"Look, John," the old hunter said. "You gotta stop bustin' your balls over what happened to Bill."
"Do I?" John blinked blurry eyes. Ran his tongue over dry lips. What he wouldn't give for a nice, tall, cold glass of beer. Or a shot of tequila, whiskey, scotch. Hell, it didn't matter what the bartender poured so long as it was good and strong. "And why's that? Huh?"
"'Cause you didn't mean for him to die."
John stared into that leathery face. Saw the lines of wisdom underneath the scars of understanding. If there was anyone in the world who could understand how he felt at that moment, it was Jonah Smith. Jonah wasn't just a hunter from the fifties, though. He was a veteran of WWII. He had seen and done shit John couldn't even begin to imagine. 'Nam was bad but those death camps?
Well, that was just a whole new type of bullshit.
Jonah knew more about hunting than anyone he encountered thus far. Soon as he told him it was a Devil's Gate, he leaned back in his chair and nodded his head. Nothing more needed said. Jonah might not have known what exactly came out of that opening, but he had a good enough idea.
What he didn't tell him was how his mind was on his boys back at the roadhouse. He wasn't paying attention to where his feet were and scuffed the ring of salt he laid across the entrance. When whatever — demon, hellspawn — came shooting out of that tunnel, nothing was there to stop it. My fault, he thought over and over as his belly cramped. It's all my fault.
"A husband and father is dead because I made a mistake," he rasped. "I got him killed because I was careless and stupid."
Jonah didn't reply.
Not that John expected him too.
A/N: Hello, all! Hope this finds you well!
I just wanted to send a special thank you to Kathy and Sharzdah for their lovely reviews!