Chronicles of Stephen BoxSet

by Kenyon T Henry

  “Then we’ll hunt them.” Elizabeth laughed.

  Her laughing, however, was silenced by another laugh—not sinister, but joyful. “You all know you’re delusional, right?” Pastor Buchanan wheezed. “I know something you don’t.” He coughed, spitting out blood.

  “What’s dat?” Bernie asked.

  “Stephen. I know Stephen and what he’s capable of.”

  Bernie laughed. “I helped raise him. You think you know him better than me?”

  “If you had known what I know, you would have killed him when he first came to live with you and Waltz.”

  Bernie spat on him. “You just an old fool.”

  ****

  The moon was high above the city of Charleston. Not too far from where Stephen and the others stood, people laughed and enjoyed the best of what the city had to offer its evening guests. This part of town was different. People weren’t strolling down the streets, and horse-drawn carriages had stopped operating for the night. Most were in their beds, asleep.

  Stephen, Vincent, Bernard, Zander, Max, Edge, Tallou, Boone, Rex, and Miguel looked up at the old jail from outside the surrounding wall, unable to see much more than the faint glow of light from inside. Stephen didn’t used to believe in ghosts. Since returning to St. Louis a year and a half ago, he’d discovered the world wasn’t what he thought. Now, he believed in them, creatures that thrived in the night and fed off the fear of others—only he called them Fallen.

  He cast his eyes toward the starry night sky. “Lord, be with us.” He looked at Rex. Use your abilities. There’s no need to keep them hidden.

  Rex grinned and looked toward the concrete building. “I’m sensing about twenty, give or take.”

  Edge looked at Rex with scrunched brows, then to Stephen. “Since when did he get abilities?”

  Stephen laughed. “I may have accidentally unlocked some latent abilities in Rex and Shannon.”

  Edge shook his head. “Shannon has abilities?”

  Vincent interjected. “Yes. She is a warrior—a fact she reminds me of whenever we disagree.”

  “Lucky you,” Edge said.

  “Are we done with the chatter?” Zander asked.

  Stephen spoke up. “Does anyone sense Pastor Buchanan?”

  Rex and Vincent both shook their heads.

  “Me neither. Someone’s working very hard to keep me from reading thoughts.” He looked at the others, encouraged by the lack of fear in any of them. “They know we’re here and that we’re outnumbered. But I feel their fear and uncertainty. This place reeks of it. Let’s clear the air.”

  Stephen took the first step. Each followed through the gate. Before even the last one had entered, the attack started.

  A fireball blazed from the far right. An invisible assailant attacked from the left. And four guards rushed out the door.

  Rex took off after the pyromaniac, shouting to the others, “I have him. We have unfinished business.”

  The fiery assault looked to scatter into embers short of Rex as he pulled a baton from the pocket on his thigh and engaged the enemy.

  Tallou caused a cloud of dust to rise, which made it easier for Bernard to track the invisible assailant and knock him unconscious with a single blow. Then, she blew the dust into the eyes of the guards who stood at the bottom of the steps, weapons drawn.

  Tallou called to Stephen, “Go. Bernard and I will handle these men.”

  Stephen and the others shoved their way past the fumbling men, through the double doors, and into a large open and dark concrete room.

  “Vincent and Zander with me. Edge, Max, and Boone, check the main level. Miguel, can you scout ahead to see if you can find Buchanan?”

  Miguel nodded. “You got it, Stephen.” His body morphed and shrunk until he had the appearance of a cat.

  Max laughed. “I wonder if I can control him.”

  “Don’t try it,” Miguel said, his voice that of his full-sized self.

  “Creepy,” Max said, shivering.

  Miguel took off into the darkness.

  Stephen and his group went up the stairs, all the way to the top. The three men stepped into another larger room where only a single light held complete darkness at bay. In the room were four men and a woman Stephen had never seen before, plus Bernie.

  “I should have known you’d be here,” Stephen said.

  “Why wouldn’t I be? After all, this is my crew,” Bernie replied.

  “No. No, it’s not. I see their minds. They answer to someone else.”

  One of the men lunged at Stephen. Zander drove his shoulder into the man’s side before he could reach the intended target.

  “Zander, is dat you?” Bernie chuckled. “It’s been a long time. I’m curious what could bring you out of hiding.”

  Zander didn’t respond, but Stephen felt something ignite inside Zander, a passion he hadn’t felt before. A fire!

  Stephen vaulted at Bernie, landing an elbow on the man’s jaw. He was certain he heard something crack.

  Bernie yelled and fell back, holding tight to his jaw. “Get ’em!”

  Vincent slapped a man in the face with his walking stick. He had become quite proficient in using it as a weapon, especially since he no longer needed it to walk. Back and forth, he volleyed with the man and the woman, who both wielded a baton.

  Zander looked like a cat toying with his food as he played mind games with the other two, each thinking the other was Zander. He had focused in on their minds. They were seeing what he wanted them to.

  Stephen turned back to Bernie. “I guess it’s me and you.”

  “Not yet,” Bernie snarled. “Someone else is waiting for you.” Then Bernie disappeared in a sulfurous cloud.

  Stephen looked around. Bernie was gone. Zander was holding his own. Vincent looked like he could use Stephen’s help though. Before he could move, Rex appeared at the top of the stairs. “I knew the party wasn’t over.” He jumped in with Vincent, who was backed into a corner. “Go, Stephen. Find the David.”

  Stephen stepped down the blackened hallway, the sounds of clashing and scuffling becoming more distant as he invaded the darkness. Moans, barely audible, echoed down the hallway. He sensed two minds in the farthest room. But who? Why couldn’t he see their thoughts?

  As he neared the doorway, where a faint light flickered from within, he heard a voice he had only ever heard in his mind.

  “We’ve been waiting for you, Stephen. Please, come in.”

  Stephen walked through the doorway, frantically looking this way and that, until his eyes locked on a frail form hanging from chains. Stephen moved toward Pastor Buchanan before stopping at the sound of the voice.

  “Not just yet,” a man said, stepping out of the corner from behind the David. He held an object in his hand, staring at it intently, seemingly forgetting about Stephen and Pastor Buchanan. Then, the man tucked the item into his pocket and looked up. “You and I need to have a chat.” The man’s voice grew colder, darker somehow.

  Stephen strained to see the form stepping from the darkness into the dim lighting.

  The closer the man got, the more Stephen felt the darkness surrounding and engulfing him. He didn’t need to see inside the man’s mind to know who this was. This was the very man who had invaded his mind with thoughts and words when he first returned home. Likely, this man had been following him longer than that. He was certain he’d felt the same feelings—hate, anger, despair, and near insanity—when Tommy died because of Stephen’s failed heroics.Only, this man was oozing the emotions, as though he had always been the cause.

  “I know you,” Stephen said.

  “Do you?”

  “Yes. You were in the museum with me and Bernard. You were in his mind. At Arlington, I saw you disguised as a maintenance man.” Stephen stared deeper into his face. “Only, you look younger now.”

  “Ah, so you realize I’ve been around.”

  “Not just around. You’ve been in my head. That is, until I kicked you out!” Stephen snapped.r />
  The man feigned a grin, which looked more like a displeased snarl. “Yes, you did do that. You’ve been a bit of a nuisance.”

  The chain rattled behind the man. “Stephen. Get out,” Pastor Buchanan pleaded. “Leave me.”

  Stephen ignored him. “You’re either brave or stupid to be standing here alone with me. If you knew the monster I was, the monster that still struggles to get—”

  “Let him out,” he interrupted. “I want to see him. That’s the Stephen I want. I’ve seen the monster. Who do you think put him there, that monster that feeds on fear?”

  A wave of fear and realization washed over Stephen. Could this man really be responsible for his feelings? No. “You give yourself too much credit. I don’t need to be a monster to defeat you. Step aside.”

  “That’s right!” The man slowly moved forward. “Stephen the prophet. Stephen the warrior. Stephen the priest, all rolled into one. You are powerful,” he teased. “I’m powerful, too. An unholy triune has given me abilities similar to yours—only I know how to use them. I now share the abilities of Bernie and Elizabeth—a prophet, a warrior, and a priest.”

  Priest? Stephen considered it for a moment. None of the missing Mighty from Enclave were priests—that he knew of. Could this man be Gregor? He looked again at the man, realizing he had certainly looked older before, yet somehow had aged backward. Still, it didn’t matter. Stephen was there for only one purpose—to save Pastor Buchanan.

  Stephen knocked the man across the room with a backhand. “You talk too much.” He ran to Pastor Buchanan’s side. “I’ll get you down. Then we’ll go.” He reached up and snapped the chains loose at the wrists and let his friend down easy.

  Stephen glanced toward where the man had landed just in time to see the bottom of the man’s boot, which launched Stephen into the corner.

  “You’re arrogant,” the man said. “I like that. But before you go, you should really know who I am.”

  Stephen sprang into the man’s chest, sending them both tumbling to the floor. Punches were thrown, along with knees and elbows, as both men worked their way to more solid, standing positions. Both seemed evenly matched. Neither could invade the other’s mind. Stephen, however, appeared to have a slight edge in speed and strength, while the stranger had more experience.

  Stephen grabbed hold of his enemy after managing to get behind him, certain the fight was nearly over. “Give up. You’re wearing down. I can do this all day.”

  The man grabbed Stephen’s arms, leaned forward, and thrust with his hips to send the younger man sailing into the concrete wall.

  Stephen jumped to his feet to see the man standing behind Pastor Buchanan with a knife to his throat.

  “Don’t,” Stephen said.

  “I only wanted to see the monster, to see my creation,” the man said. “Once upon a time, I had plans for me and you. Do you even know my name?”

  Stephen shook his head, watching and feeling helpless. What else could he do?

  “I believe you do. I want to hear you say it.” The man paused. “Say it!” he yelled.

  “You can’t be Gregor!” Yet, even as the words slipped past Stephen’s lips, he knew it was true, as though saying it aloud somehow made it so.

  “I’ve found the fountain of youth, a way to eternal life.” Gregor nodded upward, then spat on the ground. “God says His Son is the only way. He’s wrong.” He looked up again. “You’re wrong!” he shouted. “I have it, and my name is Gregor Machiavelli.”

  Shock washed over Stephen. He knew that name. Waltz had fought in the last battle to defeat Machiavelli, a general of Fallen. But that would make the man in front of him seventy or eighty years old. How could that be? To Stephen’s eyes, the man looked like someone in his thirties, and in near peak condition.

  Gregor held the knife up, to show he was putting it away. “Ah! You’ve heard of me. Good. What you don’t know is why. Why have I made it my job to end your entire bloodline, saving you for last? It’s simple really.”

  Gregor held out a picture with his free hand. “This was my daughter, Teri. She was my princess, and I was her king. Like every good father, I wanted to give her the world. Waltz took her from me—twice. First, he convinced her to join Enclave to fight against me. It broke my heart.” Gregor’s eyes drifted, as though remembering something painful. “Then, she died, protecting him. My daughter gave her life for my enemy. But you’re the son of Waltz. You probably don’t care about that.

  “I’ll bet you wonder why I look so much younger than I am, though. Am I right? Well, let me show you the fountain.” He grinned as he placed both hands, which had started glowing red, on Pastor Buchanan’s head. Gregor’s skin looked to tighten and smooth as Buchanan let out a yell that echoed throughout of the old jail. The pastor’s body fell limp.

  “No!” Stephen yelled, launching with all his might at Gregor who grabbed him and held him at a distance. Stephen felt the pain of having energy—no—life drained from his body. He grew tired—losing the strength and will to fight back.

  From nowhere, a black cat dropped on Gregor’s head and clawed at the man’s eyes.

  Gregor slung the cat and turned back to Stephen, now crawling across the floor.

  Stephen knew he had to get away. But how? He was too weak to run, to even walk.

  A concrete wall imploded, sending debris and rubble flying. Bernard, Rex, and Tallou stood in the hole.

  “Stephen!” Vincent called from down the hall.

  Everyone had heard. Everyone had come. Gregor vanished. The room went black.

  Chapter 14

  Stephen awoke to the all-too-familiar sound of beeping from machines that monitored his vitals. But what had happened? He couldn’t remember. His sight remained blurry as he struggled to focus, recognizing the clinic in Enclave.

  Sitting up proved to be harder than he expected. Still, he managed.

  “He’s awake.”

  Patty’s unmistakable voice sounded like a choir of angels to his ears. She grabbed his hand as his eyes finally adjusted. She looked lovely as ever, but worried—tired even. Her shoulders sagged, and her eyes had dark circles underneath. Still, she was beautiful. He looked around the room.

  “It’s just me,” she said.

  “Gregor . . .” Stephen struggled against his dry throat.

  “He’s not here. You’re safe,” Patty said.

  “Not that. Gregor blames Waltz for the death of his daughter—Teri.”

  “I’ve studied the last war, Stephen. Gregor killed Teri. She gave her life saving Waltz. It wasn’t Waltz’s doing.”

  Stephen looked around the room, getting his bearings. “Where is everyone? What happened?”

  “Vincent, Anthony, and a few other knights are outside, keeping a perimeter.”

  “A perimeter? For what?” He caught a glimpse of his reflection in a silver pan by the bed. A single streak of gray ran through his hair; his fingers were unable to wipe it out.

  “To keep you safe.”

  Why did they need to worry about keeping him safe inside Enclave? “What happened, Patty? I remember arriving in Charleston and at the jail. We made it inside. Then it’s fuzzy. Did we find him? Is Pastor Buchanan okay?”

  Immediately, the positive emotions flowing from Patty ceased, only to be replaced with sadness and heartache. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “You found him and fought against Machiavelli—”

  The memories came flooding back at the mention of that name. Patty’s voice became like static as he remembered every detail, recounting each move, every word, and all the emotions of the moment, up until the room went black.

  A single tear rolled down his cheek. He dared not wipe it away, knowing that only more would follow. He struggled to contain it all, the sadness, the hurt, the anger, and helplessness. Unable to do so any longer, he let out a loud cry that echoed down the halls until it seemed more like the roar of a lion than the cry of a man. What started as sorrow turned into a war cry—a call to arms.r />
  Vincent and Bernard rushed into the room and came to a screeching halt at the sight of Stephen, who threw his legs over the bed and stood—ripping IVs and tubes from his body.

  Patty hurried around the bed and held her hands out to stop him. “Where are you going . . . ?” Her eyes were wide and her mouth open. She shook her head and blinked several times before reaching toward Stephen’s face, stopping short of touching it.

  Stephen looked at the three of them. Their expressions and emotions told him something had changed. Something was different. And he felt different. There was a burning inside him he hadn’t noticed before. It had always been there, but not like this. No. This was a fire inside that had consumed and taken the place of the monster that used to dwell there.

  He turned toward a mirror on the wall. His eyes did more than glow, as they had done in times past when using his abilities. Instead, they flickered—the blue light dancing like flames before dying out, the gray streak fading with the fire. But the fire inside didn’t die.

  “Patty, I need my clothes.”

  Patty didn’t respond. She and the others just stared.

  “Patty!” Stephen waved his hand in front of her. “I’m nearly naked here. Did you bring me some clothes?”

  “I did,” she mumbled as she ran her fingers through his hair where the gray had been. She turned to grab a bag from the foot of the bed. “Sorry. Here you go.”

  Stephen pulled the clothes from the bag before looking back up at his two friends, still speechless by the door. “Privacy, please?”

  When the door closed behind Vincent and Bernard, Stephen buried his head into Patty’s chest and wept. For him, Pastor Buchanan had helped fill the void left behind when Waltz had been murdered. Now, even he was gone.

  ****

  Stephen walked with his guards through the corridors toward the departure point. The corridors were empty—a testament to how many Mighty had gone missing. He and Patty remained encircled as they went. Although Stephen could have vanished even from inside Enclave, only he seemed to have that ability. Plus, it seemed fitting that he travel with his men and that Patty be at his side.