Henry Spencer had a secret, one that none of his coworkers, not his ex-wife, not even his son, knew about. He had carried it with him from his teenage days.
Henry was once a hunter.
When he was sixteen, he was driving Ellie, his first girlfriend, to see a movie. They had to stop on the silent highway, however, because the car was out of gas. He had barely reached for the spare canister in the trunk when it happened.
A man was walking down the road towards the car. Henry barely took notice; what was so strange about a hitch-hiker, anyway? Well, nothing was strange about him until he saw his eyes. The whites, at least what wasn't blood shot, were tinted almost yellow, kind of like the colour of the ceiling of a long-time tobacco smoker's house.
Ok, so the man's drunk. He was scrawny enough, he figured he could easily take him out if necessary. It wasn't until the stranger was beside the car did he see the smile, which even to this day made his blood run cold.
He had fangs.
The rest was like a bad slow-motion movie. The man clamped his teeth around Ellie's neck, barely giving her enough time to scream. Henry rushed to put the guy's lights out, but he was just too strong. One flick of the wrist sent him flying. He was sure that they both would have died that night if it hadn't been for the other man who came running, wielding a machete. A single fluid motion severed the attacker's head from his shoulders.
All Henry could do was stand in shock, staring dumbly at his saviour. Ellie, his mind yelled, and he snapped out of the trance, running to see her. Blood covered the white passenger seat, while more poured out of a large bite wound in her neck.
The man, Jamie, he said his name was, explained what happened, his words falling on deaf ears. He then urged him to move.
"Why?" He asked, still numb.
"Because she's been bit. When she wakes up, she'll be turned, and she'll feed. I can't let that happen."
Henry tried to protest, but couldn't find the words. Instead, he just turned his head away in dumbstruck obedience.
After it was done, Jamie had to knock him out and drag him off; he was less likely to be charged for murder if he had been unconscious the entire time. Plus Jamie had a hunter friend in the police department, so he could easily cover his tracks. When Henry came to, he was in the hospital.
Ever since then, he had been learning more and more about the things that went bump in the night. Vampires, werewolves, simple salt-and-burns, these and more he became familiar with, and hunted them out once he was old enough to leave his parents' house. Though he had hunted some through the past years; his last "hunt" being when he tracked a rugaru with Ellen Harvelle five years before, he had officially retired from hunting when he met the woman who would become his wife. After he got settled, and Shawn was born, he put away his salt rounds and steel knives, and got a job with the Santa Barbara Police Station, ironically enough. Even though it had been years since he got out of the life, he still felt the urge to get into action again when strange deaths were broadcast over the news. Instead, he would call up some acquaintances he made on the job, and let them handle it.
The only time he ever picked up his salt round shot gun and silver knife these days was when something paranormal found it way to Santa Barbara. This was his town now, damn it. He wasn't having some thing chowing down on his neighbours, and most definitely not his son. He often worried that Shawn's growing reputation as a police psychic would someday draw in a supernatural being, curious and possibly pissed off about the supposed mystic.
He shook his head, dispelling the thoughts. He tried to distract his mind, made himself a coffee, and sat down to read the newspaper.
"Strange Deaths of Factory Workers Leave Santa Barbara Police Baffled"
Tell me this isn't...
Henry read on.
"The light fixtures and windows within a fifty foot radius were shattered. All victims were reported dead on scene. Police are currently withholding names and any additional information from the public media."
Henry tossed the paper aside and put his head in his hands.
Something had found its way to Santa Barbara.
Henry stood and paced over to the phone. Information might be withheld from the general public, but he had ways of getting the details he needed. One of the many things his time with Jamie, who had mentored him for a time, had taught him was that it was always good to have contacts within the law enforcement, and it just so happened that he made one. James Winters, an officer who almost became monster dinner around the time of Henry's divorce, would be able to give him more details. Henry decided to call his private cell; this conversation was one that should not be monitored.
"What's up?" He answered after a few rings.
"Hello, James." He replied simply.
"Hiya, Henry. I was wondering when you would call. I didn't wanna call you 'cause if someone saw me they'd raise a few eyebrows. I'm guessing you're looking for the low-down on the factory case?"
"You guessed right. What can you tell me?"
James proceeded to give Henry the details of the murders. The place reeked of sulphur, which indicated demon activity. He cringed. He had only ever dealt with one demon in his career, back before a Hell Gate was opened, according to other hunters. These things were crawling the Earth now, when before someone may have spotted five in a decade.
The next thing was had to be the strangest thing he had heard of yet. Many of the vics' eyes had been liquefied by heat, That part was explainable to a degree. It was the wings that freaked him out. James said that large sets of wings sprouted from underneath a handful of victims. They appeared to have been burned into the floor.
Once he took a moment to think, however, he recalled that his friend Bobby Singer had mentioned the confirmed existence of angels only a few years ago, when he had called Henry to ask if he knew anything of them. This could take a lot of research, but at least he knew were to start.
"Oh, and we did manage to salvage a bit of security footage. I made sure I was the only one to see it; we both know this isn't a thing for the police. I'm telling ya, though, you're not gonna like what you see."
I never like what I see. "Send it to me."
A few minutes later he brought up the email on his computer screen and clicked play. The tape was only about a minute and thirty seconds long, but it felt like a lifetime. At first it seemed to be a fight between demons and what he assumed were the angels. Soon, though, a new player on the field was evident. Henry watched these new creatures enter the battlefield and shook. From the corner of the screen he could see someone sneaking towards the door. A survivor? He dared to hope.
Then one of the new creatures caught sight of her and...
He shut off the monitor in horror, hands shaking as his fingers fumbled for the button.
