The Guardian
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What Readers Are Saying about The Guardian
Up-and-coming authors Robbie Cheuvront and Erik Reed nailed it with this entertaining, first-rate-thriller. The action never stops—I simply couldn’t put this book down!
—Mindy Starns Clark, award-winning, bestselling author of
Shadows of Lancaster County and The House that Cleans Itself
I haven’t read a book front to back in a long time but The Guardian was one that I just couldn’t put down! I knew Robbie Cheuvront was a very creative person from writing songs with him over the years. But as a novelist, Robbie has, without a doubt, taken his craft to a whole new level! Robbie and Erik have outdone themselves!
—Richie McDonald, former lead singer of LoneStar and award-winning songwriter
Having been privileged to work with Robbie cowriting songs and recording in the studio, I’m certain anything with his and Erik’s names on it deserves a closer look—he is the definition of multitalented.
—Chris Waters, Grammy Award-winning songwriter
and food critic columnist
The plot is captivating. The characters are believable. The pace is fast. You absolutely must read this book.
—Ben Stroup, writer, blogger, and consultant, TheContentMatrix.com
Well congratulations, Pastor Erik and Pastor Robbie, for writing such a thrilling first novel. I picked up The Guardian and could not put it down. It had me on the edge of my seat from the first page, and I couldn’t stop turning. The writing is fresh and relevant, and the storyline is incredibly gripping. You’ll be taken in right away and immediately invested in the characters and their phenomenal, perilous, life-threatening quest. A definite must read.”
—Pete Wilson, author of PLAN B, senior pastor of Crosspoint Church, (Nashville, Tennessee),and host of the blog Without Wax
DEDICATION
For our wives, Tiffany and Katrina,
who have sacrificed more than anyone would know
so that we can minister and write.
We love you and thank God for you.
© 2011 by Robbie Cheuvront and Erik Reed
Print ISBN 978-1-61626-278-5
eBook Editions:
Adobe Digital Edition (.epub) 978-1-60742-538-0
Kindle and MobiPocket Edition (.prc) 978-1-60742-539-7
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the publisher.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.
For more information about the authors, please access the following Internet address: http://www.thejourneytn.org/
Published by Barbour Publishing, Inc., P.O. Box 719, Uhrichsville, OH 44683, www.barbourbooks.com
All scripture quotations are taken from The Holy Bible, English Standard Version®, copyright © 2001 by Crossway Bibles, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers. Used by permission. All rights reserved.
Cover design: Faceout Studio, www.faceoutstudio.com
Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.
Printed in the United States of America.
Table of Contents
A Note from the Authors
Prologue
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
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Epilogue
Discussion Questions
About the Authors
Preview Chapters The 13: Fall
A NOTE FROM THE AUTHORS
Thank you for taking the time to read mine and Erik’s first novel, The Guardian. We hope you will be edified and enjoy the story. And that’s just what it is: a story. Erik and I do not, never have, nor will we ever proclaim to be scholars of the book of Revelation, prophets, or anything of the like. We simply were intrigued by a passage of scripture in Revelation that mentioned a little scroll and took note that there was never any more mention of it throughout the rest of the book. Being scatterbrained and creative (to a fault sometimes!), the story almost wrote itself. We do not intend for anyone to read into the story for some cryptic meaning or solution to the book of Revelation. It is merely a fictitious story, one that is focused on Anna Riley’s journey of faith. Nothing more. The scriptures are clear: no one knows the hour except the Father. We’ll leave the decoding of Revelation to others, if they wish. But ultimately, we just yearn for the return of our Savior, whenever God chooses that to be.
—Robbie and Erik
Then I saw another mighty angel coming down from heaven, wrapped in a cloud, with a rainbow over his head, and his face was like the sun, and his legs like pillars of fire. He had a little scroll open in his hand. And he set his right foot on the sea, and his left foot on the land, and called out with a loud voice, like a lion roaring. When he called out, the seven thunders sounded. And when the seven thunders had sounded, I was about to write, but I heard a voice from heaven saying, “Seal up what the seven thunders have said, and do not write it down.” Then the voice that I had heard from heaven spoke to me again, saying, “Go, take the scroll that is open in the hand of the angel who is standing on the sea and on the land.”
REVELATION 10: 1-4, 8 Esv
PROLOGUE
Patmos Island Prison,
60 years after the Crucifixion
John came to, finding himself still in his cell—still lying on a cold slab of rock, which sent stiff, cold pain through his lower back. His old age had begun to betray his once healthy, strong body. He was sure that his frail frame would soon give out completely and leave him an invalid. His head throbbed with a mighty headache from the vision. It was the Lord’s day, and he had been praying when it happened.
He remembered the last image, as if he were standing there yet, standing at the top of a great mountain, beside a beautiful angel, looking out over a new Jerusalem, with Christ at the throne. His hands trembled and his brow was soaked with sweat. He was both terrified and overjoyed at what he had seen, the beauty of a redeemed creation, the Christ sitting on His throne. John didn’t know how long his vision lasted. All he knew was that he had to write it all down. He had been commanded to do so.
He stood from his bed and walked over to the parchment lying on his table. He took the pen and ink and began to write:
The revelation of Jesus Christ, which God gave him to show his servants what must soon take place. He made it known by sending his angel to his servant John, who testifies to everything he saw—that is, the word of God and the testimony of Jesus Christ. Blessed is the one who reads the words of this prophecy …
As he wrote, he lost track of himself. The words flowed from his pen like water. Indeed, just as Christ had promised, the Holy Spirit was bringing remembrance of all that had been shown to him.
… Then the voice that I had heard from heaven spoke to me once more: “Go, take the scroll that lies open in the hand of the angel who is standing on the sea and on the land.”
John immediately stopped writing. His stomach started to churn. What was it? What was this sudden sickness he was feeling? Then he remembered. The angel had told him to eat the scroll. He had. The angel told him it would be sweet like honey to his lips, but would turn sour in his stomach. It had. And now he was feeling the sickness of the scroll in his belly.
John stood and walked back to his bed. He lay down rubbing his stomach which was now violently churning. He felt a moan well up from deep inside of him. He fell to the floor, bent over holding on to the wall and began to cough. Violently cough, and gag. And then he felt it.
John was now scared. He couldn’t breathe. Something blocked his airway. He reached inside his mouth and felt his fingers touch something. He latched onto it and pulled it out. He heaved and gasped for breath as the obstacle dislodged from his throat and fell to the floor below. He knelt down to see a tiny scroll, covered in mucus and stomach acid.
John continued to suck in deep breaths, his lungs burning as the fresh air came in. He tried to stand. He held the tiny scroll in his hands, his fingers trembling as he grasped the corners to open it. Suddenly, the room was enveloped in a blinding white light, causing him to stumble backward. He stopped when he reached his bed, but only because his legs were kicked out from under him by the slab. He found himself sitting again and trying to focus on this great light.
“Do not fear me, John, servant of Christ,” a voice that emanated from the light spoke. “I am Micah, a messenger of the Most High.”
And with that, the bright light dimmed. John removed his hand that shielded his eyes. He recognized this being. It was the angel who had given him the scroll in his vision.
“Greetings from our Lord and Savior, Jesus, the Christ,” Micah said.
“Th–thank you,” John muttered. “And also to you.” The angel continued. “I have been sent here to explain the gift you have been given, John. Its purpose is great.” “Do you mean this scroll?” John asked. “I do,” Micah answered.
CHAPTER 1
New Orleans, Present Day
Let’s do another shot!” The young woman strained her vocal cords to get above the music and noise in the nightclub. She and her friends had been there nearly four hours.
Outside, the streets were filled with the raucous noise of thousands of tourists and locals, all celebrating the year’s most anticipated event. Mardi Gras. Everyone wore their beads and gaudy masks in celebration of the festival. It was almost midnight and the last of the partying was at hand.
“Come on, Anna,” the girl pleaded to her companion. “Just one more! It’s almost midnight. You know they’re gonna kick us out at twelve.”
“Are you crazy?” Anna protested. “My head is swimming. I’m looking forward to midnight.”
“You’re a prude! We travel all this way to come to Mardi Gras, and you wanna wuss out on me thirty minutes before it’s all over? You’re kidding me, right?”
“Look at that, Jane.” Anna pointed to the middle of the room.
The rest of their friends were in the middle of the dance floor, bouncing up and down like they had pogo sticks for legs. “I’m sure they will all do another shot with you. I’m going to bed. We have a nine a.m. flight back to Nashville, and I don’t intend to be throwing up on it!”
Jane chuckled at Anna’s remark. She knew that Anna wasn’t much of a drinker. It practically took her twisting Anna’s arm just to get her to come down here in the first place. “Okay,” she said, “but I’m not leaving yet. So you’re gonna have to just sit here and wait on me.”
“You know what? I think I’ll just walk back,” Anna said.
“No you will not! This is New Orleans, girl,—the French Quarter—not Nashville. Not to mention, the biggest freak fest in the whole world is going on outside those doors!”
“It’s literally two blocks. There are cops every nine feet out there. I’m going to be on the main street. I’ll be fine.”
“More like seven blocks, and no you won’t.”
“I have my mace, my cell phone, and my police whistle. I’ll be fine. I promise. I’ll even let you know when I get there. Okay?”
Jane hesitated. She didn’t like the thought of her friend out there alone, but she wasn’t ready to leave yet. “All right. But when you get there, you text me.”
“I will.”
Anna Riley stood from her stool and hugged Jane. She grabbed her jacket from the seat and walked outside. The cool night air felt good at first, but after a few steps, she felt a slight shiver. At least her vision wasn’t as blurry as it had been an hour ago. She had only had two margaritas, but being the lightweight drinker she was, they had exacted their revenge. She sucked in a deep breath and let it out. Maybe that would clear away some of the cobwebs.
As she passed the bars and nightclubs one by one, she turned
her head and looked into the windows. She had heard as a little girl the outlandish things that went on down here during the festival. Seeing them for herself, she was both stunned and embarrassed as women passed her on the street exposing themselves to passersby. Men shouted obscenities at the women from the sidewalk. The women yelled back propositions.
Anna continued walking until, little by little, the noise became fainter and the people became fewer. She hadn’t realized that she and her friends had come this far down Bourbon Street. The alcohol made her less aware of the time she had spent hopping from club to club as well as how far they had gone.
She finally made it to Canal Street where she turned to head to her hotel, the Fairmont. The streets were a little more deserted outside the French Quarter. As a matter of fact, there didn’t seem to be much of anyone around. She picked up her pace. Suddenly, walking home by herself didn’t seem like such a great idea. She reached into her pocket and felt for her can of mace. That eased her a little bit.
As she passed a dimly lit alleyway, she thought she heard a child crying. She stopped, listening. There it was again. It was definitely someone crying, although she wasn’t sure now that it was a child.
“Hello?” Anna half whispered. “Is anyone there?” Nothing.
“Hello?” she said again, a little louder this time. Still nothing. The crying had stopped.
“Do you need help?” Anna now asked full voice. “I have a phone with me. I can call for help if you need it.” She pulled her mace out of her pocket. Still nothing.
Anna waited for a few seconds. Maybe her mind was playing tricks on her. Maybe she should just quit drinking altogether.
She turned away from the alley, ready to run the rest of the way to her hotel. But standing in front of her was a little boy who looked to be about ten years old. She almost knocked him over.
“Holy freakin’—Good grief!” she screamed as she jump
ed back. “You scared the life outta me! What are you doing out here this late?”
“Maybe you should watch where you’re going,” the boy said. “I’m sorry. It’s just … well … you scared me to death.” “That wasn’t my purpose.”
“Well, you did.”
“I’m sorry, Anna.” He really did look sorry.
Anna couldn’t stay angry at him. “Don’t worry about—Hey! How do you know my name?”
He only lifted an eyebrow in a manner that seemed far too old for such a young boy. “I have a message for you.”
A shiver ran down her neck. “From who? How do you know my name?”
“You need to go home.”
“What? Who are you?”
“You need to go home.” His expression looked compassionate, almost pitying.
Anna found it hard to breathe. She didn’t want to show she was frightened of this strange little boy. Anger seemed safer. “I am going home. Tomorrow. What is it any concern of yours?” She meant to take a step toward him, but her feet moved backward instead. “How do you know my name?”
“You need not fear me.”
“What? Who talks like that?” she asked. “Especially some little street punk! I asked you a question. Who are you and how do you know who I am?”
“Anna, listen to me. I am a friend. It doesn’t matter how I know you. All you need to know is that you need to go home. Right now. This instant. Get into a cab and go to the airport. Take the late flight out to Pittsburgh and go home.”
“Hah! I’m from Nashville, you little twerp! You aren’t as smart as you think, huh?”
“No, I do not mean where you grew up with your parents. I mean where you are from. Pittsburgh. That is where you were born.”
Anna’s mouth dropped. No one knew that. She’d never told anyone. She and her parents had moved to Nashville when she was six, after her grandparents had died tragically. Her father couldn’t handle the grief. Or at least that’s what her mother had told her.
Anna had never really known her grandparents. They were always gone. Constantly traveling. The last time she remembered seeing her grandfather was in a church. She could barely remember. She had been kneeling down in front of the altar. The church was empty except for her, her grandfather, and the pastor. She remembered a prayer being said over her. And that was it.