ISBN: 978-1-936558-10-0 * eISBN: 978-1-936558-11-7 * Paperback $16.95 * E-book $3.99 * Publication: July 5, 2011

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Mariah Carpenter is my alter ego with similar life experiences and incidences – but with a talent I envy that is certainly far beyond my capability. In welcoming you to her world, with an overwhelming desire to share her thoughts, strengths and weaknesses, I have lived out one of my fantasies by breathing life into this character.

Due to a talent she has kept secret since childhood, Mariah becomes reclusive and shies away from lasting relationships. However, one night a man steps out of a hole in space, injects her with an alien substance and her secret – an extraordinary psychic ability – becomes enhanced to the degree that she now can telepathically find abducted children.

Her safe, anonymous world is shattered when one of her Findings is filmed, sold to a news journalist, and blasted on every news media for the world to see. 

Chosen follows Mariah’s ever-evolving life, both mental and physical. At first, hailed as a hero for her supernatural abilities – possibly a messenger from God? – doubt creeps into the minds of the populace when her ever-increasing talents causes a man to die. Can she be bought by the highest bidder? Can she control her ever burgeoning powers? Can she even be controlled?

Michael Jenkins, pastor of Chelsea Heights Community Church, convinces Mariah that God is working through her. Compassionate, honest and kind, he gives her a rational reason for these Findings. He also shares his spirit with her, strengthening her psychic abilities in order to find Amanda Forrester.

On June tenth at one o’clock in the afternoon, Mariah called the church. She felt guilty lying to the switchboard operator about an emergency and a need to speak to Michael. The urgency in her voice must have been convincing, because she was told to come, he would fit her in. Mariah left her boss a note with some half-baked reason for her absence and headed for the church.

She stopped at the switchboard to announce her arrival then sprinted upstairs. On her way to the church, the symptoms she experienced the night Amanda was kidnapped had returned: rapid heartbeat, shallow and labored breathes, cold sweats. Mariah still had no idea what she was going to say to Michael. She just hoped it would be there at the right moment.

By the time he reached his office, she was on the verge of collapsing. The sight of him nearly made her faint with relief.

Seeing her in such a highly agitated state, Michael grew alarmed, fumbling his keys as he unlocked the office door. Mariah almost knocked him over in her haste to get inside, adrenaline propelling her halfway across the room before she could stop. He closed the door and turned, just in time to see her coming toward him.

Michael was genuinely alarmed. He always enjoyed seeing Mariah Carpenter on Sunday mornings as the choir lined up in preparation to enter the sanctuary. She was always smiling radiantly. He knew that in the three months since joining them, she had found a measure of confidence due to the friendship and support from her fellow choir members.

But this woman before him was an entirely different person. Her breathing was labored, her face glistened, her hair was matted against her head, and her pupils were dilated. She radiated as much tension as a mainspring in an old watch.

His apprehension dissolved, however, when she whimpered, “Help me, Michael. Something is happening and I can’t control it. It started three days ago when I...” 

The sentence died on her lips. Her hands shot out and she seized him in an immobilizing grip. Her fingers dug into his biceps right through his sports jacket. He was shocked at her strength.

Michael had just enough time to register this when his body became rigid. His blood and bone marrow seemed to be flowing in the direction of her hands. Terrified – and feeling like he was being crushed in a trash compactor –  he gasped and tried to jerk backward, but his legs were too rubbery. He truly would have collapsed if she hadn’t held him so firmly.

What lasted only a few minutes felt like an eternity.

While he experienced the sensation of being threaded through the eye of a needle, Mariah was going through her own gyrations: muscles tense, knees and elbows locked, teeth bared. She convulsed from what seemed like invisible blows, jerking from unseen punches, grunting from air expelled violently from her lungs. Her head whipped from side to side with each convulsive movement and a low growl escaped her lips. Michael wondered if she was in pain. He was not; all he felt was tremendous pressure. 

And then it was over. His organs no longer felt like they were being siphoned out of him. Heat suffused his body and he slumped, weak from the sudden release of tension. Sounds from a nearby office receded. The noise from the traffic in the street was no more than a muffled rumble cocooned in velvet. While floating in this tranquil semi-trance, Michael observed Mariah through half-slit eyes.

The minute he descended into this current state, she relaxed. Her grip on his arms, while no longer bruising, remained firm. Her eyes, narrowed in concentration, stared into his. No, she was not looking at him; her eyes were focused on something beyond him.

Then she began to mumble. He tried to fight his way out of the enveloping lassitude, straining to understand her words. They were unidentifiable. It sounded like she was talking to someone as she formed her own language.

“Amanda, don’t be afraid, I’m here to help you ...I know you can’t see me, but...yes, okay, honey, I am an angel. Can you tell me where you are?” In the silence, her head cocked to the left. She was so absorbed that she never reacted to the sweat running into her eyes.

“Is there a window in the bedroom? Good. Can you see out of it?”

She nodded and her face softened with a sad smile.

“I know he hurt you, sweetheart, but I need you to help me so I can get you away from him. Go to the window and tell me what you see.”

There was a pause as Mariah’s eyes closed. And then: “Building...what gas station? ...That’s great, Amanda. What else? ...park...kids swinging...where? Got it, across from the gas station. Are you on the same side of the street as the...okay. Any stores across from you? ...Laundromat...pizza ...What’s its...fantastic! Really, a phone number? ...555-4655, that’s wonderful, yes...Don’t worry, I won’t leave you.”

Mariah’s eyes opened wide. Her pupils were dilated, unfocused. She said, “Amanda, what’s that noise? ...uh-huh, they sure do sound like big planes ...I know you want your mommy. I’m going to send someone to get you just as soon as...calm down. Go back and lie on the bed. Don’t tell him you were talking to me. Pretend you’re asleep...good girl. Hang in there. Someone will be coming for you real soon.”

Frannie Manzetti chooses to defy her parents and get a degree in Criminal Justice. Now with the Federal Bureau of Investigations, she has to fight harder than any man to ascend in the ranks. When she is notified about a kidnapped child being found by a psychic (and it turns out to be legitimate), she sees Mariah Carpenter as a stepping stone to a powerful career in the Bureau.

Frannie Manzetti gave Michael a thorough but quick glance, her attention immediately drawn to the woman on the sofa, devouring something fishy-smelling from a plastic container. Turning back to Michael, she stuck out her hand and said, “Michael Jenkins?” When he nodded, she said, “I’m Agent Manzetti.” She shook Michael’s extended hand, her grip firm, the shake abrupt.

Frannie now turned all her attention to the woman on the couch. Mariah Carpenter appeared oblivious to them as she sat chewing her food and staring out the window.

As Frannie walked toward her, Mariah turned her head, and their eyes met. Frannie gave her that don’t-even-think-about-lying-to-me glare, which usually unnerved her prey, but she was caught off guard by the returned gaze. Honest and direct, those hazel eyes were lit with a hint of amusement. Okay, she’s supposed to be intimidated, not entertained, Frannie thought darkly. However, based on her track record of daunting interrogations, she was confident she could rattle this woman until her teeth loosened.

Mariah’s hair was matted and there were faint purple smudges under her eyes, proof of the sleep deprivation mentioned in the police report. Even so, Frannie recognized beauty. Not the surface kind associated with models and actresses, but a face that held warmth and intelligence, a face that would draw people’s eyes back for a second and third look. Obviously tired, Mariah still radiated a charismatic energy to which Frannie found herself involuntarily drawn.

She unexpectedly realized she was under scrutiny and smiled inwardly. She knew she came across as classically severe in the accepted FBI uniform for females. Her dark brown hair was pulled into a topknot, accentuating her angular face; her gray, man-tailored suit was set off by a deep red handkerchief in the breast pocket, and she wore a white silk blouse with just the top button undone.

The silence continued. Frannie was damned if she’d be the first to look away. It was the pastor who broke the tension by offering her a chair. She noted he placed it facing Mariah to lessen the illusion of an inquisition.

Frannie thanked him, grateful for the interruption that allowed her to break eye contact first without losing face. She noted Carpenter still watched her as she continued to eat. She would have been more at ease if her quarry had looked either apprehensive or belligerent.

Mariah chewed another mouthful of food as her gaze shifted back to the window. She was not about to let this officious public servant bully her. The devil inside her decided to have some fun. She deliberately reached for the milk, well aware that Manzetti was becoming impatient.

As Mariah looked up, she caught Michael’s glance. His lips twitched as he tried to suppress a grin; however, the twinkle in his eyes gave him away. He looked ashamed of himself for enjoying Agent Manzetti’s discomfort; nonetheless, admiration for the way she was handling the situation shone in his eyes. Mariah was glad of his silent approval.

“I don’t know what else I can add to what I already told Officer Sanders. I assume you’ve read his report?” Manzetti glowered. Mariah continued, her voice filled with a nonchalance she didn’t feel.

“Quite frankly, I’m as baffled as you. As I told Officer Sanders, nothing like this has ever happened to me. I didn’t know Amanda, never heard of her before seeing her on the news. Don’t know the kidnapper, either. I went to sleep after giving Sanders the information. Michael told me half an hour ago that Amanda is home.”

Her voice was edged with exhaustion. “I’m really beat. I need more sleep. I’m going to finish my food and head home.”

Manzetti’s eyes narrowed. Not until I’m damn good and ready to let you go, sister. Against her will, she began to believe this ludicrous story. Plus, it was difficult to maintain the fierce look of a predator when the prey yawned and blinked like a sleepy kitten. Even so, Manzetti was not about to let this woman take control of the interview.

Her voice flat and steely, she said, “I’m sorry Ms. Carpenter, but I do have more questions. Lots more. While I can see you’re tired, we can’t close this file until all the loose ends are tied up. And frankly, you’re one hell of a loose end.”

Mariah grinned. Disarmed, Frannie couldn’t help but thaw a little more. This woman is either totally innocent or one of the best freaking con artists I’ve ever met. 

The story Mariah Carpenter told – from the moment she saw Amanda on television, her days of restlessness and nights of sleeplessness, the interaction with Michael in his office and her conversation with Amanda – was the same as what appeared on the police report.

Frannie tried several tricks to get Mariah to slip up. After enduring what seemed like hours of badgering, Mariah slammed the container of tuna casserole onto the coffee table and said, “This is the reason why respectable citizens don’t want to get involved. You’re treating me like I’m the criminal! For the last time, Agent Manzetti, I don’t know why or how I did what I did. I’ve never done anything like this before.” Mariah locked eyes with Frannie. “If I could explain what happened, I would.” She yawned noisily. “And furthermore, I’m beyond exhausted. I either get some sleep or I pass out. I haven’t slept a lot in three days.”

In a voice heavy with fatigue and dismissal, she concluded, “If I have to accept this, so do you.”

Frannie grinned inwardly despite herself. She admired Mariah’s spunk because she would have felt the same way. And she realized she was wasting her time. Frannie Manzetti was either hearing the most fantastic story in her twenty-eight years of existence or she was being conned with the damnedest bullshit, aided and abetted by a minister known even outside this church as honest and sincere.

Frannie turned her chair to face Jenkins, still able to see Carpenter out of the corner of her eye. He said, “I’m sorry, Agent Manzetti, I have nothing to offer. I was never in control nor did I communicate with Amanda.” As much as she hated to, Frannie believed him; his reply was candid, his eye contact never wavered, and his responses were concise and matter-of-fact.

She was a proficient enough interrogator to know this interview was over. She gave her business card to both, requesting they contact her if they thought of anything else.

On the drive back to her office, Frannie’s mind wasn’t on the abduction of Amanda Forrester. Those two (and the circumstances that surrounded this case) excited her. What began as a recognizable occurrence – the kidnapping – suddenly had taken a left turn into Bizarroville with a preposterous explanation that pointed to mysticism. It went against her nature and her law enforcement background to accept, at face value, something so outlandish.

Nevertheless, that’s exactly what she was doing. Her instincts about people were usually dead on: her gut told her Mariah Carpenter and Michael Jenkins were telling the truth, God help them all. They were not the typical publicity freaks; at least their backgrounds checked out and their whereabouts at the time of the abduction were acceptable.

Maybe Frannie Manzetti would have to rely on faith, something she thought buried along with her Catholic upbringing. Maybe there were things that could not be explained using facts and figures.

Maybe she’d have to keep a real close eye on those two.

Frannie hires a videographer named Thomas James Raphael, a tall, dark and handsome man who films the fourth Finding. Originally attracted to Mariah physically, he becomes shocked and fascinated by her talent.

Thomas was stunned. It was not the perspiration that made her T-shirt cling to her body or her face to glisten or her hair to mat against her skull. It was not the anger and impatience that vibrated throughout her body or the dilated pupils that nearly obliterated the color of her irises. None of those things shocked him as much as did her voice.

It sounded nothing like her. He remembered her voice; articulate, expressive, feminine and easy on the ears, but this was not it. What just erupted from deep in her throat was a man’s voice. The words – “hurry up” – sounded like “huddy oop.” It sounded like a foreign accent, but Thomas was too surprised to try and figure out from which country. 

No wonder Manzetti didn’t tell me what I was going to shoot, he thought, a frisson of fear making his scalp crawl. I might not have agreed to tape a séance with the devil.

But Thomas James Raphael was a consummate professional. Though confused and shaken, he automatically made final adjustments to the umbrella reflectors that would eliminate shadows either directly on the subjects or against the wall behind her. Wouldn’t want her to look like an evil apparition now, would we, he thought.

Thomas had worked with film, tape and now digital mediums for fourteen of his thirty-four years and was considered a crackerjack by his peers. While it was sometimes difficult to get the most out of his subjects under adverse conditions, he always remained in tight control, and his finished products proved it. Thus, he was able to finish the light alignment and position the Sony HVR-Z5U HDV camera on his shoulder, even though Mariah’s eyes were riveted on his every move.

Slowly, his apprehension changed to excitement. If something dangerous was about to happen, Manzetti and the minister would not be so calm.

He adjusted the focus, his hands steady while his heart thrummed. The physical transformation from the good-looking woman he met a few days ago to this scary figure (had her eyes blinked yet?) was unnerving. Except for her first comment, she said nothing, not even a verbal prod to speed him up. Nevertheless, the tension radiating from her came at him in waves.

When he was sure he was ready, he nodded to her and said, “Begin.”

But the FBI isn’t the only agency that is extremely interested in Mariah Carpenter. On orders from his chief, Technical Operations Officer Gabriel Winters of the Central Intelligence Agency poses as an FBI agent in order to remove Mariah from Manzetti’s authority to his. The CIA needs to manipulate her abilities for their own clandestine operations, and he’s just the ruthless, calculating individual to do it.

The conference room was moderately cool, helped by the heavy velvet drapes that banished the heat of the late afternoon sun. Even in the artificial light, the polished mahogany table, surrounded by black leather swivel armchairs, spoke to class and power, a far cry from a police interrogation room.

Not counting him, there were four others present, three men and one woman, all dressed in the uniform of traditional somber suits.

Gabriel Winters – Technical Operations Officer, Central Intelligence Agency, currently undercover as a special agent with the FBI – was aware of every sound in the room. First was the muted hiss of the air-conditioner. The second was the whisper a Mont Blanc pen wielded by the bald man to his left, sitting hunched over a leather-bound legal notepad.

The third sound was the creak of a chair rocking back and forth in a measured cadence. It was the woman on Gabriel’s right, her arms folded across her chest, her eyes cast downward.

To the woman’s right sat a man drumming the fingers of his right hand on the table, glancing several times at the dark drapes as if he wished to see through them to the world outside.

The white-haired man between the drummer and the scribe sat with his hands folded on the table. It was not necessary to guess his thoughts or any of the others, because Gabriel Winters knew precisely what they were.

“Your preliminary proposal has merit,” the woman said, her cultured tones low and neutral. If she was excited, it wasn’t obvious by her voice or face. She had been with “The Company” long enough to conceal outward signs of emotion from the average person. Nonetheless, her coworkers had no trouble discerning the slight tremor in her voice.

“It definitely seems like an opportunity that may never come again.” The drummer took his eyes off the drapes long enough to make the inane statement.

The white-haired man, the Chief, unfolded his hands and placed them flat on the table then shifted in his seat. The movement was possibly a sign of irritation, maybe at the drummer’s banal remark. He said, “I believe we’re prepared to go forward with this. Good work, Winters. I must say the possibilities are mind-boggling.”

Then he smiled. It held acknowledgement and praise, and he used it sparingly. Everyone knew Gabriel Winters was his protégé, possibly his heir apparent, but they accepted, if begrudgingly, that Gabriel’s strategies were usually brilliant, his methods of accomplishment unique.

“So we’re all in agreement?” Never taking his eyes off Winters to check for their anticipated nods, the Chief said, “Continue.”

“The premise is simple,” Winters began. “In order to develop her talents for our needs, we have to get her out from under the FBI.” The law forbade the CIA from domestic operations; however, this was an unprecedented case with no rules that applied.

He had their attention. The drummer had ceased. Only the scratch of the Mont Blanc and the soft sigh of the air-conditioner broke the silence.

“There’s a bond between Mariah Carpenter and Agent Manzetti that goes beyond a mere assignment. Manzetti guards Carpenter like a Hell’s Angel guards his Hog. We have to discredit Manzetti and, at the same time, get me assigned to her vacated position. I’ve already insinuated myself into Osterman’s good graces by flattering his childish ego and making myself indispensable by completing the ridiculous assignments he gives me.”

He paused to allow for comments. When he received none, he continued, his smooth baritone confident, precise. “I’ve also spoken with several in-house psychiatrists to get their concurrence as to Ms. Carpenter’s usefulness. They practically drooled with excitement. Having seen the DVD, they’re eager to chart the progression of her psychic ability to see how far it goes without interference. Then they’ll know how to manipulate and control it.

“The murder trial just confirmed my belief in her increasing skills. We must put her under our protection immediately, especially after the incident with the Koreans. At this point, I doubt anyone could overcome her, but they won’t be averse to killing her if they can’t have her. Better she be dead than used against them.”

Again, he stopped. Again, he was met with silence. His voice was low, nearly hypnotic. “I’ve located a new safe house for Ms. Carpenter on a street near her church. It’s the last one on a hill. It has a backyard that butts up against more of the hill which levels off to a service road used rarely by city utilities. The house will be wired with surveillance equipment, and the RV with the monitoring equipment will be parked on the service road. We’ll use the trees to camouflage it, even though it’s an eighth of a mile from the house. I’ll have men stationed at either end of the road to make sure no one stumbles on it.”

Gabriel’s mentor beamed. Previously briefed, he knew what came next. The agency had used psychic spies since 1974; however, Mariah Carpenter’s potential went beyond anything in their arsenal.

“Now: how to discredit Agent Manzetti. We’ll infiltrate a cult known as TAOC – The Army of Christ – whose only reason for existence is to expose and eliminate the Antichrist. We’ll target one of the fanatics and convince him Mariah Carpenter is the one they’re looking for. We won’t even have to reward him: TAOC believes that, by performing this service to the Lord, they’ll be granted a place at his side on judgment day. Our infiltrator will plant a few suggestions and allow the target to think it’s his plan to kill her when she’s on stage singing in the choir. We’ll slip him a gun, probably a .22 or a .26, loaded with blanks.

“By that time, I’ll have voiced my concerns to Osterman regarding the too few agents guarding Ms. Carpenter, being careful to make no derogatory remarks about Manzetti’s capabilities. But Osterman is a closet chauvinist. It won’t take much for him to believe Manzetti doesn’t have what it takes to handle a job of this magnitude. When I tell him ‘my sources’ have heard about an attempt on Ms. Carpenter’s life being planned for Sunday services, Osterman will see the wisdom in my suggestion, which is to plant additional agents in the church, fully armed, just in case.” 

Winters steepled his fingers and leaned back in his chair while he swept the others with hooded eyes. “I’ll hand pick the agents and scatter them throughout the congregation at strategic locations since we won’t know which entrance the fanatic will choose. When he gets close enough to Ms. Carpenter, one of the agents will take him out with, hopefully, no more than a couple of shots. Panic in the church will be kept to a minimum by the additional agents in the congregation who will calm everyone down.

“It’ll look like Manzetti isn’t able to guard Carpenter. I’ll get Osterman to remove her from the case and slide me into her place.”

The smile on his lips never reached his eyes. They all knew Gabriel Winters and were secretly glad he was on their side. In the same low, conversational tone, he said, “After the excitement dies down, I’ll insist on a new safe house where we can better protect her. The rest is up to the surveillance team and the shrinks who’ll convince Mariah Carpenter her psychic powers are needed to help her country maintain its standing as the most powerful nation in the world community.”

Chosen is the first book in the Line of Descent series, one that is all about discovery.  Questions that have plagued humans since the dawn of mankind are finally revealed—with answers that are totally unexpected:

Did aliens visit Earth before the rise of homo erectus?

Were they here to help the development of sentient beings – or are they still among us?

Has the Ark of the Covenant been preserved for thousands of years – and what exactly is inside it?

What is the mystery that surrounds the Black Stone, the cornerstone of the Kaaba in Mecca – and is there something about it that may save the human race?