he riled you up at all miss, Frankie apologizes to her. I swear, sometimes I just can't figure out what's going on in that man's head. Don't get me wrong, I respect anyone and their beliefs, but I just can't believe there are demons hidden among us mere mortals.

A smirk spreads across her lips as she finishes her bread, taking one last gulp of beer. "Beliefs change, especially when you aren't expecting it. Even a skeptic like you can change his views."

If you say so, Frankie says skeptically. I mean a place like Los Angeles? I don't see it as being a place for any of that religious nonsense.

As if fate is testing his conviction, he begins to notice both the man with the newspaper and the old lady with her kid, slowly standing. They slowly creep their way towards the counter in unison. The fiery red of the sun finally disappears, burning away at them, giving them the illusion of being on fire.

Well, the woman says, cracking her back without looking back on the approaching customers. It is the 'City of Angels' after all... and as long as I'm around, it'll sure as hell stay that way.

After a slight pause, the woman finally turns her stool to face the three approaching figures. Chills crawl through Frankie's skin as they come close enough to reveal their true appearances. They are by all means human looking: no tail, no horns, but their hair, as well as their eyes, are as black as the darkest night. They're obviously not of this world.

Now look, the white, haired woman says as she gently stands, looking back at Frankie to see his nametag. Frankie here looks like a pretty good, hardworking guy, someone who tries his best and doesn't get very much at the end of the day.

She turns back to face the creatures in front of her, who are a mere foot away. She is maybe five foot, six inches at best, but she has a towering presence nonetheless. Confidence glistens off her.

The couple who'd been seated by the door are nowhere to be found. They had the good, common sense to book it for the highway as soon as the creatures had revealed their true nature. One would be surprised how many people have not-so-common sense.

Anyway... she continues, trying to reason with the monsters. How about we cut Frankie a break and take this outside? No need to trash his place if we don't have to.

The creatures are still, not moving, not even blinking. They all stare at her with hatred and joy. Even the little boy, who'd before looked like an innocent eight year old, has the look of the devil.

Sighing, she turns her back on them to look at Frankie. Sorry Frankie, my boy, I tried.

The woman pulls a giant pistol she's tucked in the back of her jeans out. Previously hidden by her purple hoodie, she raises it and fires in one fluid motion. The three demons charge her, tackling her over the counter. Frankie dives out of the way as the woman and two of the demons crash on the other side. The third demon, the old lady that had taken the woman's fire, appears to Frankie eyes to have exploded into burning coals and ashes. Only the businessman and the little boy are left.

As the businessman struggles on top of the woman, trying to pry her gun from her hands, the little boy pulls a dagger of sorts from thin air. He viciously stabs it into her left shoulder, just above her heart, if Frankie had to guess.

Argh! she screams as she kicks the businessman as hard as she can, launching him several feet in the air. She brings her gun up, along with another hidden in her hoodie. The dual pistols are emptied into him mid air, making him explode as well. She quickly covers her face as his coals and ashes rain down from above her.

Last left is the little kid who seems to have disappeared. Having a second free, she violently grabs the dagger that still lay in her shoulder and yanks it with all her might. She sighs in pain, leaning against the back wall, behind. Flinching with surprise, she notices Frankie on the ground next to her.

I'd probably go now if I were you.

Frankie nods furiously, scuffling toward the kitchen door in the back. He remains as low as he can, not wanting to ever see that nightmarish boy again. His brother, James, has already ran off, fear overcoming his need to insure his brother's safety. Before Frankie reaches the kitchen door, he feels a small hand grip the back of his shirt from above. He looks up to see the boy standing on the counter. His black eyes burn into Frankie, a complete contrast to the light-blue t-shirt he's wearing. The boy begins to reach for Frankie with his other hand, his inhuman grip not allowing him to escape.

The woman comes to his rescue though, tackling the boy across the counter, causing him to release his grasp. Frankie takes advantage of this moment, bursting through the kitchen doors, ready to run out the back, but he stops. He can hear the woman struggling and part of him just can't leave her. His conscious screams for him to help. Running back through the door, he can see the woman pinned on the floor in the middle of the diner. The seemingly cute, little boy is on top of her, his voice echoing in a demonic way.

You think you're so much better than us, it says in its unearthly tone as the woman struggles to reach her closest gun that'd fallen just out of her grasp. You're considered a great warrior, known by many. You're a legend of your people. I guess legends never really live up to their hype.

The woman's strength had been apparent earlier when she'd flung the businessman in the air like nothing, but it seems the little boy is just as strong. Frankie's gaze quickly drifts to her other silver pistol a few feet from him. Sprinting towards it, he kicks the gun in the woman's direction. The child looks up to Frankie with confusion. The pistol slides, gliding delicately into the woman's hand, as she raises it at the demon.

Damn, you're a cocky one, she smiles defiantly as she pulls the trigger on the stunned demon, bursting him into coals and flames.

As soon as he's ash, the woman springs to her feet, wiping off the soot the best she can from her jeans and hoodie.

Thanks, she says as she lifts her head to look Frankie in the eye. Her then white hair has turned grey from all the ash. Frankie can't help but think how the grayness of her hair reflects the grayness of her actions. There's no such thing as black and white in this cruel world, and now Frankie believes it.

N-no problem, he mumbles in shock as the woman calmly goes to the counter. Digging into her pockets, she pulls out all the money she can, throwing it onto the cracked countertop. There's bullet casings and burning ash scattered everywhere like a warzone. Frankie watches her drift into the cool night air, his doubts and skepticism leaving with her.

Chapter One: Stipes Houska

Lucas can never understand how he gets himself into these situations. Following the advice of his hardware store coworkers, he decides to tag along to what he assumes to be an average bar. Stipes Houska turns out to be far from it.

Littered with flashing lights, ear-shattering music, and flashy people, Stipes Houska is the very definition of a Los Angeles rave. Upon entering, Lucas immediately protests to Mike and Jack.

I don't know about this, he says, hovering at the checkout counter. A woman tries to take his coat as he ponders leaving. I don't think this is really my kind of place.

Nonsense, the two reply in near unison, music blaring ridiculously loud in the distance. Just relax and have fun, don't they have fun in Prague?

Lucas supposes they probably do, but he wouldn't know. He'd told his coworkers he was an immigrant from Prague his first day of work in an attempt to hide his true origins. They could tell immediately that he wasn't a Los Angeles native, and he had no idea how either. It's as if L.A. citizens can sniff out imposters with the littlest of effort. Despite their almost sixth sense, the coworkers still never catch on to the fact