Munson Fall From Grace

1. Auflage 2015
ISBN: 978-1-908600-50-9
Verlag: Inspired Quill
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 0 - No protection

E-Book, Englisch, Band 1, 390 Seiten

Reihe: Fall From Grace

'It's time for Heaven to become
a democracy.'

 

Since
leaving his calling in the priesthood and saying goodbye to the church, Paul's
life has gone from bad to worse. But now, his inability to hold down a job is
the least of his problems.

 

He
and his friends, sceptic extraordinaire Joseph and academic psychologist
Lauren, are thrown headfirst into a celestial war that has raged on for two
millennia. As a secret plot begins to unravel, the fate of thousands lies in
their hands.

 

To
put things right, the three of them must venture into the Heavenly Ruling
Chamber alongside those who started the rebellion two thousand years ago - and
survive coming face to face with the Almighty himself.

 

Fall
from Grace speaks about faith, loss, friendship and the truths we all seek.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Munson, Matthew

Leseproben

Christ Church University, Canterbury
She paced the floor of the antechamber, scowling angrily at nothing and everything all at once; like the room itself offended her. A cramped and airless space with no chair, no window – no small comfort of any kind, its austerity reminded visitors that their presence was not entirely welcome. Nerves began to flutter in her stomach, and she took a breath. Why was she nervous? She was the one who had requested the meeting in the first place, to argue her case in front of Metatron. It had made sense at the time, when she had spoken with her friends in the privacy of Lucifer’s comfortable office, for them to approach Metatron directly and try to reason with her. If they were to have any chance of getting through to the Almighty, gaining her sympathy was imperative. But the woman on the other side of that door could wrong-foot visitors with a single greeting. This required delicacy. The door to the office opened. She exhaled and took a step forward. Lauren blinked a couple of times, sighing as she shook away the spots of light before her eyes. Her fits were getting worse: more frequent, certainly, and her hallucinations far more vivid. Despite the ever-increasing frequency of her absence seizures, she had mostly become used to them by now. To anyone who didn’t know better, she simply looked lost in a daydream, while in reality, her brain blazed like a firecracker, exploding into bizarre visions that she only ever partly remembered. She shook away the last vestiges of the fit – which she had become quite an expert at doing – and clicked open her emails. She expelled a nervous laugh at the first one: from her GP, reminding her of an appointment the following morning. The fact that she had been given an appointment so soon after her tests undoubtedly meant that the outcome wasn’t a particularly good one. I’d have been fitted in sometime next week if everything was fine… But worrying about it wasn’t going to help the day go any quicker; she, more than most people, should know all about that, given her line of work. She drummed her fingers on her desk, then clenched them into a fist to stop herself and glanced at her watch. It had just gone 8am, so she doubted that her faculty supervisor, Dr Tempest, was even in yet. After replying to her GP’s email and forwarding it onto Tempest, she leaned back in her chair and rubbed her face. A thumping headache started to build behind her temples. At twenty-four, Lauren was the youngest psychotherapist on her team, and fast becoming recognised as a future leader in her field. But recognition carried with it a certain level of expectation, and that scared her. Tempest, for example, had taken to following her career with some degree of intensity; she was apparently “capable of great things”, as he once portentously told her. The mere thought of it made her feel a bit queasy. However, one positive outcome of that recognition was being rewarded with her very own office – a rare and very coveted experience within the academic confines of the university. “It’s a broom cupboard!” Lauren had first protested to her mother, who had been very excited at the prospect of her daughter being important enough to warrant having an office. “Mum, it’s nothing exciting, I promise!” She had given the protestation without entirely believing it – mostly to stop her mother telling all and sundry about her ‘clever daughter who had her very own office!’ – but she had to admit, it was exciting. She smiled warmly at the memory of her mother going through her entire contacts list. It was a welcome antidote to the nervousness still cycling through the pit of her stomach, magnified again when her eyes fell back upon the email. The smile fell from her face; reality hit. She had only agreed to the tests in the first place to stop her brother’s constant nagging. Now, she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the results. She looked up as someone knocked on her door. Who would be visiting this early? “Come in.” She smiled as a familiar face came through the door. “Paul!” she exclaimed. She stood and kissed him on the cheek. “How are you doing?” “Not bad,” he replied. “How are you?” “Yeah, not bad.” “Good, that’s good.” He sat down in the chair opposite Lauren and put his feet up on the desk. Lauren gave him a withering glance, and he pulled a face and quickly returned them to the floor. “Right, well now that we’ve finished lying to each other,” Lauren went on, “perhaps we can start telling each other the truth.” Paul chuckled. “Always the psychologist…You’re never off duty.” “I’ve got a few years’ practice at this sort of thing.” “Yeah.” Paul bit at his bottom lip for a moment and released a slow, thoughtful breath. “Yeah, I guess you have.” Paul picked up the nameplate on her desk – an affectation picked up by the university’s vice-chancellor during a visit to America. “Lauren Crabtree-Tempur,” Paul read out. “Nice calligraphy, but they haven’t left room to put your ‘PhD’ on there when you qualify. I’d speak to Human Resources about that… or your union. Hey, do psychologists even have a union?” Lauren snatched it out of his hands and placed it back on her desk. “Displacement activities,” she said. “They’re very common when people want to avoid talking about a subject. Something in particular you don’t want to talk about?” “Don’t try psychoanalysing me, Mrs Crabtree-Tempur,” Paul laughed. “I want to get out of here without having to pay you for therapy. My bank balance wouldn’t allow for it.” She smiled at him and rolled her eyes, like a mother chastising a recalcitrant child. “I heard about Royal Mail.” Paul scowled. “Joseph’s such a snitch.” “Joseph’s my brother; of course he was going to tell me. You’re my friend too. But what I can’t work out is why it’s taken you two days to come and see me about it. You couldn’t even call?” Paul shrugged. “I’ve been busy,” he said, not meeting Lauren’s eyes as he spoke. “It’s hard work, looking for a job.” “Yeah, especially with that extensive career plan you’ve got lined out.” She pressed her lips together, instantly regretting her sharp words – though not for any absence of truth in them. She hadn’t meant to be quite so harsh, but she couldn’t help it. She loved her friend dearly, but she knew she was right: he didn’t have anything close to career path. Thankfully, Paul didn’t seem to have taken offence. “You’re right,” he said wearily. “I deserved that. I… I have been looking, but to be honest, I’m…embarrassed to show my face. I respect you. I didn’t want you to judge me.” “Why would I judge you?” she asked uneasily. Paul glanced at her and broke into a grin. Lauren felt the brief tension dissipate from the room. “So,” she went on, “what are you going to do now? Perhaps it’s time to take stock at last. Take some more time out to decide what you want to do with your life.” “Well, that’s a good idea, except for the fact that I’ve actually got a new job already.” “Oh…” Lauren groped for the right words. “Well – that’s great. What are you doing?” “Temping. Admin. At Lloyd’s bank – only for a week or so – right here in Canterbury. It’s my first day today, actually.” “Ah. Of course. Just what you’ve always wanted to do. You’ve been saying that for years.” “Hey, don’t knock it,” Paul retorted. “It pays the rent. Until I –” “Figure out what you want to do,” Lauren finished for him, raising an eyebrow. Paul sighed. “Yeah, whatever. I’m not going down that road with you – at least, not this early in the morning.” Lauren frowned. “But you never do,” she challenged. “Perhaps we should have the conversation one day. Talk about what exactly you do want. Do you even know?” She had never openly confronted him before, and his eyes widened as he seemed to realise what she was doing. I’m not going to apologise, she thought with determination. He has to start thinking. “I don’t know what I want,” he admitted, “but I’ll know it when I see it.” Lauren wanted to confront him further, but suddenly wondered, despondently, whether it would actually do any good. Paul seemed keen to change the subject, and for now, she decided to let him; she needed to find a way to challenge him more effectively than she could here and now. “Anyway,” Paul went on “I just wondered if you wanted to meet up for lunch tomorrow? I’m going to be stuck in training all day today, but could definitely do with a friendly face on day two.” Lauren shook her head regretfully. “Sorry, Paul. I wish I could, but I’ve got a doctor’s appointment tomorrow at two. I’ll need to leave by one to get through the traffic.” She smiled at the guilty look that crossed his face; he had clearly forgotten about her tests. She didn’t blame him; he’d had other things on his mind over the past couple of days. “Want me to come with you?” he asked. “I can easily blow off work for the afternoon.” Lauren shook her head and fixed him with a steely glare. “No! Paul, you need to keep this job, even if it is just for a week – or people are going to stop giving you...