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CHRONICLES OF THE SECOND REALM
BROTHERHOOD OF EXORCISTS
CURTIS REID EDGETT
Chronicles of the Second Realm
©2016 by Reid Edgett
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.
Published by Clovercroft Publishing, Franklin, Tennessee
Published in association with Larry Carpenter of Christian Book Services, LLC of Franklin, Tennessee
Edited by Christy Callahan
Cover Design and Interior Layout Design by Suzanne Lawing
ISBN: 978-1-942557-53-1
Printed in the United States of America
I would like to dedicate this book to my loving wife. With all the frustration we went through with my spelling and grammar, I want you to know that I appreciate every moment that you spent working on the book. Tub I tsum od gnihtemos lufyalp sjut ot yonna uoy. Ha ha ha.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I’d like to thank my parents, Curt and Cindy Edgett, for always encouraging me to follow my dreams even when it got difficult. I love you both, and I appreciate everything you have done for me.
Also, I’d like to thank my best friend, Christian McDonald, for giving me great ideas for my characters. Without you in my life, I wouldn’t have been able to come up with some of my characters’ personalities, like a loud-mouthed, spastic Tyler.
A special thank-you to everyone who read this book and gave me constructive feedback: Debbie Mengloi, Connor Brock, Traci Cory, and Andrea Arnold.
And finally, to my brothers, Brandon and Keith, and my sister, Thayse; you guys really didn’t do anything, but I thought I’d mention you anyways.
“THE TRUE SIGN OF INTELLIGENCE IS NOT KNOWLEDGE BUT IMAGINATION.”
—ALBERT EINSTEIN
PROLOGUE
Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. The sound of a fading heartbeat, another soul about to leave this earth. In the middle of a dimly lit sidewalk in Edgefield, South Carolina, was a body sprawled out on the sidewalk. A man’s face was lying on its side against the cold, hard pavement. His body was unable to move. Air was no longer reaching his lungs, and he began gasping for air. He didn’t look a day over twenty-five. He had a well-built body and thick, black hair and was dressed in a blue button-down shirt, black slacks, and dress shoes. The three bullet holes in his back were pulsing with blood that dripped down his sides. A crimson pool surrounded his body.
“Hee-hee!” The child giggled. “Higher, Daddy! Higher!”
“Earlier that day the man was pushing his son on the swings at the local park. The park just so happened to be right across the street from his work place. His wife and son would often visit him while he was on lunch break, affording them time together in the middle of the day. When he got home, his wife asked him to run and get some groceries from the store right down the block. Before he left to run the errand, he went upstairs to say good night to his son.
He walked into the room to find his son with the bed sheets pulled up tight to his face with eyes just peeking over.
“Daddy, I saw a monster under my bed!” the boy exclaimed. He checked under the bed, for his son’s peace of mind, only to find nothing there. “I must have scared it,” the man said to his son, “but I’ll make sure he never comes back.”
He picked up a teddy bear and handed it to his son. “This is Mr. Fluffanutter; he’s here to protect you. If you ever get scared, just hug Mr. Fluffanutter really tight and he’ll get rid of the monsters. OK?”
“Uh-huh,” the boy responded.
“Good night, son.”
The man kissed his son on the head, walked out, and closed the door behind him. He headed out the front door of the apartment building and down the street to the local convenience store. They lived in a small town where the crime was almost nonexistent and the people were average, middle-class Americans. To have someone caught up in a drive-by shooting was unheard of in Edgefield, South Carolina. The news reported that the intended target of the shooting was a teenage male who had recently left his gang and made off with huge amounts of drug money. A couple of members from the gang had been searching for him and finally found him. They tailed him to the local convenience store around nine o’clock at night and waited for him. He walked out of the store, Yoohoo in hand, without knowing that he was being followed.
There was another man exiting the very same convenience store, his hands full of groceries, walking in the same direction as the teen. A Jeep rolled up alongside the man, just out of sight of the kid. Guns were raised and pointed at the teenager. Without a second thought, the man behind him dropped his bags and rushed up to the boy. He shoved the kid down a narrow alleyway as bullets began to fly. However, in an attempt to rescue the kid, the Good Samaritan got caught in the crossfire. A few moments later, the shop clerk ran out and started popping off shotgun rounds at the Jeep. The Jeep sped off and out of range.
The victim of this unfortunate series of events was pronounced dead upon arrival. He was identified as Michael Adler. He was twenty-seven years old. He was survived by his wife, Lauren, and Owen, his five-year-old son. Now, the actual target of this attack managed to get away; but the car was later identified, and the attackers were apprehended by the Edgefield Police Department.
CHAPTER ONE
I was walking down the hallway, on the way to English class, lockers to the left and right. The other kids were making their way to class. You would think that the bright-yellow lockers, the nauseatingly bright-green walls, and wide-open area brimming with colorful plants would bring a sense of joy to everyone’s face who inhabited this stinkhole—but not really. Every kid looked just as dismal as the others around them. And the teachers here were kidding everyone, including themselves, that following your dreams and having hope for the future is possible. Most of the student body was stressed, trying to decide what they wanted to do with their future. Plans were being made, college acceptances were coming in, and I was just there. I merely existed.
I had been working at the local hardware store since I was fourteen. I had no plans for the future, no friends, no girlfriend; even my own family thought I was a freak. At least I had a ‘reason’ for all of this. When I was younger, I thought I saw a monster in my room. It was a shadowy creature with a menacing appearance. My parents thought I just had an overactive imagination, but I kept seeing things like this. My parents finally had enough and they took me to a psychiatrist, and I was diagnosed with schizophrenia. The doctor prescribed medication. Then, the visions started to go away. When the other parents found out about my disorder, most of them wouldn’t let their kids play with me.
In middle school, not much had changed;
