A boy searching for absolution finds terror and torment…

Driven by guilt of his father’s death and fear of his newfound visionary abilities, Jonathan runs away from home only to befriend pure evil.

A mother haunted by dreams avenges her son’s death…

When nightmares of Miriam James’ missing son’s death invade her sleep, she decides to go with her deceased husband’s friend in search of her son’s murderer.

A man driven by love sacrifices everything…

Alex Thompson has loved Miriam for so long, but she was never his to take. When her husband suddenly dies and she becomes available, he struggles with his conscience to honor his friend’s memory while he helps her in her quest.

A demon seeks to destroy his formidable enemy…

With an army of visionaries at his side and his supernatural powers, Nathan searches for his enemy and the secret to destroying The Chosen One.

They all meet in THE BATTLE OF ARMAGEDDON.
Excerpt:
A blistering wind howled with ferocity outside Father Flannigan’s bedroom window. Its bellowing force made the windowpane shake, and its rattling sound echoed with such loudness through the unlit room that it could have awakened the dead. But its boisterous clatter fell silent to the battle raging in the seventy-year-old priest’s head. He had a heavy weight upon his shoulders, so burdening, if he were ever to unload it, the order of good and evil on earth would become imbalanced.

As he sat there oblivious to the turmoil echoing about him, he tapped his fingers on his antique desk and tried to read his Braille Bible. His rosary was beside him, still damp from the frothing of his sweaty hands. The ticking of the seconds on the grandfather clock in the corner of the rectangular room made the knot in his stomach tighter. Having touched his special pocket watch just a minute ago, he knew it was nine thirty at night.

While he slouched in his chair and tried desperately to find refuge in the holiest of books, he heard a knock. “Come in.”

The door creaked open and someone drawled in a light Italian accent, “Father Flannigan, may I come in?”

“Of course, Sister Alda. Please, come sit down.” He pointed to the prearranged chair on the other side of his desk. Each piece of furniture was strategically positioned in his room, so he knew where everything was and could walk around freely.

That was something he clung to even at his old age – his need for independence and stability. Each and every thing or person in his life had a place and purpose, whether it was in his room or anywhere else. And tonight, his yearning for order above all else drove him to worry. The answer from one very important person could change his stable and independent life into one of complete turmoil and abandonment. And Sister Alda was the messenger of that answer.

She stood in the doorway for a moment. Father Flannigan could sense her uneasiness and hesitation. Did it mean the message she would deliver was bad? Sweet God of Mercy, he hoped not for everyone’s sake. “Come in now, Sister. Don’t leave me hanging here, please.”

“Yes, Father. Sorry.” She closed the door and sat down in silence. She fidgeted with something, making a clinking sound. He surmised it was her necklace. Then she cleared her throat twice, as if she were trying to muster her words.

Father Flannigan waited for a few seconds, but when his patience wore thin, he started, “Well, Sister … did you place the call?”

“Yes, Father, I did.”

He drew in a deep breath to steady his nerves. The sister had to pick this night to be tongue-tied? “Well, go on …. Will she be coming?”

“Yes, she will. She said she would be here tomorrow morning.”

Sighing with relief, he leaned back in his chair. “Good. The sooner the child is baptized, the better. I’ll call Archbishop O’Malley tonight and tell him the boy will be baptized tomorrow.”

Sister Alda cleared her throat once more. “Um-um.”

Having known the sister for over twenty years, Father Flannigan knew that ‘um-um’ meant something was on her mind. Sister Alda was never one to shy away from speaking her mind. She always made her opinion known regardless if one asked for it or not. In directness, he asked, “What is it, Sister Alda?”

She procrastinated for a second, as if wondering if she should ask her question, but his finger tapping in impatience on his desk pulled her out of limbo. She whispered apparently in fear that her words would be heard by someone other than him, “Do you think ‘He’ knows about the boy?”

In continuum with her whispered words, Father Flannigan murmured, “No, I don’t think so. ‘He’ hasn’t found out about her yet. So I’m assuming the boy is still safe.”

Sister Alda took a deep breath.

Sensing her continued anxiety, Father Flannigan asked, “Now what is it, Sister?”

Another moment of silence elapsed while she seemed to be contemplating something. Then in a quickened voice, she uttered, “Father, I think we should now tell her who she is. She has a child to protect.”

Had the good sister lost all sense of God’s purpose? Father Flannigan violently shook his head and shouted, “No! She must not know now! Only God knows when the time is right. He is the one who decided when to give her powers and when to take them away. No, Sister Alda, her fate is in His hands, not ours.”

Obviously forgetting the fear her words might escape the room and be heard by someone else, she shouted, “But she needs to know who she is and that ‘He’ is looking for her. And now that she has a son, ‘He’ might come after him, too.”

“No, Sister, that will be going against God’s wishes! You know that better than anyone else. By telling her, we could be jeopardizing everything. No, we must never tell her. Mankind’s safety depends on it!”

She cleared her throat and inhaled deep, apparently feeling the potency of his words and his wisdom. “Yes, Father, you’re right. God will know when the time is right.”

Father Flannigan sighed in relief. “Yes, that is how it has to be. Now, if you don’t mind leaving, Sister, I want to make the phone call to the Archbishop before it gets too late.” He picked up the phone on his desk.

Sister Alda got up and walked toward the door. “Of course, Father, good night.”

Before she shut the door, he asked, “What is the boy’s name?”

“She said his name is Jonathan.”

“Well then, Sister Alda, pray for Jonathan’s safety. Pray for hers and ours as well. Pray like you never have before. That is all we can do.” “Yes, Father, I will,” she uttered as she closed the door.

While Father Flannigan waited on the phone, he whispered, “And may God help us all.”

Author Bio:

Giovanna Lagana is an award-winning author and editor. She is a Senior Editor for Lachesis Publishing and LBF Books and has been writing both fiction and short stories for several years. She’s married to her loving husband, Ghislain, and is the proud mother of three beautiful children, named Mathieu, Nicholas, and Isabelle. When she isn’t busy playing with her kids, writing, or editing, she spends her time reading. It’s no surprise that her bookshelves are overflowing with an ever-growing To-Be-Read booklist. She loves to hear from her readers. You can visit her at: www.giovannalagana.com

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