Shadowland: The Resurrectionists, #2

By Suzanne D. Williams

This story continues from Book 1. You will need to read them in order, for the plot to make sense. It carries over into Book 3.

 

Josiah Crews is doing well at his new job in his new town until, late one night, a man in a hoodie stabs him in the chest. It seems what sent him running from the city has caught up with him again, and this time, they want him dead.

 

Veronica Murphy misses her old neighbor, Joe, but must move on, at the least, for her teenage daughter's sake. When city policeman, Matt Dennihey, shows up unannounced, sparks fly. He's younger than her but why should that matter?

 

Plus, his friendship has come at a good time. Finding her daughter with an unknown cell phone, who better to locate where it came from? Except nothing is as simple as it seems, and the danger to them all growing stronger by the day.

 

Book 2 of The Resurrectionists by author, SUZANNE D. WILLIAMS.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Suzanne D. Williams
• Release date: Jan 16, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201813888

Suzanne D. Williams

Best-selling author, Suzanne D. Williams, is a native Floridian, wife, mother, and photographer. She is the author of both nonfiction and fiction books. She writes a monthly column for Steves-Digicams.com on the subject of digital photography, as well as devotionals and instructional articles for various blogs. She also does graphic design for self-publishing authors. She is co-founder of THE EDGE. To learn more about what she’s doing and check out her extensive catalogue of stories, visit http://suzanne-williams-photography.blogspot.com/ or link with her on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/suzannedwilliamsauthor.

Book preview

SUZANNE D. WILLIAMS

© 2019 Shadowland (The Resurrectionists) Book 2

by Suzanne D. Williams

www.feelgoodromance.com

Books in this series:

Graverobber

Shadowland

Godpleaser

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission from the publisher.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.

(GW) GOD’S WORD Translation Copyright © 1995 by God's Word to the Nations. Used by permission of God's Word Mission Society.

So we are always confident. We know that as long as we are living in these bodies, we are living away from the Lord. Indeed, our lives are guided by faith, not by sight. (2Co 5:6-7 GW)

We believe in the existence of objects which are invisible, and we are influenced by them. To walk by faith, is to live in the confident expectation of things that are to come; in the belief of the existence of unseen realities; and suffering them to influence us as if they were seen...God is unseen - but the Christian lives, and thinks, and acts as if there were a God, and as if he saw him. Christ is unseen now by the bodily eye; but the Christian lives and acts as if he were seen, that is, as if his eye were known to be upon us, and as if he was now exalted to heaven and was the only Saviour. The Holy Spirit is unseen; but he lives, and acts as if there were such a Spirit, and as if his influences were needful to renew, and purify the soul. Heaven is unseen; but the Christian lives, and thinks, and acts as if there were a heaven, and as if he now saw its glories. He has confidence in these, and in kindred truths, and he acts as if they were real. (Albert Barnes’ Commentary, 2Co 5:7, e-sword.net)

CHAPTER 1

He’d taken well to life in the burbs, the Monday through Friday work schedule with weekends to himself. For the most part. On occasion, he had to check in at the bookstore, but his job there was menial, sorting and stacking, working the cash register.

He liked having transportation but missed walking. In the city, he’d gotten far more exercise. Worried about gaining weight, he’d joined a gym. He’d made a few friends there, believers and non-believers, careful to shine the light of faith on the latter and not get into any inappropriate relationships, as the Scripture cautioned.

He attended chapter meetings regularly, studied the Word, and heard the voice of God clearer than he had in a couple years.

Removing the key from the lock, Josiah Crews double-checked the door and, finding it secure, headed across the parking lot to his car. He’d bought an energy-efficient model, despite a hankering for a sportier number that appealed to his flesh. He would’ve looked good in it and enjoyed driving with the top down. For what purpose? Better to drive something that’d save money than to think of himself bigger than he ought.

He knew differently, anyway. He’d fallen just about as low as he could until six months ago when his father-in-law had done an unspeakable act. Thinking of it, his thoughts turned, once again, to Veronica Murray, his former next-door neighbor. His heart beat a little bit harder, and he raised one hand, flattening it on his chest.

He’d hated leaving her behind but found it necessary for her safety and his spiritual growth. She’d become firm in his thinking since then. He missed her smiles. Missed her teenage daughter, Aleesa, too, which he couldn’t fully explain past a fatherly need to guide her through the trials of youth.

Pounding footsteps stopped him in place, and he turned toward the sound in time to see a man in a black hoodie, his face hidden by evening shadows. Not speaking, the man pulled an object from his pocket and plunged it forward.

The slice of the knife, pain radiating from the new wound, sent him reeling backward. The man pulled it out and dug in again, doubling his agony. The earth tilted, his legs buckled, and Josiah crumpled to the ground. His head knocked against the solid surface, his lungs tightening.

Passing headlights sent the perpetrator scampering, asphalt gravel spitting from his heels, and the darkness of the area closed in. Death suspended overhead, as it had more and more recently. Not death like this, certain and sure, but the fingers of death, the outcroppings which stained this shadowland. Depression. Disease. Disaster. Products of death given only a blink of time to work, to steal and take from those who could live free of it. A temporary existence holding sway with an eternal one.

He dug for strength to reach his cell phone, tucked tight in his front pocket. Blood-smeared fingerprints on the screen, he dialed 9-1-1. He heard the operator but couldn’t respond.

We’re sending help, she said.

His gaze on the sky, he noticed the stars. Had he ever done that before, stopped and looked up? Noticed the magnificence of God’s grand design. Marveled at the power that could create something out of nothing, sky and land, mountains and valleys, oceans, and all manner of creatures. Yet still reach down and breathe His spirit into man, know the hairs on his head, the thoughts he hadn’t spoken. Forgive the ones he had.

Coldness seeped into him, a chill he wished to shake but couldn’t. It hardened his limbs, tensed his muscles, compressed his chest. Air was harder to capture, and life slowly slipping through his grasp.

Mary? Is that you? Josiah asked.

He strained to see her, tried to reach for her, but couldn’t lift his hand, and the vision of her floated higher.

Meant to say ... I’m sorry. His voice cracked, words being hard to form. Mary?

When had it turned so dark? He strained to see, but she was gone, taking the sky with her.

Around him hissed a thousand voices, Save yourself. Save yourself. Save yourself.

But it didn’t work that way. Salvation came only through God’s grace, through one planned act, given undeserved thousands of years ago. Man, without Christ, was fragile. Work one hundred years for salvation, and you’d never get closer to heaven than by simple repentance and confession of faith.

Rescue came by trusting in what you could not see.

He gasped, indescribable splendor radiating through his vision. Drawn toward it, he stood and in standing, saw himself lying inert. The scar on his neck, three days stubble on his chin, a hole in his jacket, oozing blood. He saw his physicality while rising toward the light and watched the earth shrink, the bookstore, the state, the dome of the sky, all become miniscule.

He inhaled his freedom, embraced joy, death swallowed up in victory.

Mr. Crews? I’m Dr. Murray.

Josiah blinked upward into the face of a slender man with perfect hair. Crisp blond, like a man shouldn’t have unless it came from a bottle, and not one strand out of place.

We almost lost you, he said, flashing an equally perfect smile. I’m glad to see you back.

How much had he paid for that? Josiah’s throat ached. He reached for the tube between his lips.

Dr. Murray stopped him, pulling his hand away. We’ll get that out, he said, but you have to let us do it. He motioned to the side, and a nurse appeared. Let’s remove it. Call Randi.

A second nurse came into the room, a shapely brunette. Each nurse stood on either side of the bed, one gripping his shoulders, the other, the tube.

This will be uncomfortable, the doctor said. Exhale on the count of three.

The tube removed, seconds later, Josiah coughed, which only made his throat hurt that much worse. The brunette lowered him back in the bed, and gripping the wrinkled sheets, he stared past her, past the doctor, at the hospital room. White walls, white ceiling, and a TV, hung high.

It’ll take some time for the discomfort to ease, Dr. Murray said. I wouldn’t try to talk ... or move around too much. You were severely wounded.

Wounded? Josiah glanced downward. Teal cotton dotted with cartoon kittens stretched across his abdomen, the straps of the hospital gown, knotted behind his back where they dug into his spine.

A police officer wants to speak with you, but I’d restrict your answers to what you can write or gesture. The doctor shuffled in reverse. I’ll check in on you in an hour.

He turned on one heel and exited the room, the nurses escaping in his wake.

A moment later, a uniformed officer paced up to the bed. He’d been around a while, worn the badge, ate the donuts. Lots of donuts. His accoutrements, belt, weapons, badge, and such made him look even more rotund, and his breaths whistled.

Your name is Josiah Crews? he asked. I’m Officer Trask. Do you know why you’re here? I understand you can’t talk right now, so a nod will suffice.

Josiah shook his head. And winced. He was here because apparently something awful had happened, though he couldn’t remember what.

You were stabbed in the parking lot of the Eastwick Towne Bookstore. Do you remember that?

He’d been stabbed? A picture flashed in his mind, a man in a hoodie holding a knife.

He must’ve looked like he’d recalled something because the officer reframed his question. Do you think you could describe the man who did this?

Josiah furrowed his brow. Average height. No face. A long knife. He shook his head and exhaled. Nothing that helped.

The officer sighed as best he could, given his weight. Well, we’ll be back in touch with you. Never fear, we’ll catch the man who did this. The officer’s radio blasted, voices muttering, and he gripped it, responding in code. He strode from the room, his pants legs rustling.

Things fell silent.

Murray. Dr. Perfect was Veronica’s ex. Josiah’s gaze widened. Her ex