The Record Keeper (Murphy Shepherd, #3)

by Charles Martin

A name is the singular thing that separates us from the ninety-nine. A name makes us the one.” The look in Bones’s eyes was one of longing. Of remembrance. And of pain. “Without a name . . . there is no record.”

From the beginning of time, light has shone into the darkness, and since that first spark, darkness—no matter how hard it tries, no matter what sword it wields or scheme it perpetrates—has not been able to overcome it. Ever.

“When light walks into a room, the darkness rolls back like a scroll. It has to. Darkness can’t stand light. And while we live it in real time, it happens too fast, so we watch it in memory. To know the joy, we shut our eyes and remember having seen it.”

Wanting justice, I’d kept a record of wrongs. Payment to be exacted from the guilty. On my terms. It fueled and justified my need for revenge. Bones? Bones kept a record of hope imprinted on his heart.

Sometimes, given their depth, we become little more than the sum of our wounds, and it takes someone else to see what we can be instead of what we are.

Meandering. Winding through the woods. Past the chapel. Beneath the oaks. Walking in the paths of my mentor. My friend. My keeper. There it was. That might even make a good title, but could one book do him justice? No, the story was too much for one. Two even. I’d need a trilogy. Start with Water because that’s where he started with me. Move on to the Letters because of what they held. End with the Record because that’s what this will be. A record of my keeper. Who left the ninety-nine . . . for me.