Keohane, G. - Solomon's Grave

I want to leave , Nathan thought. God, please, what is happening? As had happened when he stared too long at the painting, the room blurred around the face of Peter Quinn. Nathan was in trouble. Every pore in his body that was not sweating screamed at him to leave... now! But he was frozen, paralyzed. It was too late to run. He’d had that chance earlier and did not take it.

“David’s son,” Quinn said, almost in a whisper. Nathan could almost taste the power in the voice wrapping around his head. “Solomon. I have studied your book, the stories of his time almost as much—more in some cases—as your contemporaries. I know details most of your kind choose to ignore. Solomon was enraptured with his Ammonite wives.” His breath was sweet across Nathan’s face, like incense. “He understood the power of their master, of the true god of that time.” He chuckled. “Irritated your little Yahweh to no end.”

God, help me .

“Does anything I say strike you in particular, Reverend Dinneck? Why did you react so excitedly to this painting? To this story I’m telling you, now? Tell me.”

The voice, barely a whisper, a breath, was a vice he could not escape. He had to tell Quinn about his dreams, about John Solomon’s grave, the angels. Had to tell him everything. More than that, Nathan realized that he wanted to.

When he opened his mouth to speak, a voice across the room shouted, “Hello? Anyone home?” The room came into focus so sharply Nathan gasped and stumbled back. Quinn had such a sudden rage about his face Nathan thought he was going to snarl and leap upon the newcomer.

Josh Everson took another step into the store, his hand still holding the front door’s handle.

“Nate? God, Nate, what’s wrong?” He half-ran into the room. From the look on Josh’s face, Nathan decided he must look as bad as he felt.

“Excuse me,” Quinn said, raising a hand. “Mister Everson is it? We were having a private conversation.”

“Excuse me, yourself,” Josh said without looking away from Nathan.

Quinn’s composure slipped a little, and he said with a more conciliatory tone, “Please, you are trespassing. The reverend and I were having a—”

“Nate, you OK?” Josh asked.

Nathan nodded, but couldn’t remember ever feeling less OK in his life. “Josh. What... what are you doing here?”

He shrugged. “To be honest, I’m not really sure. I mean, I saw your car, and...” His voice trailed off. He looked as confused in that moment as Nathan had been a minute earlier.

Nathan looked over at Peter Quinn. He had moved a few paces away, his mouth a tight line.

Nathan remembered with a sudden shock how close he’d come to telling this man everything. He’d been powerless not to. The voice... no, such an ability was reserved for stage tricks and vampire movies.

Of course, so were a bunch of other things that had already happened. All he wanted was to get outside.

Quinn’s demeanor was all business again, but a trace of sweat had broken across his forehead. “I apologize, Reverend, but I have other business to attend to soon. Thank you for stopping by. I’ll tell your father I saw you. He’ll be pleased.”

Nathan doubted that. Still, for some reason he didn’t think Quinn would tell his father. Why he thought that, he couldn’t say, but so many things were occurring to him in the frenzied state of mind that he decided not to question it.

He said to Josh, “I’ll head out with you.” His friend looked relieved. Nathan took one last look at the painting of the Molech temple, assured himself that it hadn’t been a mirage. He shuddered visibly and turned away. Peter Quinn was watching him, and the same half-smirk returned to his face. He called after the men as they walked to the door, “Perhaps we can continue our discussion another time, Reverend.” Back in control , his voice said. A minor setback only .

“Maybe.” Nathan grabbed the door handle. Josh kept a loose grip on his arm as if preparing to catch him if he fell. Nathan had no intention of falling down, or ever speaking to Quinn again, if it could be helped.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Nathan barely felt the cool air against his skin as they stepped outside. His legs were heavy, filled with clay. Too much , he thought. It’s all too much .

His world had always been clearly defined. Even his faith was a straight-edged resolve that never wavered. Now, he found himself in a place where mystery heaped itself upon more mystery. Supernatural was a word he never cared for in the past. Now it fit too neatly. Nightmares scratching their way into the real world. Daylight becoming more and more a bad dreamscape, not something of solace to wake up to.

Should talk of demons and ancient religions really be alien to him? The Old Testament spoke incessantly on the subject. God Himself warned the Israelites to worship only Him. Why would He bother acknowledging such dark creatures within the universe if they didn’t exist?

Peter Quinn certainly believed in them.

Dad, what have you gotten yourself into?

When they reached his car, he wanted to fall to the sidewalk and pray for God to clear his mind and open the thickening gray clouds in his head.

Of course, if he fell to his knees, Josh would probably call an ambulance.

“What was all that about?” Josh leaned against the hood of Nathan’s car, beside a large paper shopping bag.

Instead of answering directly, Nathan gestured to the hood. “That yours?”

Josh craned his neck to look beside him, and said, “Oh, yeah, right.” He picked up the groceries as he said, “You looked like you’d just seen a ghost or something.”

“Or something,” Nathan conceded. “Your timing was impeccable.”

Josh scratched the back of his neck with his free hand, looking suddenly uncomfortable. “Pretty weird timing, more like it. I don’t even know why I’m here.” He looked into his bag. “I mean, chips, soda and a loaf of bread... oh, man, Shirley put the bottle on top of the bread.” He nodded toward The Greedy Grocer . “I’ve really got to send my employees to Bagging School or something.”

Nathan looked at the club’s closed door. He turned and leaned against the driver’s door and stared at the convenience store. “Why are chips and crushed bread weird?”

“Just that I was done with my opening shift a half hour ago. Cashed out; Shirley cashed in. She’s good enough that I don’t need to hang around. Instead of leaving, I decided to get some stuff I needed. Like a craving or something.” He slapped the bag. “Don’t even need chips. I mean, isn’t this the same stuff you got the other night?”

Nathan nodded at the shopping bag. Not exactly the same, but close enough. “Craving? You pregnant or something?” Their apparently pointless banter had a strengthening effect on him. He took a breath and leaned his backside against the driver’s door.

“That’s just it. I’ve got plenty of bread at home. Half a loaf at least. Why I needed to stick around to get this,” he pulled the crushed bread out of the bag and laid it gently back in beside the bottle of soda, “is beyond me.” He sighed. “Anyhow, I saw your car when I was leaving and figured I’d poke my head in to see if you were, well,” he nodded toward the store, “in there.”

Slowly, the implications of what his friend was telling him registered. One thing Nathan had learned in life was never to believe in coincidence. He had been about to confess everything to Quinn—a man who had pretty much admitted to being a demon worshipper, then Josh arrived just at the right time to stop him.