Lost Things: Three Adventure Novels

by K. T. Tomb

  Chapter One

  “This confused and discontented apostle, notwithstanding his Master's specific request to refrain from entering Jerusalem, went in haste to keep his appointment with Jesus' enemies at the home of Caiaphas the high priest. This meeting was called to discuss the nature of the charges which should be lodged against Jesus and to decide upon the procedure to be employed in bringing him before the Roman authorities for the purpose of securing the necessary civil confirmation of the death sentence which they had already passed upon him.” –The Urantia Book 177:4.1

  “The traitor was presented to Caiaphas and the Jewish rulers by his cousin, who explained that Judas, having discovered his mistake in allowing himself to be misled by the subtle teaching of Jesus, had arrived at the place where he wished to make public and formal renunciation of his association with the Galilean and at the same time to ask for reinstatement in the confidence and fellowship of his Judean brethren. This spokesman for Judas went on to explain that Judas recognized it would be best for the peace of Israel if Jesus should be taken into custody, and that, as evidence of his sorrow in having participated in such a movement of error and as proof of his sincerity in now returning to the teachings of Moses, he had come to offer himself to the Sanhedrin as one who could so arrange with the captain holding the orders for Jesus' arrest that he could be taken into custody quietly, thus avoiding any danger of stirring up the multitudes or the necessity of postponing his arrest until after the Passover.

  ‘When his cousin had finished speaking, he presented Judas, who, stepping forward near the high priest, said: ‘All that my cousin has promised, I will do, but what are you willing to give me for this service?’ Judas did not seem to discern the look of disdain and even disgust that came over the face of the hardhearted and vainglorious Caiaphas; his heart was too much set on self-glory and the craving for the satisfaction of self-exaltation.” – The Urantia Book 177:4.6-7

  The bottle passed hands rapidly, and before anyone even felt the buzz, felt the heat or the burn of the liquor as it passed down their throats and warmed their bellies, it was empty. Julie let out a muffled cry, her eyes still rimmed in red, her body still shaking from the shock of it all. Robert shot her an annoyed look. His eyes were bloodshot as well, but not from crying; rather from the fact that he hadn’t been without a bottle, hadn’t had a moment of sobriety since the afternoon of the professor’s death. The funeral had been that afternoon and he’d even gone to that with a small flask of Jack tucked into his jacket pocket. He hadn’t cared about subtleties, yanking it out and taking several large swigs throughout the procession and receiving nasty, disapproving glares that he chose to disregard.

  Sheila sat in the professor’s oversized armchair, staring emptily at the plastic bags of books and artifacts that had been gathered from the church site. She’d looked at them for so long that she could no longer comprehend what she was looking at. All of it was worthless in the face of what they had lost. She wrung her hands tightly in her lap as her eyes struggled at tears that would not come. They had all cared for the professor, even in his oddities, but after a week and three days of reliving that day, replaying the moment of the ceiling collapse over and over again, she could feel nothing.

  The heavy door across from the desk slowly pushed inward, the hinges creaking out a reminder of Grindlay’s last moments. A woman stood in the opening, her pale skin nearly translucent, creating a stark contrast to her swollen lips and eyes, both bruised and blood filled with anguish and sorrow. She wore faded jeans and an oversized T-shirt, but that had been the only effort made before she had left the house. Her hair was in disarray, thrown haphazardly atop her head in an unruly mess and as she stood there, seemingly lost, the grad students weren’t all too sure that she even saw them in the room. A few even felt guilty, as if they were trespassing on the woman’s memories, that the widow may have wanted to be alone with her husband’s things, with his work and his passion, and here were his students, intruding on her time.

  She shuffled across the room, her right hand clenched tightly while the left swung lazily and forgotten. The room was silent, save the woman’s movements, her feet shuffling across the floor, as the others watched in sympathy and regret. She stopped at the far side of the hulking desk, her eyes only half focused on the papers that lay scattered across the surface, unaware of the plastic preservation bags that Sheila had been studying. Then she raised her head and met Sheila’s eyes, almost pleading, but with the knowledge that those pleas would mean nothing and would get her nowhere.

  A pale arm reached across towards Sheila, who, although at first was taken aback by the movement, stretched out an open hand to receive what Mrs. Grindlay held out to her. The widow’s fingers were cold, near the point of lifelessness and Sheila resisted the urge to pull away, feeling for a moment that she was holding the hand of death itself. For a brief moment, that seemed to drag and inch by, the woman held Sheila’s hand with more strength than the girl had thought possible. Her eyes never left Sheila’s as she finally pulled away and left a leather pouch pulled tightly closed by a braided leather rope.

  Her voice was raspy as if she hadn’t slept a moment since her husband’s death, “Jonathan was found holding on to this when…” she sniffled and physically heaved, holding back a sob, “when he passed.”

  Sheila inspected the pouch, but didn’t look into the contents immediately. Grindlay’s students tried to find the words to soothe the woman, but there were no words to be had. Instead, she filled the heavy silence herself before leaving them.

  “Thank you all for being with him when he…” she stumbled over her words for a moment, searching for the strength to finish, “when he died.”

  Her words were genuine and heartfelt, but none in the room could accept them.

  “He cared for each of you and he would have wanted you to continue your research from the excavation.” She sighed deeply. “He was passionate about it, and hopefully his last find will give him some peace.”

  She turned and walked quickly from the room, as if staying any longer would only cause her more pain. Robert clumsily stood up from the floor, where he had been leaning drunkenly against a paisley papered wall, and strutted confidently to the desk, snatching the pouch out of Sheila’s frozen hand.

  “Bobby! Don’t be such an ass!” she snapped at him, knowing that Robert would only get a kick out of it. She leaned back in her chair just as Gerald opened another bottle of tequila and handed it to her. She took it from him, shrugging her shoulders. There was no use talking to Robert when he was drinking. She narrowed her eyes at him as she took a swig and, skipping the brute, passed it down to Piers.

  Robert laughed. “Aw, come on! You gotta share!”

  He snickered at her again as he pulled the pouch open and the coins overflowed into his open hand. His smile quickly faded as he realized what he was holding. Suddenly, being drunk was the farthest thing from his mind. They were cool and heavy in his palm, and even at their apparent age, still seemed to shine and capture the light as if they had just been forged.

  “Uh, guys? I think we need to look at these.”

  He wasn’t typically the serious type so he quickly had the group’s attention.

  Robert shoved papers across the desk to clear a space before pouring the coins onto the surface. They clinked and clattered together before settling. Valery went to his side, peering around him, for once unaware of the man at her side. She only focused on what had been in the purse.

  “Oh,” she moaned softly, “they’re beautiful!”

  The light seemed to catch on every crevice and crook, glimmering across the helmeted profile on the front of the coins and the eagle that shone on the back. She reached out tentative fingers, skimming across their surface, relishing in the feel of the ancient metal as she quickly counted out thirty coins. She gently pushed her glasses up on her nose as she lifted one to inspect and was silent for several moments as she seemed to weigh it in her hand.

  “I’m not posi
tive,” she said and then looked up to see Sheila leaning across the desk, looking from Valery to the coins, and back again, “but, well…” She glanced them over for a moment longer, the excitement and anticipation building in her eyes. “I think these are the thirty coins.”

  Gerald picked up a coin and inspected it curiously.

  “What thirty coins?”

  Valery, a student at Harvard Divinity School, had a special interest in biblical history and symbolism, and felt confident in her speculations.

  “When Judas betrayed Jesus for thirty pieces of silver?”

  It took Gerald a moment, but when recognition hit him, his eyes widened at the coin in his hand. He turned it slowly, taking in every nick and imperfection.

  “Are you sure?” Valery nodded, her brown hair bobbing excitedly. “What makes you think so?”

  Valery narrowed her eyes at her friend. She was the brightest of all of them, and when it came to these things, they didn’t usually question her. If she said she knew something, trust that she knew it.

  “Haven’t you guys even been paying attention to Professor Grindlay all this time? I mean you spent more time with him than I did and I was able to pick up on his obsession.”

  “What are you talking about? He was the least obsessed person I knew,” Piers offered.

  “Then you’re even dumber than jockstrap over there,” Sheila interjected.

  “Now hold on a minute,” Robert said in his defense.

  “The professor excavated or analyzed the finding from every church excavation over the last forty years. Did you think that was just coincidence? What’s the first lecture he gives every class of students he gets, whether they’re 101’s or post grads?”

  “The betrayal of Jesus and the curse of Judas Iscariot and his thirty pieces of silver,” Piers replied.

  “Precisely,” Valery confirmed. “It’s what he was looking for all those years.”

  “Wow.” He paused to analyze one detail after another. “Amazing.”

  Valery beamed with excitement while Gerald was at a loss for words, but Robert, still not entirely sober enough to take in the information, spoke severely as he tossed his own coin around.

  “Judas’ coins? Really? Who cares! Do you know how much these are probably worth? How much a museum or collector would pay for just one of these, much less thirty?”

  His voice had almost risen to a yell and the others were watching him incredulously.

  Sheila was the only one to speak; though Valery wanted to, she would never speak against Robert.

  “Are you kidding me? These are relics, history in our hands, and all you can think of is how much money are they worth? What’s wrong with you? We have to get these authenticated right away. ”

  She was angry, the liquor only adding to her heat. Robert loved to push buttons, to push everyone to their breaking point and then laugh. Well, this would be her breaking point if he pushed the issue. It was unthinkable to discuss selling such a precious find.

  Robert stumbled a bit as he paced the room.

  “Money?” he grunted. “No, not just money; riches and glory!”

  He turned to the group, huddled around the desk, fawning over the silver. He laughed heartily, but it sounded hollow echoing in an otherwise silent, concentrated room. He reached over Julie, who was bent over the coins with intrigue, and snatched a handful of the silver.

  “I’ll just take my share then, and you do what you want with yours.”

  At that, Valery finally stood from her slouch and, though Robert loomed over her by at least six inches, she glared over her glasses in disappointment and anger.

  “Put them down, Bobby!”

  Robert was taken aback by her tone; no one remembered ever having heard her so much as raise her voice, much less in the form of a demand.

  “You’re taking these coins nowhere and the last thing you are going to do is sell them!”

  Robert was a brute, but something about Valery’s tone made him set the coins back into the pile without argument.

  “Whatever,” he said and turned to Piers, nonchalantly. “I need a drink and to be somewhere loud. Coming?”

  He was already half out the door, not caring one way or the other if Piers was coming. Julie looked up at Piers, already knowing he was going.

  “Someone’s got to keep an eye on that idiot,” he replied, regrettably.

  She wouldn’t argue because they were all well aware of how Robert was when he was alone. Someone needed to be there to reel him in and keep him in line. One of these days, he was going to get himself killed. She nodded, sweetly kissed his lips and then shoved him towards the door.

  “I’ll be home in a few hours. Love you.”

  “We should have these tested,” Sheila remarked thoughtfully. “Gerald? Do you think you could use the lab at the museum?”

  “Yeah, not a problem,” he said as he slipped a coin into a plastic bag from the filing cabinet across the room. “It’ll take a little time, but I’ll get it done.”

  “I’ll do a bit of research, too. Maybe I can find something in the archives that will help us to place them. Wouldn’t it be amazing if they are the coins?” Valery slipped a coin in a bag and then into her pocket.

  Her confrontation with Robert seemed forgotten in the excitement of what the coins could be. Sheila stood from her chair and stretched.

  “I think I’m going to call it a night,” she said as she gathered the coins and placed them back into the leather pouch, cinching it closed once more. “It’s been too long of a day and the liquor is only making things worse. I’ll talk to you guys tomorrow.”

  The others agreed and, locking the coin purse and all of the bagged and tagged salvages into a filing cabinet, followed her through the door. The light in the office went out as if snuffing out the last bit of existence of the professor.

  ***

  She didn’t so much hear the door swing open as feel his presence standing at the end of the bed. She squinted in the dark as he stood there unmoving, but could see nothing more than a shadow, illuminated only by the deathly red numbers on the clock, flashing 5:43 a.m.

  “What’s wrong, babe? What’d he do this time?”

  It wasn’t such an unusual thing for Robert to start a fight or get too rowdy at the bar, and Piers was typically the one left to break things up and clean up the mess, and as much as Robert had drank in three days, she expected as much had happened tonight. Piers crossed the room and kneeled at her side of the bed. He laid his head on the comforter and Julie could feel the heaving as he fought tears. Julie jolted upright and wrapped her arms around her fiancé.

  “Oh God! What’s wrong? What happened?” Piers made no attempt to reply as she held him. “Please. Tell me what happened. You’re scaring me.”

  “He…” He fumbled on the words, which were already barely audible between his sobs, “he’s gone.”

  Julie rocked him gently in hopes to calming him, but he only cried louder.

  “I don’t know what happened. I left him for just a minute. I never should have left him!”

  His face was soaked with his tears, red from the strain of it, from the pounding of his heart. He looked as though he had been crying for hours already.

  “Piers, what are you talking about, baby?” She tried to coerce more from him, but he was silent. She kissed his forehead gently. “What happened? Who’s gone?”

  “Bobby!” he suddenly burst out. “Oh God, it was awful. I don’t know how, I don’t. He was cool, he, oh God, the blood.”

  Julie felt her stomach clench tightly. Robert? Gone? Blood? What the hell had happened? She’d thought earlier that he was going to get himself killed one day, but surely that hadn’t been a prediction, surely it hadn’t actually happened. Not to their Bobby.

  “It was so quick. I tried, Jesus, I did try, but it was so fast. Damn it, Bobby!”

  ***

  No amount of caffeine or alcohol, or a combination of the two, could relieve any of their hearts that mornin
g. When he had finally calmed enough to allow Julie to turn on the lights, Piers had been covered in blood. His shirt, from when he had pulled Robert into his lap, screaming that someone help him save his friend. His hands where he had tried to stop the bleeding. His pants where the blood had exited the wound in Robert’s belly and ran freely. She’d made the calls and Sheila, Gerald, and Valery had all gathered in the apartment, sullen and silent. They’d all been together only hours before, and now Robert was lying on a bed of steel under a thin white sheet while his funeral arrangements were being made. Hadn’t they just gone through this? Hadn’t they only just days before mourned the loss of a friend? They’d all known Robert for the hot temper that he had, but Piers had sworn that when he’d left their table to grab another round from the bar, their friend had been cool and calm, fantasizing about selling the coins and what it could mean for each of them.

  When Piers had returned, Robert was already on the ground, blood pouring from beneath him, and his assailant standing over him, a small pocket knife in his hand; confusion and uncertainty on his face. Piers could swear that as he was dragged away from the scene in cuffs, he kept muttering about how he didn’t know what had happened, or how it had happened. He’d said he’d never even spoken to Robert, yet the evidence was there and the body was already growing cold. Piers couldn’t help but blame himself. Somehow, there was something he could have done. Should have done. He should have known, somehow. But how could he have known? What could he have done? Julie left him sleeping while she joined the others.

  Sheila and Gerald sat on wobbly stools at the bar, each clutching a steaming mug tightly, the white of their fingers matching the white shock on their faces. Valery was curled up on the couch, a box of tissues snugly at her side, her glasses streaked with her tears. The notebook with her findings on the coins was spread out on the coffee table, untouched and forgotten with the revelations of what had happened. She’d wasted no time with her research and, when the knife had been buried in Robert’s stomach, she had just arrived at the Harvard Divinity School library, searching through archives that likely hadn’t been touched since the building had been erected. When she had received the call to come to Julie’s immediately, she had just replaced the last book on its shelf and, excited about what she had discovered, was heading back to her dorm. Julie hadn’t told her the reason for the call, and had only said that it was urgent. Had she known that the man she loved was being sent to a morgue, she’d have followed him there.