The Lonely Road

Prologue

It was a lonesome life on the road, traveling constantly from one crappy motel to the next. A new city every few days. Never in one place for long, a week at the most. These days it was just her, no one to keep her company, which just meant she could blare her music louder, in her opinion. Skills in petty thievery and credit card scams helped her get by. The tiny bit of money left in her bank account was for extreme emergencies only. She had few friends, barely had family to speak of - a single blood relative. She wasn't even sure if he was still alive. Even then, many of those friends she counted as loose acquaintances at best. It was hard to make a lasting connection with someone outside her line of work, and Hunters were not necessarily the most trustworthy companions. But she quite enjoyed the job she did, the life she led. It was what she knew, and she was good at it. This life gave her the freedom to be who she was, and that was all she could hope for.

When she was younger, under her parents' harsh training, she excelled faster in the arts of manipulation, combat training, knives, and marksmanship than she ever had with her schooling. She was fast, she was quiet, she was deadly; the skills and movements became second nature to her, like breathing. A prodigy. Her Father had been so proud of his little Huntress.

But she grasped like a starved beast onto the written word. Reading, writing, art - anything creative. Having developed a deep love for Mythology and History at a very young age, she would take any Ancient Civilization or History course she could get her hands on. She was the little girl reading Tolkien in grade two, the one who didn't really make friends easily. Kids had always tried to avoid her, like she didn't exist. She didn't really mind.

As she grew older, the high school library had become a second home, especially in her later school years. During that time books became the single constant in her life, and she'd skip out on class and dodge teachers just so she could read in peace. But her Dad had been adamant that she graduate, get her diploma at eighteen like a regular girl. Even when there had been a horrible and sudden upheaval in their immediate family, their lives altogether, he demanded she carry on.

They had made arrangements to stay with an old family friend until she graduated. Neither she nor her Father had wanted anything more to do with the house they had lived in; it was full of memories that tore at wounds still too fresh. Luckily, this friend had lived not far from them, enabling her to continue attending the same school. He was a Hunter like her Dad was, but he ran a kind of network from his home: helping other Hunters, acting out the roles of the higher ups and authority figures, answering phone calls from the curious law enforcement or what-have-you, confirming that the Hunters on cases were, in fact, who they were pretending to be. Without his help a lot of people in their line of work would be behind bars or dead. Thanks to him, they were out there in the world hunting the things that go bump in the dark. Saving the skins of these everyday people who mostly just got in the way. This man was the go-to guy for obscure knowledge and lore, and his library was one of the largest known about in the Hunting community. Only a select few had actual access to it - hell, few had permission to enter his house or step foot in his junkyard. It contained just about anything remotely related to the supernatural and was constantly expanding.

In 1995 - after the accident that tore her family apart - her dad had given the man every book, scroll, and tome he owned once their house sold, along with any of the artifacts too valuable, dangerous, or bulky to take on the road. It was safe to say that most of the gruff man's rather impressive selection of books and relics was due to her father's 'patronage'. It was the melding of two remarkable collections under one roof; massive was a good description.

She'd kept a tight hold on the journals from the Hunters of their family line, though, and one day she'd add her Dad's to her stash as well. All were handwritten, and most of them had sketches in them, too. The oldest of them had belonged to her great-great-great Grandfather Edmund, and the date on that one was 1783. They were going to stay with her as they always had, moving from the shelf in her old room to an assortment of large canvas book bags. These volumes were the history of her lineage, knowledge that had been passed down for generations. They could be extremely dangerous should the wrong hands find them. She protected the books and the responsibility of owning them fiercely, treasuring the thick leather-bound volumes, revering the knowledge they held. They had been given to her for safe-keeping, and her father had made it clear they were not to be shared. As they were precious to her, it wasn't that hard an order to follow.

While her Dad continued to take on cases and hunts like he always did, she was to stay put and do as she always had: be good, go to high school, do homework. Be a regular teenager. Train before breakfast, after dinner and on weekends. 'Keep your nose outta trouble, darlin',' He'd always say to her before he left for the road again. It was the same old routine she had lived for years. She was to continue on as normal. It was no wonder she had no friends, and had buried herself deeper and deeper in books.

Her Dad would end up being gone for weeks, sometimes months, leaving her there at his friend's house to try and grow up as normally as she could. She waded through the huge shift in her life alone with only her Dad's friend to comfort and help her through the emotional turmoil of loss, and he slowly became family to her - like an uncle of sorts. Her Dad tried to call in every few days, or would show up for the occasional visit to remind her she wasn't forgotten but it didn't do anything but strain their distancing relationship more. She helped her host with his research, taking calls - but only from other Hunters - relaying the info needed, and contributing to daily life. They had grown closer while she lived with him; he had to see her face every day, after all. She cooked for the two of them, kept the house clean, doing whatever she could to keep herself busy and feeling useful. He helped with her training, nearly perfecting her aim, and taught her a few things about cars. Some days were spent kicked back in chairs, just reading quietly. Their combined sarcasm and snarky humor helped them get along famously. He was the one she had shared her first beer with, underage as it was. She had felt it was pointless to finish school. She knew what life had in store for her, and it was not getting a job, a mortgage, and married like a regular person. But she had graduated high school - with honors, too - to make her dad happy. Just to see him smile again.

The bright summer day she finally had the diploma in her hand, she had framed and hung it on the wall of the small room she had at the house, and then never looked at it again. Her Father hadn't made it to the ceremony. But it was soon after that day she began going on regular hunts with him, leaving the steady homelife, the leisurely days of training in the scrapyard, reading and deciphering for hours in what was now her room, and the man who had become her best friend over the last three years, behind.

She had been raised to feel like she had an obligation to help people and save lives. To make a dent in the never ending fight against darkness. She made a bigger difference in the world this way. More than she would have if she were behind a cash register, or in an office somewhere. Hunting was a mostly thankless job - she never made any money for her deeds - but that had never stopped her Mother and Father, her Grandparents or even her Great Grandparents. It was essentially a family tradition, this life. Literal generations of Hunters. It had always been the intention of her parents that she and her brother continue on as their ancestors had. She had been taught as such from a very young age. It was in her blood. Hunting was her lineage, her duty. To live and breath the Hunt. She was learning Latin right along with English when speaking her first words. Training had begun for her when she could walk. Some would call her parents abusive, but those same people would be defenseless without people like her Dad and Mom. She had known how to throw a solid punch before she could ask for a drink. Could throw a tiny knife with incredible precision before she was in preschool. There were never illusions of anything else for her. She was born to Hunt, and she was okay with that.

It was an uncomfortable way to live and hardly a way to make a decent living. But it was all hers. She was helping to stave away the evil that lurked. She was proud of her work. Doing her utmost to protect the ignorant masses. The knowledge that they had done their part, had at least tried to save lives, to help in any way they possibly could. That they were fighting for good and humanity, so families could be with their loved ones. That was the take-home, their pay. It was good enough for those that came before her, so it was in turn, good enough for her. It had worked for her family for 15 good and mostly happy years.

They had a nice house, two cars, a large backyard with a garden. Both she and her brother had gone to the same school all their lives. Around people they had known since their early years. Lived in the same house as long as they could remember. Her mom actually had a job as a part time librarian, hunting on the side. Her dad hunted regularly, posing as a cross-country Trucker when their neighbours got curious. The family trained together, they hunted together. This one family really had been living the Hunter's Dream life...

Then on a beautiful bright summer's day in August 1995, their way of life had blown up, literally and figuratively, and the disaster had carved a once happy family of four down to two.