THE KILLER ANGEL: Book Two "Legend" (THE KILLER ANGEL TRILOGY 2) by Myles Stafford
Authors: Myles Stafford
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indeed, reminding me of great times with my own sisters, Scottie and Tara.
“They loved your show,” Confided Madeline at one point. “So did Marsha and I. You are so much like what I hoped you would be, Nicki. Your television wit and delivery gave me strength and confidence in some hard times. You just don’t know. We are so very proud and happy to have you here. We will never forget you!” She said with tears in her eyes.
It made me proud, too.
I ended up staying the night in their comfortable home, a guest of honor. I was up very late with the kids, enjoying one of the simplest, greatest pleasures of all - watching a Barbie movie on a battery operated DVD player. I even experienced the long overdue joy of having my nails painted, compliments of Scout and Tara. Ben was treated with equal kindness, and enjoyed the best that the Kincaids’ had to offer. We were both in heaven, even if only temporarily.
Excerpt
“The Transformative Moment”
by Reverend Alexander Carlisle
(Excerpted with permission from “Reformed”)
All my life I was on the wrong side of things, and thought nothing of it. Although not a leader, my lack of compassion for the suffering of others made me valuable to those who craved power, a tool to serve sadistic needs. I deserved every bad thing that resulted from my lack of humanity - every sickness, every loss and every injury, to include being bound forever to a wheelchair.
I remember that
one
day - that one critical moment - the most important and transformative of my entire existence. Sadists, abusers, psychopaths, and sociopaths, we all thought that we were invincible; that there would be no reckoning. We were strong and could do anything to anyone without penalty. Not one soul withstood our wicked might...until
she
came.
On a dark night of hedonistic savagery it all ended.A river of booze and a stockpile of heroine kept us numb as we laughed and tormented fresh captives. What a band of stupid, evil fools we were.
The debauchery ended that misty evening in an explosion of deadly gunfire. Even in our narcotic haze we knew someone or something new was upon us; lead missiles rained silently upon us with great speed and laser accuracy. I recall a slight pneumatic puffing noise as my comrades fell all around me from that unseen foe. In an eyeblink I became the cripple I am today.
The attack was carefully planned and precisely executed. As I look back now, I know that even had we been fully alert and sober, it would have made no difference in the outcome.
Then there was stillness.
Then there was silence.
In the quiet calm, no one remained standing. A slowly descending fog hindered vision, creating an eerie effect on an already morbid scene. The recently dead lay everywhere. I was incapacitated and could feel wetness on my back - it was blood. One rifle bullet nicked my spinal cord, nearly severing it as the round smashed through, a second slug crushed the bone in my right shoulder. I called out weekly for help, but no one lived to respond.
It was so quiet...I waited...alone.
Then - suddenly -
she
was there.
I recognized her immediately. The “Killer Angel” herself - a goddess, a queen, an avenger; granting no mercy, and asking for none in return. My mind reeled ather glorious image, a pistol in each hand. She moved fast, much faster than I had imagined, with steady, focused purpose, eyes scanning, anger in her expression. The
reaper’s
eyes locked onto mine, briefly, a pistol aimed at my heart - it was an assessment -
“should he live or not?”
. She shook her head in disapproval and disgust, barely slowing her gait during the encounter.
I felt deep shame in her gaze. I was taken by her beauty; her calm; her power.
Then the
angry angel
was gone. That was it. I was nothing to her; not worthy of even a single word from those beautiful lips...
and that thought cut deep
. But she let me live. In spite of intense pain and mental fog, my mind exploded with new comprehension, a
“They loved your show,” Confided Madeline at one point. “So did Marsha and I. You are so much like what I hoped you would be, Nicki. Your television wit and delivery gave me strength and confidence in some hard times. You just don’t know. We are so very proud and happy to have you here. We will never forget you!” She said with tears in her eyes.
It made me proud, too.
I ended up staying the night in their comfortable home, a guest of honor. I was up very late with the kids, enjoying one of the simplest, greatest pleasures of all - watching a Barbie movie on a battery operated DVD player. I even experienced the long overdue joy of having my nails painted, compliments of Scout and Tara. Ben was treated with equal kindness, and enjoyed the best that the Kincaids’ had to offer. We were both in heaven, even if only temporarily.
Excerpt
“The Transformative Moment”
by Reverend Alexander Carlisle
(Excerpted with permission from “Reformed”)
All my life I was on the wrong side of things, and thought nothing of it. Although not a leader, my lack of compassion for the suffering of others made me valuable to those who craved power, a tool to serve sadistic needs. I deserved every bad thing that resulted from my lack of humanity - every sickness, every loss and every injury, to include being bound forever to a wheelchair.
I remember that
one
day - that one critical moment - the most important and transformative of my entire existence. Sadists, abusers, psychopaths, and sociopaths, we all thought that we were invincible; that there would be no reckoning. We were strong and could do anything to anyone without penalty. Not one soul withstood our wicked might...until
she
came.
On a dark night of hedonistic savagery it all ended.A river of booze and a stockpile of heroine kept us numb as we laughed and tormented fresh captives. What a band of stupid, evil fools we were.
The debauchery ended that misty evening in an explosion of deadly gunfire. Even in our narcotic haze we knew someone or something new was upon us; lead missiles rained silently upon us with great speed and laser accuracy. I recall a slight pneumatic puffing noise as my comrades fell all around me from that unseen foe. In an eyeblink I became the cripple I am today.
The attack was carefully planned and precisely executed. As I look back now, I know that even had we been fully alert and sober, it would have made no difference in the outcome.
Then there was stillness.
Then there was silence.
In the quiet calm, no one remained standing. A slowly descending fog hindered vision, creating an eerie effect on an already morbid scene. The recently dead lay everywhere. I was incapacitated and could feel wetness on my back - it was blood. One rifle bullet nicked my spinal cord, nearly severing it as the round smashed through, a second slug crushed the bone in my right shoulder. I called out weekly for help, but no one lived to respond.
It was so quiet...I waited...alone.
Then - suddenly -
she
was there.
I recognized her immediately. The “Killer Angel” herself - a goddess, a queen, an avenger; granting no mercy, and asking for none in return. My mind reeled ather glorious image, a pistol in each hand. She moved fast, much faster than I had imagined, with steady, focused purpose, eyes scanning, anger in her expression. The
reaper’s
eyes locked onto mine, briefly, a pistol aimed at my heart - it was an assessment -
“should he live or not?”
. She shook her head in disapproval and disgust, barely slowing her gait during the encounter.
I felt deep shame in her gaze. I was taken by her beauty; her calm; her power.
Then the
angry angel
was gone. That was it. I was nothing to her; not worthy of even a single word from those beautiful lips...
and that thought cut deep
. But she let me live. In spite of intense pain and mental fog, my mind exploded with new comprehension, a
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