Chronicles of Stephen BoxSet Read online

  Chronicles of Stephen Box Set: books 1, 2, and 3

  Chronicles of Stephen

  © 2019 Kenyon Henry

  Published by KTH Investment Group LLC

  on January 11, 2019

  Cover by Drop Dead Designs

  No part of this book may be reproduced without permission from the author, except by a reviewer who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  Join the author's Reader List for

  free books, ARCs, and sneak peeks:

  Click here to sign up!

  Contents

  BOOK 1: CHOICE OF THE MIGHTY

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Epilogue

  Coming Next

  About the Author

  BOOK 2: TRIALS OF THE MIGHTY

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Epilogue

  Coming Next

  BOOK 3: REDEMPTION OF THE MIGHTY

  A Letter from the Author

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Get Free Books By This Author

  Book 1

  CHOICE OF THE MIGHTY

  Dedication

  I’d like to dedicate this book to my wife, Shaunna, and our children, Hope, KK, Erin, Zane, Jayden, and Ella. My family has been supportive, understanding, and encouraging throughout this entire process. At times, writing this story has consumed much of my spare time and used up enormous amounts of physical, emotional, and psychological energy leaving me to feel spiritually drained. They have listened to me brainstorm out loud and talk about the book for countless hours. I am certain that they wondered if the book would ever make it to print. But, together we have persevered, and now get to see this story have a life of its own. I wouldn’t want to take this journey with anyone else. I love you guys! So, thank you Sunshine, Babygirl, Starshine, Princess, Tex, Little Man, and Little Girl.

  Acknowledgments

  First and foremost, I want to thank the Lord Almighty for all that I am. Without the mind that my creator has endowed me with, I never would have been able to come up with an idea for a story, let alone write a book. He also placed me in a country where I am free to chase my dreams and desires. Writing this book has been a dream.

  Thank you to Mom and Dad for teaching me the value of hard work and perseverance. I needed a lot of that to finish this project. More than that, they love me and gave me a safe home to grow into the person that I have become.

  Thank you to Jesse and Joy Thornton (my second parents) who taught me how to fight, not only in the ring, but in life. Without the drive to get back up after being knocked down, I wouldn’t have finished this book.

  Thank you to Mrs. Jane Duffy, my high school history teacher. She was the first teacher I ever had who called me out for just getting by. What usually passed for an “A,” she gave a “C,” warning me the next time would be a “D” or an “F.” I needed to start saying something of value in my papers, instead of riddling them with “glittering generalities.” This is when I started to appreciate the art of writing again.

  Last, I want to thank a select group of people that have supported me in my project with either advice, prayers, or some other form of help during the writing process. Thank you to all the members of the North Georgia Writers Guild: Pamela Pettyjohn, Linda Peters, Caleb Kelchner, Rachel Cates, Judy Stephens, Barbara Papers, Elizabeth Jewell Headden, Anne Ford Melton, Ted Dickerson, and especially Bruce Gaughran, for nurturing and fostering an atmosphere of growth and support for all the members. A big thank you goes to Matt Hensley who read more than one version of the book and offered his honest criticisms, positive and negative. And a heartfelt thank you is due to Teresa Burse, who continually pushed, encouraged, and checked in on me during all the ups and downs of the writing process.

  Chapter 1

  He walked alone down the sidewalk. With each step the man took, freshly scattered salt crunched between boot and the concrete. Although walking along familiar streets, it was still strange to him to look up and see the Gateway Arch of Saint Louis, a sight he had not seen in nearly five years.

  He somewhat enjoyed the thick layer of snow, which blanketed the ground, reflecting multicolored lights that illuminated Gateway Park. Distant sirens, yelling, and loud music from a passing car, however, polluted the night air. Nearby office windows offered him some glimpse into the lives of people who appeared engrossed in laughter, carols, and of all the joys the season offered.

  He continued down the street, clenching his coat collar around the neck with one hand, the other holding tight to his stomach to secure something hidden. Occasionally, he paused and looked down an alley or backstreet, searching for a sign indicating he’d found the right place. The streets grew darker as he moved further away from the park and other well-lit streets. Garland woven with strings of lights illuminated the windows he passed, helping him navigate through the darkness. Still, the festive Christmas decorations did little to provide any meaningful light to see by.

  Where are you? He focused his thoughts on trying to find his mentor, his old friend. He continued to search, glancing down alleys, walking up and down streets, listening for the slightest sound that would reveal his friend’s location.

  A cat pounced from a nearby dumpster, causing a homeless man to jump. “Stupid cat,” the homeless man yelled, pulling a blanket up tight around his neck. As he approached another alley, he stopped and peered into the darkness; no lights, no faint glow of Christmas decorations. It was pitch black. There you are!

  He turned down the alley. The smell of the grease trap from a nearby restaurant caused him to withdraw for a moment. Sweat dampened the inside of his gloves. His eyes slowly adjusted to see faint shades of gray and
rigid outlines in the dark. He continued.

  As he neared the back of the alley, he felt nervous, and his head ached. He stretched his neck, leaning his head from side to side, but found no relief. He stooped down next to a crate draped in plastic. Peeling back an edge and peering through, he could barely make out the figure of a man, curled up tightly beneath a woolen blanket. He swallowed the lump in his throat.

  “Waltz, wake up.” He spoke softly, as though not wanting to disturb others. But there was no one else around. He waited a moment before nudging the man and speaking more loudly this time. “Waltz, get up!”

  Waltz jumped slightly. He turned sharply and peered into the darkness where the plastic had been peeled back. “What? Who is it?” He struggled for a moment, but managed to sit up.

  “Waltz, it’s me. It’s Stephen.”

  The old man crawled out of the crate until, on hands and knees, he was face-to-face with Stephen, eyes watering and lips quivering. “Stephen?” He reached toward Stephen’s face, stopping just shy of touching it, his hand trembling. “Stephen, is it really you?”

  Stephen took the old man’s hand in his. Waltz threw his arms around him, squeezing him tighter than Stephen thought possible. “Please Lord! Dear God, don’t let this be a dream. Please Lord Jesus, not a dream.”

  Stephen hesitated before reaching around the old man, one hand across the back, the other cradling the old man’s head. “It’s not a dream, Waltz. I’m home.” Stephen felt tears touching his cheek, but they weren’t his. Stephen was too afraid to be happy. He was glad he had found Waltz, but so much had happened since he left—so much of it bad. He knew Waltz wouldn’t understand. Still, he needed him to. He needed Waltz to help him escape the darkness that had found him, followed him, and was trying to conquer his very existence.

  Waltz released the near death grip he had on Stephen. Stephen strained to see Waltz, but not much was visible in the alley where the only light came from the stars above. Not even the moon was visible. Stephen heard Waltz’s thoughts. Where have you been? Why did you leave? The pain Stephen felt there was nearly unbearable and made him exit Waltz’s mind, giving the old man the privacy he deserved.

  “Waltz, I have something for you.” Stephen reached into his jacket and pulled out a gold-colored flask with intricate inlaid designs of a sword behind a shield, with stone in the middle. “I kept it. I didn’t mean to take it when I left. I just had it on me and didn’t realize it until I was gone.”

  Waltz reached out, taking the flask and loosening the lid. The liquid inside sloshed around as Waltz’s hands trembled. He sniffed, then took a sip. “Hot chocolate? You remembered?” He took another longer sip. “Aaah! That’s good. Thank you for this. But you can keep the flask. I’m just glad you’re home.”

  Stephen looked around as Waltz sipped from the flask. “Why are you here, in the alley? I remember we used to come here to give things to the homeless. But, why aren’t you at Uncle Bernie’s place? I went by his shelter. A man outside told me you would be here. Is Bernie okay?”

  Waltz looked at Stephen. “This is the last place I saw you. I’ve stayed here since. When the weather gets too bad, I go and find shelter, like everyone else—usually at Bernie’s. But I’ve been waiting for you to come home. My whole world was gone, and now it’s back.”

  Stephen rubbed the back of his head, running his fingers through the wavy hair that stuck out just below his toboggan. “What is it, boy?” Waltz placed his hand on Stephen’s shoulder.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Ever since you were little, you’ve done that. You rub the back of your head when you’re tense about something—whenever you lie, or get in trouble, or are just stressed out.”

  Stephen stopped rubbing his neck. “Really? I never noticed.”

  “It’s your tell. You get it from your uncle Bernie. Obviously it’s not an inherited trait. I think it’s from playing cards with him and the others. He’s done it as long as I’ve known him. You started about a year after you came to live with us.” Waltz paused a moment before continuing. “Stephen, why did you leave? Where have you been?”

  Stephen had known these questions were coming. He had already heard the thoughts inside Waltz’s mind. He wished he could tell Waltz everything with ease, like he used to. Still, he had to tell him. “Whew,” Stephen said, the word sounding like air escaping through his lips. He had come for help and knew the only possible way to get it was for his old mentor to know everything.

  “Waltz, let’s gather your things and head to Bernie’s. He’s only, what, five or six miles from here? I’m back now, so there’s no reason for you to be here on the street.”

  Waltz sat looking at Stephen, not moving.

  “We can talk along the way,” Stephen added. “I’ll tell you everything. But let’s get moving.”

  Waltz nodded and turned back toward the crate to gather his things.

  Stephen was surprised to see how little Waltz had with him. Besides blankets, a sleeping bag, and a half-eaten sandwich, he had nothing else. The two left the alley and headed down the road toward Gateway Mall, back to the lights of Saint Louis and the arch, which rose high overhead. Waltz seemed slower than he remembered. Stephen couldn’t tell if it was his age or the cold that slowed him.

  “I need your help, Waltz.”

  “My help? What could you possibly need my help with?”

  “Well, it’s complicated. And it’ll sound crazy. But I really need you to keep an open mind.”

  “I will.” Waltz’s face softened, just as when Stephen was little and would go to him for help.

  “When I left, it had nothing to do with you—not really. If you remember the last time you saw me, I didn’t say anything to you. We were in the alley, and you must have asked a thousand times if I was okay because of how quiet I was.”

  “Yeah, I remember. You were awfully preoccupied. Your mind was somewhere else. You worried me. I guess, rightfully so.” Waltz shivered. “Brrr. At least it was warm that day.”

  Stephen could now see Waltz a little better than before, thanks to the plethora of Christmas lights. He noticed how gray Waltz’s hair had gotten in the years he had been away. His clothes, too, were somewhat tattered. Other than that, he appeared to be the same Waltz, with the same piercing blue eyes.

  The two turned the corner. About a hundred yards ahead, Stephen saw Kiener Plaza. The water flowed down the stone feature toward the pool. It wasn’t frozen yet. “Up ahead is where it happened, where my life changed forever.”

  “At the park?”

  “Yeah. Remember we stopped there earlier that day?”

  Waltz’s expression turned thoughtful. Then, a look of realization caused his jaw to drop. “Yeah, I remember. You wanted to hang out a bit. I suspected it had to do with some teenage girls playing in the water.”

  “Yup. That’s the day. I was sitting there with my feet in the water, when I decided I’d been there long enough. I couldn’t work up the courage to talk to the girls. As I got up and turned to walk away, this incredibly beautiful woman bumped into me. Rather, I bumped into her. She smarted off about my being a lazy youth, saying she was tired of supporting people like me, and I needed to go to school and get a job. Whatever. I just remember thinking how I’d wish she’d throw herself in the water. Then, she did.”

  They walked up to the water’s edge and stopped. Stephen waited until a young couple holding hands walked by before he continued. “Waltz, I’ve never seen anyone so scared. I couldn’t understand what had just happened. Neither could she. I was scared and confused. I later came to understand that not only had I implanted the thought in her head, but the emotions I felt afterward were her emotions on top of mine. And, she had never spoken a word. The more I thought about it as we walked toward the alley, the more I realized her lips had never moved. I had heard her thoughts.”

  “My boy.” Waltz spoke tenderly. His voice sounded filled with sorrow. “I wish you had told me. I could have helped you. Why did you run?”<
br />
  Stephen turned toward Waltz. “I was scared. I began feeling different inside. I didn’t understand . . . It’s darkness. Like there’s a monster inside me—trying to get out.” He looked around for people within earshot before returning his intense gaze to the old man. “I don’t know what do. I’m losing myself.”

  “Losing yourself? What do you mean?”

  “This ability has changed some over the years, grown. Now I can pick up certain things effortlessly. It’s like being in the same room with a crowd of people talking. I can tune them out if I want. But I couldn’t always. And each time I get inside someone’s head, their thoughts, feelings, even memories become my own. I can make them think and feel what I want. But their memories and feelings stay with me, as though they’re mine now.”

  “You’ve been dealing with this since you left?” Waltz asked, eye wide open, a fearful expression on his face.

  Stephen shrugged. “More or less.”

  “That sounds horrible, an incredible burden to bear.” Waltz voice sounded feeble.

  “Yes, or no. Heck...” Stephen was agitated. “I don’t know. It can be useful, sure. I’ve seen a lot in the minds of people, some memories and thoughts that I wish I had never seen. People can be truly horrible in ways you never want to imagine. And, I retain it all — good and bad. The problem is, I have trouble remembering what I’ve done, which memories are mine. I’ve seen a lot of horrible things in other minds. Now, I can’t remember if I’m that horrible person or not. What did I do? What haven’t I done? It’s getting harder to tell.”

  Stephen was almost in tears as Waltz grabbed hold of him, pulling him tight to his chest. Stephen laid his head on Waltz’s shoulder. “Shhh. It’s okay, boy. We’ll get this figured out together. Let’s get you to Uncle Bernie’s. Okay?”

  Stephen pulled back, wiping the tears from his eyes, and nodded. “Waltz, there’s more.”

  “Well, okay. Tell me—it’ll be fine.” Waltz nodded at the street. The two began walking again, away from the arch that stood higher than any other building in the city.

  “When I left, I was scared of the ability at first. I thought it made me some kind of monster. When I was a kid, like all kids, I dreamed of having abilities, being like Superman or Spiderman. I remember running around the house with a cape on. At least, I think I do.” He looked at Waltz, waiting for a response.