Chronicles of Stephen BoxSet

by Kenyon T Henry

  Vincent and Stephen hurried down the hall, the sound getting louder as they went. In a moment, the two stood outside a room where they heard faint whispers. Through a crack in the door, Stephen saw an older man who looked vaguely familiar. The image nagged him, so he used his memory recall, the first skill he learned under Waltz. He closed his eyes.

  His own thoughts took him back, searching through silhouettes and faces. His eyes popped open. The man had definitely crossed Stephen’s path at least twice. This was the man hiding in the shadows at the Hollywood museum from last year, and the janitor he ran past at Arlington National Cemetery.

  I see Mother! Vincent pushed open the door.

  Stephen rushed and knocked the man across the room with a single blow. He was sure the old man hadn’t seen him coming. Staring at the man, Stephen waited to see if he would get up. The man didn’t move.

  The sound of crying took Stephen’s attention away from his target. He turned toward Vincent, who knelt next to a chained-up Elizabeth, holding her tight into his chest. “Stephen, get these chains off her. She should not be seen like this.”

  Stephen walked over and took hold of the chains at her wrist, snapping the first with some difficulty. “These are strong chains,” he noted as we walked to the other side.

  “Hurry. Father should not see her chained.”

  Elizabeth lifted her head. “Tony’s here?” Her lips twitched into a smile.

  “Yes, Mother. He came to help find you.”

  Stephen snapped the second chain from her other wrist.

  “Thank you, Stephen.” Elizabeth smiled. “I hope the chains didn’t give you too much trouble.” Lazy, wasted youth!

  Stephen heard her thought as clearly as he had the first time he met her. She had been talking about him all those years ago. He shoved Vincent so hard he slid through the door. Elizabeth snatched Stephen up in her right hand and wrapped a chain around his neck with her left. His body flew across the room, as though Superman himself carried him, only to be jerked back by the chain around his throat.

  “Run!” was all he could manage before being struck hard by the woman’s forearm. Stephen spit blood to floor.

  “I knew you were weak. Mighty Stephen.” She stood over him to gloat. “What a joke!”

  Stephen twisted his body around on the ground, sweeping her leg, and with lightning speed, grabbed hold of her body in the air to slam her to the ground. Concrete cracked under the force of her landing. Now standing over her, he pulled the chain from his neck and threw it to the side.

  Reaching down to grab her was a mistake he realized one second too late. Elizabeth’s fist caught him under the chin, sending him crashing to the ceiling and back to the floor with a thud.

  Stephen moaned. Elizabeth hit harder than Shannon, maybe even Bernard. He rolled to the side and then stood, his back against a wall. Frantic, he looked side to side, in search of Elizabeth. Her laugh echoed from the shadows, only she wasn’t there. Neither was the other body he had knocked unconscious moments before. Stephen bolted from the room, catching Anthony, Vincent, and Bernard in the building’s entryway. The laughter chased him, jumping from shadow to shadow.

  “We have to leave and let the others know,” Anthony said with raised voice.

  Bernard objected. “Let me at her. I got dis’.”

  “You don’t understand,” the older member said. “She’s a shadow jumper.”

  “We have to try, Father,” Vincent pleaded. “If we can capture her, perhaps we can save her.”

  Anthony nodded, not looking certain. “We have one shot. She’ll come for us. We’ll have to trap her in solid form. When she appears, I’ll pull down light. She can’t jump then, but it won’t last long. Bernard, that’s your one shot to strike her unconscious.”

  The group stayed near the door, knowing an escape may be necessary. Stephen glanced out the door. Mighty had fought their way just outside the building. His attention turned back to the task at hand, feeling sure they would succeed. The tide, so it seemed, had turned. From the shadow on the other side of the door, Elizabeth danced out with a knife in hand, as though flirting with the darkness.

  Her lips twitched, then formed a smile. “Come now, boys. Four against one? It hardly seems fair. And you brought my lover!” she taunted.

  “Yes, I love you, my dear,” Anthony replied through pained tones. “Which makes this difficult!” His hand reached to the sky, and a flash of light filled every corner of the room, the building, and beyond. Elizabeth screamed.

  The building door opened before Bernard could attack. Edge stepped in, putting himself between the men and Elizabeth, who he appeared not to have seen. “We’re here . . .” His words trailed off into gurgles. His wide eyes told the story of his surprise—his sadness followed by his pain. Edge dropped to his knees. The sound of Elizabeth’s blade ripping through his flesh filled the silence. Time stood still. Stephen fell to his knees toward Edge, grabbing hold of him and dragging him through the front door. As the light faded, Stephen looked up to see Elizabeth fade into darkness, dancing in backward. And just as the darkness began to swallow what remained of her hands, she let the blood-covered knife fall. “Better him than you,” her voice echoed.

  Anthony, Vincent, and Bernard grabbed hold of Edge. “Back to the clinic,” he said. The other two nodded.

  Stephen raced for the knife. “I’m right behind you.” With all the strength he could muster, he pushed his thoughts for all the Mighty present to hear loud and clear. Back to Enclave! She is Fallen, and Edge . . . He couldn’t bring himself to finish the thought. Still, everyone understood. In near unison, the Mighty vanished back to Enclave.

  Chapter 24

  People ran in and out of the clinic. Most didn’t understand what had happened. Who was hurt? How severe was it? How many were working to heal him? Did they need help? The attendant at the desk continued to turn people away, insisting the room was filled with as many priests as were needed. Stephen knew the room could hold several more. He had been there only a few weeks earlier.

  Anthony and Vincent had taken Edge into triage. Cassandra and Anastasia arrived soon after. That was all. They needed only one more priest, the David—Pastor Buchanan. Stephen knew why. It wasn’t for healing, but to inform. But why wasn’t he there already?

  Stephen glanced up, watching people pass by. Bernard and Alistair waited for news in the recreation room, out of the way so people could come and go. Everyone liked Edge. Everyone would want to know he was okay. Everyone would miss him.

  Grabbing the sides of his head, Stephen squeezed tight. He felt himself losing control, like he had done before Waltz helped him. So many people. So many thoughts. Such strong emotions. He felt them all. But how did he feel? Guilty. He should have been able to stop her. Being in her mind, he should have seen what was going on. But he hadn’t. He couldn’t reconcile it.

  He squeezed tighter. ARGGHHHHHH. Stephen screamed on the inside. He wished that everyone heard him, could see how he hurt. This thought, however, stayed in his mind only.

  A soft hand grabbed his shoulder. Startled, he looked up to see the pale face of Pastor David, who looked weaker—sicker than he’d ever seen him. Stephen’s heart broke. The tears he had fought back broke through like water rushing from a broken dam. Grabbing the old man’s cloak, Stephen stood and pulled him close, burying his face into the man’s shoulder.

  “How bad, Stephen? Tell me how bad!” The David’s voice was feeble. “Stephen, please . . . please say something. I need to know he’s okay.”

  Stephen searched for the words. There were none. He wanted to say it would be okay. And he wanted to tell him how horrible it was. The anger he felt, the pain, the hatred of what had happened—expressing it all would bring such relief. Or would it? Would it cement the events instead?

  Cassandra’s voice carried across the silent room. “Everyone, leave!” The room emptied, all except for Cassandra, the David, and Stephen.

  Stephen pulled away to look at his friend. They
cried together.

  “I’m ready,” Pastor Buchanan croaked. “Stephen, I need you to come with me.”

  Stephen nodded, still not finding the words.

  Together, they followed Cassandra down a corridor into an area in the back that Stephen knew well. As they entered the room, Pastor Buchanan’s body shook, and then fell. Stephen grabbed hold, lifting him back up before he had reached the floor.

  Pastor Buchanan reached a shaking hand to the bed where Edge had been lain. His fingers ran through the man’s dark hair. With his other hand, he let go of Stephen and propped himself on the side of the bed, kneeling next to him. “Let me die too. My son first, now my grandson.”

  Help him.

  Stephen looked around the room. Who was talking? Listening to the other thoughts in the room revealed that all minds and thoughts grieved for Pastor Buchanan. He feared that the memories that once plagued him, that kept him from separating his thoughts and identity from the others he glimpsed over the years, now returned in this moment of sorrow. He wasn’t certain he had the strength to fight it.

  Anger, hatred, and confusion left. Instead, compassion filled their places. How he wished he could right this injustice. Surely there was something that could be done. These two great men didn’t deserve this. Edge, betrayed by Vincent’s mother—Elizabeth, one of the mightiest warriors of their time. Pastor Buchanan stripped of the joy he found in watching his grandson follow his own path.

  Help him, Stephen.

  Stephen stepped back, looking around the room once more. Only this time, Vincent noticed, watching Stephen with a curious expression.

  Stephen called out to Vincent’s thoughts. Did someone say something? Vincent responded with a slight shake of his head, still watching Stephen.

  Stephen, help him now.

  Stephen replied, uncertain where the voice came from. Who are you?

  The voice replied, peaceful and soft. You know me. And I know you.

  Stephen understood. So many questions flooded his mind. So much had happened in the past year and a half that he longed to be able to explain. He looked at the gurney, and to his aged friend. I don’t know how to help him. What do I say?

  Again, the voice replied in the stillness. I know how to help, and what to say. Just be willing and move in faith.

  Faith, the word that implies a relationship. Stephen swallowed and stepped to the gurney. He grabbed the preacher from the floor and lifted him up to an embrace. With a gentle hand, he ushered the man from the side of the gurney to take his place. At first, the David resisted. Stephen looked him in the eyes, tears falling, and said, “It’s okay.” Although the man returned the words with a blank expression, void of hope, he moved.

  Stephen looked at his friend, the first man to welcome him as Mighty. He leaned forward and kissed his cheek, followed by his closed eye. Edge’s skin felt cold, but smooth—marble. Walking around to the bed, he let his fingers drag along the surface of the sheet, down the lifeless body, to the leg and foot, around and up the other side. He leaned over and kissed Edge’s other cheek and eyelid. The skin remained cold. Stephen wasn’t certain what he was doing, only that once he had stepped forward, he continued to move, as though being moved—no, guided—by someone else. The choice to move remained his.

  He reached across, placing his hand on the chest. No heartbeat. Again, he leaned forward, fully aware of everyone’s eyes watching him. He wasn’t nervous. Once he had stepped out on faith, the nerves and uncertainty were replaced with boldness. He breathed on Edge’s face. Color returned to flesh. No heartbeat. He breathed again on his friend’s face. Warmth returned to the flesh. The heart beat, then stopped. He breathed in deep a third time, exhaling on Edge’s face, strong enough to move the dark hair across his face.

  The heart thumped, then again and again. Edge inhaled, his chest rose and fell. Edge opened his eyes. Stephen smiled. “Sleep, friend. You’re okay.” Edge closed his eyes and drifted back to sleep as his chest continued to rise and fall.

  Stephen felt all too aware that everyone continued to stare at him, all except for Pastor Buchanan, who had made his way back to Edge’s side, and now ran his fingers back through the strands of dark hair.

  Stephen looked toward the ceiling, only his eyes fixated on a point much higher. “Thank you. You are worthy of all our thanks.” Knowing there would be questions and that this wasn’t the time to answer them, he turned and left the room, returning to the waiting room where he had sat feeling utterly helpless before Pastor Buchanan arrived.

  Vincent sat down next to him. “Did you know you could—?”

  “No,” Stephen interrupted.

  The two sat in silence until Patty burst through the door minutes later. She grabbed hold of Stephen. “Are you okay?” She had been crying.

  Stephen smiled as he felt confusion rise up in her, which her squinty face confirmed.

  “Y-you don’t seem upset,” she stated, sounding more like a question than an observation.

  “Edge is okay,” Vincent replied.

  “How?” she asked him.

  Vincent nodded his head toward Stephen. She returned her gaze to him. “Will you never cease to amaze me?”

  “I’ll let you know as soon as I get it figured out,” he replied.

  They waited there until news spread of Edge’s recovery. As the waiting room filled, the three departed and found Alistair, Bernard, Jax, and Joe in the recreation center, where Vincent explained what he’d witnessed. No one had ever heard of something like this among the Mighty.

  Through it all, Stephen remained silent, pondering what had taken place. Joy, peace, and unspeakable love had filled his body. Power like he had never thought possible had poured from his body in generous amounts. However, sitting in the recreation center listening to Vincent and the others, he felt no different than usual. What had happened? Why had he been chosen?

  ****

  Pastor Buchanan sat at his table watching Edge enjoy a hot breakfast, in awe of the simple fact that his grandson had been brought back to life. The joy he found in this boy had all but been stripped from him. Now, that same joy renewed as he marveled at what had happened the day before.

  The sound of a door opening pulled the David from his thoughts. He looked into the main room as Sam walked through the door that led to the council chambers. He expected Sam, half surprised Sam hadn’t come the night before.

  “Good morning, Sam,” Pastor Buchanan said.

  “Good morning, sir.”

  The David smiled. “How long have we known each other? Thirty, no, forty years?”

  Sam nodded.

  “No need for the formalities. I know you come as friend. I also know you come with bad news. I’ve been expecting it. The news would come softer from a friend than a colleague.”

  Edge sat his fork down. “What are you talking about, Pap? What bad news?”

  Pastor Buchanan smiled. “It’s okay, Sam. Go ahead.” Though Sam seldom looked happy, the old man knew him well enough to see that Sam was hiding a frown, perhaps looking sadder than he ever remembered.

  Sam pulled out a chair and sat at the end of the table. “I’m sorry, Ben. The council is forcing your hand. They . . .” Sam took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment before releasing the air. “We, are demanding a successor be appointed by the end of the week. That gives you almost four days.”

  “I’m not ready yet. You can’t just pick anyone to lead the Mighty. And there’s too much that will happen in the coming year. I’m not sick. They should give me more time.” The David looked at his grandson, then got up and walked to the main room. Sam followed. “I’m old. I’m tired. And I am very stressed. However, I’m . . . not . . . sick!”

  Sam’s demeanor changed; shoulders slumped, his proud chest caved, and his eyes softened. “I know. But you look sick. You’re looking weak. A few are concerned you’re hiding an illness. It was enough to force a vote. They argued that if you weren’t sick, it wouldn’t matter, that you’d soon look better a
nd the successor would be relieved of his temporary duty.”

  “And who does the council believe my successor should be if I pass?” Pastor Buchanan watched Sam for reaction. He grimaced. “Alistair? I suppose they could have done worse.”

  “I have nothing against him. He’s as good a man as any,” Sam said. “My concern is that I believe Charles has been campaigning for this, long before there was a cause. Your hunch was right.”

  “Perhaps,” Pastor Buchanan replied. “I’m not certain. There’s more to know.”

  “Will you go see him?”

  “Oracle? No. But he’ll come here soon enough. There’ll be a wedding soon, a celebration of life, sacrifice, and love. And I’m sure he’ll be invited.”

  Edge sipped his orange juice. “Someone’s getting married? Who?”

  Pastor Buchanan smiled. “I’m not certain yet. But I know it’ll happen soon. At least, that’s what Joe says.”

  Chapter 25

  The sun glistened off the ripples in the pool of water. A large elephant raised her trunk, spraying water into the air and over her back. A smaller elephant mimicked the actions of his mother. Bees buzzed nearby as they flew from flower to flower. It was a familiar setting, not so unlike the St. Louis Zoo, where Stephen and Patty had their first date. Stephen watched Patty as she giggled, delighted to watch the elephants play. He knew elephants were her favorite.

  Patty’s emerald eyes captured him more now than before. The light shimmered off her hair, giving it a fiery hue and glow. She was gorgeous. Despite all that had happened, being with her—loving her and being loved by her—made the troubles he endured worth every ounce of pain.

  Standing there, watching her, his mind drifted to the image of her and Shannon making wedding plans together. He knew in his heart that Patty was worth it all. She had looked so happy—smiling and giggling—as she planned a wedding. It wasn’t fair for her not to know what she was planning for. Still, she hadn’t accepted his proposal.

  “Marry me!” Stephen said, no longer able to wait.

  Patty looked at him with a sly grin and wrinkle brow. “Did you hit your head? We’ve been through this. Remember?”