The Bright Eyes (The Soulless Ones Book 1)

by Leo E. Ndelle

  “That, sir,” Günter said, standing up and adjusting his suit, “will be forty-eight hours too many.”

  The supervisor smiled as Günter left the office.

  Six hours later there was a knock on Fr. Heinrich’s front door. A teenage boy opened it slightly. When he saw that it was another priest, he opened further. One look at the poor boy was all Günter needed to know what the boy had either just suffered or had been suffering.

  “Where is he?” Günter asked calmly.

  The boy turned and pointed towards the corridor.

  “Go home and never come back here,” Günter hissed.

  The boy stepped past Günter and dashed away. Günter walked in and locked the door behind him. He walked steadily towards Fr. Heinrich’s room, counting his steps along the way and breathing slowly to calm the storm that was raging in him. But there was no calming this storm. This house was a hell for many-a-young boys. Günter ached for their pain and suffering. He pushed the devil’s bedroom door open, walked in and glared at the pedophile priest who lay on his bed wearing nothing but his underwear. Startled, the priest sat ram-rod stiff and glared at the intruder. When he realized who his unexpected visitor was, all the color drained from his face. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.

  “I take it you remember me?” asked Günter casually.

  Fr. Heinrich tried to speak again and failed. He just swallowed hard and nodded.

  “Good, do you know why I’m here?” Günter asked.

  Heinrich shook his head.

  “You have received several warnings from the Vatican ordering you to cease your indiscretions. Yet, you ignored these warnings. So, I am here to end you. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  The priest whimpered.

  “It really doesn’t matter now, does it?” Günter said and headed for the closet.

  It was just the way he remembered. He took a towel.

  “Personally,” he continued as he walked slowly towards Fr. Heinrich, who was still paralyzed by fear, “I’d prefer to make this last a long, long, long time. To make you suffer, to hear you scream in pain, to make you pay for what you tried to do to me and for what you have done to all those little boys!”

  He stopped about four meters away from Heinrich and breathed in deeply to calm himself. He was surprised at how much control he had exercised so far; really surprised.

  “But, alas, my orders are specific,” he took another step towards Heinrich folding the towel twice along its length so that it looked like a long rectangle.

  “This will be a lot easier for you if you don’t resist.”

  And with one smooth motion, he positioned himself behind Heinrich and held him in a choke hold with the towel acting as a cushion along Heinrich’s neck. He squeezed! The pedophile kicked and clawed for four seconds before his body went limp. Günter released his grip on the priest, laid him on his back, placed the towel on his chest, right above his heart and smashed his right fist on the towel. Günter then unfolded the towel and laid it next to the priest. Later, it would be ruled that Fr. Heinrich died of a heart attack right before his shower.

  Günter walked out of Heinrich’s room, and out of the house, closed the door behind him and breathed in deeply. He felt as if he was a huge weight had come off his shoulders, but Günter knew he had to make a pit stop to finalize the closure.

  Judge Hassler lived about twenty-five kilometers from the parish; the same judge who shared in the priest’s disgusting appetite for little boys, the same judge behind Günter’s unjust imprisonment. But karma was one scorned lady. Somehow, Günter was grateful for the travesty of justice he had suffered. He could see the handiwork of the Almighty at play, and it was the same handiwork of the Almighty that was helping him to complete the cycle, clean up the mess and find closure. God was truly good, and His divine purpose was perfect.

  Günter waited outside the judge’s house till late at night when the judge’s grandchildren and wife were all asleep. The judge was staying up late to watch some TV. Right that moment, there was a program on TV about a young, charismatic leader of the Nazi Party. Judge Hassler was too engrossed in the program that he did not hear Günter pick the lock on the kitchen door and make his way to the living room. When the judge finally saw Günter, Günter motioned for him to keep his mouth shut or watch him kill the judge’s grandchildren before the judge’s own eyes. The judge’s obedience was absolute. Günter motioned towards the kitchen.

  “Please, don’t hurt my babies,” the judge pleaded, taking a seat and facing Günter.

  “How many sons and grandsons have you violated, judge?” asked Günter coldly.

  The judge was too petrified by fear and guilt to reply. Günter leaned forward and glared at the judge, who backed away slightly.

  “Do you know who I am?” he asked.

  Judge Hassler shook his head vigorously.

  “I am Günter, the one you sentenced to a decade in prison to protect your now dead friend, the priest!” Günter replied calmly.

  The judge searched through his memory and then, his eyes bulged in disbelief as he remembered.

  “I am here to put an end to you and your perversion. I am here to complete the cycle and fulfill the divine will of God.”

  He stood up and walked behind the judge, who was still too paralyzed by fear to even move a finger.

  “Please… please,” pleaded the judge.

  Günter leaned close the judge’s ear and whispered in a very chilling voice.

  “I’m sending you to burn in the fires of hell. This will be your punishment for eternity.”

  Günter snapped the judge’s neck in one quick motion and caught the judge’s limp body before it slumped to the floor. He bashed the judge’s head against the side of the table before finally letting his limp body hit the floor. Günter took a glass and filled it with water. He then spilled some of the water a few feet from the dead man’s feet before walking along the corpse and letting the glass drop from his hand about four feet from the corpse’s outstretched right hand. The glass shattered on impact and water spilled in every direction. Satisfied with his work, Günter casually walked out through the kitchen door and up to his car that was parked in the shadows a block down the street. The judge’s wife would later notice her husband was not yet in bed and would come down stairs to check on him. The cause of death would be ruled an accident: the judge had slipped and broken his neck as he banged his head on the table.

  To Günter, the cycle was now complete; he had found some closure and was finally a man at peace.

  Two weeks later, he was summoned by his supervisor.

  “Once again congratulations on a job well done! How do you feel?” asked the supervisor.

  “Thank you, sir. I feel great, actually,” replied a very cheerful Günter.

  “Good. I asked to see you because I have a proposition for you,” said the supervisor.

  “Of course, sir,” Günter replied.

  “Have you heard of the Order of the Rock?” asked the supervisor

  CHAPTER EIGHT: C. E. 1938

  He watched the waves move and crash on the shore in rhythmic patterns. After all this time, this basic gift of nature was still one of the few things that brought him some Zen. He took a deep breath, held it for a few seconds and then let it out slowly. This moment would be his only moment of peace for the next few days or even months. After all, uneasy is the head that wears the crown. He slid on freshly pressed black cassock over a black, freshly pressed shirt, tucked in a freshly pressed pair of black pants and slid his socked feet in a pair of polished, black shoes. As the leader of the O.R, and the most powerful man in the underworld, he had a great white shark to fry right. It was a realm of filth and someone had to do the cleaning.

  There was a gentle knock on the door.

  “Come in,” Father Supreme said, putting on his watch.

  The door opened, and a young priest’s head poked through the crack.

  “Father Supreme, your car is here
,” the priest said.

  “Thank you, Marcelo,” Father Supreme replied.

  Marcelo opened the door wider and stood aside as Father Supreme walked out of his private chambers. Marcelo closed the door behind Father Supreme.

  “Is Antonio here?” asked the Father Supreme as he walked down the stairs and into the foyer with Marcelo in tow.

  “Yes, Father Supreme,” answered Marcelo. “He’s in the car. Would you like for me to fetch your briefcase?”

  “Not today, Marcelo. Thank you,” replied Father Supreme, as he headed for the car.

  Marcelo nodded and walked into the kitchen as another priest opened the door to the bulletproof, black sedan with tinted windows for the Father Supreme to get in. He made sure that Father Supreme was comfortable in the back seat before closing the door and riding shotgun. Fr. Antonio was second-in-command and next in line to succeed Father Supreme, should the situation arise.

  “Did you verify the intel?” asked the Father Supreme.

  “Verified and confirmed, Your Supremacy,” replied Fr. Antonio handing his supremacy a brown envelope with some photos of a man exiting a bar and other photos of him at a park.

  The photos from the park were blurry because they were taken when the subject was in motion.

  “So, it was him in London?” his supremacy spoke, more to himself than to Antonio.

  “Yes, your supremacy. It was him. He did a good job keeping it quiet and clean, and our men stayed out of sight, just like you ordered,” continued Antonio.

  “Apparently, not out-of-sight enough, since one of our operatives was sent to deliver a message,” Father Supreme said with just enough reprimand.

  “Apologies, your supremacy,” Antonio said, clearing his throat nervously.

  He knew he had messed up, but it was a minor offense. Father Supreme idly tapped his left knee with his index finger. The ring on his left ring finger bore a big, green crystal on it.

  “How interesting!” Father Supreme said. “The most wanted man in the underworld wants to meet with the most powerful man in the underworld!”

  He shifted his gaze sideways and stared blankly through the tinted window. The car kept a steady pace, winding through the narrow streets of Rome towards the Vatican. A few minutes later, Father Supreme broke the silence.

  “I see we have a new driver,” he spoke softly.

  “His name is Günter, your supremacy,” said Antonio. “He’s the one I told you about.”

  “Ah, yes!” exclaimed his supremacy. “That was some stunt you pulled back there in Berlin, young man. I’m not sure I, myself. could’ve done a better job!”

  “His supremacy is most generous,” replied Günter with excitement. “Thank you kindly, sir. I only seek to fight evil and protect the church in every way I can.”

  “And your actions are a greater compliment to you, young man,” Father Supreme said.

  “Thank you, Father Supreme Sir!” Günter beamed, not fully understanding what his boss meant. “Without wanting to be rude, sir, I just wanted to say I’m honored to be assigned to your service. Thank you very much for this opportunity!”

  “Oh, that was nothing, Günter,” Father Supreme said, almost smiling. “You keep up the great work, and there will be so much more for you in this order.”

  “I won’t let you down, boss!” Günter pledged.

  “I know, young man,” his supremacy spoke softly. “You wouldn’t be here if I doubted you in the first place.”

  As they drove on, Günter gripped the steering wheel a little tighter to force himself to concentrate on the road. His recruitment into the O.R had been a huge promotion. He had gone through some more training to build strength and speed. At first, he wondered why he had to improve on his speed until his first exposure to a chuper and a luper. The Bright Eyes were locked in separate cages in the training camp, and after watching hours of video footage, he finally understood why. Günter knew of demons and ghosts, but The Bright Eyes were supposed to be myths, told in books and movies. Not anymore! Anyway, the Bright Eyes were just another face of evil. And he was proud to be a servant of the Lord Jesus Christ and fighter of evil!

  After a few successful missions, Günter and some other agents were selected for a special mission to Berlin.

  BREAKING BONDS

  The order had received reliable intel that Hitler intended to build an army of Bright Eyes in a secret Nazi lab in Berlin to use during the war. The order could not let this happen. Thus, Günter and his team were sent on a mission to destroy the lab, its research thus far, as well as every Bright Eyes and recent converts therein, if any. The team arrived Berlin during the day as tourists and had set out on their mission at night. But they got ambushed, and everyone was either slaughtered or severely wounded. Those who lived chose their cyanide pill over capture, but Günter was too slow to get to his pill before being rendered unconscious by a Nazi soldier.

  He regained consciousness to find his head, arms and legs strapped to a metallic chair. He squinted and looked around the dimly lit room. His vision was still blurry. He felt the floor with his piggy toes to confirm that even the floor was metallic; probably steel. He tried again to turn his head but the straps on his head held him fast. His left temple throbbed where the Nazi soldier had struck him with the butt of a rifle. Günter winced at the pain and tried to relax. Suddenly, blinding lights flooded the chamber. His head felt as if it would explode from the luminous assault. He squeezed his eyes shut, but his head still hurt. A few seconds later, he opened his eyes slowly and tried to assess the chamber as his vision adjusted to the lighting.

  “Hello, father,” a masculine voice called out through the luminous onslaught. “Welcome to Hell!”

  Two Nazi soldiers walked into the room carrying rifles and a third person, dressed up in a white lab coat was rolling a small table in front of him. The table contained a rolled-up tool bag, a pair of syringes and some tiny bottles of clear liquid. The sudden rush of adrenaline cleared Günter’s vision and numbed his headaches. He knew what was coming and was ready for it. Günter started reciting the rosary, focusing on the sorrowful mysteries. He wanted to draw strength from the passion of Christ, from the last supper to the crucifixion. He stole a quick moment to assess his captors. They were of average height and build. The man with the lab coat wore glasses and was humming a tune as he took his time to reveal the contents of the tool bag. Then he paused and drew closer to Günter.

  “Ah!” he said derisively in a distinctive German accent and wagged a finger at Günter. “You are reciting the Rosary, no? Are you hoping for Our Lady of Sorrows to give you strength?” he paused as if waiting for an answer.

  “The second sorrowful mystery -,” continued Günter as if he were by himself.

  “The scourging at the pillar, yah!” the man with the lab coat interjected. “My dear priest, you will experience something far worse than scourging if you don’t shut your mouth!”

  His voice was so sharp and sudden that Günter stopped and managed a smile.

  “Score one for me!” Günter muttered and then went on, “Hail Mary, full of grace the Lord is with thee…”

  The man in the lab coat signaled to one of the guards. The guard stepped forward and punched Günter’s left jaw and then followed the punch with a left punch into Günter’s solar plexus. This soldier is very good, Günter thought, in spite of the throbbing in his head from the punch. He instinctively wanted to ball over from the punch to his solar plexus, but the straps would not let him. He coughed and took several, heavy breaths.

  “Alright now!” said the man in the lab coat, clapping his hands once and rubbing them vigorously for a few seconds. “Shall we begin? Oh, I’m sorry, where are my manners? I’m Dr. Herman Klaus. I am the lead doctor at the Führer’s Division of Paranormal and Mythological Phenomena. Here is what we will do. I will ask you questions, and you will answer me truthfully. Only then will you not undergo any form of, uh, mistreatment. Yes, mistreatment! But if you do not answer me truthfully….”


  He left his sentence unfinished.

  “Do you understand me, soldier?”

  Günter leveled his gaze at Dr. Klaus and grinned to expose bloodied teeth.

  “What I understand, you Nazi bastard, is that if you don’t kill me now, your death will be very slow and painful.”

  “Ah! Spoken like a true soldier!” said Dr. Klaus in mock excitement.

  He then walked to the table and pulled out a very small, razor-sharp scalpel that was no more than an inch long.

  “Be careful with that, doctor!” Günter said. “I just might use it to cut off that tiny pecker of yours!”

  “I would love to see you try… Fr. Günter!” Dr. Klaus.

  “How did you know my name?” Günter asked, barely able to contain his shock.

  “Let us begin with me telling you about this little object, Father?” continued Dr. Klaus. “This,” he said, holding up the scalpel between his left thumb, middle and index fingers, “is a gift from the Chinese when I visited them two years ago. They call it The Ghost Blade. Do you know why they call it the Ghost Blade, Fr. Günter?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at Günter.

  “How did you know my name?!” Günter insisted.

  “You see,” continued the doctor, still ignoring Günter’s question, “the Chinese call it Ghost Blade because they could use this blade to make a thousand, extremely painful cuts into the human flesh. These cuts are so thin they are almost invisible to the naked eye. But then, the poor fool who found himself at the end of this blade will suffer a slow and agonizing death due to excessive loss of blood.”

  He took another step towards Günter.

  “I’ll ask you one more time,” Günter spoke through clenched teeth, “HOW… DO… YOU…”

  And without warning, the doctor swiped the blade in swift semi-arc. Günter felt excruciating pain shoot from his upper abdominals through his body and let out a manic scream.

  “There!” smiled the doctor. “That’s a familiar sound from a soldier of Christ.”

  “HOW DO YOU KNOW MY NAME?!!” screamed Günter, panting from the pain from the radiating from the slash in his upper abdominals.