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at the blazing flames in the fireplace.
    He blinked. He had never experienced such an eternal feeling. The reverend searched his mind for scriptural support, which was always the support he sought. Finding none, he stared at Evelyn while taking a deep breath.
    Looking beyond her, he suddenly knew he was unprepared for the magnitude of the burden she was about to lay at his doorstep. Just as he’d always known instinctively that one day his ministry would become pivotal to some event not of his making.
    He allowed himself the briefest moment of solace by closing his eyes. When he opened them he looked directly at Evelyn and said, “Speak, child.”

Chapter 3
    1999
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    T hirty-two-years later, the seed implanted in Evelyn’s womb had become a man. He was the product of her worst fears. He was the epitome of her highest joy. Like a pendulum, Evelyn’s fate had swung high and low.
    He was sprung from a foundation of pain. He was derived through great deception. He was born in the shadows of darkness, in murky waters. He was Evelyn’s son. He was her pride and joy. His name was Micah Jordan-Wells. And he had yet to know his title.
    Evelyn had never told him about the circumstances surrounding his conception. She had not spoken to him of his father. She had shielded him from an awful truth.
    She thought what he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him. Their lives were crafted in the simple act of denial.
    She had made a singular choice. She took the uncomplicated path. Then fate intervened and dared to display its uncontrollable factors.
    Micah Jordan-Wells was battling his own demons. The sins of the past were visited upon him. The truth of his existence hovered nearby. The truth waited. It waited patiently. Then it struck. It cast its net in the deep of the night upon Micah Jordan-Wells.
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    It was dark. Pitch-black dark. Hot mist rose from the ground around Micah’s feet. He struggled to free his hands and feet from the roped wired bounds. The muscles in his biceps tensed. They coiled. Micah was wired tight to a chair. He slithered around like a cobra in a desperate attempt to be free.
    It was intensely hot in the room. The temperature soared beyond anything normal. Sweat dripped, poured into his eyes, skewing his vision. He tasted the salt of it in his mouth.
    His jerking around caused the wires to slice through his flesh. Red spots of blood oozed from his wrists and ankles. Then there was a sound like the roar of a rushing wind. An ear-shattering explosion burst forth. His ears popped.
    Micah sat very still. He listened. He tried to identify the direction of the sound.
    Red-orange light burst forth through the darkness. A flaming ball of fire rushed him. With the speed of light, it was on him. He howled. A mix of denial, defiance and terror discharged from his throat.
    Someone laughed. Mocked him. He heard a deep baritone voice. It held no life. It held no feeling. It echoed up to him from a deep pit. “Micah! Micah!” It drew him in, sucking him down into its tunnel a mere instant before he would have been engulfed in flames.
    A flaming “X” shone through the darkness. Molten heat seared it into the cement floor. The “X” slowly ascended. Then it branded itself over Micah’s body merging with him. Gut-wrenching sounds of pure agony gushed from Micah’s mouth. Buckets of vomit poured forth through his parched lips.
    He scooted his chair backward to resist the merging. He twisted. He turned, trying to gain some distance from the frightening mark. It was all over him. He shuddered. Stark fear drenched his body. The smell of his own musk reached his nostrils.
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    Micah’s dehydrated body jerked spastically. He sat up in bed. Sweat-dripping terror of the darkest kind drenched his body. His mind whirled in confusion.
    He looked around. The room slowly came into focus. He had emerged. He freed his wet body from the twisted sheets.
    He jumped out of bed and