Chosen: A Spiritual Battle of Epic Proportions

By Edward R. Murphy

Spiritual War is on the doorstep...

Reggie, an Arizona native, is a photographer taking pictures far from his home in the Navajo Reservation. His path becomes intertwined with that of Joshua, a strange man that walks out of the hot sand not far from the John the Baptist Mountains.

Joshua, having supernatural powers, can read minds and manipulate people and his surroundings. Eventually, he compels Reggie to take him on a journey over 200 miles to Apache Junction...

Henry, an unsavory gas station owner, is faced with a supernatural being of his own. The second stranger calls himself Lucas, and he makes no secret of his intentions. Soon, Henry is forced to follow Lucas in his quest to kill Reggie, Joshua, and anyone else that stands in the way.

As they trek across the state, Henry's unwillingness to comply with Lucas' demands slowly becomes more evident. They square off against multiple enemies that will give their lives to protect Reggie...

With every passing mile, the stakes only get higher for Reggie and Henry. Both come to realize that Joshua and Lucas are more powerful than they could have ever imagined. Both are faced with choices that speed them along on a path of destruction. It is a path that ultimately leads them toward a battle of supernatural forces.

Angels and Demons will face off in a raging war that could decide the fate of mankind.

Who will be Chosen?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Edward R. Murphy
• Release date: Feb 15, 2012
• ISBN: 9781465847171

Edward R. Murphy

Edward R. Murphy began writing at the age of seventeen. As he matured and his style evolved, he developed a unique skill for writing in multiple genres. Edward R. Murphy has a B.A. in Social Science and is currently pursuing a Masters in Professional Counseling. He was born in Fort Payne, Alabama, and moved to Texas in his early teens. Edward is a father of five and resides in Louisiana with his wife and family.

Book preview

Chosen

A Spiritual Battle of Epic Proportion

Written By

Edward R. Murphy

This is a work of fiction. The events and characters described herein are imaginary and are not intended to refer to specific places or living persons. The opinions expressed in this manuscript are solely the opinions of the author and do not represent the opinions or thoughts of the publisher. The author has represented and warranted full ownership and/or legal right to publish all the materials in this book.

Chosen

A Spiritual Battle Of Epic Proportions

By Edward R. Murphy

All Rights Reserved.

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2011 Edward R. Murphy

v2.0

Cover Photo © 2011 JupiterImages Corporation. All rights reserved - used with permission.

This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the express written consent of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Dedication:

Special thanks to my wife Michelle. You are my everything.

Chapter 1

He came in like the wind. Appeared in the shimmering heat waves off the burning Arizona sand. His bare feet sliding into it. The mid-day sun was scorching, but it was only warm on his bare skin. No clothes were draped over his thin frame. No hat sat atop his head to protect it. Yet, he walked with purpose. His dark blue eyes never wavered from his path.

In the distance, north east of the John the Baptist Mountains, he could see his destination. It was a small service station across the highway…

***

Inside the station was an Indian man named Reggie Ironhorse. He was a large man with golden brown skin. His 6’3 frame was packed with well-defined muscle. He was a photographer that had dreams and ambitions. One day he hoped to touch the masses with his pictures. Hopefully, in the process, he would gain fame and fortune. Maybe, the emptiness in his heart would be filled. Maybe, he would even feel comfortable in his own brown skin.

Reggie felt that his people appeared weak. He told everyone outside the Reservation that he was Apache. The Apache were cousins, but they were a tribe with a reputation for being strong and ruthless. He liked the idea of being looked at as a great warrior. Navajo was Reggie’s real heritage. And despite his perceived affliction, he lived in the southern border of the Navajo Reservation.

Once a month, in the summer, he liked to travel down past phoenix to the edge of the Sonoran desert and take pictures, usually toward Yuma and the Fortuna Foothills. If enough rain fell, the area would be beautiful and full of wildlife.

This time, he had traveled farther south into the Organ pipe National Monument. A friend had suggested he give the area a look. It had paid off. The photos he had taken were incredible. The scarred landscape and wildlife were a tribute to the wonderful creation of The Great Spirit. Both the artistic design of life and the balance between good and evil were in perfect order.

Reggie was almost distraught that the trip was over. There was a twinge of sadness at the reality of going home.

One last stop at this station for gas and a drink, and he would be forced to watch from the road, as it all faded into his familiar surroundings.

The man behind the counter was short, overweight, and white. His bald head had beads of sweat popping out in the failing air conditioner.

Reggie placed two bottles of water on the counter and laid a credit card down.

I’ll be back in a minute, gonna get some gas, he said.

The man behind the counter gave him a squint-eyed stare from small narrow eyes and nodded. He dabbed the sweat from his forehead with a stained hand towel.

Reggie walked back to his Jeep. It was hot, but it would get hotter. He wiped the sweat from his face with his large hand and pulled the gas nozzle out of its cradle.

His brown eyes peered out over the deserted highway. His free hand was up, blocking the sun. Reggie knew he was somewhere between why and Ajo on Highway 85.

As he gazed out across the sand, scrubs, and cacti, he noticed a figure moving in the heat waves. He eased his grip on the squeeze handle, returned the nozzle, and walked out to the edge of the road.

He shook his head and answered his own question out loud; No way that’s a man.

Yet while he watched with an unshakable stare, he realized it was indeed a man. The man was unclothed and appeared to be in no hurry to cross the scorching ground.

Reggie went back to his Jeep and pulled his sunglasses from the visor. He positioned them on his face and returned to his previous location, watching with amazement.

The man was closer now and almost to the edge of the road.

Are you okay? Reggie called out. There was no response.

When the man crossed the highway, Reggie noticed that he looked familiar, but he was sure that he had never seen him before.

The man was bleeding from all the scratches on his body, and his feet were torn up badly. He crossed the highway and walked right up to face Reggie, who was stunned beyond belief.

Reggie, the man spoke, I will require some clothes.

You ain’t lyin’, man. Reggie laughed. The guy must be high on peyote or something. A look of wonder broke over Reggie’s face. wait, how did you know my name? he asked.

I will also require water and food, if I am to sustain this body long enough to help you, the man added.

Help me? Reggie half laughed. Listen, let’s get you inside, and you can cool off. we can try to put something on your cuts. You want me to call someone?

The man ignored the question and started walking toward the station, his feet leaving crimson footprints on the concrete.

Reggie followed him, stopped at his Jeep, and snatched a bag from the back floorboard. He reached in and retrieved a first aid kit from the passenger seat. when he looked up, he saw that the man was almost to the building. Reggie jogged up ahead of him and opened the door.

As soon as the man behind the counter saw the unclothed man entering his store, he raised his hand and said, No way. Get this guy out of here.

Reggie said, wait, he’s been lost in the desert. He’s hurt and needs water. I have clothes in my bag for him, and I’ll buy the water. Just give us a minute, and let the guy cool off. A quick thought about the failing air conditioner and the luke warm water in the cooler flashed through his mind.

I don’t give a crap, the bald man behind the counter said. Look, I’m not asking you to leave. I’m telling you. He reached under the counter and pulled out a Remington twelve-gauge shotgun. The beads of sweat on his forehead turned into streams down his puffy face.

Wait. wait, Reggie pleaded. His hands were clutching the bag and the first aid kit, but he raised them in a submissive way. He was backing up, until he caught sight of the credit card lying close to the register. Okay, we’re going. Just give me my card, and we’re gone. His hands were coming down as he walked forward, closer to the bald man.

The unclothed man extended his hand toward the shotgun and said, Henry, lower the gun.

Instantly, Henry let the Remington drop to his side. The unclothed man spoke another word. Peace.

Henry turned around and walked to a chair in the corner of the room. He sat down, gun in hand, and stared into nothingness.

The