Keohane, G. - Solomon's Grave

The dormitory where he lived, for the time being, was nestled in the midst of the sprawling monastery in the rural town of Leicester, southwest of Worcester. Surrounded by over one hundred acres of private property, the room’s daytime view consisted only of what could be seen through the narrow window, now closed tightly against the outside chill. He was already looking forward to the day when he came home, albeit to the Grazen Street apartment. He would attend services not as pastor but as a member of the congregation. But not just yet. His presence would prove intimidating to Nate. Best lay low, as he’d planned; let the boy stake his place in the parish.

So quiet, here; time to think and pray, look for answers on how best to spend the rest of his life. At the moment, there was no sound but his own breathing and constant shifting on the unfamiliar bed. The walls were concrete, looking like a stage version of the medieval castles they were built to represent, blocking all sounds including, he assumed, any snoring from the brothers sleeping in adjoining cells. The bouquet of flowers on the nightstand, sent by the parish according to the small card inserted among the stalks of off-season tulips, filled the room with the sweet odor of spring. It helped lighten the weight of his solitude.

He raised his left arm to what he hoped was a position in front of his face and pressed the illumination button on his watch. Ten-thirty. And he was still awake.

Give it time , he told himself. This was not a mistake .

He released the button but the dial’s after-glow hovered before him. The cell door opened and closed. The outer hall was as dark as the room, so he could not see any details. Any fatigue he’d been fighting this night washed away.

Propping himself on one elbow, he whispered, “Hello?”

“Good evening, Reverend. I trust you’re comfortable?”

Hayden struggled to place the voice. He could not. The brotherhood spoke so infrequently, he wouldn’t recognize their voices anyway. The fact that this man had entered his cell so late in the evening, in the dark, set his heart beating in fear.

Then the light clicked on. He closed his eyes to the sudden glare, but opened them as quickly as he could and blinked away the sudden brightness.

The first thing he noticed was that the man standing before him was definitely not from the monastery. Though he wore all black, including a black knit hat, he resembled more a businessman than a burglar.

Then he noticed the gun held unwaveringly in the stranger’s right hand.

He sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, conscious that he wore only pajamas.

“Who are you?”

The man raised the pointer finger of his left hand to his lips and whispered, “Quietly, now. I’ve come to take back what is ours.”

Hayden’s mind was spinning. Had this man stayed in this same cell once and left something behind? No, he was holding a gun after all.

“You’re a thief?”

“I’m a priest of Molech, the one true god. I’ve come for the Ark, old man. I don’t have time for discussion. Did you really think we would let you simply waltz out of town with it?”

The man was insane. If Hayden called for help, would he be shot? Not that his frightened voice would carry through the walls. From the determined look on the other’s face, being shot was highly possible. He had to stay focused. This turn in events made him dizzy. All he could think to say was, “What Ark?”

Peter Quinn smiled without humor. “The Ark of the Covenant, Reverend. You know what I mean. I want it. I want the tablets containing your pathetic commandments, and whatever else might be hidden inside. I want the power. He wants the power, that which has belonged to him since the time of Solomon. He wants the doorway to heaven opened wide.” Quinn smirked, but said nothing else.

The old pastor tried to stand, but fear drained the strength from his legs. What could he say? He knew with dreadful certainty that this man would not believe anything he told him.

“I don’t understand, really I don’t. I have nothing like what you describe. No one does.” He realized suddenly that simple reasoning might work. Just give the man facts. “The tablets and their holy receptacle disappeared thousands of years ago. They’re lost, forever. Very likely they no longer even exist. There were so many wars, it is unlikely it remains. I’m sorry.”

The intruder’s unsmiling face dropped completely. It flushed with anger.

“You are a minister. We are close. You know it, and so do I. You will tell me where it is— now —or I will kill you.”

Hayden closed his eyes, and prayed for strength. A certainty filled him that he would die by this man’s hand. There was nothing he could do, except ask for courage to face it. There would be so much wondrous beauty on the other side.

Some semblance of strength returned to his legs. He stood. “I don’t have what you’re looking for.” He involuntarily winced, waiting for the bullet.

The man stepped forward and grabbed his arm. “Oh, no. Not here. You will walk out with me, and you will not say a word. You will not make any noise at all. If any of your new friends see us, I will kill them. Do you understand?”

Hayden nodded. Quinn led him into the dark hall, their path illuminated only by a narrow beam of light from a penlight produced from his pocket.

Hayden wondered how this man had found him among the many hallways and rooms of the four buildings in the estate. Perhaps he was not looking for him specifically, but only chose a random cell. It was possible. As he was led through a side door and out into the chilly night, he hoped he would have a chance to find out.

In his heart, however, Ralph Hayden knew that he would never be coming back.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

“I’d say it was a mutual agreement,” Josh said, and took another sip of Coke. Nathan guessed his friend would have preferred to bring along a six-pack of beer as a church-warming present instead of the soda, but Josh knew him well enough to know the strongest thing he ever drank was black coffee. Beer and wine were tastes Nathan had never acquired, nor wanted to. They sat in the small kitchen, the church hall beyond dark and silent.

Tuesday evening, the end of his first full day as pastor. When Hayden was here, his presence had never been overpowering, but now that he was gone, the place felt empty, as if the house mourned his departure.

Josh had called earlier to see if Nathan was busy doing “church stuff.” Nathan invited him over, looking forward to the visit, but harboring some dread, too. As soon as he’d received the call, he wanted to shout Why didn’t you tell me about you and Elizabeth? and that same feeling in the pit of his stomach returned. He didn’t say it, but early on into Josh’s visit, the subject needed to be broached. If nothing else, it might exorcise the demon of jealousy, which kept rearing up over his shoulder—or in his stomach, as the case may be.

“You could have told me, you know.”

“Yeah, I suppose. Almost told you the other day at the store but....” He trailed off, took a sip of his drink and shrugged. “Hindsight is twenty-twenty and all that. I just couldn’t help thinking I was doing something wrong. I knew how you two felt about each other and, well, Kaila and I had broken up a few months before. Elizabeth and I, well, we started spending more time together. After a while, it seemed like we were dating, so we just decided to play the role. We didn’t; I mean it was almost platonic.”

He winced, obviously regretting where his words were leading. He continued, “Anyway, Kaila and I got back together—after me and Elizabeth called it quits, I mean—but as you do know, that didn’t work out too well in the end.”