The Revelation Chronicles
Eric C. Burney
Copyright (c) 2013 by Eric C. Burney
Cover art provided by ebooklaunch.com
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only, and may not be resold or otherwise distributed without the author’s permission. Please purchase additional copies for other readers at the retailer where you purchased this copy.
This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to real persons or events is entirely coincidental.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
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
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Epilogue I
Epilogue II
Going Forward
We can wait for an unscheduled
train to arrive, or we can start walking
Inspirational quote by retired
U.S. Air Force Chief Master
Sergeant Jack R. Eastman,
a great friend and mentor
Prologue
Three Aces Club & Casino in Las Vegas, Nevada
The man sat in his dressing room, slumped into the cloth chair. The roar from the crowd in the theater remained audible as he loosened his silk tie and propped his cane against the counter. Only this time, the roar of the crowd wasn't one of delight. It was a mixture of confusion and panic. This time, he'd taken his act too far, and he knew it. How could he have been so careless, so stupid? He'd let the heckler get to him. And now, because of his pride, he'd have to move on, quickly, before too many questions were asked, just like the last time, and the time before that. Hopefully, the poor man would recover.
He leaned forward, staring at the somber reflection in the mirror. He wasn't particularly proud of the man who stared back.
Suddenly, the door to the dressing room swung open, and a tall, well-dressed man with blond hair walked in. A broad smile stretched across his handsome face, exposing picture-perfect teeth. Two large, bruiser types, who looked as if they could easily bench press a Volkswagen Beetle between them, followed closely behind the blonde.
The man in the chair immediately recognized the other and, on instinct, reached for the cane.
“No, no, no. That won't be necessary,” said the tall blond gentleman. He approached the man and leaned casually against the counter. One of the brutes seized the cane and handed it to the blonde. He studied the intricate markings along the side for a moment before he spoke.
“It's been awhile, old friend.”
“Not long enough.”
“Hmm, I suppose you are right.”
“What do you want?”
The man in the chair eyed his uninvited guest warily.
“Straight to the point, I see. Well, there is a small favor I need to ask of you. And in return, I will clean up the mess you made here, so you will be free to start over fresh. No more looking over your shoulder, your debt to me will finally be settled.”
The blond man stroked the round crystal tip of the cane, regarding its owner with a look of amusement. Then, he leaned in close; his expression turned dark.
“I simply need you to put on a show.”
“What kind of show?”
The man in the chair stared anxiously at the cane, but he didn't dare dream of making a move for it. To do so would have been suicide. His only choice was to comply, and he knew it.
And so did his guest.
“A groundbreaking show. One that will change everything. I need you to give the performance of a lifetime.”
Chapter 1
The alarm buzzed loudly on the nightstand next to the bed, instantly jarring me from sleep.
9:45 A.M.
With only fifteen minutes to make it all the way across campus, it appeared, once again, I would be late to Ms. Parkman’s biology class.
“Piece of crap alarm!” I exclaimed to myself. After springing from beneath the covers, I searched frantically for a clean pair of pants, finding some lightly soiled jeans (in my opinion) under a grease-soaked, half-emptied box of Cheesy Dave’s Pizza.
My name is Charles Reese, but most folks simply call me Charlie. I’m just your average type of guy. You could pass me on the street and not even look twice in my direction. I stand five feet-eleven inches tall on a good day and weigh a hundred and sixty pounds soaking wet. I’m also a struggling sophomore at Carver Community College in the sleepy town of Oak view, Michigan. Lately, I've been having difficulty making it to class on time. Owning an alarm clock that only worked sporadically didn’t help either. I’d set it for 9:00 A.M. on three consecutive days, and each day it had gone off at various times: 8:30 one day, 10:15 the next. 10:40 the day after that. Guess that’s what I get for bargain shopping at the local flea market.
Now for a clean shirt.
I rifled through the pile of clothes on the floor of my messy dorm room. Laundry for me, as for most college students, was done only out of necessity. And I use the term necessity very loosely.
I pulled a wrinkled, but still serviceable, vintage Thunder Cats t-shirt over my unkempt head of sandy blond hair. I’d worn the classic piece since the 10th grade. I had to admit, I was in love with the short-lived fan-favorite cartoon of the 80’s, and its memorabilia dominated my living space. Not that my roommate Freddy minded though. He was a hardcore fan of the 80’s and 90’s era, owned more comic books than you could shake a stick at, and was an avid UFO enthusiast. Needless to say, we were hardly among the most popular guys on campus.
I raced to the bathroom and brushed my teeth with rapid intensity while attempting to run a comb through my hair.
9:52 A.M.
Only eight minutes to get to class. I rinsed quickly as I splashed a refreshing dose of water to my face. Where did I place my backpack? Spotting it draped on the back of my desk cha
ir, I grabbed it, shoved textbooks and papers inside, slid my tennis shoes on, and hurried out the door. The science building was clear on the other side of campus, so I would have to really book it in order to get there by 10:00 A.M. I could just picture the scowl on Ms. Parkman’s face as I came through the doors, late yet again. The very thought made my stomach turn. I knew I didn't do myself any favors by being habitually late, but I really felt, deep down, that she had it out for me. The woman was true evil incarnate.
Taking the steps two at a time, I made my way down the stairwell and out of Archer Hall dormitory. I streaked across the common way as fast as my gangly legs could carry me. It was a beautiful day, not a cloud in sight. The campus was its usual hectic self; students moved busily about from building to building or took a break on a random bench here and there as they caught up with friends and classmates. As I weaved back and forth through the masses like a speedy tailback, I took a quick glance at my wristwatch.
Oh man, 9:58! Only two minutes left before I’m late again, I thought.
I quickened the pace, inching closer to my destination. I barely dodged two jocks who leisurely tossed a football on the soft grass near the walk path.
“Watch it jerk!” they shouted in angered unison.
“Sorry!” I yelled back in response. I continued to run, for a brief moment losing sight of where I was, and without warning, I rammed straight into Allison Archer. She was arguably the most beautiful girl on campus and the absolute love of my life.
She just didn’t know it yet.
Books and papers scattered wildly in all directions as we collided just outside the science building. Of all the people to run into and come off as a complete and total goofball. I had to have quite possibly the worst luck in the entire world!
“I am so sorry, Allison,” I said. My face flushed bright red while I helped her back to her feet. She smiled politely up at me and straightened her clothes, then began to collect her belongings, which were strewn about the ground. Petite in stature, she wore a purple and black form-fitting knit skirt, a black cotton turtleneck, and knee-high patent leather boots. Long dark hair cascaded down her shoulders, framing her olive-toned face perfectly.
Before me stood a true goddess.
“It’s OK, Charlie,” she said softly, sending instant chills echoing down my spine at the very sound of her voice. She always seemed to have that effect on me. Ever since I first laid eyes on her way back in grade school, I’d had a huge crush on her, but I never had the cojones to do anything about it. You see, I somehow lost my nerve anytime I was around her. Performing live in a school play, that I could do; singing god-awful karaoke at a local bar in front of dozens, no problem. But talking to Allison Archer and having an intelligent conversation? This seemed completely out of the question. I lost all confidence whenever she was near.
“Where are you headed in such a hurry?” she asked.
“Oh...um...I was headed to my biology class. I was trying to make it before I was late,” I managed to say in between chasing down loose sheets of paper caught by the gentle morning breeze.
“Again?”
Her eyebrows arched, and she flashed a playful smile.
“Yes,” I answered sheepishly, embarrassed yet again. It seemed my tardiness was becoming the stuff of campus legend.
“Ms. Parkman, right?” Allison asked, more of an affirmation than a question.
I nodded.
“I had her last semester,” she continued. “She’s a stickler for students being on time.”
Boy don’t I know, I thought to myself.
I rounded up the last of the papers and handed them to Allison.
“So, are you coming to the fund-raising event tonight?”
I was speechless for a moment. Was she asking because she wanted to see me there, or was she asking because she was student council vice-president? Either way, I decided to play coy.
“I don’t know for sure; I have a lot going on this afternoon. I’m supposed to be helping Freddy with a project for his psych class, and I also have a huge paper due in English Lit as well. But, I will definitely try to make it.”
Allison giggled lightly.
“What?”
“That’s funny; I talked to Freddy earlier this morning, and he said you two would definitely be there tonight.”
Typical Freddy. Always hanging me out to dry.
“You better be there, Charlie Reese. A lot of work went into making this event a success, and we need as much support as we can get to raise enough money to finally renovate Carver Hall.”
Carver Hall was the administrative building, but it also housed the student cafeteria. The oldest building on campus and constructed in the mid 50’s, unfortunately, the building had not aged very well. Paint was peeling severely in several places, and the plumbing in the restrooms was usually out of order. The building also had a major rat infestation; you could hear them scurrying within the walls on most days. And, if you were really unlucky, you got to see one or two of the disgusting critters out and about. They roamed the halls and corridors in search of food as though they were lost freshmen trying to find their next class.
Some even believed Carver Hall to be haunted. The creaks and moans of the old foundation didn’t help to dispel the notion either. A popular hazing for freshmen athletes and fraternity pledges was to stay overnight in the building. Not many made it the whole night; most chickened out within a couple of hours. That Carver Hall was the focus of the fundraiser was sure to draw a huge and motivated crowd.
“Freddy tends to not take the college thing quite as serious as he should,” I countered, trying my best to save face. “I will hopefully be there tonight though. I do think it’s for a worthy cause.”
Allison smiled once again and walked away. “See you there,” she called back over her shoulder.
For a moment, I stared after her, day-dreaming how refreshing it would be to walk alongside her, lost in conversation. Then, I suddenly remembered where I was and checked my watch.
10:07 A.M.
Now, I was really late!
Chapter 2
I swung my backpack over my shoulder and pulled the large wooden door to the building. Upon entering the deserted lobby, I assumed if I was as quiet as possible and Ms. Parkman had her back to the class as she usually did, maybe I could make it to my seat without being detected. Since I normally sat towards the back of the class, this hypothesis wasn’t too far of a stretch.
I opened the door to Ms. Parkman’s class as cautiously quiet as possible and peered inside. So far, so good. She was busy as usual writing scientific gibberish on the chalk board and lecturing, so the coast seemed clear. I moved as stealthily as I could. In fear it would creak and give away my position to the enemy, I was as careful as possible not to open the old banged-up door too wide. After squeezing through the tight, small opening I’d allowed myself, I gently closed the door behind me, silent as a cat burglar, and headed for my seat. Premature relief set in while I crept undetected to my goal. As I maneuvered quietly past several other inattentive students, a large size 12 sneaker came out of nowhere and obstructed my path. Too late to adjust my approach, I was sent flying head-first to the tile floor in a loud and thunderous crash.
Matt Mitchell: star quarterback of the Carver College football team and major thorn in my side.
“Loser!” he sneered. His buddies, along with several of the surrounding students who’d witnessed the incident, burst out in hysterical laughter.
“How nice of you to join us Mr. Reese,” said Ms. Parkman in an icy tone that made my heart quiver. She never turned away from the board and her writing. “Late yet again, I see. And this time you have even managed to disrupt my class as well.”
I sprang to my feet, recovered my pride along with my belongings, and took a seat next to Freddy, who greeted me with his usual sheepish grin.
“What took you so long to get here this time, Charlie? And please don’t say your alarm clock,” he whispered.
I ignored his question, pulling my biology textbook and a notepad from my backpack.
“What page are we on?”
“119,” he responded. He stared at me as though the answer to his question was magically written somewhere on my face.
Freddy and I had been best friends ever since we were both in diapers; we pretty much did everything together. I was adopted at an early age, too young to remember anything of my birth parents, and had never felt a real connection to anyone. But, Freddy and I bonded from the very beginning. He remained the one person I always felt I could trust, could depend on, no matter what.
Freddy was considerably larger than me. In fact, he was much larger than just about everyone else I knew. He reminded me of the Bill Cosby character Fat Albert, if he were somehow transported to the 21st century and shared an equal love of comic books and science fiction instead of musical instruments and educational lessons for kids. Freddy didn’t appear to mind the comparison either. Instead, he seemed to actually relish it. After all, he did treasure all things from the 80’s.
“So, you gonna make it to the fundraiser tonight, right?” Freddy asked. He chewed obsessively on his favorite blue pen. The top had long ago faded and been whittled down to an unidentifiable mass.
“Don’t you know? Apparently you’re my booking agent now,” I replied.
“Hey look, I’m just trying to put you on base, but you actually have to want to play the game. God knows you could use the help. What’s it been? 10 to 15 years? Besides, the fundraiser is going to be a blast. There’s gonna be raffles, games, good food, and a dunk tank. Hey, maybe even Ms. Parkman will be up there!”
We both chuckled at the thought of the ancient Ms. Parkman’s old creaky bones climbing into a dunk tank and giving us the satisfaction of submerging her over and over again. But, the more I thought about it, the more I assumed she was probably allergic to water.
Don’t feed her after midnight and don’t get her wet…
“Oh, and I almost forgot,” Freddy continued in a hushed whisper. “The great illusionist Standeval will be there as well.
“Who? I’ve never heard of him.”
“He’s only one of the world’s best magicians, hypnotists and masters of deception,” Freddy exclaimed, his voice tinged with excitement. Then suddenly, his words trailed off. “—until the unfortunate incident in Vegas.”
Now my interest was piqued.
“What incident is that?”
Freddy just shrugged. “Nothing really, just a misunderstanding with some guy in the crowd. But, back to the issue at hand. You need to be there to show some support for Allison. It will go a long way and earn you some huge brownie points, trust me.”
At first glance, taking relationship advice from a guy of Freddy’s stature would seem to be extremely foolish. Of African-American descent, he stood six feet-four inches tall and weighed in at a whopping 270 lbs. He wore horn-rimmed glasses and strangely, also preferred all of his jeans heavily starched and creased. He looked like an offensive lineman, even though he’d never actually played any organized football. But, he did have an unnatural way with the ladies that could not be denied.