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The Greatest Gift
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The Greatest Gift
Table of Contents
Praise for Michael John Sullivan’s Everybody’s Daughter:
A Note from the Author
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Also by Michael John Sullivan
Praise for Michael John Sullivan’s Everybody’s Daughter:
“I applaud Michael John Sullivan for bringing his beautiful story to life.”
– Eric Wilson, New York Times bestselling author of Fireproof
“A suspenseful page turner…. The novel is rich in its plot, sub-plots, characters who readers will long remember with a craving to read the next one.”
– Examiner.com
“The last time I remember talking about a book this much was after I read The Help.”
– Rainy Day Reviews
“This is a unique blend of Science Fiction and Biblical Historical Romantic Suspense Fiction, so there is bound to be something for just about every book lover’s genre!”
– Reviews from the Heart
“Part mystery, part suspense and filled with exciting time travel, this book kept me interested from beginning to end.”
– Just One More Paragraph
“I could not lay it down. I loved it!”
– My Favorite Things
To you, the reader, for allowing me inside your mind.
It has been a privilege to share my words with you during this trilogy.
I hope we meet again.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.
The Story Plant
Studio Digital CT, LLC
P.O. Box 4331
Stamford, CT 06907
Copyright © 2014 by Michael John Sullivan
Jacket design by Jeff Fielder
Print ISBN-13: 978-1-61188-157-8
E-book ISBN: 978-1-61188-158-5
Visit our website at www.TheStoryPlant.com
All rights reserved, which includes the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever except as provided by U.S. Copyright Law. For information, address The Story Plant.
First Story Plant paperback printing: October 2014
Printed in the United States of America
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A Note from the Author
Dear Reader,
Welcome to the third book of my trilogy, The Greatest Gift. Originally, I planned to write this novel under the title The Greatest Christmas. However, I realized halfway through writing the story, it was necessary to change it. The Greatest Gift properly allows each of the characters to find their destiny or not. The important conclusion is we each have our own choice in what path we take.
When I last left you, there was the wonderful ending to Everybody’s Daughter. Yes, miracles do take place in everyday life, no matter what century we are born in. We just have to recognize them. Before you there might stand a child ready to give you unconditional love in return for yours. Look above you – today there could be a beautiful, clear, blue sky. Take a moment to let the warm sun fill your body and soul with enough strength to persevere through a dreary day of challenges.
Where there is life, there is beauty. It is how I wanted Everybody’s Daughter to be remembered as I began to write the next book. I wanted each character to benefit from the ending of Everybody’s Daughter. There had to be a reason why this incredible moment was allowed to happen.
It also took the element of time travel to help us truly understand how alike we are with our ancestors from past centuries – whether we are spiritual or religious or young or old or believers or not. What we truly have in common is the desire to be loved and share our precious gift of time.
The Greatest Gift starts off shortly after the ending of Everybody’s Daughter. Michael and Elizabeth Stewart were given a great gift. It’s a chance for them to cleanse their pasts, to be grateful for the prized time of today, and to realize the future is only valuable if we have achieved the previous two goals.
I spent a lot of time changing significant plot points so I would be able to present a book that allows you, the reader, satisfaction that the characters are better off today than they were when we started with the series five years ago.
It was important to understand that each of us must confront the daily struggles of life and in the most inopportune moments, tragedy. How we move forward after we each encounter some of life’s cruelties truly paints our next portrait.
I thank you for being a part of this series. I’m already at work on my next novel, The Second World.
Always remember, all works of art are connected to each other.
Thanks always for connecting with me.
Michael John Sullivan
Chapter 1
Elizabeth was gone. She could have gone outside to the bathroom. Yeah, that makes sense. I’ve got to relax. She freaked out last night when I told her we had to leave first thing in the morning. She’s different since she came back. How can she not be happy to be here with me now? Why is she confused? Upset? She seems angry at me. I need to settle down. I can’t have a meltdown every time she’s not right beside me.
Michael yelled, trying to stifle his panic. “Come on, girl, we have to get a move on and find the tunnel so we can head on home and get out of this century.” He forced a chuckle. “Bet not too many dads can say that to their kids, huh?”
He waited a few more minutes before letting the next burst of panic flood his heart.
“Elizabeth,” he shouted louder this time, making his way to the edge of the cave and peering around the corner to check the makeshift facility. “Hey, are you going to hog the bathroom just like you do at home?” he aske
d, injecting a teasing tone while trying to stifle the nausea building in his gut. “Hurry it up. It’s my turn.”
When he heard no response, he barged inside the bathroom. It was empty.
Dear God. Where is she? Is she that angry with me? There’s something wrong with my daughter. The trauma she endured to her head, the loss of blood, dying and then coming back to life. I could see she wasn’t in her right mind, the way she acted and talked.
I pray I’m overreacting and that she just went out for a short walk. Michael grimaced. Why did I fall asleep? I should have stayed awake all night and made sure she didn’t leave my sight. Enough. This isn’t helping her. I have to stop berating myself and get a grip.
Michael shook his head. I thought I had given her enough time to adapt.
He went outside and scurried up a hill, ignoring the morning’s heat and humidity. He cupped his hands together and screamed with all his might, “Elizabeth. Are you out here? Answer me.” Nothing.
He ran down the hill as fast as his legs could take him, his heart racing as he hurried to the other side of the cave.
He spotted his friend tending to sheep in the field. “Abel!” Michael yelled, trying to catch his breath. “Please,” he shouted, waving his hands. “I need your help.”
Abel wiped his hands on his garment. His brow furrowed as he looked at him in confusion. Michael reached him, gasping for air. Abel spoke in Aramaic and Michael had no idea what he was saying.
His fingers shook as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a cross, which was attached to a string. This allowed him to communicate in Aramaic. “Have you seen a girl, about this high?” Michael asked, pointing to his shoulders. “She has brown hair and green eyes.”
Abel nodded. “The words you spoke before, I have never heard them. Where did you learn them? What do they mean?”
Michael shook his head. “What?”
“Your words. They were strange.”
Michael hesitated. “Forgive me. I was running, out of breath. I could not speak clearly.”
Abel rubbed the side of his head. “Who are you looking for?”
“My daughter. Elizabeth.”
“Your daughter? Your daughter is dead. Is she not?”
Michael paused, realizing he had told Abel about Elizabeth’s fate a while ago. He knows she died. I told him I only had one daughter. How do I explain this to him?
“She is like a daughter to me,” he fibbed. “She is the daughter of my sister. She was visiting and I did not talk much about her for fear the Romans would come after her as well. Do you know how far she has gone?”
“She was running toward the aqueduct,” Abel said. “I tried to talk to her. She gave me an unpleasant look. She looked to be grieving, crying. Has a family member died?”
Michael shook his head and ran back toward the cave to seek the supplies and weapons he needed to safely get her back home. He knew she had been through a lot. He could see she was confused and distraught the night before but chose to ignore it. Perhaps he should have been more cautious and watched her more closely. Even so, Michael was also angered by her behavior. She knew he was worried about her. How could she just up and leave and not wake him up? This was a dangerous time and place for them to be.
Michael picked up a rock and scraped it against the wall, sharpening its edge. Protect her Lord. I need you to do this for me. If you won’t, I will. He looked at the rock and placed it in his pocket. He kicked at a big branch and sent it tumbling down a small hill. He reached the edge of the cave and let out an angry growl. Grabbing a makeshift weapon, he placed it in a small pouch. He picked up his bedroll, threw it away and picked up some silver.
What else do I need? Think. Get a hold of yourself. I can’t panic now.
He noticed one of his garments was missing.
She must have taken it.
He saw some scribbling on the wall. The doodle usually made him smile. It was definitely Elizabeth’s. Yet there was no heart placed above the “i,” her signature artwork that usually brought a smile to his face.
Right now, everything enraged him. He threw his pouch down and kicked at the smoldering fire, sending some of the wood still simmering against the concrete wall. It splintered into several pieces as Michael stormed the kitchen area looking for more weapons.
He punched at the wall and roared. He looked briefly at his bleeding knuckles. “I am going to shake some sense into you when I get my hands on you.”
Michael grabbed the leftover bread from last night’s meal and stuffed it inside the pouch. He took a few steps toward the opening of the cave and stopped. Feeling faint, he held onto the wall while his heart continued to race. He ran to a wooden box, opened it and saw the second cross was missing. “She took it. Thank God. At least she’ll be able to communicate in Aramaic.” He tossed the box away. “My God, why are we still in this forsaken time?”
Chapter 2
Modern-Day Long Island
Connie thanked several people as she stood outside her brother Michael’s house. “I’m not sure when we will get together again,” she said, exhausted. “We’ve done this a while now and I’m sure everyone needs a day or two to rest.” She gave them a tired wave. “I appreciate so many of you joining me on the searches.”
Connie turned and went inside, never losing stride as she stopped at her niece’s bedroom. The quiet and stillness flooded her mind with horrific scenarios at what might have happened to her brother and his daughter.
She poked the door with her index finger and peeked inside. The creaking sound echoed through the empty house. Connie walked past a dresser, touching a picture of herself holding Elizabeth when she was a toddler. Where are you, my sweet niece?
The little stuffed Pikachu she gave Elizabeth nearly fifteen years ago sat on top of her pillow. She patted it on the head as if expecting a response. Picking it up, she sat on the bed and held it against her face. She breathed deeply and could smell Elizabeth’s scent.
“Are you safe?” she said, lifting her head. “Did your dad find you? Is he safe, Elizabeth?” The silence of the house shouted back at her. “Why haven’t either of you called?”
She placed Pikachu back down on the pillow, keeping her hand on top of the stuffed animal’s head, and sat motionless, gazing around the room. The walls were filled with movie stars, music icons and pictures of Jerusalem. Connie stood and walked around the room a couple of times, mentally absorbing each one. She rubbed the top of Elizabeth’s desk each time she passed it.
Connie went back to the dresser and stared at the picture, wondering what year it was. Was that the time I took her to the circus? Or was it for Disney on Ice? She stepped back and sighed. She knew she just had to try to do something to help. “Well, I wouldn’t be much of an aunt if I didn’t look again to see if there are any notes or clues.” Maybe Michael doesn’t need me but would he even ask me for help if he did? No. He wouldn’t. He’s stubborn. Just like me. Well, too bad.
She pulled open the top drawer and began dumping out papers. Maybe something was overlooked the last time they did this. Elizabeth could have left a note behind that hadn’t been found yet. Connie couldn’t help but wonder if the FBI guys had come across anything while they were here. Maybe they missed something. It’s possible. They’re human. They’re not God’s gift to investigating.
Connie kept tossing papers to the bed after examining them. She shook her head as she came upon a poem entitled, “Why Are We Here?” Wow. Very deep for a teenager. I wonder if Michael knows about this poem. I thought he was the goofball with the religious stuff. She folded the sheet and tucked it into her pocket.
After she finished searching the top drawer, she opened the next one, removed several t-shirts and stuck her hand deep into the dark corners. Nothing. She did the same for the third and fourth drawers, throwing the items on top of the bed.
When she was done, Connie backpedaled and sat on top o
f the clothes. She rubbed her eyes and stretched her arms and legs. She had no idea what to do or where to go looking for them. Connie considered whether she needed to buy a gun. Perhaps they’d been kidnapped. Michael surely had some enemies. It occurred to her that he might be broke – might have gambled his money away. Maybe he owed some mobsters a lot of money. She thought of every possible doomsday scenario – the absurd and not so crazy possibilities.
She had to get a grip. Michael might be a lot of things, but one thing he wasn’t was a gambler. He is always watching sports though. She took a deep breath and consciously tried to relax. She had to stop jumping to conclusions. The FBI was involved and looking. But I still can’t just sit around here.
Connie left the room and went down the hallway and into Michael’s bedroom. Sorry, bro. I’ve got to do this. I just can’t do nothing and hope you’re going to give me a call whether you’re safe or not. You would do the same for me. She opened every drawer and looked in every corner but found nothing. Those FBI guys are good.
She stepped back and sat on the edge of the bed, hands covering her face. I don’t know how to help you, Michael. I hope we have enough of a relationship that you would call me if you were safe. Or you wouldn’t have so much pride that you wouldn’t call me for help.
“I can’t sit here all day and worry,” she said out loud, standing and giving a defiant look to the mirror. She began to put away some papers and saw a letter tucked inside a small envelope. What is this? She unfolded it. “A love letter? I wonder if it’s to that Leah woman.”