Chapter 1
In a dilapidated farm-house in the midst of the Ozark Mountains, Michael sat with his eyes closed, attempting to meditate. He desperately searched for the serene moment so he could feel close with Father, but it eluded him. He had been at this for weeks but his mind just couldn't quiet itself nor his muscles relax. There was tension so tight in his chest that made it, at times, hard to take a full breath.
Pictures of Becca rolled through his mind. Becca staring at him, with those intelligent blue eyes, across the senate floor. Becca, always with a knowing grin, welcoming him in her arms. Her tall lithe form tangled in sheets with her hair flaming red in the sun. Michael chest tightened even more when he finally pictured her empty dead stare from the floor of House Thorn. Michael opened his eyes to try to erase the image but it stuck in his mind.
"I was a fool." Michael said to the room's rotting wallpaper. He just couldn't figure out which hurt more, Louis's death or maybe Becca's betrayal. Or could it be the fact Becca's death and that of her guards was by his own hands? If the pain of Alex's blade hadn't woke him from his rage, he could have easily killed the Chosen One.
Most wouldn't have recognized Michael from his disheveled appearance except for maybe his dust-covered uniform. Michael had been at this for weeks, only getting up for water. Dirt and grime covered his leaner face and hands. His hair was longer and looked like he had been continually running his hands through it.
Michael's head jerked to the front door as he heard a pair of light footsteps outside. He was not quite sure he would have the energy to fight off an eightball, but supposed he would try out of principle.
Three loud bangs came from the door.
"If you would like to continue breathing, I would suggest moving on." Michael said coldly toward the door.
A pleasant, almost musical, woman's voice came from the other side of the door, "Well, don't you sound just like a big ball of happy fuzzy in there." Three more bangs came.
"There is nothing of value in here. Move on."
"I wish I could, hon, but there is something of value that I need out of this dump." She said with emphasis on 'value'.
Michael's head cocked to one side, "And what would that be?"
"Oh, just an archangel that goes by the name of Michael, that's all."
In a split second, Michael was at the door jerking it open to find a woman leaning against the door jamb, picking at her fingernails with a blade. As he took a moment to take in the sight of her, she stared back at him with chocolate-brown eyes that told him she was no eightball, but a human. The mystery woman's head came to just under Michael's chin. Short brunette hair with longer bangs framed a well tanned face. Worn blue jeans on shapely legs were crisscrossed with gun and blade holsters. Her old brown leather jacket allowed a peek of another gun.
He grabbed the hand with the knife and pinned it against the building, pulling his own blade to her throat. Leaning in close to her face, "Who are you and how did you find me?"
She gave him a sad half-smile that revealed the start of dimple on her round pixie-like face. Her hand lightly touched the side of his dirty face and she whispered, "You led me here. I've felt your pain since I left Louisiana."
As his grip loosened on her wrist, Michael's normally stone face gave away to confusion. "I do not understand. Who are you? Who sent you?"
"Don't play stupid, Michael. It's not becoming of you. You can guess who sent me." She said as she quickly maneuvered herself out of Michael's reach. "My name is Lex and I'm a prophet." She walked through the front door and said over her shoulder, "He sent me to you whether I wanted to come or not."