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AuthorHouse, 2011 - Fiction - 280 pages
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Closing the cover, she stared down at the reason for her life on the run. The small body of her daughter, Raine, sleeping on the hotel bed, smeared dried chocolate ice cream on her rosy lips. Her first words tangled in a two-year old language..."I am Christ."

Father Mc Kenna tossed the folder down on his desk letting his eyes remain on the rain splattered window. Weighing out the common denominators, trying to justify and dispel what he was learning on his trip from the Vatican to the United States. All the children were born in the same year. They all told the same stories. Most importantly, they all searched for the one girl they claimed to Christ walking on earth again. If he took the job offered to him as a liaison between the States and the church, he would oversee the school designed to house all the children together, study them, analyze and scatter their creditability. Yet in the back of his mind, the question lingered...what if Christ had returned?

Michael David stared out his binoculars at the mother and daughter playing in the backyard of their newest home. A cold chill ran up his spine as he recalled the typed black on white words written in the folder given to him by his commander General Frank Mc Gunther. No, surely not, it couldn't be this bright eyed little girl shaking off the cool water her mother sprayed on her with the garden hose, she looked so ordinary. If there was a God, He was surely playing a joke on all of them. Or so he thought.


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About the author (2011)

K.L. Roy lives in the Mid-west raising two daughters, two cats, and one aging dog. In her spare time, she enjoys letting her imagination escape reality and see where life takes her."Children born into faith are given an unwavering devotion to the words written handed down from generation to generation. For the rest of us, we are left to question, argue and fight between historical events and the stories we read."...K.L. RoyThis series is dedicated to the members of my family who gave me the time and space needed to put the words to paper. My undying love and gratitude can never be defined.

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