The Lost Truth Read online

  The Lost Truth

  By:

  T.K. Chapin

  www.tkchapin.com

  Copyright © 2016 T.K. Chapin All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with.

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  Version: 03.11.2016

  ISBN:

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  Available Books

  By T.K. Chapin

  (Inspirational Christian Fiction & Romance)

  The Lost Truths

  The Lost Truth

  The Lost Boy (Spring 2016)

  The Lost Love (Summer 2016)

  The Lost Innocence (Summer 2016)

  The Lost Way (Fall 2016)

  Embers & Ashes Series

  Amongst the Flames (Book 1)

  Out of the Ashes (Book 2)

  Up in Smoke (Book 3)

  After the Fire (Book 4)

  Love’s Enduring Promise Series

  The Perfect Cast (Book 1) FREE

  Finding Love (Book 2)

  Claire’s Hope (Book 3)

  Dylan’s Faith (Book 4)

  Stand Alones

  Love Interrupted

  Love Again

  A Chance at Love

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  Dedicated to my loving wife.

  For all the years she has put up with me

  And many more to come.

  Table of Contents

  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

  Book Previews

  Other Books

  Bonus

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Author’s Note

  For “you were like sheep going astray,” but now you have returned to the Shepherd and Overseer of your souls.

  1 Peter 2:25

  CHAPTER 1

  The rain pelted against the metal slates of the roof and poured like a waterfall over the edge as I sat in my cozy wicker chair on the back porch of my sister’s house. The sounds of the water as it slid off the roof composed a harmonic rhythm that eased my troubled soul. Slouched crookedly in my chair, I clutched a bottle of whiskey and held onto the last of the hopes I had within me. My eyes glazed over as the whiskey worked its magic, and the pain began to ease, if only for a moment.

  I drank to help dull the pain that endlessly tortured my body and soul. While the whiskey might help with the pain, it never released me from the prison I had found myself in. The cement walls I had built up around me were thick with regret, and the bars were forged by my mistakes. The life I once knew as truth was further from me now than it ever was before.

  The alcohol began to fail as minutes turned into hours, and the pain, both in my body and mind, began to rise like that of a boiling pot of water forgotten on a burner. Bringing the bottle back to my lips, I paused. Taking a breath, I look across the porch and through the onslaught of the rain coming down. She left.

  I took a swig.

  The cinnamon flavored medication warmed my chest, thawing the coldness in my heart. As it ran through me, it relieved the tension and brought calmness as it took over. My eyes grew heavy as the pain quieted down.

  Waking some unknown amount of time later, I noticed the rain had stopped and a blanket was draped over me. Where’d the blanket come from? Sitting up in my chair, I struggled to keep my eyelids open.

  My sister, Janice, pushed open the creaking screen door and stepped out onto the porch, handing me a glass of water. “If you don’t stop being a drunk and get your life together, I’m going to kick you outta here!”

  Taking the glass from her, I chugged the water. The coolness was a relief as it washed over the dryness that clung to my mouth. Leaning over to one side, I set the glass down on the small patio table next to my chair. Taking a deep breath in as I relaxed into my position, I looked up at Janice. “I thought you weren’t supposed to be home until tomorrow.”

  “Don’t try to act like you care about anything besides yourself, Clay,” she snapped back at me as she bent over and grabbed the empty bottle of whiskey I must have dropped.

  My lips tightened together as her words warmed my anger. She had valid reasons to be harsh with me. I was, after all, living at her house rent-free since I was kicked out of the rehabilitation center after not showing signs of wanting to get better. Janice had done a lot for me, and keeping my quiet was the least I could do.

  Sighing, she softened her wrath toward me a smidge. “I’m sorry. I just worry about you, Clay. What happened was that they decided to cancel the speaker for tomorrow morning. That’s why I’m home early. Did you call Pastor Longfellow?”

  My voice deepened as I responded. “I didn’t call John.” She didn’t understand what going to the church up the road really meant in my world. She didn’t get the fact that I’d rather be taken out to the street corner down in front of the Wagon Wheel down the road and flogged in front of everyone in Suncrest than to visit John for a counseling session. She also lacked the understanding of how truly painful the past was. The pain in my leg paled in comparison to the heartache that would come from stirring up the past and the heartaches of my yesterdays.

  Desiring to escape the conversation with Janice, I pushed myself out of my chair. The pain in my leg shot down toward my foot as I gained my balance. She grabbed my arm to help me get my footing. Looking down at her neatly manicured fingernails as she gripped my arm, I said, “You’d better rethink that, Sis.”

  She released. “I’m just trying to help . . .”

  “Today’s just a hard day.”

  I continued inside and sat down in the living room. It seemed like a simple enough plan, but when you have chronic pain, there is no simple plan. As I came over to the couch, I used the arm rest to help lower myself down. My now dull and achy pain decided to send a bolt of excruciating pain through my leg, and this time it reached clear into my foot and almost to my toes. Letting out an anguished roar, I fell backward into the couch cushions. After a few moments, the pain began to subside.

  Hearing the screen door creak as it opened and then shut, I could almost hear my sister’s sadness through the sounds the door made. The sad tones didn’t stop there. They echoed through the house as Janice went into the kitchen and began pulling medication bottles from the cupboard.

  Glancing over at the dusty television that sat on the entertainment stand in the living room, I could see a faint outline of the living room and myself in the reflection. Turning from the reflection, I looked up to the wall of photos near the TV, and my mind leapt through time as my eyes scanned all the pictures of our family. Uncles, aunts, cousins and so on filled the living room walls of my sister’s house. Focusing o
n one picture in particular, one of my late father, Michael, I thought for a moment about how disappointed he would be. Turning my head and my thoughts away from him, I saw Janice on her way in with another glass of water, but this time she also had a few Advils.

  “I’m only forty-two years old. I don’t understand why I need to be waited on.”

  Janice shook her head. “Why don’t you go for a walk and ask yourself that?” She handed me the medicine and the glass of water.

  Adjusting to sit up straighter on the couch, I grabbed the pills from her hand and the water. She was almost to the hallway when I finished swallowing my water. “Janice.”

  She turned. “What?”

  “I just want to say I’m sorry. I know it took a lot for you to agree to let me come live with you, and I’m doing a poor job at showing my appreciation. Thank you for being my big sis.”

  A genuine smile bloomed across her face, and she came back over to the couch and bent down on her knees. Grabbing my hand, she looked at me. “I love you. You’re my brother. That will never change, but if you want to kill yourself, I’m not going to let you do that in my house. Go see John, or you have to find a new place to live.”

  “Oh, please! My drinking isn’t that bad. You know I can’t live on my own.”

  She rose to her feet. “That’s right, you can’t. So it sounds like you’re going to go meet him tomorrow at two.” Leaving the room, she moved with such confidence that I knew I’d better go meet with him. John . . .

  Janice had put up with me for over three months since I left the rehabilitation clinic. She was patient with me, but had also tried pushing me ever since I arrived. Walks, swimming, church, and now a counseling session with the pastor. I hadn’t done anything she wanted me to do, but the look in her eyes this time confirmed that I’d better do it.

  CHAPTER 2

  Waking the next day in the same slouched position on the couch where I had fallen asleep watching television the night before, I glanced toward the kitchen. I could hear Janice preparing breakfast. Adjusting on the couch, I bumped the remote off the arm rest.

  She glanced in from around the separating wall and said, “Good. You’re up. The pastor called and said something came up this afternoon. You have to meet him forty minutes from now.”

  Letting out a sigh, I shook my head. “Today’s not a good day, Sis. The pain is really bad right now.”

  She laughed. “I don’t care.”

  Raising an eyebrow as I looked at her, I glared. “That’s rude.”

  “You’re in pain every day, Clay. You’re going or you’re moving out. The choice is yours.”

  “Okay. Stop it!” I snapped. “I get it.” Jerking my body over to one side to help myself get off the couch, I felt a surge of pain dig itself into my leg. “Ahh . . .” I moaned.

  “Well . . . if you wouldn’t jerk your body out of anger.”

  “Whatever,” I retorted as she vanished back around the separating wall. Grabbing my wood carved walking cane that was leaning against the nearby wall, I stood up and made my way into the kitchen. Leaning my cane against the wall near the table, I took a seat.

  The aroma of bacon and eggs filled the air as I waited for Janice to finish the toast. Turning my head, I peered outside to see a bird out in the yard. Leaning my arms on the table, I tried to get a better look out the window. The baby blue bird’s wings were flapping, but only one seemed to be working as it struggled to lift off the ground and puttered across the grass.

  “What is it?” she asked, coming over to the table and setting my breakfast down in front of me.

  “It’s an injured bird.” My heart went out for the little guy. I knew his struggle. His pain.

  She peered out the window at the bird. “Poor little guy. Looks like he’s struggling.”

  Turning, I grabbed my cane and got up from the table.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to go help the bird.”

  She laughed. “Really? Your food is going to get cold.”

  “I don’t care. I’ll eat it in a minute.”

  “You don’t have time, Clay. You have that meeting with the pastor.”

  “I’ll be fine, Janice.” I made my way to the porch and down the steps. Heading around the corner of the house, I found the bird. He was still struggling and trying his hardest. Setting my cane to the side, I got down on both knees and scooped the little baby blue bird into my hands. He tried to jump and fly again, but I cupped him with my other hand so he couldn’t fall.

  Bringing him to my face, I said, “I’ll take care of you.”

  I heard the screen door open and shut in the distance. Janice came around the corner. “He okay?”

  Bringing the bird close to my chest, I reached over and grabbed my cane with my free hand. Getting up, I brought the bird with me to the back porch.

  Sitting down in my chair on the porch, I began to inspect the wing of the bird, and he kept trying to wiggle. Janice went back inside.

  “I’m trying to help you!” I scolded as he wiggled more. “Just sit still!”

  Bringing the underside of the injured wing up, I saw a sharp sliver-like piece of wood stuck in the wing. Cringing, I grabbed onto it and yanked. The bird wiggled and squawked as I pulled the sliver out. Setting him down on the porch, I tried to see if he could fly—but he couldn’t.

  “Here,” Janice said, coming back out the door with a laundry hamper in hand.

  “Go ahead and put it over the bird.” Stepping away from the bird, I watched.

  She went over and got down on her knees, slowly lowering it over the bird. As she finished, she stood back up and looked at me. “What you going to name him?”

  “It’s a blue jay . . . so Jay?”

  She laughed. “That’s not a blue jay. That’s a baby-blue color. Blue jays are a bit darker in color I think.”

  “Oh. How about Skip?”

  “Kip?”

  I laughed. “I said ‘Skip’ but I like Kip.” Looking at him, I said, “Kip fits.”

  With a soft and sweet voice, she said, “Now that Kip’s okay . . . Can you come eat your breakfast so you can go?”

  Glancing at Janice, I nodded. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

  Sitting in a chair across from John in his dimly lit and stuffy office in the back of the church, I waited for him to say something. Anything would be better than the awkward silence that accompanied the memories that were pushing their way into my mind.

  After five minutes, I grew weary of the silence. “So what is this, John?”

  He took his glasses off and set them down on his desk as he let out a breath from his lips. Sounds of youth group cheering from the gymnasium down the hallway broke into the conversation. He stood up and shut the door. “Clay, I know you’ve been through a lot with Gail leaving and the whole—”

  “Stop,” I said. “You don’t need to take me down memory lane. I lived it. I was there.”

  He came and stood between me and the desk and leaned against the ledge. Folding his arms, he narrowed his eyes downward at me. I didn’t make eye contact with him. Instead, I just kept my eyes trained on an old picture that hung on the wall of when he and I went to a conference several years back.

  “You blame yourself, don’t you?” His tone was direct.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Looking up into his eyes, I glared.

  He leaned down into my face. Sweat beaded on his forehead and poured down the sides of his face. It was gross, but it distracted me enough to not let my mind go to the painful memories he was attempting to bring up. He shook his head and pulled back. Giving up, he walked back around the desk and took a seat in his chair. “Janice wants you to get better. I do too, Clay.”

  In a mocking tone, I said, “Yep. Don’t forget God.” Pushing myself up from the chair, I stood up. Grabbing my cane, I continued, “God loves me so much that Gail took my baby girl and left. Also, He loves me so much that . . .” My throat began to clench as memories tried to claw
their way into my mind.

  “Clay.” John rose to his feet. “You can’t keep running from this pain.”

  Pausing, I looked back at him. “I’m not running.” I glanced at my leg with a smirk. “Obviously, I’m not running.” Turning my back to him, I continued to the door and opened it.

  Before I could leave, John got another word in. “God has a plan for your life, Clay.”

  My throat finally clenched shut and my mind rushed back to the day everything changed. Not when I got in the motorcycle accident. Not when my wife left me and took my daughter. No. It was that fateful day in the trailer park. The day that my life forever changed. Turning around to face John as my anger overtook me, I hurled my cane across the room. “Don’t talk to me about God having a plan!”

  He leaped out of the way as the cane hit the picture of us. The glass broke and then tumbled to the floor with the cane. Looking the pastor in his eyes, I saw the fear. The same fear I saw in his eyes back in the trailer park three years ago that crippled him into the coward he is today.

  Wobbling over to the chair I was just in, I gripped the back of it as my knuckles went white. Looking the pastor in his beady little eyes, I said, “God doesn’t have plans, Pastor. He has an agenda. It doesn’t matter who dies or who’s in His way. He’s going to accomplish His will no matter the cost.”

  “You don’t believe in God anymore, Clay?”

  “Are you dense? I don’t have faith. I know the truth. I spent years in the church and I grew up studying the Scriptures. God’s will rules above all else. For crying out loud, even Christ asked for an alternative route and was shot down in the garden of Gethsemane.”