The Warrior Within

Ray David

Description

In this work of spiritual fiction, Richard and Rebekah Dempsey come face to face with the horrors of modern slavery.

When Rebekah Dempsey learns that she’s inherited her uncle’s house and farm in West Plains, Missouri, she’s confused. She only met Billy Bowden once, briefly at her mother’s funeral ten years ago. Rebekah and her husband, Richard, a retired preacher, travel from their home in Kentucky to the small parcel in southern Missouri to handle the estate.

But as the two explore the property and talk to neighbors and townfolk, there are more questions than answers. Rebekah and Richard eventually discover their new property harbors an air of darkness, something that dates back to a terrible time in American history.

In their pursuit, they cross paths with a modern organization that is amazingly structured and knows no limit to evil. Rebekah and Richard face the ultimate horror of modern slavery with faith and courage. In a worldwide chase, the two realize the true meaning of faith and family.

Sujets

• Religious
• Adventure (Guyana)
• Suspenso
• Mystery
• Human Trafficking
• Adventure
• Christian
• Suspense
• Fiction

Informations

• Publié par: WestBow Press
• Date de parution: 12 août 2022
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781664269972
• Langue: English

Extrait

THE WARRIOR WITHIN
 
 
 
 
DAVID RAY
 
 
 

 
Copyright © 2022 David Ray.
 
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
 
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
 
WestBow Press
A Division of Thomas Nelson & Zondervan
1663 Liberty Drive
Bloomington, IN 47403
www.westbowpress.com
844-714-3454
 
Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.
 
Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.
 
Scripture quotations taken from The Holy Bible, New International Version® NIV® Copyright © 1973 1978 1984 2011 by Biblica, Inc. TM. Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.
 
Scripture taken from the King James Version of the Bible.
 
ISBN: 978-1-6642-6996-5 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-6642-6998-9 (hc)
ISBN: 978-1-6642-6997-2 (e)
 
Library of Congress Control Number: 2022911595
 
WestBow Press rev. date: 08/02/2022
CONTENTS
Chapter 1Intruders
Chapter 2The Unexpected
Chapter 3The Mark Twain
Chapter 4Mint Spring
Chapter 5The Old Farm
Chapter 6Neighbors
Chapter 7The Double J
Chapter 8Circulo Dorado
Chapter 9Treasure
Chapter 10Almost Lost
Chapter 11Resolutions
Chapter 12Clear Streams
Chapter 13Timber
Chapter 14Patience
Chapter 15Transported
Chapter 16Hopelessness
Chapter 17Sand Dunes
Chapter 18Watching
Chapter 19The Wind
Chapter 20Parched Land
Chapter 21Shouts
Chapter 22Tears
Chapter 23Snow
Author’s Note
For my family: Kay, Josh, and Courtney
For my grandchildren: Benjamin, Shiloh, Micah, and Shelby
And for the wonderful people who worshipped with us over the years in the congregations we served
the carpenter picks up the saw
and walks toward me again.
i shudder and gasp, “why?
why is he torturing me like this?”
but then, after the blade has done its work,
i realize that in the hands of a master carpenter,
no piece of wood is safe,
from becoming a masterpiece.
—Steven James, Sailing Between the S tars
Answer me quickly, O Lord.
My spirit fails.
Do not hide your face from me
Or I will be like those who go down to the pit.
Let the morning bring me word of your unfailing love,
For I have put my trust in you.
Show me the way I should go,
For to you, I lift my soul.
Rescue me from my enemies, O, Lord,
For I hide myself in you.
—Psalm 143:7–9
CHAPTER 1 Intruders
W hat was that? I wasn’t sure what woke me. Was it our new puppy? I grabbed my phone and discovered that it was just after two o’clock in the morning. It seemed like forever as I remained still and listened. The house creaked. Goose, our new puppy, rolled over on her mat near the foot of our bed. I could hear her collar jiggle, but it was obvious she was still asleep. We had been given the black Lab mix almost two months ago from a friend, and like all puppies, she played hard and slept even harder.
I could hear Rebekah’s gentle breathing. She swore she didn’t snore, as did I, but she did, just very quietly, unlike myself. All seemed in order and at peace, but still I was awake. Something had awoken me. I had heard something. We had planned to drive over to Louisville for the weekend, but the weather forecast of strong winds and possible thunderstorms had made us decide at the last minute to cancel our trip.
Then I heard the noise again. The lock on our back door was being tinkered with. Had we left it unlocked? I continued to lie there listening. Perhaps it was just the wind; maybe the predicted storm had arrived early. No—somebody was attempting to come into our home. I slipped out of bed quietly, trying not to disturb either Rebekah or Goose.
Leading off from our bedroom was a large walk-in closet. On the top shelf was my Glock 19 in a locked case. As quietly as possible, I opened the case, grabbed a loaded clip, and snapped it into place. Then I barefooted my way down the hallway to the top of the stairs. Crouching down, I listened cautiously. The stairs emptied into the front entranceway. To the right was the kitchen and back door; to the left was the great room and fireplace. I heard the faint sound of a footstep. Somebody was inside the house.
A drawer in the kitchen slid open quietly as a dim light flickered from the kitchen area, probably a cell phone. I looked down at the weapon I was holding in the dark. Would I use it? Holding it tightly was one thing, but aiming at a real person and squeezing the trigger was quite another. If I continued down the stairs, I would be forced to make that decision. Did we even have anything in this house for which I was ready to kill in defense? I immediately thought about Rebekah asleep back in our bed; the answer was yes. I examined the Glock and continued to listen.
Another drawer opened. I heard a door slowly creak, perhaps to the pantry. I looked at my phone, which I was still holding. I contemplated calling 911, but that would require an audible voice, even if just a whisper. Such might be heard even from downstairs. I silently punched in the three digits, but I didn’t press call. I could hear my heart pounding. Maybe whoever it was would just leave.
Footsteps moved from the kitchen toward the great room, but then they hesitated. Whoever was down there was listening as well. Suddenly, our bedroom door burst open, and light spilled down the hallway. Rebekah leaned out from the bedroom and saw me crouching low at the top of the stairs.
She quietly whispered, “Richard, is something wrong?”
Almost immediately, Goose came charging past Rebekah and bounding toward me. She didn’t bark, but the sound of her galloping on the hardwood floor was loud enough to alert our whole neighborhood. Her puppy’s heart assumed it was time to play. I punched the call button.
I heard footsteps scurry across the kitchen floor and toward the back door. I also heard a man’s voice urge someone else to hurry. Both intruders scrambled out the back door. Goose and I quickly bounded down the stairs. I turned on every light switch that I passed. Just as I entered the kitchen, the 911 operator answered. I quickly gave her the address and explained that we had intruders in the house. She said that the police were on their way and asked if I was positive that no one else remained in our home.
The dispatcher’s experienced advice changed my plans. Instead of running out into the backyard to give chase, I conducted a sweep of every downstairs room. There was no one there, as I expected, but my heartbeat continued to pound wildly. Rebekah, wrapped in a white terry cloth robe, holding herself tightly, came down the stairs with a puzzled look on her face. Just as she noticed the Glock in my hand, the doorbell rang. It was the police. They had to have been in the neighborhood to have responded so quickly.
As the two officers stood in the doorway, they suggested that I put away my gun. I hadn’t realized that I was waving the Glock around frantically as I told them about the two people breaking into our home. I put the pistol down gently on the fireplace mantel, somewhat relieved that I hadn’t needed to pull the trigger.
One of the officers left to survey the outside area. The other officer started asking us questions. Goose was hyped from the excitement, but she obviously just wanted the officer to scratch behind her ears. He obliged her as he noticed the white mark on her chest, which resembled a flying goose against her jet-black fur—thus the explanation for her name. As he continued to investigate us, we heard the back door open. The other officer reentered, having completed his brief search of our property. He reported nothing out of the ordinary.
At the police’s urging, we surveyed the downstairs to determine if anything was missing. There didn’t seem to be anything out of place, much less gone. The one kitchen drawer that was left open was dusted for fingerprints, but only two sets of prints were found. They would most certainly be Rebekah’s and mine. The intruders had obviously worn gloves.
Finally, the police officer said, “This doesn’t seem to be a random burglary. The evidence, so far, indicates that the intruders were looking for something specific, not just any type of valuable. Do you have any idea what that might be? Is there anything in your past or present that might explain why you would be the target?”
Rebekah and I looked at each other but decided not to attempt to explain our unbelievable adventure of the past year. We shook our heads, but we both had reservations.
The back door key lock had been picked, as best as the police could tell, but the dead bolt must have been left unlocked. As the officers left, they reminded us to use the dead bolt and explained that we would be contacted by a police detective later in the day.
Standing on the back porch, watching Goose run off her puppy energy in the morning darkness, Rebe