As they went, Stephen pieced together the events of the previous day. His team had fought well together. He owed them his life, especially Miguel. One fact remained obvious: Gregor had been expecting them. But how? Was it as simple as Stephen falling into a trap due to his overzealous nature? There had to be more to it.
As they continued, Stephen sensed something off. Anger—to the point of hatred—seemed to be flowing down the hall from ahead of them.
“Stephen,” Charles called from in front of them, standing between Stephen’s men and the vanishing point. With him were several Mighty, all of whom wore full tactical gear.
“Charles,” Stephen replied, stepping through to the front of the group while Patty remained encircled. Keep Patty safe, he ordered Bernard, sharing his thoughts with only him.
They won’t touch her! Bernard replied
Stephen stopped a few feet short of Charles and his team. “What can I help you with, Charles?”
“You need to come with me,” Charles replied. “We are taking you into custody for questioning.”
Anthony stepped up to one side of Stephen and Vincent to the other. Anthony shook his head. “I cannot allow that.”
Charles’s eyes cut to Anthony, jaw clenched. “Anthony,” he gritted out. “Do you not remember your oath? You know well who I am. Yet, you side with this usurper.”
“I remember it well, as I do you. You, however, must not remember releasing me from my oath.”
“Hmph. From an honored knight to chasing around a scoundrel. I am ashamed.”
“As you should be,” Anthony replied.
“That’s enough,” Stephen said. “Charles, ask me your questions. I’ve always been an open book to the council and your son.”
“In your own words,” Charles said. “What happened?”
“We learned of Pastor Buchanan’s whereabouts. I believed a small team would be able to get in and extract him, but it was a trap. It was meant for only one thing, so that Benjamin and I could die together.”
“Yet, here you are.”
“Because of these Mighty.” Stephen motioned to the group behind him. “Yes, I am.” Charles’s insinuation, however, didn’t go unnoticed. The tension from Stephen’s friends grew. He wasn’t sure what would cause Alistair’s father to start pointing fingers at him and his group.
Stephen peeled back the layers of Charles’s mind, searching for the answer. There was a secret there, hidden deep. Through conscious thought, buried memories, and even Charles’s subconscious, he looked, only to be evaded.
“What is this about?” Sam’s voice came from behind Stephen’s team. He stepped through to the front and stood between Stephen and Charles.
Charles said nothing.
“I’m not sure,” Stephen said. “Charles says I’m to be taken into custody to be questioned concerning the murder of Pastor Buchanan.”
The blood drained from Sam’s face, turning it a bluish-white hue. His breathing arrested and his body trembled. “He’s gone?”
“You didn’t know?” Stephen asked.
“I was on assignment. Alistair called me back in, but wouldn’t say why.” Sam turned toward Charles. “And you want to question Stephen?”
“He was the last to see Pastor Buchanan alive.”
“That’s not true,” Miguel said, joining Stephen up front. “I saw him too. I witnessed it and gave my account to Anastasia and several other council members already.”
“We cannot take the word of an Outcast,” Charles snapped.
“Let the matter be settled now then,” Sam said. “Stephen, you can see what Miguel told the council members?”
Stephen nodded.
“Is what he said true?”
Stephen searched Miguel’s thoughts. It took only a moment. “It is. He was truthful. I’d like to add only one thing.”
“What is that?” Sam asked.
“The man’s name is Gregor Machiavelli.”
“That’s not possible,” Sam said.
“He must be lying,” Charles added, which was a mistake.
In the moment that Charles allowed himself to think about Gregor, Stephen found the secret that the old man had worked hard to conceal. Charles had joined Gregor. Stephen stood frozen, absorbing this news and working through possible scenarios. His blood boiled knowing he’d never be able to convince the council or Alistair. He had to wait, though every instinct in his body was to lash out and end Charles right there. But how would that unite the Mighty?
Patty reached through and grabbed Stephen’s hand, just in time to calm him, preventing him from doing something he’d later regret. She must have sensed his turmoil.
“Stephen is Mighty,” Sam said. “We trust Mighty until proven different.”
“He is not Mighty,” Charles shouted. “He and the rest of his friends have been cast out.”
“What?” Sam locked eyes with Shannon, who stood next to Patty. “Since when? No one is cast out without the council’s approval,” Sam muttered.
“The David cast them out.”
“You mean Alistair,” Sam spat.
“Alistair is the David,” Charles said. “And they are all Outcast and will be detained for questioning.”
Stephen locked eyes with Sam. Please forgive me.
Sam closed his eyes, giving a barely noticeable nod to Stephen.
The guards accompanying Charles moved to step forward.
Stephen shoved Sam into Charles, knocking them both to the floor. The guards that remained had little time to react as Stephen’s group fought their way through and into the departure room.
The guards struggled to their feet—some dazed and stumbling, others angry and shouting for the Outcasts to stop. Stephen watched as the jumbled mess of disorganized Mighty disappeared in a puff of smoke.
Chapter 15
Alistair stood in the David’s private chamber looking around at Pastor Buchanan’s things. There were family photos and a few personal items. Pastor Buchanan had spent most of his time in his personal home not far from the church in St. Louis. Still, Alistair couldn’t help but think how different it looked just knowing that Pastor Benjamin Buchanan would never again be seen here.
He picked up a framed photograph of the preacher and Edge, Pastor Buchanan’s grandson. Edge, too, had been cast out along with Stephen.
“Stephen, what have ye done? What should I do?” he asked, hoping to hear an old wise man’s answer.
Silence.
The door opened and Charles came tromping in.
“What happened to ye?” Alistair asked, staring at his father, who had a large bandage on his forehead.
“Stephen—” was all Charles said before being interrupted from behind by Sam.
“When were you going to tell me about casting out Stephen and his friends?”
“It just happened last night,” Alistair replied. “I was hoping Stephen would come to his senses. I haven’t told anyone yet.”
“You told Charles,” Sam yelled.
“Watch your tone with the David,” Charles sneered.
“I am chair council member of the Mighty. I’ll take whatever tone I wish.”
“Did ye treat Pastor Buchanan with the same contempt?” Alistair asked.
“Pastor Buchanan had earned my respect long ago, before he was anointed David. You, young Stewart, have not,” Sam said. “Now, tell me what happened.”
Hearing Sam refer to him as “young Stewart” struck Alistair hard, reminding him of the days when Sam—being an instructor—had trained him in combat as an even younger Shannon watched from the observation room. Realizing for the first time that Shannon—Sam’s daughter—was among those whom he had cast out, he took a deep breath before telling the story.
He explained everything to Sam—how Stephen refused to follow his direction and commanded the respect of his friends and Outcasts, and how Stephen claimed to have been anointed by Pastor Buchanan. After that, Alistair filled Sam in on what happened in Charleston, including the murd
er of Pastor Buchanan.
Sam walked over and sat on the couch, showing little expression as he looked at the floor, leaving Alistair to wonder what the head council member was thinking. He watched and waited for a response, glancing at his father, who seemed to watch Sam with the same curiosity.
After several moments, Sam broke the silence. “That’s where my head struck his,” he said, motioning toward Charles. “Charles was trying to arrest Stephen in connection with Benjamin’s murder.”
“What?” Alistair asked, turning toward Charles, fists clenched. “On whose authority?”
“Son, he’s gathered a following. He’s telling others that Buchanan anointed him the next David. He’s trying to usurp you, to scupper your efforts.”
“Still, arrest him? Ye aren’t the David. Ye aren’t even a council member anymore,” Alistair reminded him. “What were ye thinking?”
“What about the death of Buchanan? How do we know Stephen wasn’t involved?”
“Alistair,” Sam intervened. “I don’t believe that Stephen had anything to do with Benjamin’s death. Still, Stephen’s other actions are cause for concern.”
Alistair turned toward Sam, not sure what to think. “Did I hear ye right? Ye agree with my father?”
“Hardly,” Sam said. “Attempting to arrest Stephen was foolish. But his actions do raise questions. I believe the best action at the present time is simply to allow him to pursue Fallen, and to monitor his group from a distance. Perhaps they will serve as distraction enough that Enclave can get organized.”
Alistair replied, “And what of Pastor Buchanan? We should have a ceremony.”
“I think we should wait as long as we can,” Sam said. “I don’t believe the battle is too far away.” He looked at Charles. “What do you think, old friend?”
Charles shrugged. “You could be right. There’s no harm in waiting.”
****
Stephen stood on the edge of the ocean as waves ebbed and flowed over his feet. His jeans were rolled up over his calves, and he carried his socks and shoes in his hands. The roar of the wind blowing in from off the ocean helped to still his mind. This was a small, quiet beach he had found during his travels. Just off the coast were a chain of islands, which kept the water where he stood calm. So many emotions and thoughts swirled around in his head, which made it hard to control his own abilities. Patty’s advice to go someplace quiet while she worked in Outpost for leads had been a good idea. He needed this time alone. Only, he wasn’t alone.
Someone else had arrived. Stephen sensed the man’s presence. Realizing whoever it was posed no threat, he planned to ignore him as long as the man would allow it. He turned and walked down the beach while the man stayed only a few steps behind, neither saying a word. Gulls flew above, squawking and chirping. A pelican dove into the water in the distance, then floated while enjoying the meal. The warm sun beat down from above. It was nearly midday.
Eventually, curiosity got the better of Stephen, and he turned to face his silent companion. “If you were anyone else, I’d wonder how you knew I’d be here. But I guess an oracle really can see everything,” Stephen said.
Danny smiled. “Most everything.” He walked up next to Stephen and the two continued down the beach. “How are—”
Stephen interrupted him. “Please don’t ask how I’m doing. You already know the answer.”
“True,” Danny said. “Still, you often talk with people when you already know what they’re thinking. Why?”
“Because there’s a difference between what people think and what they choose to say.”
“How so?”
“People filter their thoughts with logic and reason. Plus, people would rather speak. There’s something to be said for choosing to speak your mind rather than someone just—” Stephen grunted. “Now I get it. You want to hear it from me.”
“There’s a difference between knowing and seeing,” Danny replied.
“I’m not doing well, Danny. I thought I was over Waltz dying—that I was healing. Now that Pastor Buchanan is gone, it’s like reliving Waltz’s death. I’ve lost two mentors, two good men. Prisha’s dead. Bernie and Elizabeth are beyond hope and might as well be dead. How many more are going to die?”
“How many more are going to live?” Danny asked.
The two continued several steps in silence as Stephen pondered if any more would live because of him. After all, Gregor had nearly killed him once already. Were it not for his healing ability, Stephen would have lost several years already on his life.
“Well, as long as I keep healing, I might be able to save some people,” Stephen replied.
“Stephen, you must be careful with Gregor. Your gifts and abilities, they come from life, a true life that God has given you, not from this mortal flesh. If Gregor managed to drain all of that from you . . .”
Stephen understood. He could heal himself and others, even bring some back from the dead, when God willed it. But the power to resurrect one’s self was a power only God’s Son could wield.
Stephen stopped. “What if they’re wrong. What if I’m not the one—not strong enough? What if Gregor does kill me? What then?”
“Then the end has come.”
“You’re certain it’s me or no one?”
“I’m staking my life on it.”
Stephen looked down the beach. A family of three played in the waves a few hundred yards away. The dad twirled his little girl around and plopped her in the water while the mom took pictures. “Will I ever get to do that—have a family and just be happy?”
Danny nodded at Stephen’s wedding ring and pointed. “You already can. Happiness is a choice. Sometimes it’s harder than other times. Still, it’s always a choice.”
“Why don’t I feel like that’s the case? I look around at my life, and I see all the bad that has happened. I try to focus on the good, but it’s like I’m drowning in all the mess. I’m to the point that I’m afraid if I try to take action, it’ll be for me.
“I want Gregor dead! I want to let that monster inside me out. I know it’s wrong. Still, I can’t see how God is going to bring us through it. I—” Stephen stopped and looked around for a moment. He sensed something washing by him, like the waves over his feet. Only this was raw emotions—terror, confusion, pain.
“What is it?” Danny asked.
“I’m not sure.” Stephen walked away from the ocean, to the top of the high, ridged sand dune, hoping to have a better view. But he saw nothing.
He stepped down from the dune and closed his eyes. Again, he felt a rush of emotions and panic, like waves—not just like waves, it was waves.
Stephen opened his eyes, scanning the ocean, as commotion broke out among the family of three not far from him.
“There! A boy! He’s drowning!”
“Ty!” the mother yelled.
The father joined in, launching into the ocean. “Ty!”
Stephen sped to the water in three strides. He dove in well beyond where the dad struggled against the surge. Salt stung his eyes. He closed them and pulled and kicked against the water, making his way toward the pain and fear. He was closer, but the thoughts had begun to weaken.
Hold on, Ty. Fight! Fight with all you have! You can’t give up.
Stephen surfaced beyond the sandbar and looked around. The boy’s thoughts had grown distant. “Where are you, son? Come on!” Stephen slapped the water in frustration.
He heard what sounded like an echo of him slapping the water and turned to look up the coast line just in time to see another splash. Was that the boy? He listened for thoughts. They were so faint, and the splash was so far away. Stephen knew if he was wrong, that Ty wouldn’t make it. He cast his eyes toward heaven. “Please, God, don’t let me be wrong.”
Stephen darted through the water as fast as he ever had, the water resisting his every stroke. As he neared where he thought he had seen the last splash, he dove deep, eyes open and burning as the salt water current pulled against him.
&n
bsp; An outline of a body wafted back and forth with the current. Stephen reached out, securing an arm, then kicked and pulled toward the surface.
Stephen broke the surface hard enough that he and the boy rose nearly completely out of the water. He listened for Ty’s thoughts. Nothing.
Danny, I have him. He’s unconscious, was all Stephen could manage. Heart racing, Stephen swam toward the beach, the water tiring him more with every stroke. As he broke past the sandbar, he heard shouts from down the beach. He had been spotted. Danny and the father sprinted up the beach toward them, meeting them in the tide.
Danny pulled the boy from Stephen’s arms and raced to the beach as Stephen let the waves push him to land. He crawled onto the beach, watching his friend make good use of his training as a police officer and first responder. The father watched, too, as Danny counted compressions and gave breaths. The boy looked about ten years old.
Stephen listened again, but he knew the boy was gone.
Suddenly, crying erupted as the boy puked water and was rolled to his side to free his airway.
“Thank you, Jesus,” the father cried out.
The mother ran up with the young girl in her arms, crying tears of joy. “Thank God, my Ty! My precious Ty.”
The boy’s father hurried over to Stephen, who lay on the sand listening to the pulsing of his blood mingle with the sound of the waves. His arms and legs had all but given out.
“I don’t know how . . . It doesn’t matter. Thank you!” He reached a hand down to Stephen and helped him up, then pulled him into a hug. “God used you today,” the father said, tears rolling down his cheeks.
Stephen looked at the mother, who hadn’t stopped hugging and crying over her two children. Then Stephen noticed Danny grinning at him, soaked, but grinning as though he had something to say. Stephen listened to Danny’s thoughts.
This is your answer, Stephen. This is why you are the one to win this war. In the midst of your own troubles, you can’t stop yourself from helping others.
Stephen replied, Waltz taught me to help others in any way I can. Besides, Patty believes in me.
Chronicles of Stephen BoxSet Page 69
