Sinner

  SINNER

  teddekker.com

  DEKKER FANTASY

  BOOKS OF HISTORY CHRONICLES

  THE LOST BOOKS

  Chosen

  Infidel

  Renegade

  Chaos

  THE CIRCLE TRILOGY

  Black

  Red

  White

  THE PARADISE NOVELS

  Showdown

  Saint

  Sinner

  Skin

  House (with Frank Peretti)

  DEKKER MYSTERY

  Blink of an Eye

  MARTYR’S SONG SERIES

  Heaven’s Wager

  When Heaven Weeps

  Thunder of Heaven

  The Martyr’s Song

  THE CALEB BOOKS

  Blessed Child

  A Man Called Blessed

  DEKKER THRILLER

  THR3E

  Obsessed

  Adam

  © 2008 by Ted Dekker

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other—except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Published in Nashville, Tennessee, by Thomas Nelson. Thomas Nelson is a registered trademark of Thomas Nelson, Inc.

  Published in association with Thomas Nelson and Creative Trust, 5141 Virginia Way, Suite 320, Brentwood, TN 37027.

  Thomas Nelson, Inc., titles may be purchased in bulk for educational, business, fundraising, or sales promotional use. For information, please e-mail [email protected].

  Publisher’s Note: This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any similarity to people living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data

  Dekker, Ted, 1962–

  Sinner / Ted Dekker.

  p. cm.

  ISBN 978-1-59554-008-9

  I. Title.

  PS3554.E43S565 2008

  813'.54—dc22

  2008024223

  Printed in the United States of America

  08 09 10 11 12 QW 5 4 3 2 1

  Content

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  I

  WORDS OF PERSUASION

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ZERO

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  II

  WORDS OF POWER

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  PROLOGUE

  * * *

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  * * *

  I AM often asked about the ideal reading order for the Books of History Chronicles, which include the Circle Trilogy, the Lost Books, and the Paradise Novels. Readers from all walks of life have waxed eloquent on this subject, glad to give a new reader the inside scoop on this somewhat twisted world of books I’ve coaxed to life.

  There is an answer to the question, but it isn’t what you might expect. Then again, nothing in the Books of History Chronicles is what you might expect.

  I could say that the first books to read should be the Circle Trilogy—Black, Red, and White—but that isn’t entirely right. They are prequels to the whole series, much like Genesis is a prequel to Matthew. Does reading Genesis before Matthew affect your appreciation for either? Not necessarily.

  I could say that Showdown should be the first book you read, but that isn’t right either. Showdown is a prequel to Sinner,much like Exodus is a prequel to the Gospel of John.

  So then where is the beginning? Surely all things have a beginning and an ending. Just quit running circles and tell me, you’re thinking.

  But that’s just the point. The Books of History Chronicles are unique because they are circular, not linear.You may make friends with the story at nearly any point and not feel cheated any more than making friends with your future spouse leaves you feeling cheated for not knowing him or her during grade school.

  Having said that, there are some books best read in order. Read Black before you read Red and White, because the Circle Trilogy is one story.

  Read the Lost Books—Chosen, Infidel, Renegade, and Chaos—in that order if you can.

  It doesn’t matter if you read the Paradise Novels (Showdown, Saint, and Sinner) before or after the Circle Trilogy, but it might be more fun to read Sinner, then Saint, then Showdown—the prequel about how it all began.

  Each series in the Books of History Chronicles is a different experience to be engaged either on its own or with the others.

  Some may take exception with me because they want everything to line up in perfect order, and that’s fine for other series out there. But these are the Books of History Chronicles, and we don’t like to follow the crowd here.

  We like the mystery of it all. We like piecing the puzzle together. We like to take a big bite out of the middle and then work our way to either end because we get more grease and juice on our chins when we do it that way.

  So go ahead, take a bite out of Sinner, and then decide which way you want to go. Left to Saint. Right to Showdown, or all the way around to the Circle Trilogy.

  Either way, enjoy.

  Ted Dekker, August 2008

  I

  * * *

  WORDS OF PERSUASION

  * * *

  The apostle who saw the Light with his own two eyes said this:

  I came to you in weakness

  and fear, and with much trembling.

  My message was not with wise

  and persuasive words,

  but with

  power.

  First-century letter written by

  Paul to those in Corinth

  * * *

  PROLOGUE

  * * *

  OUR STORY began two thousand years in the future, because the Books of History came into our world from that future.

  After they arrived, the Books of History lay in obscurity for many years until a Turkish dealer unwittingly sold the dusty old tomes to David Abraham, a tenured Harvard University professor and collector of antiquities. Upon discovering that the books contained the power to animate the choices of men by turning the written words of innocent children into living, breathing flesh, he swore to preserve the books in a manner consistent with their nature.

  Deep in a monastery hidden from all men near a Colorado mountain town called Paradise
, Father Abraham and twelve monks vowed their lives to raise thirty-seven orphans, lovingly nurturing them and teaching them all things virtuous. One day these children would use the books for the good of all mankind.

  And so was born Project Showdown.

  But Billy, the brightest of the students, was lured into the dungeons below the monastery, where he found the Books of History. And there, surrounded by intoxicating power, the thirteen-year-old boy wrote into existence an embodiment of his deepest fears and fantasies. And he called his creation Marsuvees Black.

  Fueled by the power of evil spun from Billy’s own heart, Marsuvees Black became flesh and entered the small mountain town called Paradise. There,with Marsuvees Black, Billy wreaked terrible havoc and Paradise fell.

  The correction of Billy’s transgression came at a terrible price, but before everything could be set right again,Marsuvees Black escaped with a book, which he used to spawn more manifestations of evil like himself.

  Since that day many years ago, Black’s creations have lived among us in fleshly form, determined to learn how to make all men evil as Billy was evil.

  But good also came out of Paradise when it fell. Three children used the Books of History to write a great power into themselves. Their names were Johnny, Billy, and Darcy.

  For twelve years, thankful only that they had survived the failed project, they forgot about what they had written in the books. But then, unknown to Billy or Darcy, the power revealed itself to Johnny, the Saint, in stunning fashion.

  Now Johnny waits in the desert for his time to come, because he knows that Marsuvees Black has not been sleeping. Because he knows that the time is near.

  In fact, that time has come.

  * * *

  CHAPTER ZERO

  * * *

  MARSUVEES BLACK reread the words penned on the yellow sheet of paper, intrigued by the knowledge they contained. He felt exposed, almost naked against this sheet of pulp that had come his way.

  August 21, 2033

  Dear Johnny,

  If you’re reading this letter, then my attempt to help you has failed and I’ve gone to meet my Maker. You are likely in hiding, so I can only hope that this letter finds you. Either way, I feel compelled to explain so that you might know my own convictions in the matter that faces us. I will be brief.

  None of what’s happened to you has been by accident, Johnny. I’ve always known this, but never with as much clarity as now, after being approached by a woman named Karas, who spoke of the Books of History with more understanding than I can express here. Not even my son, Samuel, knows what I now believe to be the whole truth.

  Where to start . . . ?

  The world is rushing to the brink of an abyss destined to swallow it whole. Conflict among the United States, Israel, and Iran is escalating at a frightening pace. Europe’s repressing our economy. Famine is overrunning Russia, China’s rattling its sabers, South America is battling the clobbering disease—all terrible issues, and I could go on.

  But these challenges pale in comparison to the damage that pervasive agnosticism will cause us. The disparaging of ultimate truth is a disease worse by far than the Raison Strain.

  Listen to me carefully, Johnny. I now believe that all of this was foreseen. That the Books of History came into our world for this day.

  As you know, the world changed thirteen years ago when Project Showdown was shut down. I, and a dozen trusted priests, sequestered thirty-six orphans in the monastery in an attempt to raise children who were pure in heart, worthy of the ancient books hidden in the dungeons beneath the monastery. The Books of History, which came to us from another reality, contained the power to make words flesh. Whatever was written on their blank pages became real. If the world only knew what was happening!

  Billy used the books to write raw evil into existence in the form of Marsuvees Black, a living, breathing man who now walks this earth, personifying Lucifer himself. He (and I cringe at calling Black anything so humane as a “he”) was defeated once, but he hasn’t rested since that day. There are others like him, you know that by now. At least four, maybe many more, written by Black himself from several pages he managed to escape with. I believe he’s used up the pages, but he’s set into motion something that he believes will undo his defeat. Something far more ominous than killers who come to steal and destroy in the dead of night. An insidious evil that walks by day, shaking our hands and offering a comforting smile before ripping our hearts out.

  Billy may have repented, but his childish indiscretions will plague the world yet, as much as Adam’s indiscretion has plagued the world since the Fall.

  Yet all of this was foreseen! In fact, I am convinced that all of these events may have been allowed as part of a larger plan. The Books of History may have spawned raw evil in the form of Black, but those same books also exposed truth. And with that truth, your gifting. Your power!

  And Billy’s power. And Darcy’s power. (Though they may not know of it yet.)

  Do you hear me, son? The West teeters on the brink of disbelief and at the same time is infested with the very object of their disbelief. With incarnate evil! Black and the other walking dead.

  But there are three who stand in his way. Johnny, Billy, Darcy.

  Black is determined to obtain all the books. If he does, God help us all. Even if he fails, he escaped Paradise with a few pages and has wreaked enough havoc to plunge the world into darkness. I am convinced that only the three of you can stop him.

  Find Billy. Find Darcy. Stop Black.

  And pray, Johnny. Pray for your own soul. Pray for the soul of our world.

  David Abraham

  Marsuvees frowned. Yes, pray, Johnny. Pray for your pathetic, wretched soul.

  He crushed the letter in his gloved hand, shoved it into the bucket of gasoline by his side, and ignited the thing with a lighter he’d withdrawn from his pocket after the first reading. Flames whooshed high, enveloping his hand along with the paper.

  He could have lit the fire another way, of course, but he’d learned a number of things from his experimentation in the last decade or so. How to blend in. Be human. Humans didn’t start fires by snapping their fingers.

  He’d learned that subtlety could be a far more effective weapon than some of the more blatant methods they’d tried.

  Black dropped the flaming page to the earth and flicked his wrist to extinguish the flame roaring about his hand. He ground the smoldering ash into the dirt with a black, silver-tipped boot and inhaled long through his nostrils.

  So, the old man had known a thing or two before dying, enough to unnerve a less informed man than Black. He already knew Johnny and company were the only living souls who stood a chance of slowing him down.

  But he was taking care of that. Had taken care of that.

  Marsuvees spit into the black ash at his feet. Johnny’s receipt of this letter would have changed nothing. It was too late for change now.

  And in the end there was faith, hope, and love.

  No. In the end there was Johnny, Billy, and Darcy. And the greatest of these was . . .

  . . . as clueless as a brick.

  * * *

  CHAPTER ONE

  * * *

  Day One

  WEDNESDAY, DAY six of a seven-day jury trial in Atlantic City,New Jersey,May 13, 2034. A thick blanket of smog hung over the city, locking in early summer’s heat—ninety-five degrees at 10:05 a.m. and on its way to the forecasted one hundred and five mark, thanks to thirty years of rising global temperatures.

  Billy hooked his finger over the tie knot at his collar and tugged it loose, thinking the halls of the courthouse felt like a sauna. What now? City Hall was shutting down its air-conditioning system to appease its guilt over mismanaging energy costs for the last ten years? The casinos suffered no such guilt. The air conditioners in the New Yorker would be blasting cool air, comforting those willing to make donations at its slot machines.

  Billy shifted his eyes from the stares of two well-dressed atto
rneys passing by and headed for the large double doors that opened to Court-room 1.His stomach turned and he had to force himself to stride on, chin held level. But there was no hiding his disheveled hair, the wrinkles in his white shirt, the hint of red in his eyes from lack of sleep. The three twelve-ounce cans of Rockstar he’d slammed for breakfast a half hour ago were just now kicking in.

  He’d won his share of poker hands in the past five years—had a real streak going there last year. But at the moment he was sinking. Freefalling. Screaming in like a kamikaze pilot. Ground zero was in that court-room and it was coming up fast. It would all end today.

  The district attorney’s murder case against Anthony Sacks was open and shut. Billy Rediger knew as much because he’d spent six days defending the scumbag with nothing but fast talk and pseudolitigation just to keep the jury from convicting by default.

  During pretrial discovery, Billy had seen that any concrete defense was out of the question. The prosecution had an extensive amount of evidence, had subpoenaed numerous character witnesses, and retained a pair of expert witnesses to elaborate on the physical evidence. By the end of exhibition, the jury was laughing up its collective sleeve at Sacks’s plea of not guilty. By the time the third witness took the stand, the jury had lost all presumption of innocence, and that was two days ago.

  If left to themselves at this point, the jurors would reach a conviction in less time than it took them to reach the deliberation room. All that remained now was cross-examination and closing arguments.

  Billy knew more than the court, but not much. And the jury was catching up to the facts:

  Sacks was a known midlevel boss in Atlantic City’s organized crime world, headed by Ricardo Muness.

  Sacks ran the lower-side gambling rackets and had a long history of enforcing loans with extreme prejudice. The kind that left debtors either dead in a landfill or shopping for prosthetic limbs.

  Sacks had allegedly murdered a local imam,Mohammed Ilah, for interfering with the gambling trade by speaking out against it to the Muslim community and threatening to expose Sacks personally.