Chronicles of Stephen BoxSet

by Kenyon T Henry

  No, Stephen. I can’t . . . Not with all I’ve done.

  Stephen pushed harder. You’re carrying a burden you don’t have to bear any more. You know, as I do, that the Almighty will carry that load—the pain, guilt, and suffering. You were meant for more than this, more than being someone’s puppet.

  Bernard grabbed his head and then pulled at Stephen. “No, no, no! Get out! It’s my fault. Waltz. NO!”

  He slung Stephen to the ground like a rag doll. Stephen rolled over to his knees in time to see a punch coming down at him. He didn’t have enough time to react. He was too weak and could only brace himself for what was sure to be a painful impact.

  Bernard’s fist stopped just before making contact. Shannon had locked her arm around Bernard’s bicep, giving Stephen the second he needed.

  “I forgive you, Bernard. And I’m sorry, but I can’t let you hurt people.”

  Stephen jumped up and planted the heel of his foot into Bernard’s sternum. This time, when the large body hit the statue, it toppled from its base.

  Bernard sat back up, looking at Stephen with tears in his eyes.

  “I—I never meant for him . . .” He covered his face with his huge paw. “I didn’t know, Stephen. I didn’t know anything.”

  Shouts filled the air behind Stephen.

  “Hold on, mukker!”

  “We are coming!”

  He turned and saw the other three running toward them from the opposite end of the park. He looked back at Shannon, then to Bernard, who staggered to his feet.

  “Elizabeth!” Bernard grabbed Stephen’s shirt. “I didn’t know about Elizabeth. I’m so sorry.”

  Bernard turned toward the bay. Before either Stephen or Shannon could grab him, he jumped over the street and railing, landing in the water with a large splash. They raced to the railing, watching for him to come up. But it was dark out, and there were no lights on the water. Beyond the railing, it might as well have been the black sky overhead.

  Stephen turned back to the group.

  “Bernard’s gone!” Shannon called out.

  Stephen began feeling the road rash on this face and arms.

  “Stephen, are you okay?” Vincent asked.

  Upon seeing Vincent, Stephen remembered what Bernard had said. “I didn’t know about Elizabeth.” He looked at his friend, who appeared confused. “We have to get to Elizabeth’s now.” He looked at Alistair. “You guys good?”

  “Yeah, Shannon, Rex, and I can get these fellas to Enclave.”

  Stephen looked around. He saw Rex in the distance forcibly securing the other three Fallen.

  Stephen and Vincent grabbed their medallions. Stephen looked at Alistair. “We just decide where we want to go, right?”

  Alistair nodded. “The Spirit will do the rest.”

  Stephen looked at Vincent. For the first time ever, he saw fear on Vincent’s face. Your mother’s driveway. We should meet there.

  Vincent nodded.

  Chapter 10

  Rain drizzled down all around Stephen and Vincent as they stood outside the large Victorian manor in the Western Kentucky countryside. In the dark, an eerie uneasiness settled on Stephen. Lights shone from several of the windows. But there appeared to be no movement from inside or outside the house. The frogs from the nearby lake made no sounds and cicadas had long been in hibernation.

  “Vincent?” Stephen looked at his friend, whose face he could barely make out. “Can you feel anything?”

  Vincent closed his eyes, his brow furrowed. Except for the rain drops, there was silence in the moment before Vincent spoke.

  “Other than you, nothing. No Mighty. No Fallen.” He took a single step forward and stopped. “Do you sense anyone inside, any thoughts or emotions?”

  “No.” Stephen felt the weight of the single word hit Vincent like a freight train.

  Vincent took another step forward and stopped. He breathed in deeply and held it for a moment before letting it back out. Stephen felt Vincent’s struggle to maintain control. He placed his hand on the priest’s back.

  “Allow me.”

  Vincent said nothing, but stood still.

  Stephen went into Vincent’s mind and worked to calm the storm that stirred. He didn’t calm it entirely. He couldn’t have if he wanted. Vincent needed to be able to express his concern in his own way. Stephen only helped by taking the edge off.

  “Thank you,” Vincent said as he walked toward the house.

  Stephen followed, straining to see what he could of their surroundings. Stephen felt no fear. Perhaps that was a warrior trait. But he didn’t like the situation. What were they walking into? Why couldn’t he sense anything?

  Together, they walked into the house. Lights were on, but no one was in sight. All was quiet and peaceful. The two men made their way into the living room, where they found the first signs that something was wrong. A high-back chair was on its side. Nearby a rug lay scrunched up. Nothing more. Still, messiness in the usually pristine house seemed enough to be alarmed.

  Stephen strained, trying to find someone else in the area. Nothing.

  “Would you mind checking upstairs?” Vincent asked, looking toward the grand foyer. “I will check the main floor and garage.” He looked back at Stephen, who nodded.

  “I’m going to connect to you though. I want you to stay linked, as a precaution.”

  Stephen waited for a response. He could see that Vincent was uncomfortable with the idea.

  “I know there must be a lot going on inside you right now. I promise, I’ll only listen for signs of immediate trouble. I’ll feel for fear, pain, panic, and anything that says you might be in trouble. You’ll be able to feel me too. If one of us thinks it, the other will hear it. I won’t go deeper.”

  Vincent sighed and closed his eyes. He nodded and headed toward the dining room. Stephen felt Vincent’s barrier go down and established a link before walking up the steps.

  He had been in the house before. Never had the house felt so eerie, so dark. Although the light in the hall was adequate to see into the rooms, in each dark room he entered, he first turned on the light in order to look over each room in detail, and search for any additional signs of distress. Plus, there were a lot of rooms. Flipping on all the lights helped him keep track of the ones he had already looked in. After clearing all the rooms on the second floor, he went to the third floor, a floor he had never been on.

  The third floor was largely open. There was a bookcase on one wall with a sitting area near a window. A desk faced another wall. He noticed an easel with art supplies, then another bookcase and sitting area at another window.

  Lightning flashed outside, followed by a loud thunderclap that rolled for several seconds. Stephen searched for the light switch, but couldn’t find it.

  Vincent, where is the light switch for the third floor? He sensed he was still connected, but Vincent didn’t respond. Vincent . . .

  I am trying to remember. I have not been up there in years.

  Stephen continued groping the walls for the switch.

  Ah! There is one across the room and one at the bottom of the stairs.

  Stephen looked back down the long, dark, creaky stairs he had just come up and back to the open room. Lightning flashed again, giving him a brief glimpse of the switch on the other side. He walked across the room, feeling with his feet as he went. Chairs, tables, and couches sat in his way. The floor creaked as he made his way across the floor.

  Nearing the wall where he had seen the switch, he reached forward. His foot, however, caught the edge of a rug. As he fell, his hand hit the switch, turning on the lights. He looked down at his feet to untangle from what appeared to be a jacket, one foot catching inside a sleeve. Just beyond lay the butler, Philip, his skin as white as the walls. He hurried to the body and checked for a pulse. Nothing. The angle of the body compared with his head placement led Stephen to think someone had broken Philip’s neck. Stephen had to find Vincent—make sure he was okay.

  Vincent, have you se
arched the rest of the house yet?

  I still need to check the laundry area, mudroom, and garage.

  Meet me in the foyer. I found Philip. Don’t go anywhere else without me.

  Stephen felt Vincent’s emotions heighten a little. But his desire to find his mother kept him focused. Or was it because of his priestly gift? Stephen couldn’t tell for sure. He hurried down the stairs to the second level, through the hall, and down the grand wooden staircase to the foyer and stood just beneath the crystal chandelier.

  Vincent, where are you? Stephen waited for a reply that took a little longer than he felt comfortable with.

  I am in the garage.

  Feeling urgency in Vincent’s mind, Stephen ran out to the large garage that stood at the back of the house. He had never been in it before. Upon entering, he noticed that all the cars were classics. The one closest to the door was a Jaguar XJS. He ran by two more, a 1965 Shelby Cobra, and a 1960 Corvette. That was when he saw Vincent kneeling next to Anna, the cook, keys still clutched in her hand and a look of terror frozen on her face. She had tried to get away. The next car, a Ford Focus, looked out of place. It was Anna’s. She had almost made it.

  “Vincent.” Stephen approached carefully. He felt a storm of emotions rising in his friend. “Any sign of your mom?”

  There was no response.

  “Vincent,” he said with a little more force. It worked. Vincent looked up. “Elizabeth? Where’s you mom?”

  Vincent held up a piece of paper, tears filled his eyes. Stephen couldn’t tell if pain, fear, or anger was the cause. Likely, it was all three. Stephen took the paper and read.

  Vincent, your mother is with us. If you want her back, tell your friend he needs to come get her. We’ll wait for him to find us. But we won’t wait forever.

  How did they know? She had been careful. She stayed in the house. She said she never left. Maybe one of the servants told the wrong person Elizabeth was better. It didn’t matter now anyway.

  “Vincent, I’ll find her.”

  “No.”

  Stephen remained silent. He was confused. The letter said he needed to find her. Vincent must not have understood.

  “The letter—the note they left . . .” Stephen showed it to Vincent as though he hadn’t already seen it.

  “Do you not understand?” Vincent’s voice quivered with force. “They want you! This is all because they want you to join them or die.

  “But Vincent, I’m the only one—”

  Vincent jumped up and shoved Stephen. It wasn’t much to Stephen, but he could tell Vincent meant it to be.

  “Are you stupid? I know you. You are a smart man. You think about everything. Think, what is it?” He shoved Stephen again.

  Stephen felt Vincent hurting, but wasn’t sure where this was leading. But he let it continue, knowing Vincent alone couldn’t hurt him too much.

  “There it is: pride. You are special. So, you are! Sure, you train harder than anyone, capable of more than anyone yet knows. But I know something you do not.”

  Stephen stared at him blankly. Not only had he never seen this side of Vincent, but he wasn’t sure where Vincent was going.

  Vincent screamed, “You cannot do this alone.” Then he sobbed and planted his face into his Stephen’s chest, falling to his knees.

  Stephen fell to his knees also, holding his friend. Stephen wanted to go inside, to alter Vincent’s emotions to help him. But having lost his own mom, he knew nothing he could do would help Vincent. His friend needed this.

  Vincent lifted his head. “Stephen,” his words softer and muffled at first, “you can track down Bernard. He is your family. Find out what he knows. But I will lead the search for my mother. Alistair will help me. And when it is time, we will all go together.

  Stephen nodded. “If that’s what you want. Anything.”

  “It is. That is exactly what I want.” Vincent looked around. “We need to call Alistair.”

  Stephen pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed. One ring and Alistair answered. “We need the team, maybe more. Bring Patty too. She’ll be worried if you don’t. And I think her being here will help Vincent. She’s known him longer than anyone. She can help.”

  “Is Vincent’s mum okay?” Alistair asked.

  Stephen looked at Vincent, who stood and walked back toward Anna. “We don’t know. Get everyone here as quick as you can.”

  After securing the inside of the house, Stephen suggested that Vincent go room to room to see if there was anything that he might have overlooked—a clue or anything of significance that might help piece together what happened. Stephen, however, walked around outside in the rain, trying to clear his head. The rain still fell, but the storm had nearly passed. Stephen shivered as his shoes soaked in the water. He couldn’t get the images out of his head. More than that, Vincent’s pain was Stephen’s fault. Fallen wanted Stephen and showed they were willing to do whatever necessary to get him. The more he thought about Fallen, the stronger the urge to let his inner monster free. Focusing on the here and now, and his desire to comfort his friend, helped Stephen to control himself.

  Stephen walked through the memories in his mind, working to piece it all together. The overturned chair and wrinkled rug, Philip’s body upstairs, Anna’s in the garage . . . Stephen tried to imagine just what had happened. Maybe they grabbed Elizabeth downstairs and went back to kill the other two. But why? Why kill them after they had Elizabeth?

  All this for me?

  He knew the others were on their way, but it would take a little time to get everything together. They had their own detectives who would look the house and grounds over. They would use connections to keep it quiet when they handed their investigation over to local authorities. Plus, Mighty had people on the inside at every state and federal agency.

  Periodically, Stephen listened to Vincent’s thoughts, making sure he was okay. He knew Vincent needed space at the moment, but felt the need to keep tabs on him.

  Stephen walked around the outside of the house looking at the ground, hoping for any sign of where Elizabeth had been taken. Maybe she hadn’t been taken. Maybe she got away. The dim lights that shone from the window did little to help explain.

  As he made his way back down the driveway toward the back door, he saw the first of what he expected would be many arrivals walking around the corner, also toward the back door.

  “Hey!” Stephen called out. His words seemed to go unnoticed as the man disappeared around the corner.

  Stephen hurried to catch up. He rounded the corner and called out again. “Hey! Wait up . . .” His words trailed off as the man turned.

  In the warm glow from a nearby window, Stephen struggled to reconcile the face underneath the hood, a face he had seen only once. He would never forget this face. Anthony Abate. Vincent’s father let go of the doorknob and turned to face Stephen from the top of the steps.

  Stephen ran toward him, fists clenched, not waiting for the man to make a move. Anthony leaped from the top step. Stephen landed a punch as the flying body’s momentum carried through, knocking Stephen to the ground. Both men jumped back to their feet.

  Anthony’s long, lean body and black hair reminded him of Vincent. Chills ran up his spine.

  “Stephen, you need to hear what I have say.” Anthony stood, grabbing his ribs where the punch had landed. He winced as he attempted to plead his case. “You need to join me.”

  Stephen didn’t want to hear the rest. He had grown tired of people telling him what he needed to do, especially Fallen. A couple quick steps put Anthony just within reach. It didn’t take Stephen long to remember that Anthony was a priest. Stephen’s punches and kicks had lost their warrior speed and power, and his opponent displayed more experience than Vincent.

  The older man swatted and parried kicks and punches as though it was second nature. Stephen tried his other abilities—nothing. He couldn’t hear Vincent any longer. He was alone, just him and Anthony.

  Stephen’s leg flew out from undernea
th him, sending him splashing in a puddle. He kicked his feet in the air and twisted his body so that he landed upright. He took a step back. Nothing he tried was working. He took a deep breath and assessed his situation. Ribs hurt. Arms and legs hurt. Breathing heavy. Outclassed. He looked around, seeing only the man in front of him. Realizing the vision had had many wolves in it gave him confidence. They were alone. This wasn’t the vision.

  He faked a kick, but threw a stout cross that caught Anthony off-guard, causing him to stagger backward. Stephen rushed him while Anthony was establishing his footing, and landed a kick to his thigh. Both sent elbows flying, landing only a few. Stephen reached with both hands to pull the taller man down for a knee strike. Instead, the man leaned back farther than Stephen would have guessed possible and sent a heel into Stephen’s solar plexus, projecting him into the air.

  Stephen landed in the same puddle he had started in. He hurt. Anthony, on the other hand, stood as upright as before. He stepped toward Stephen. Stephen sent a wave of energy out, focused on punching through Anthony’s shield, disrupting his thoughts and abilities.

  Anthony dropped to one knee, using his hands to steady himself on the concrete. After a moment, he stood again.

  “I see now why you are so important.” He looked down the driveway. Mighty were arriving, but they didn’t seem to notice what was going on yet. Anthony looked back to Stephen. “You don’t even know why, do you?”

  Stephen stared at him, mind blank. He didn’t know, not really.

  “You will soon. I feel it coming. The next awakening will be here soon.”

  What next awakening?

  Anthony pulled a medallion from inside his shirt. A blue mist appeared without warning, and dissipated just as fast, taking him with it.

  Mighty soon surrounded Stephen. He heard murmuring, but didn’t care. A hand reached down, offering to help him to his feet.

  “You all right, mukker?”

  Stephen nodded, took the hand offered, and made his way back to his feet.