Johnny the Eternal: A Dawn in Darkness

JOHNNY THE ETERNAL

A DAWN IN DARKNESS

A TYPICAL KID WITH NOT SO TYPICAL MEMORIES…

ALONE AND RUNNING FROM HIS UNBELIEVABLE PAST…

TO HIDE HIS TRUE SELF FROM THE MOCKING WORLD.

A. RODRIGUEZ

iUniverse, Inc.

Bloomington

Johnny The Eternal

A Dawn In Darkness

Copyright © 2012 by A. Rodriguez.

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ISBN: 978-1-4759-0643-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4759-0644-8 (ebk)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012905655

iUniverse rev. date: 03/29/2012

Contents

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

You have destroyed it,

The beautiful world;

Build it again,

In your heart rebuild it.

~Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe~

Introduction

Johnny’s always been fascinated by demons, vampires, creatures of the night, all the unknown and hidden, and such dreadful things that would make any other kid pee his pants. Matter-of-factly, he used to escape from his home at night in search of wild adventures and to find out the real hidden secrets of the obscurity. Of course, back then in the obscure era around the Dark Days of Europe, he was considered quite mad. The people of the village soon believed he was under possession of demonic spirits. Johnny was not really mad, though, but too curious for his age and for his time.

Jeez. He used to drive his parents crazy!

They’d even tried various approaches from the church to try to maintain their son’s sanity… tried to get those cryptic and dark ideas out of his head… but nothing worked.

Besides angels and demons type creatures, he especially had an obsession with creepy crawlers and all those insects that would make anybody run away in a really crazed fashion. He’d spend hours during the day discovering new additions in the dusty, old barn of his family, scraping under hay and mud, looking under rocks, hunting for cobwebs and small holes in the ground for all sorts of eight-legged, six-legged, and four-legged creatures. He would even collect them, take them to his bedroom and set them loose during the day in there, and, at night, keep them secure in a wooden box. Going to sleep, he used to imagine all the creepy crawlers crawling and burrowing under his own skin, through his pores, through his nostrils, through his ears, laying eggs into his bloodstream and below the different layers of his skin. Gruesome dreams and imagination for anyone! . . . but not for him.

He loved being scared when he was little. It truly felt like an adrenalin rush for him. Like an energy source would ignite inside of him and constantly explode. Although his parents never comprehended it, and even grew weary of it.

When he was eleven years old, his mom and dad—not knowing what to do and looking for a way to control his erratic behavior and wild impulses—locked him away in hope what they believed he was suffering from was surely treatable. They put him in an underground prison cell (or a dungeon) where Johnny felt all alone and confused, then threw away the key…

Then, one day, at home, the many-legged creepy crawlers escaped from their wretched imprisonment. They entered his parents’ bedroom and brought sudden death upon them! (Several had been very poisonous). The news had spread to Johnny, while in the dungeon, very quickly; and, needless to say, he was now extremely devastated.

Four years later, he suffered an accident. He was free and walking around the fields one chilly night, then suddenly he fell into a dark pit or hole in the earth—this underground hole was several feet deep, by the way. Nothing could be seen but a small area of the hole where he had landed—the snow-white moonbeam was directly over him. Hours went by… In this horrid situation and about to literally die, he was visited by someone… someone that healed his broken leg… someone that had now changed him in many profound ways. That entity had not been from Earth, and it had not been exactly described to me. One thing I am sure of, though, he had recruited him. Johnny thus felt enthralled and honored, confused and scared for the first time.

Now, this is a true story.

I am not telling it so you believe it—Johnny didn’t believe it either, until he lived it. But DAMMIT it is one-hundred percent true! Everything. Every single detail I tell in this book is true.

One more thing, and like I’ve said before, everything in this book is true, except for names. All names. I got rid of the true identities for security… well, as you read on you’ll understand. If you dare to read on, that is.

Oh! I almost completely forgot to tell you, "if you are weak of heart and you usually get nightmares at night because you get scared easily… well then… this probably is not for you.

Johnny is a very different young man from the rest. But what makes him especial? What makes him Eternal? He has made a choice in the past, one that changed him completely. He possesses abilities that humans like you and I cannot even begin to imagine—even though he still has part of his humanity. He can do amazing things! He battles the creatures of the Darkness. The ones that you can only see in movies or read in fiction books, but they are real. Oh, you bet they are! Just because you can’t see them doesn’t mean they’re not there, ready to strike and lurk in the night. All sorts of creatures that are up to no good. Up to bringing the Apocalypse upon us all!

So… good luck, Jack.

Anyway, enough of this introduction. Let’s begin if you are ready.

We will commence the story in our days…

Find out who he is next . . .

A. R.

Chapter 1

(The eerie morning)

He wouldn’t say who he really was, of course. You know, because people would either succumb to panic or label him as a mental patient. Besides, not many people believed in the unknown anymore. Plus they would ask for some sort of power demonstration, and if he didn’t give one—and also if he did—he’d end up in prison or in a lab property of the army somewhere. (That’s how it goes with us, what we cannot understand we either laugh at or chuck away.) Also, Why are you here, you freak?! they would say. John—going by Johnny mostly—preferred to let all that to a flashy fellow, meaning that he was not one for demonstrations in public (because he was not insane!).

Probably why he lived outside the city and close to the mountains. And that was a great life for him; it didn’t have the noises of the big, polluted city and stuff like that. Well, he would say outloud that that was the real reason, but I’ll tell you later what it really was.

Also, he lived by himself—well, and his canine roommate, of course.

So, go ahead and imagine: you are seventeen years old—physically. No parents. No school! Fun? Scary? Umm, alright, could be a little bit of both, couldn’t it be? Now, picture yourself of that age in your mind, but, also with the knowledge only a lifetime can offer you—valor, intelligence, street smarts, etc. You’ve grown to take care of yourself. Let’s say that you have a ton of years in your pocket, but within the body of a teenager (because he didn’t age like normal humans do, even though a big part of him was exactly that—he aged slower… much slower).

Matter-of-factly, he felt one with the universe… (If you can believe that.)

Also, he was a fiction novels’ enthusiast, Dean Koontz and Stephen King fan, animal lover, stamps collector, Twilight and Harry Potter movies buff, and he enjoyed the forest and all nature.

Johnny was in touch with paranormal stuff and things happening around the world, things that most humans couldn’t even begin to comprehend and don’t even want to. Our minds are ‘limited,’ is the correct word. Contact with the unknown, that is what somebody gets when that being has lived since… well, forever. And that is why he carried some hidden tricks in him.

He remembered the time he encountered phages; vile creatures from the night, sort of like shapeshifters, but that seemed to feed from the terror it inflicted within its victims. And blood-suckers—AKA vampires—that appeared to have flood the streets of a Transylvania little town back on the early eighteen hundreds. In fact, let me tell you a little bit about that.

Many gruesome murders had been reported to happen, mostly in a little village south of Transylvania, called ‘HaydenVille.’ Now, back then people were not too bright on the whole idea of night-bloodsucking-predators, or they didn’t know how to deal with them (less than now-a-days), so, many wouldn’t know what to do with the fiercest warnings and gut-wrenching stories told by the local villagers. They didn’t have the first clue when treating with the unknown. Noises and horrible sounds would be heard constantly once the sun would set. Whorehouses and prostitutes were the beginning targets, then it spread like a virus all around. A few vampire hunters were raised in the region, but most failed due to not enough knowledge of the creatures and lack of preparation on the said hunts. Mal du siecle permeated the gloomy streets like a bad smell.

Johnny had been visiting and he was staying with a local of the area, a friend that was attacked in her home. Geez! Right inside her own home, can you believe that?! That’s when Johnny interceded and protected her—and that night he’d been truly thankful he was what he was, what he had chosen to be. The awesome thing was that he looked just like a kid. What a surprise for the night creature! Nobody would ever expect a kid to be any threat or to even put up a fair fight.

That is one of the many memories he had acquired through the years, some pleasant, some unpleasant, but all experiences he’d treasured with such grandeur, though.

That nice morning he was awake right at the crack of dawn as usual. He pounded over the alarm clock and had jumped out of bed instantly.

He then automatically checked his machine for any messages he might have—he hadn’t checked the day before.

Zero messages—It read.

He huddled to take on his routine exercises with the morning news on, after that he opened the window curtains wide. Light hurried inside. A beautiful view of nature. Mountaintops snow-covered. Trees as far as the eye could see.

He gasped at the majestic view—Sighed.

While doing his exercise, he watched and listened the local news. The wave of crimes in New York was sky-rocketing; drugs were flooding the streets, and police didn’t have much lead to go on. Violence and brutal murders were at their highest peak.

No wonder why the world is so screwed up, he muttered to himself. Hell’s dung, indeed.

All the commotion and turmoil rested on one powerful drug lord, the one that seemed to be untouchable by police and the feds. Channel five reporter, Stacey Kinns, commented on this, putting emphasis on the violence and chaos reigning upon certain areas or neighborhoods of the big city, which was spreading like an airborne disease.

Suddenly, Johnny felt overwhelmed by a strange feeling. An entity! While he saw in his mind’s eye a gloomy figure, a shadow—a quick glimpse. What was it? Was it possible it was him? He struggled to maintain the balance on the treadmill, and after he managed to step off it carefully, dizziness made a sudden impact. He then held his head and sat down upon his bed, powerfully oppressed by a vision. It whirled all around him. Everything seemed… distorted!

He realized it would not go away that easily. The uneasiness. The memories. Not him! Not that evil force! The words seemed to bounce off the walls! It was all in his tortured mind, ricocheting and echoing like that voice he’d heard before. It possessed all the reality and imagery any vivid dream had, or could possibly have. It flashed that strange woman again, the dank streets of the city, that sense of being lost and followed—as good as dead! And that voice, that deep and evil voice that had been buried in his most inner thoughts… HIS INNER SOUL. Fire and brimstone consuming, burning everlastingly ‘round a circle of the same. He thought he’d gotten away from all that. But maybe he had been wrong. Maybe he couldn’t run away from that after all… not from all that.

Suddenly, he felt overwhelmed by the visions of people burning and claiming for their loved ones, claiming their rights and exhaling their last breath of life—a life they once knew well. They were begging for pardon and absolution from their past life, but now it was too late—oblivion and pain would come to those with no escape, those that couldn’t shed tears, or even remember what it was like to feel loved and cared for.

Thus Johnny peered at those wretched and broken souls of the damned, the blackness and sadness that one can only see in rejects and in the real condemned. His gaze fell upon horsemen blazing flames, owning strong and sweeping across, bringing chaos and desperation to millions and millions. Destruction in their eyes! Utter devastation and raw death! Apocalypse was near and Johnny knew it, it was coming. Like extreme heat that got a hold of all his physical and non-physical being. He felt unable to resist any longer.

He struggled and snapped open his eyes!

Checked his surroundings and felt his sweat rolling down his forehead. The familiar barking made him come to—he then realized it had been just another vision. One that had looked and had felt real. Maybe too real this time.

DANG IT!!!— he muttered to himself. ~Oof, hell’s dung. Not this again.

That was one of the downfalls or disadvantages of being Johnny. He always had visions, often times and more commonly than not of the Apocalypse, but recently there had been a new addition: a woman he did not even know. These unrelenting images in his mind’s eye would come without knocking, pop in without warning, unveiling future and sometimes things he did not even want to know or that he couldn’t figure out. His mind and thought processes were constantly haunted by these, and every so often he even believed it to be a manner of cruel torture he couldn’t run away from.

Not even where he had moved, to the calm outdoors and out of the city (city many people called an unflushed toilet!)

The long tongue hung from its mouth, a bit of drooling lazily hanging from a corner. He petted the playful dog and hoped to start a good day.

Johnny went directly into the bathroom to take his morning shower. The warm and delightful water got him ready for a full day—beading down his skin it felt energizing.

Once he shampooed and soaped up, he got dressed and came out.

Chapter 2

(An unintentional accident… ?)

New York City, Bronx area.

Now it carried two soon to be dead-stiff bodies (assuming they were to arrive late to the emergency room). Victims of street gang violence at the Bronx, in New York City. So-called "Victims—they were street thugs, or drug dealers. So not so much Victims," but they had indeed been looking for trouble. First time dealing in that part of town, and I guess not too ready for the violence. Shooting had taken course at 6:05 AM—not too bright out yet—so swift and unexpected that they did not even had a chance.

They all had been carrying loaded fire weapons, and so by opening fire one had died shot in the head. But the other two had received wounds, losing blood heavily and finally dropping unconscious to the cold and hard floor. There had been a brave passerby that had quickly dialed 9-1-1, and the ambulances hadn’t taken long to arrive because, fortunately, there had been no heavy traffic in the freeway at that hour.

~Thud!—"Goddammit! Watch those small bumps, Harry!"

Sorry about that, Jack. This damn weather is not helping, but once we get on the freeway things will go smoother!

. . . Is okay, just keep it under twenty-five MPH until we get on it!

The weather was pretty intense that early morning in the city, at the end of winter season, but not quite the end yet. Everything outside was under inches of snow: trees from top to bottom were dressed in white, telephone booths held a two-inch white roof on top, and most of the view—that wasn’t much more than white covered—was being showered by no too light snowfall that impeded Harry’s lookout on the road. And just a few cars had that same problem.

The snowplow had taken inches of heavy snow just an hour ago, when the roads had been really, really bad and much, much more slippery; like ten times worse and undrivable under the current bad weather conditions. A few car accidents had taken place earlier. Many serious car accidents. But now it was a little bit better, or clearer than before, at least the snowdrift was less heavy. Still, drivers had to be careful not to spin uncontrollably, thus much concentration was needed to stay in the same lane.

Inside the lifesaving vehicle, Ben was gradually coming out from his unconscious state, but Andrew was not being so lucky. Both EMTs were working desperately in keeping the two young boys alive.

Suddenly, Ben started to cough up blood!

Shit!

They had to hurry up or he could simply stop breathing, by choking in his own blood. Was he about to die?! What was his state?! Ben had received two gunshots: one to the upper shoulder, and another one one-inch right side of trachea and below the clavicular area. The focus was now on him, since Andrew was unconscious but steady on the vital signs monitor, and he only had been shot once on his upper arm. Chris had wrapped the wounded biceps on him, his vital signs were being monitored closely.

Each moment was gold for Ben, his breathing was now becoming seriously compromised. And the pressure on Jack was huge, so huge that he started, in a sense, sweating bullets in a very cold weather. Jack had only six months on the job, but he was a very bright thirty-three-year old guy with an excellent training in his stressful field. He knew any delay could cost Ben his life, and also knew exactly what to do.

Turn up the heat a little, Harry! he grunted, while grabbing the heated blanket and placing it on Ben’s shaking body, covering it from feet to rib cage.

Okay, here we go. Without hesitation, he snatched a tracheal tube device and told Chris to prepare it, while he cleaned thoroughly and then made a quick and careful, small slit or orifice in the mid-trachea—the walls or sides of the ambulance held some useful machines and medical equipment for treating lethal wounds, common and severe cuts, and for maintaining a steady breathing mechanism in life or dead situations.

Now, his heart was pumping real hard! And his mind raised an annoying question: Am I one-hundred percent sure of how to do this . . . ? . . . Dammit, I better be! Thus, he went ahead and bravely inserted the sterile tube to make air flow smoothly into Ben’s windpipe. And after waiting two seconds… nervously, he saw his success. The kid’s chest rose in total freedom, up and down, letting clean air circulate freely.

Yes! At that moment, Jack felt an enormous and overwhelming feeling, pride in his quick resolution to save his life. Seconds had counted and he had not even blinked, just acted on impulse due to his years of training, countless nights buried in textbooks till three AM, while he would also work every day from ten AM to six PM, then come home to his wife and kid. That had been a very difficult time in his life. Juggling so many things at once hadn’t been nothing anywhere to easy, but he’d had his mind set on his goal, and, plus, he always had his family’s sincere support from the beginning.

"Oof! What an adrenalin rush!" Jack said, exhaling sharply and smiling at Chris.

Yes, indeed! Chris smiling back and giving Jack a high-five. That was very close.

Andrew had woken up and was aware that Ben was breathing again.

Suddenly the ambulance lost its grip on the snowy and slippery avenue road! Harry did not even have time to think about what had happened. But he knew better in those conditions, so, almost instinctively, he let go of the steering wheel. Despite that, the speed had been twenty-nine MPH and the big vehicle did spin full-blown in circles at least two times.

Everything shook inside it!—cotton gauzes, Band-Aids, gelatin gels, balms and blankets flew everywhere, the monitor next to Andrew collapsed and hit Jack’s face, pieces of plastic and glass everywhere cutting the four of them. Horror showed on their faces as everyone tried to hold on to something. Dammit! Was it the end?! What could he do now? What could they do?!

Everyone was thrashed around and shaken violently one way or the other but Ben, which was strapped sturdily to an especial stretcher that had mechanical clamping, or a tight grip, onto the reels of the floor of the ambulance—basically used for people that were in really bad shape or in need of much deeper care, and to stop them from moving freely inside the mentioned vehicle.

But that was not it! One of the vehicles outside, in the lane next to it, couldn’t swerve in time to avoid the imminent collision about to take place. The big, red truck hit the ambulance at thirty-five MPH, and with that force that changed momentum the truck was immediately sent fifteen feet backwards, colliding against a Harley Twin Cam 88B engine that was crossing the intersection at full tilt.

The traffic lights didn’t work due to current weather conditions, and the guy on that motorcycle had been obviously reckless and oblivious to other people’s safety, not knowing that that could have been his last trip.

The huge GMC truck had hit the bike and this one was sent to slide thirty feet onto the icy road, landing the unprotected driver head-on over the curve of the sidewalk and crushing his head while damaging his spine. The shielded and heavy truck only ended up with a dent on its front bumper, and a solely precious look vested on the bearded guy’s face through the windowpane. A confused and scared look!

The ambulance that had been hit rolled over almost instantly and, consequently, for the poor people inside of it, everything seemed to go in slow motion at that confusing and eerie moment. Everyone started to pray at least one word, calling out a seemingly merciful God.

One slow roll and all seemed like a nightmare. They did not feel pain at all—adrenalin and nerve-wracking tension kicked in—and, perchance, their obfuscated minds were now more focused on calling out God and on the very thought of their own families, or simply their physical brains had shut off in the squall. Not even a scream, although they’ve tried. Their mouths and throats felt like a dry, savorless prune (not that they’d noticed it while rolling around as if they were in a dryer!).

The second roll felt a bit quicker to them, just to get to four of them. Andrew couldn’t avoid hitting his head hard during the first roll because his stretcher wasn’t mechanically attached to the floor. Therefore Andrew suffered deadly injuries and fell unconscious!

Harry, Chris, Ben, and Jack were seriously wounded by glass and by the commotion of things flying inside, but they were conscious. Harry, the chubby driver, had it better than anyone aboard because he was wearing his seat belt, only he suffered a severe, bloody strike on his head, but not that serious to be life-ending right there.

When they inevitably rolled the third time, Jack noticed that they were gradually slowing down, and in hope and wishing not to go over a fourth time he started jumping, while grabbing at whatever he could in the abrupt commotion, pushing his own body weight down to make the vehicle stay put. He thought if he could only succeed in his attempt, maybe they could make it! But… was that even possible? Was he even thinking straight? Chris had also transferred to the right side with Jack, and so weighing it down.

Perhaps they had seen too many Hollywood movies, or had been just plain stupid by thinking that they could accomplish such a thing, but Chris and Jack had been raised by the same person and they had that alert instinct; they never gave up.

Following, the vehicle gave the impression that would go over a fourth time, but it was starting to slow down rapidly now—it surmounted on a peek, just a swift push to fall over once more. Then, Chris lost his balance completely and his body was thrown clear on top of Ben’s, knocking his steady breathing tube. The maniacal rolling finally stopped and a heavy ~Bonk! sound was heard abroad. Jack felt an overwhelming feeling of happiness and pride because his quick thinking had paid off.

Now, he was so relieved and so adrenergic that he’d forgotten about his own injuries, and did not even feel the blood dripping from his slit scalp and forehead, where the small-sized monitor had violently cudgeled him.

In the shaking of it all, he’d snatched hard at anything he could to stay in place and minimize the footfall—so hard-a-grip that his bare hands had been cut as if mangled atrociously. Was he even feeling it or was he in total shock?

His utter attention brought on quickly by the devastation within the ambulance. He lifted his hands at eyesight level, only to contemplate the red-colored and sticky liquid dripping down and around his hands, and all through a blur. He couldn’t see the cut marks or the mangled bruises clearly, but he knew they were there.

Arms and hands felt awkwardly heavy. His head felt roller-coaster-like dizzy. His whole body felt as if he had been drinking and gotten stinking drunk! He felt like resting his whole body and sleep it off for a while. But… couldn’t he get a concussion if he did?

Then, he lowered his hands and took a long, hard look on the few people there—everything kept on spinning like a top around