Hundley Iron Relic Book I: The Crossing

1. Auflage 2014
ISBN: 978-0-9863006-0-8
Verlag: On The Boards Publishing
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, 138 Seiten

The Iron Relic Book I: The Crossing follows pediatric oncologist Adam Calhoun as he searches for the truth behind a religious relic believed to possess the healing powers of Christ. In this fast-paced psychological thriller, betrayal and jealousy turn allies into enemies as the true power of the pendant, and the iron relic it protects, portends a second coming.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Hundley, Bobby

Leseproben

Chapter 1.

Faith lies in the evidence of things unseen.

Doctor Adam Calhoun, a thirty-six-year-old oncologist with wavy black hair, kind brown eyes, and a strong sturdy frame that easily supported his muscular six-foot-tall body, slowly navigated his black 1996 Honda Civic EX 4-door sedan up the winding, ancient oak-lined drive towards the residence of his great-grandfather, billionaire philanthropist Henry Calhoun. The car was a gift he had received the day of his high school graduation from his great-grandfather for graduating with honors from Collinwood Preparatory Academy. The vehicle had remained in pristine condition despite being almost eighteen years old, a testament to Adam’s personality. He was raised surrounded by wealth but was never once served with a silver spoon. He learned the value of hard work, the importance of pride of ownership and, more importantly, to have a greater value of and priority for the things that money can’t buy.

Adam glanced up through the windshield, blades of sunshine slicing across his sunglasses as he peered at the majestic canopy blanketing the way. The leaves had already begun to crinkle and change color ahead of schedule, bursting into a kaleidoscope of yellows, oranges, reds and greens. Adam fondly thought of a quilt he’d been given by his great-grandmother Florence when he first came to visit his great-grandparents’ property almost thirty years earlier. Florence had given Adam the quilt to comfort him on that first night he stayed with them; a night he would never forget as long as he lived.

Adam recalled her sweet voice easing his sadness as she told him that the quilt bore the warmth of all those who loved him, including his mother. “Your auntie, your mommy, your grandma and I all worked together on this quilt. Your mommy stitched this part right here when she was about your age,” his great-grandmother said as she pointed a delicate finger towards an embroidered peach butterfly on one of the squares. She then wrapped up the young teary-eyed Adam in the quilt and held him tightly as he snuggled up to her chest. “Whenever you find yourself missing your mother and in need of a hug from her, just wrap this quilt around you and imagine her soft arms embracing you. You will feel her love, mark my words,” she’d whispered, using the warm, angelic tone that only a grandma possessed. It was as though her wisdom in years confirmed the truth of her words to Adam.

A warm glow filled Adam’s heart as he remembered his great-grandmother’s words but as he continued to drive under the shade of the trees the warmth gradually dissolved into a recognizable grief. His heart tightened and sank with the same somber feeling he had experienced as a child that first day he was driven up this woodsy path. His mother had died tragically in an accident and the grieving young Adam was sent to live with his new guardians; his great-grandparents. Now almost thirty years to the day, Adam was traveling up this path for perhaps the last time, ready to experience the pain of loss once more.

The tunnel of trees gave way suddenly to a clearing, revealing the unmistakable triangular facade and hand-crafted brickwork of a sprawling, three-story 1932 Tudor Revival mansion. Adam navigated his car around the circular cobblestone drive past a series of dark luxury vehicles, and parked directly outside an elegant stained-glass bay window featuring a motif of the archangel Michael casting Lucifer from heaven. He glanced over at the window, taking note of the shadows cast by the people inside the room. This was the audience he was dreading. He took a deep breath, exhaled and unclicked his seat belt.

Inside the mansion, behind the stained-glass window was the library, covered in hardwood from the floor to the high vaulted ceiling. The library felt more like a museum, with historic artifacts throughout, some of them in glass cases, some of them out in the open. Artworks, which included The Adoration of the Magi, a tempera and gold on wood by Giovanni di Paolo and The Annunciation, an oil on canvas by Luca Giordano, lined the wall. Most were thought to be reproductions, but some of the works drew questions of origin. In one far corner of the room was a simple residential chapel seemingly designed for one; complete with a crucifix mounted to the wall, a serving altar and a single wooden pew. Stacks of papers and journals covered the dark mahogany desk pressed against the bottom ledge of the bay window.

In the center of the room there was a king-sized bed where billionaire philanthropist and the world’s oldest living person at 119 years young Doctor Henry Calhoun was resting, surrounded by his immediate family and his doctor, Rose Powell, a beautiful young physician with auburn hair and green eyes. Her skin tone and delicate facial features hinted at an Eastern European heritage.

Doctor Calhoun’s face was surprisingly full of spunk for being 119 and gave the impression of a man fifty years younger. He was of Irish descent and built like one of the ancient oaks that lined his driveway. Henry’s pride and joy, a silver crucifix pendant, hung around his neck on a simple chain necklace. The room was cautiously silent as the occupants, Henry’s family members, watched Doctor Powell prepare to inject medication into Henry’s intravenous drip. As she reached out for the drip, Henry suddenly raised his hand to intervene.

“Leave it alone,” he said in a gruff but polite tone.

Doctor Powell gently replied, “This will ease your discomfort.”

“Discomfort lets me know I am still alive,” Henry said with a cracked smile. “Please, no.”

Doctor Powell refrained from administering the pain medication and put all of her medical apparatus back into a dark leather medicine bag. Henry turned his attention to the somber faces of his family members, who all appeared to be lacking any kind of jovial spirit whatsoever.

“I’m disgusted,” Henry suddenly blurted out.

“Sorry, Gramps,” his granddaughter Helen said, stumbling for an appropriate response. “I, I, I...”

“Stop stuttering and calm down, my Helen doll,” replied Henry in a firm but moderate tone. “I asked for one thing today and that’s it. An extra-large Sacci’s pizza with black olives, mushrooms, Dublin cheddar and salami; and instead I get tears, silence and a new catheter. Today is not turning out to be all I had hoped. Now will someone please tell me who was responsible for ordering my pizza?”

Jordy, Helen’s youngest son at twenty-eight years old, a tall, thin, malnourished-looking boy, released an anxious chuckle.

“Is this funny to you, Jordy?” Henry spouted, drilling his youngest great-grandson with a look of disapproval.

“No, Gramps,” Jordy whispered, lowering his head.

“Well, at least someone is laughing,” Henry uttered to himself then turned his attention back to Helen. “Helen, if you wish to remain executor of my will, then I expect to see an extralarge...”

Helen turned anxiously to Jordy. “Jordy, order Gramps his pizza, now. My credit card is in my purse in the foyer. Go. I told you to do it earlier.”

“I didn’t know where your purse was,” Jordy rebutted.

Helen’s quick boil temper ignited as she scolded Jordy. “Boy, I am going to knock the stupid out of you if you do not get that pizza ordered right now!”

Jordy recoiled and started for the door.

Henry shouted after the denounced young man, “And tell them they better be here within an hour or I might not be!”

Jordy scurried out of the room as Henry laughed heartily to himself, thoroughly amused by his own comment. Helen looked down, attempting to control her thoughts about the whole situation and began pacing the room. Henry noticed the thumping sounds of his distraught granddaughter’s heavy pacing and found himself feeling guilty for the emotional stress Helen was experiencing. He watched her lovingly, and gently began to pucker whistle a familiar lullaby.

The tune drifted its way into Helen’s soul, easing her body slowly to a standstill. She closed her eyes and began to recall her childhood and all of the fun slumber parties she’d had at the home of Gramps and Grams. Back then Henry told all of his grandchildren, before they were old enough to know any better, that he was a world champion whistler and had even won an Olympic gold medal by whistling that very tune. The lullaby had such a soothing effect on the children that it would lull them to sleep without fail. A tear drop slipped from Helen’s eye, which she immediately wiped off her face using the cuff of her blouse.

Henry said to her in a sympathetic tone, “It’s okay to look sad, my Helen doll, but this is not the end, only the beginning.”

Helen nodded in acknowledgment as she walked up to Henry, taking his hand in hers. Pete, Helen’s younger brother at fifty years old, glanced up from his newspaper and smiled at them. Pete had remained seated quietly the entire morning in a black cloth recliner near a statue of the Virgin Mary holding the baby Jesus. Across from Pete, playing a game of solitaire on a portable electronic device was Sean, Helen’s oldest son at thirty-two. He appeared unfazed by everything that had been going on around him until the sudden knock on the library door.

The entire room turned its attention to the door which slowly crept open as Adam popped his face into...