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In the early morning hours of December 13, 2015, another victim of a deranged serial killer is murdered. 114 kilometers away, an chronic alcoholic's failed suicide attempt leaves him strapped to a hospital bed. 5 years later, with his life once again in turmoil, the man finds himself thrust into a mystery and a race against time to find a childhood friend's missing daughter. Amidst premonitions, visions, and questions of faith, this good versus evil battle may deliver the answers he's searched for his entire life. Releasing new chapters Tuesdays and Fridays beginning August 30, 2022.

Mystery / Thriller
David Sales
Age Rating:

The Chosen

December 13, 2015. 3:13am.

Invisible in the stale underground room, the dark figure sat waiting with patient calm, knowing tonight was the true beginning of something much bigger than a single death or one rebirth.

The faceless, hooded reaper comes for everyone, but only God knows for who, when, and why.

A silent witness to centuries of ominous beginnings and vicious ends, his role meant little to the ultimate outcome. Battles between angelic good and demonic evil have raged on in countless unseen wars since God cast Lucifer from heaven. His purpose, as always, was to guide one home and reject another. In these conflicts, the human actions of unknown participants selected by the divine masters of the light and the dark decide the winners and losers.

Names, ages, and faith never matter.

Tonight, as the passage moment drew near, he ignored the horror and watched her, awaiting the separation of mortal vessel and cleansed spirit. Only then would the journey begin.

In the mystical in-between, the chosen and rejected pass through each other, their souls forever intermingled. While one fights on, the other watches from the gentle heavens.

The choice was made, and he waited.

The frail girl felt nothing as her blood, dark and red, inched through the clear tube, reached the open tip, and crawled into the rusted drain. She hadn’t expected to watch herself die, but in the warm opiate haze, she was rapt, lost in curious anticipation.

While death crept toward her in slow, plodding steps, fear retreated into the darkness, and she welcomed its odd, comforting freedom.

Freedom from abuse-rooted emotional pain, freedom from crushing remorse, and freedom from her evil captor — the strange man she tried so hard to please for seeming endless days, weeks, and months.

As the dying often do, she visited her intimate regrets and explored each poor decision leading her to this horrific place, praying to an unloving god who abandoned her long ago.

Yet, even in her last quiet moments, far removed from reasons for faith… she prayed.

Her captivating green eyes dulled as her brief life disappeared into the open basement sewer, but deep inside, glowing embers of a fresh hope ignited. She hoped for eternal peace and a promised end to the perpetual, lifelong pain.

She wished too, for unconditional love and a complete acceptance never once experienced in 18 tumultuous years.

Even if no god or heaven existed, perhaps she would find peace in nothingness. Nothing would be better than her life of constant betrayal.

From accidental beginning to violent end, brutal betrayals wrapped in heartless abandonment filled her life. Hours of lonely contemplation, waiting for this night, had brought some hard acceptance and soft forgiveness.

She knew she never had a chance.

A desperate mother, broken by her own unacknowledged childhood trauma, resented her. An alcoholic father, too young and angry for such a role, disappeared on her fourth birthday. Years of random men followed. Some cloaked in respectable, fake lives and others more open with their inherent evil, streamed through her mother’s life and bedroom — often visiting hers as well.

While this regular, hellish infliction of emotional and physical pain continued throughout childhood, the deepest cuts came from being unprotected, unheard, and disbelieved.

Never believed by another human being fostered a complete aloneness.

The resulting loneliness filled her life and left her drowning in a deep hole of black emptiness. Trapped inside it, the once innocent girl, her sweet dreams ripped away and replaced with horrific adult nightmares, sought to fill the lonely pit with drugs and alcohol.

Scapegoated as the problem, by 14 she became the wicked one, the crazy little bitch, the depraved addict and hopeless alcoholic. She believed them. As an evil disease infecting them all, she learned to play her designated part.

It was easier that way.

Family members, teachers, doctors, psychologists, psychiatrists, social workers, police officers, and an inept social system failed to follow the obvious breadcrumbs she dropped along her path to self-destruction.

Nobody listened.

Misdiagnosed as bipolar, prescribed improper medications, and sent to live with ailing grandparents, her teen life became a continuous carousel ride through psychiatric facilities, youth detention centers, and abusive foster homes. Later, long nights with predatory strangers followed. These uncaring men offered her what she needed in return for the only thing she could ever provide.

Tonight, the drugs dripping into her veins, administered only to ensure her docile obedience, provided the most humane minutes of her short, chaotic life.

Her painless death was a merciful gift from an otherwise merciless man.

With a last slight move of her head, she watched the blurry outline of her meticulous killer preparing and organizing his sharpened tools. She was prepared, too, knowing this night would come.

It came for all of them.

Trapped and caged, she had attempted survival by meeting her captor’s impossible demands.

Impossible or not... she tried.

Like countless others, she would die for her failure to be perfect. She wasn’t the first lost, cast-away girl paying the ultimate price for disappointing him. She was just another unfortunate victim, incapable of fulfilling a lifelong, abominable fantasy of a sick monster attempting to fill his own bitter emptiness.

He demanded perfection and despite the absolute madness of his fantastical, impossible expectations, she endeavored to be… perfect.

Perfect for him.

In her final few moments, Paula Anne Crenshaw realized the twisted irony. In a strange, confusing way, she loved the wicked man about to cut her into pieces.

She loved him because she understood him. He was her — she was him, their unique generational traumas and child abuse, bleeding pain over others.

A pair of floundering humans in an ocean of societal sickness, their meeting was a fitting destiny. But, unfortunately for the dying girl, he possessed something she never did: power, protection, and opportunity.

Like the Angel of Death, now floating above her and preparing to take one life while rejecting another, fate seemed indiscriminate.

As the precise, skillful butchering of her thin, pale body began, forgiveness replaced the tired, angry blood once pumping through her broken heart, returning her damaged soul to innocence.

She was going home and her last words, a mumbled whisper, brushed her killer’s ears.

“Thank you.”

Free from the cold table, she floated toward a pastel hued light glowing at the orange tunnel’s end. A dark figure held her hand, placing her on the cloudy surface.

“You must walk from here.”

The voice was gentle upon her ears.

With each step, she changed as she became younger, lighter, and happier.

Ahead, a battered, bloodied man approached, stopping her. Staggering from left to right, his head down and eyes red with gray tinged tears, he was changing, too.

“Keep moving, child,” the voice said.

He passed through her like a sorrowful wet cloud and his confused fear and bitter disappointment tingled her heightened senses. As she took what she could, she offered the best of herself. Her last mortal gift.

Where she was going, he couldn’t go.

The girl turned back, and the words came from a part of her she didn’t know.

“It’s going to be okay,” she said.

“Nothing is okay.”

His voice, cracked and shaking, faded and the weeping man kept walking, disappearing into the building, swirling fog.

She heard sweet singing ahead. Her feet, light and alive, carried her into a golden field of dancing timothy grass. Transformed, the beautiful, green-eyed little girl ran toward the outstretched wings of comforting angels. Wrapped in them, Paula experienced the pure, absolute love she always deserved.

She was free.

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Hakuna_Matata_ARMY: Por Que No Hay Lemon Con Personajes Así De Perfectos :(

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María Del Carmen: Buena redacción, signos bien colocados que hacen fácil la lectura y comprensión

Viola.: Tolles Buch 👍😄

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