Stephen heard the main door open. He turned his eyes down the hall to see Pastor Buchanan and Anastasia. Other footsteps in the distance grew louder as guards poured into the area, as well as other council members. All stared into the cell. Murmuring followed by gasps. Stephen watched each person, their eyes wide and faces drained of all their usually fleshy color.
“He’s gone,” Stephen said as he struggled to stand.
“Take those cuffs off him. NOW!” the David ordered.
Stephen handed him the book and flipped it open. Pastor Buchanan looked where Stephen directed, Uncle Bernie’s name.
“How?” he asked. The David turned to the council. “How did we miss this?”
“He works in the subconscious,” Stephen replied. “He’s had years and years to work on people’s minds. He’s been working on everyone’s minds the whole time. That’s why he let me capture him, to get into Enclave. He couldn’t do it alone. He’s Fallen.
Stephen cried aloud, pressing his face into Pastor Buchanan’s shoulder. “Bernie! He’s the one you’ve been looking for all this time. He’s the puppet master, the voice in the darkness.”
Single-handedly, Stephen ripped the cell door from its hinges with a throaty roar and launched it down the corridor as guards jumped out of the way. No one said a word. Were Stephen able to control his own emotions, he might have sensed the confusion or panic rising in others. Perhaps, he might have even allowed himself to share in feeling their raw emotions, to fully understand the pain Bernie had caused everyone. Instead, he used what little strength remained to keep from pushing his emotions—his hurt, despair, and sorrow that drowned out everything else—for others to be affected and feel what he felt.
Stephen looked into the cell next to where Bernie had been. “Matthew—he tried to warn us, to warn me. I didn’t listen.” He slammed his fist into the wall. A loud crack echoed. “I never listen!”
A small, warm hand wrapped around Stephen’s side, pulling him into her frame. “It’s not your fault. There’s nothing wrong with being loyal and always hoping for the best, looking for the best in people.”
Patty’s voice soothed like a cool breeze flowing through an open window on a hot summer day. Stephen pulled himself deeper into her shoulder. She trembled with him in his agony, or was it his weight? He couldn’t be sure. His hand reached out and found a taller, stronger shoulder to help support him. Vincent put his arm around him and helped him hobble to a bench outside the catacombs. One by one, Stephen began to reign in his emotions, allowing him to clear his head once again.
The clearer his head became, the more he began to understand the darkest part of this truth, which cut more than Stephen thought possible. Bernie had killed Waltz. At last, he had his answer. The enemy had a face and a name. The cyclone of emotions faded as he recovered, until only one emotion remained—anger. And with it, the key to release his monster within.
Stephen turned to his friend. “It’s time to get your mom back.”
Chapter 22
Only a few days passed before Stephen grew tired of waiting. The triune had formed. Each day the three grew stronger as did their bond. Stephen, though happy for them to be reunited with Bernard, felt more alone than ever. He paced the halls trying to find a way to quiet his mind. Cassandra helped Vincent to use his priest abilities to set aside emotion and focus on the task at hand. Bernard let his anger at Bernie fuel his training, pushing harder each day. Stephen, however, limped as his pain seemed to get worse.
Kids rounded the corner ahead of him, laughing and cutting up as kids do. At seeing Stephen, they quieted and scuttled by.
“I guess that means you’re starting to look scary.” Patty walked up beside him from behind. “You should probably shave or get a haircut.”
Stephen reached up to feel his stubble. How long had it been since he shaved? He couldn’t remember. Three days? A week?
“On second thought,” Patty added, “I kind of like it.” She stopped in front of him and kissed his lips and smiled. “Let me help you.”
“Help me do what? Heal? Train? Fight?” His words came out sharper than he intended.
“You don’t want my help? Fine,” she snapped. “But, I do have things I can be doing. I don’t have to put up with your attitude.” Patty walked away.
He wanted to yell at her. How could she treat him like that? Deep down, however, he knew she was right. “Patty, wait.” She stopped, and he limped up to her. “I’m sorry. I just feel lost right now.”
She turned around. “You aren’t lost. You’re angry. You have every right to be. But you were working on your relationship with God, remember? This self-deprecation won’t help. Come with me.”
Patty began walking again. Stephen followed her down the corridors, into a different wing. He wasn’t sure where she was going, but he had no place else to be.
“What do you suggest I do, sing songs and dance? Patty, my world is falling apart.”
“You don’t think I’m hurt? I loved Waltz and Bernie too, you know. Plus, Bernie tried to convince you that I was responsible for Waltz’s death. Or have you forgotten?”
Stephen had forgotten. He had been so angry that he hadn’t stopped to think about how this was affecting others.
“Don’t forget about Joe and Jax. They’re Bernie’s cousins. How about Bernard? Vincent’s mother is still missing! And I miss you. Alistair does too. He says he tried to stop by the past couple nights and you didn’t answer.”
“I’m not just angry at Bernie. I’m angry at myself. Areli says I’m the one who will make a difference. The outcome of this battle to allow more time for people to change before the Tribulation is up to me. If I can’t do it, billions will die. Many will lose their very souls. How can I win a battle when I can be this blind to what’s going on right in front of me? It’s all my fault.”
They stopped in front of a large double door. Patty ran her fingers through Stephen’s hair, which felt good to him. She was right. He didn’t need to isolate himself. Talking to someone was helpful. But there were some things he wasn’t sure she would understand.
“I love you. No matter what, you’ve always got my back.” Stephen kissed her, a soft, gentle kiss.
“Yes, I do. And because I always have your back, I’m telling you to get in there.” She nodded toward the doors. Stephen looked at the plaque next to the door. They were at the chapel.
“Fine, I’ll go,” he grunted.
Patty kissed his cheek and left him as he walked into the large sanctuary, which looked about twice the size of their church back in St. Louis. He limped up to the front row and sat down. The chapel wasn’t fancy. There were no crosses or statues or paintings. At the front, there was only a modest stage and a podium. On the wall behind the podium was written, “Blessed is the man that walks not in the council of the ungodly . . .”
Stephen snickered. “Blessed, huh?” He stretched out his leg, trying to ease the discomfort. “Do I look blessed?” he cried out. “I barely remember my mother. My father’s dead. My so-called uncle killed him. I’m not healing.” Stephen grabbed a book from the seat next to him and threw it across the room. “Why!” Tears streamed down his face.
“So, that’s what this is about?”
Stephen jumped up to see a man in ordinary clothes walking down the aisle. He wiped his eyes, an attempt to clear his blurred vision. “Who . . .”
“You don’t remember me?” the man asked.
Stephen stared for a moment as the man neared and became clearer. There was something familiar about him. “Areli?”
“I’m glad I’m not too easily forgotten.” Stephen looked the man up and down as he stopped in front of him. Areli looked down and tugged at his own T-shirt. “Oh! My clothes? Have you never read to be careful what you say and do, as you might be entertaining angels unaware?”
Stephen nodded. “I thought that was figurative.”
“More or less.” Areli smiled. “I heard you yelling. Do you feel better?”
Stephen felt ashamed. How could he yell at God like that, as though the Almighty were someone he should be angry with? He wasn’t really angry with God, but with everything that was going on. He thought being Mighty would be better. Since he arrived in Enclave, his life had only gotten worse.
“Worse? Really?” Areli cocked his head and stared at Stephen with a curious expression.
“You heard?”
“God hears everything. I hear only what God wants me to.” Areli smiled at Stephen. In this form, he looked strong as any warrior, with a masculine face to match. His eyes seemed to glow—no, flicker—as though a burning flame shone through from inside his eyes. “Perhaps you’d like to see a snippet of what I see.”
“You can do that?” he asked, realizing how dumb the question was after the fact.
Areli’s eyes flickered brighter. “I’m the angel of vision. Remember?”
The room changed. In fact, it wasn’t a room at all, but a hallway with many doorways. Stephen looked behind him, and back to the front, facing Areli. The hall ran as far as he could see. “What’s this? Where are we?”
“God heard your cries. He understands your pain. While God doesn’t owe you any explanations, he wants me to show you this.” Areli walked down the hall. Stephen followed. “Each door in this hall is a change brought on by you since you have been Mighty.”
Stephen glanced behind him again, then to the front. There were so many doors. Surely, this couldn’t all be his doing! What had he accomplished?
“Just ahead are doors that are unlocked and open. These are the ones God has chosen for you to see.”
Stephen took several steps forward and stopped just before the first door. “Why these?”
“They are the ones you should already be able to see, if you weren’t so busy feeling sorry for yourself.”
That hurt. Stephen lowered his head, knowing it was true. He took a deep breath, raised his head and stepped in front of the first door. He saw Joe sitting in his room sipping on coffee, with that same knowing grin Stephen was often unnerved by. “It’s just Joe. What did I do?”
“That smile. Joe used to smile a lot. After Bernard, Waltz, and then Bernie, each smile was fake and for the benefit of Jax. That right there is genuine, thanks to you. You’ve shown him hope again.”
Stephen’s lip twitched. He wanted to smile too. But this was a little thing. Good. But too little to overcome the dark hole he had fallen into. He glanced again before continuing to the next door.
He heard familiar laughter as he approached the next door. Stopping in front, he rubbed his leg to ease the pain before looking up. Patty and Shannon talked about wedding plans. He couldn’t make out what was being said. The two ladies had magazines and books spread all around them on the floor where they sat. He couldn’t help but to smile, not just for Patty, but for Shannon and Vincent. Those women truly loved them.
The next door showed Jax, training hard as a warrior. After that, he saw Rex working with Vincent to learn more about being a priest. The next door gave him a glimpse of Bernard praying in the conservatory. Each door showed him what he should have seen already.
“That’s the last door for you see,” Areli called out.
Stephen looked ahead to the door and approached. This one was different in that it was partially closed. “Why isn’t it opened like the others?”
“You can look through the crack, but nothing more. Don’t open it.” Areli nodded toward the door. “Go on.”
Stephen peered through the crack to see Anthony, seated in a chair that faced another chair. He couldn’t see the second person or hear what was being said. But it was enough for him to know that he had a positive impact on both Anthony and Vincent’s lives. His thoughts drifted to include Johnathan. How had he not seen Johnathan? He had always trusted him, never sensing or feeling any ill will around him. Maybe that was why he had never dug deeper. His mind focused back on the moment. Anthony beamed, and his eyes sparkled like lighting in the room. Whomever he was talking with must have been a friend. It was strange to see him in this light after thinking of him as the enemy all this time.
Stephen walked back to Areli. “I owe God an apology.”
“You’re forgiven. He knows.”
In an instant, the two stood back in the chapel as though they’d never left. Stephen looked around. It wasn’t so unlike vanishing, how they were in a vision one moment and back to the present in the next. Still, it startled him not to be in control.
“Stephen—” Areli placed his hand on Stephen’s shoulder. “You don’t have to hide your feelings from God. That’s what you’ve been doing. You haven’t shared with him, the good or bad. When you do share, be sure to listen, too, and not just by reading Scripture. That’s good, but listen to the gentle whisper, the one that brings in peace and stillness, like a refreshing summer rain or autumn breeze. God desires to be a part of your life, and for you to be a part of his. You don’t belong to God because you are Mighty. You are Mighty because you belong to God. Our Father wants to be your strength. Let him.”
“Thank you.” Stephen walked toward the front again. “I should start now. I still have a lot on my mind. But I think I’m seeing more clearly.” He turned to tell his angelic friend goodbye, only to find that he was once again alone. Stephen smiled.
He spent another hour or so in the chapel alone. At first, the praying was slow and vague. Not having made a habit of prayer, Stephen felt out of place. Before long, however, an outside observer would have thought he was talking with an old friend. On occasion, he stopped to listen. Mostly, it was silence, which was okay. He just needed to get some things off his chest.
Stephen left the chapel feeling relieved and better than he had in a long time. Still, there was work to be done. Elizabeth’s whereabouts continued to elude them. And Bernie needed to be found. Stephen thought finding one might produce the other. But first, he needed to talk to Pastor Buchanan.
Chapter 23
Pastor Buchanan sat at the front of the church. From Stephen’s viewpoint just inside the double doors, it looked as if the old man was praying. Not wanting to disturb him, Stephen took a seat in the back of the church.
This was the first time he had really looked around at the old church. It wasn’t fancy or grand, but beautiful and modest at the same time. The old hickory benches showed years of wear beneath the dark stain and were adorned with simple cushions laid in the seats, but nothing more. Stephen imagined they were the original benches. The same dark wood made up the beams of the vaulted ceiling, as well as the trim work around the four large windows on either side, the large windows above the choir loft, and double doors. In its simplicity, it reminded him of the church he had attended with Waltz.
“Stephen?”
He looked back toward the front to see Pastor Buchanan turned around and staring at him. Stephen got up and went to the old man. As he sat down next to him, he couldn’t help but notice that his friend looked even more tired than the last time he had seen him. It seemed to him that Pastor Buchanan grew more stressed with each passing day.
“Did you come to speak with me?” Pastor Buchanan asked.
“I did. First, you look out of sorts. You want to talk about it?”
“I’d like to. Yes.” The old man dropped his head as though praying. “But you have enough worries of your own.”
Stephen realized then that the David had no intention of sharing his troubles with him. Still, Pastor Buchanan was his friend. “You mentioned political issues not long ago. Is it still a problem?”
Even the pastor’s laugh sounded tired. “Mere political issues wouldn’t bother me. I’m used to dealing with those. This is something different.”
Stephen sensed his reluctance. “Not to be too bold, but I could pull the thoughts from your mind.” He wasn’t one hundred percent certain that he could. Pulling thoughts from the David, the ruler of the Mighty, might not be easy or even possible.
Pastor Buchanan smiled. “I suppose you could.” He took a de
ep breath. “The new scroll has disappeared. I’ve researched and looked through all the records I can find on the Scroll of Awakening. I can’t find where this has ever happened before.”
“I know this might be a dumb question, but what exactly is the Scroll of Awakening?”
“That’s not dumb at all. The scroll is a record of those who become Mighty. They are recorded by era.”
“By era?”
“Yes. Those who became Mighty under my era are recorded as such. When my rule comes to an end, the scroll will be used to add a permanent record to the books of our history. If you’ve noticed, the books are organized much like the two books of Kings, and again, the book of Chronicles in the Old Testament.”
“Does that mean that you are . . .” Stephen hesitated. Though the silence was awkward, he desired to take the question back. Pastor Buchanan watched him with raised brows, waiting for the rest of the question. “Are you dying?”
“Lord, I hope not,” the elder blurted, shaking his head. After taking a moment, he said, “No, no. It’s not like that. Usually, the David names a successor—someone he can work with and transition into being the David. It’s a process that can take months or even years. The new David gradually takes on the responsibilities. In the end, the one stepping down gets to have input concerning events during his time as the David.”
“You told me you choose the next successor,” Stephen said.
“No. I do. Unless . . .” He looked away a moment. “Unless I fail to or refuse to name a successor. Then, the council has the right to name one and have me removed.”
“By when do you have to name a successor?”
“There is no set time. Either before my death, or if I become severely ill, the council can require that I name someone on a temporary basis. If I were to get ill and recover, the naming would automatically become null.”
Stephen asked one last question on the topic. “If you named a new successor, do you think the scroll would reappear?”
“I don’t know. This is all a mystery to me.” He sighed while removing his glasses to clean them with his shirt. “But that’s enough about all that. I doubt you came here to discuss the scroll.”
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