Solomon's Grave

by Daniel G. Keohane

  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.”

  Nathan knew that story—sans the interlude with Elizabeth. Kaila recently married a man named Roderick (that was his first name, Josh was quick to point out with a roll of his eyes), and Josh hadn’t been seeing much of anyone for the past year. That was another surprise. He tended to be a ladies’ man, with natural good looks and half-day beard growth that never seemed to shave completely off. It added movie-star charm to his looks.

  Nathan didn’t want to pr
ess, but he wanted to know more about Josh and Elizabeth’s breakup. It was human nature, he supposed, the need to know.

  He hadn’t seen Elizabeth during his rounds at the nursing home this morning, and missed her all the more because of it. Nursing schedules rotated to assure weekend coverage. It would have been nice knowing they had another date planned. If nothing else, it would have been a mental anchor during this conversation.

  “So,” he pressed, “it just wasn’t working out, you and Elizabeth?”

  Josh put the can down with too much force and said, “Oh, for crying out loud, Nate.” Though he spoke with an overlay of exasperation, he tried to suppress a grin. “You two were made for each other. I mean, if I had to pick one reason out of many for why she and I weren’t compatible except as friends, it’s that we both love the same man.” He blushed, lifted the can and pointed with one finger. “Now don’t go getting any ideas. I’m not that way.”

  Nathan laughed, but said nothing. How could he open up, even to his best friend, about his feelings for Elizabeth when that same friend once dated her, short-lived as the relationship had been? Then again, Josh had just said it himself, hadn’t he?

  As if reading his thoughts, Josh added, “You still love her, that much is obvious; and seriously, Buddy, she digs you just as much.”

  “Digs?”

  Josh shrugged. “Yeah, hippie talk is coming back, didn’t you know? We get to say dig and groovy like we did when we were six years old.”

  “So what about you? Seeing anyone now?”

  “Naw, taking a sabbatical from the opposite sex for a while. But I’m keeping busy.”

  The kitchen phone began to ring. Nathan stood and cleared his throat, knowing that most of the congregation used the main church line. “Pastor Dinneck,” he said, realizing with a start that this was the first time he’d answered the phone this way. Feels kinda good, he thought, not without a little shame.

  “Pastor, hello. This is Brother Armand. I’m sorry for calling so late.”

  “Not at all,” he said. “How’s Reverend Hayden settling in?”

  “That’s just it. They suggested I call you, to see if he’s contacted you.”

  Contacted? “No,” Nathan said, drawing out the word. “Last time we spoke was yesterday morning. I could check my machine, though.”

  “Could you?”

  Something was wrong. Nathan wanted to question the monk further, but if Hayden did leave a message it would explain everything. Even as he walked into the office, he didn’t expect to see the answering machine’s light blinking. Nathan had listened to all the messages when he came home this afternoon.

  There were three messages on the machine. The light wasn’t blinking, which implied none of them were new. Still, he pressed PLAY and listened to the first. When he was sure he’d already heard it he pressed NEXT, then again to the third. He returned to the phone with the last message—Josh asking if he wasn’t busy with his church stuff—still playing behind him. As he reached for the phone, he heard Josh mutter, “I really sound like that?”

  “I’m sorry, Brother Armand. Reverend Hayden hasn’t called. Isn’t he there?”

  “I’m afraid not. This morning he missed breakfast. When I went to his cell, he was gone. No one has seen him all day.”

  “He moved out already?”

  “That’s the odd thing. His belongings are still in the room, including his coat and shoes, even the bouquet of flowers your parish sent him.” Nathan didn’t remember ordering any flowers, but likely one of the elders had taken it upon themselves. Armand continued, “We assumed he might have gone for a walk, if he brought a second pair of shoes. But we’ve covered the grounds as best we could. They suggested I check with you.”

  “They?”

  “The police.”

  “The police?” At these words, Josh looked up. Nathan gave his friend’s raised eyebrow a shrug in response.

  “Yes. They say it’s too early to file a missing person’s report, and to be honest, I don’t think there’s any real need to worry, but....”

  Nathan swallowed, suddenly feeling in his heart what the unspoken words of the monk were. “But... what?”

  The voice on the other end sighed heavily. “Well, Ralph has been pastor of your church for so long, perhaps this might have been too much of a change for him. I’ve seen men who have worked hard at their job for decades come apart once they retire. Sitting at home, not having direction. I don’t want to speculate. I’m not a psychologist, but the thought is troubling.”

  Nathan suddenly had an urge to end the conversation. “Tell you what,” he said. “I’ll call around to some other people he was close to, see if he’s called them.”

  The monk’s voice took on new hopefulness. “Yes, exactly. If you know anyone he might have called, that would be the thing to do right now.” He gave Nathan his phone number and asked him to call if he learned anything. Nathan agreed and gave Armand his cell number, asking him to call anytime day or night if Hayden should return.

  When he hung up, his grip lingered on the handset. He tried to brush away a pervading sense of dread. Again, he wondered how selfish he’d been, worried about himself and his own acclimation to this place. He should have given more thought to Hayden. He might have had a harder time moving away than anyone had suspected. Here’s your watch, Reverend. Your life is over.

  “I assume that was about your old boss?”

  Josh’s voice startled him and he let go of the phone. “What? Oh, yeah. He’s gone.”

  Josh got up slowly, put his empty can on the counter. “Gone?”

  “Yeah, as in disappeared. Listen, I hate to cut this visit short, but I think I’d better call some people.” He looked up at the clock on the kitchen wall. “It’s late, but the sooner I find out—”

  Josh raised his hand. “Say no more, Nate. Give me a call if you hear anything. Not sure who the guy knows; otherwise I’d offer to make some calls myself.”

  Nathan walked him through the church to the front door, since his friend had parked his car beside Nathan’s. He put a hand on Josh’s shoulder. “Thanks. I guess this is going to be par for the course, though maybe not this kind of incident—hopefully not. But, calls will come in at all hours.”

  Josh smiled, then hesitated. “No hard feelings about the Elizabeth thing?”

  “None,” Nathan lied, and opened the door. So many mysteries had been passing under his nose lately, it bothered him to have to deal with the fact that his oldest friend had been keeping something from him. Jealousy, he knew. It would fade, in time.

  He stood by the door watching Josh’s car pull onto Dreyfus Road. He tried to recall names of those closest to Hayden. Mrs. Zawalich and Mrs. Lewis, of course, but he shouldn’t call them so late. If they had nothing to report, his call would only keep them up. Best make a note to call them first thing in the morning.

  Vincent Tarretti. The name came to him and immediately made sense. The two men at least seemed close. Even if Tarretti hadn’t heard, he might be able to supply more names for Nathan to call.

  Decision made, he went into Hayden’s den—his den now—and pulled the address book from the top left hand drawer. It was an old, well-worn leather volume, phone numbers of parishioners and church offices written in neat, boxy handwriting, sometimes crossed out and replaced with new ones where they would fit. Nathan made a mental note to computerize the list first chance he got. He couldn’t find Tarretti’s phone number at first, not until he had inspiration to look under “C.” An entry for “Cemetery,” and Tarretti’s name written below.

  Nathan punched in the numbers on the desk’s squat black phone. It was answered after three rings.

  “Hillcrest Memorial Cemetery, Vincent Tarretti speaking.”

  “Mister Tarretti, hi. Nathan Dinneck here. Hope I didn’t wake you.”

  “Reverend Dinneck, how are you? Call me Vince, please. No, you didn’t, though I was making motions. Hang on a second.” A thunk-thunk sound of the phone being plac
ed down onto a table, then shuffling papers. His voice returned. “OK, go ahead. Deceased’s name?”

  “Um,” Nathan whispered. “What?”

  “Decea— oh, sorry. Pastor Hayden and I never minced words when he called to plan a funeral. I assume someone has passed away?”

  “God, I hope not,” was all Nathan could say, but now that he had the thread of conversation back, he decided he’d better try and recover from his Um, What? remark. “Sorry, Vince. That’s not why I’m calling.”

  He heard the unmistakable sound of papers landing on the table. “Oh. OK, then what’s up?” His voice had changed from professionalism to irritation. Nathan had to remind himself that he might have, indeed, woken the man.

  “It’s about Pastor Hayden. Has he contacted you since leaving?”

  The subsequent pause was long enough to give Nathan some hope. Then, “No.” Like Nathan’s answer to Armand’s question, the word was drawn out, almost a question in and of itself. “Why?”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Nathan explained the call from Armand and the pastor’s disappearance.

  Another long silence followed. Nathan didn’t wait for Tarretti to speak. “Listen, Vince, I’m sorry for such a late call, but I thought even if he hadn’t called you, you might know other people he might have contacted.”

  “No one at the monastery saw him, you’re saying? No word, no note?”

  “No.”

  Then Vincent cursed, loudly, and Nathan felt that omnipresent mystery close around him again. It was an irritating sensation. So much so, that he responded with a louder, less careful tone to his voice.

  “What’s going on, Mister Tarretti?”

  “Nothing.”

  “That’s a lie.” Nathan was gripping the phone, his exasperation and confusion suddenly too much to hold in. “It’s like you aren’t surprised Hayden is gone.”