Chapter 1

    It’s 2 a.m. The Luxor Hotel lies nestled in night's heavy cloak. Silence draped over the corridors like a thick miasma, broken only by the muffled hum of a distant ice machine and the occasional whisper of nocturnal footsteps. Jack rolled over and saw a huge dark figure. It was the kind of darkness that consumed all light. He sat up in horror and watched this spirit holding a man. “No, my God, it is my father, " he said.

    Being held aloft the figure rips through the man's body with a large knife-like claw, spilling his entrails all over the floor, the smell of copper from the blood and the putrid odor of decaying flesh filled Jack's nose. The creature looking at Jack spoke, “I will see you soon Jacky Boy.” Both the man and dark spirit start to laugh, Jack lets out a primal scream, then bolts upright in his bed, the room phone ringing, adding more chaos and confusion to his weakening state of mind.

    “What!” He snapped still disorientated.

“Sorry to disturb you, Mr. Porter. You have a visitor,”  said the front desk attendant with all the empathy of a rock.

 Jack's brow furrowed in irritation. “What the hell? At this hour, tell them to come back in the morning.”  He slammed the phone down, lying back down sweating, his heart pounding out of his chest, and closed his eyes to try to center himself. A ringing telephone once again shattered the unnatural stillness of his room; this time, the noise had a desperate, almost panicked resonance.

    “Really! What is it now?” He barked in a more hostile tone.

“Again, Mr. Porter my apologies, but your visitor demands to see you,”  he said with an attitude suggesting HE was being inconvenienced.

    “Well, who the fuck is this visitor who cannot wait?” Jack said.

“He says his name is Father Murray from Mary Mother Savior Church,” he said as he exhaled with a bored sound.

“Are you fucking kidding me!” Jack groaned.

“He is claiming it is of dire importance that he speaks to you.” He could almost hear the eye roll from this little asshat.

“For shit’s sake, okay fine I will be down shortly, I can’t imagine what emergency the church could have at this hour.” 

Jack forced his still-shaking body out of bed and got dressed; leather loafers, distressed brown cargo pants, and his favorite black T-shirt with the ominous skull and crossbones, it was his uniform of rebellion, a statement of defiance against the world. Irritated and mumbling curses under his breath he leaves the unnerving darkness of his room into the harsh glare of the hotel corridor. As Jack walked to the elevator the lights were flickering behind him, giving an impression of a slight strobe effect in his periphery, feeling that he was being followed somehow “That’s creepy as hell!” He said.

Downstairs in the Lobby Father Nicholas Murray a 56-year-old Irish Catholic priest, his dark hair and ice blue eyes lend him an intensity that would move the most ardent sinners to find the lord, his presence exuded an aura of somberness amid the opulent surroundings. He was pacing and rubbing his hands together so quickly that they had become hot and sweaty, worried about the news he had received earlier today, having to wake a total stranger from his sleep, and wondering if this man would help him or give him a holy ass beating after such an intrusion. Father Murray heard the bell on the elevator car ding, and he knew that it was showtime.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Father Murray started toward the hallway, stopping in his tracks as Jack stepped out. The 6-foot 3-inch, 240-pound muscled, tattooed frame and fashion choice surprised Father Murray. “Jjj... Jack Porter?” the Father exclaimed in a stutter, not believing that the country's premier antiquities dealer looked like a supermodel and cage fighter all wrapped up into one chaotic person.

 “Mr. Porter I am so very sorry to have to trouble you like this, please let us sit here in the lobby where I can explain my overly rude behavior in private.” 

The tension was evident, it hung in the air like a hooker's perfume in a dive bar as they settled into the plush armchairs.

    Jack began “Yes, please Father explain to me why the hell you would have me up at such an ungodly hour.”  He took no notice of the sarcasm.

    “Mr. Porter, I have sought you out this evening under less than favorable conditions, I am afraid.” He continued, “I came here because I was told you would be attending the International Antiquities Symposium, and I need your help.” The father said, desperation creeping into his voice like the whisper of a ghost.

    “Well Father I am more than willing to help the Church, but I do not understand why you would need my help this late at night,” he said crossly,

    “Time is of the essence Jack, if I may be so bold, but I have very little time to deal with the issue at hand.” 

    “Well, Father so far you haven’t told me shit about this problem, what exactly do you need from me.”

“Jack I need you to help me track down a lost pallet of items that were sold at an estate sale by accident.” He said.

    “What? Seriously! I’m sorry Father but don’t you have people that are more than capable of handling this.?” Incredulity was evident in his tone as it echoed through the cavernous lobby.

    “No Jack!” realizing his elevated tone his cheeks heat up, veins starting to bulge in his forehead, embarrassed, he continues in a more hushed tone “No I do not, this pallet contains very old boxes, which contain very dangerous items if left in the wrong hands, I..” 

    “Okay Father” I interrupted “but that still does not sound like something that you need my help with, why not just call the auction company and explain it was a mistake to sell them and get the information on who made the purchase, and what is so dangerous about the contents of these boxes?” 

    “It is complicated, we know who has them, but I cannot go into too much detail here, please Jack will you help me?” 

    Weariness weighed heavy in his eyes, and Jack was tired, irritated, and still shaken up by his vision, but he kinda liked Father Murray's intensity, and could sense that something serious was being left out of the conversation.

“Okay Father, I will help you under one condition!” He said lifting an eyebrow

“Yes, Jack what is that?”

“You and I will meet later this morning, and you will tell me the whole story,” he said sternly, the tone sanctioning no argument.

The priest became noticeably nervous “Um, well I can only tell you so much.”

    “No Father! the whole story or no deal.”  his voice was unwavering, his gaze steady as he held the Father's eyes captive.

    Father Murray's eyes jutted back and forth then finally back up to Jack's eyes, “Okay, I will tell you. Here is the address of the church but please tell no one of our visit here tonight.” He said.

 “Okay Father I will not mention it to anyone, I will meet you at the church at 11 am.” He said.

    “Thank the Lord, and thank you Jack, and again I…,”

    “I know l know,” waving his large hand in the air as he stood and bid the priest goodnight and returned to the room.

    He sat there in the dark when his mind started to replay the last moments of his father's life, and that fucking cursed clock that fell on him. “One day I will find it again, and the demon bound inside will be purged in the most inappropriate ways that I can think of. Until then it is a shower and an entirely too early breakfast for me.” He said aloud.