The Belial Stone (The Belial Series)

by Brady, R. D.

  Laney caught her reflection in the mirror, her dark green eyes reflecting her concern. This wasn’t like Drew. He wasn’t a complainer. He’d spent one summer in Egypt covered in bug bites, in the sweltering heat, with an unknown rash that caused his feet to swell to the point that he’d had to hobble around in sandals two sizes too big. He’d barely mumbled a complaint.

  Seeming to sense her worry, he added some bounce into his next words. “I mean, it’s intense, but good. Priddle really has a way of looking at things from a new angle and developing an innovative approach.”

  Laney opened her closet, looking for her gym shoes, and grimaced. “Right. Innovative and without any social skills or conscience.”

  At Drew’s silence, she sighed, realizing she wasn't helping. “Sorry. Ignore that. I just don’t like you being so far away. So tell me, how are you doing? Really doing? And no placating.”

  Drew let out another laugh, this one less good-natured and more nervous. “Okay, maybe things are a little stressful, right now. But you know Priddle, perfection is his goal.”

  Although his tone was light, Laney heard a heavier emotion under the words. “Drew, is everything okay?”

  He hesitated before answering. “I don’t know. He’s been even crazier than usual lately. We’ve got this new project we’re working on, and he won't let me talk about it with anyone. And I mean anyone.”

  Leaning down to tie her sneakers, she tried to think of a way to give her thoughts an optimistic spin. “Well, he’s not exactly known for his openness. And besides, his research is so esoteric and off the map, it’s often dismissed before anyone really gives it a chance. Maybe he’s just trying to make sure word doesn't leak out before he can present his entire argument.” She paused. “Are you regretting your choice to go work with him?”

  “No. I mean, I really think ancient civilizations hold the answers to who we are and where we’re going. There’s so much out there we can’t explain - who built the sphinx, why the older pyramids are more technologically advanced than the newer ones, the maps of Antarctica that pre-date our history. And those are only a few. There are thousands of examples of unexplainable history. Pre-historic civilizations are the only possible answer. And he’s the archaeologist doing the most innovative research. So, I don’t regret it. I just wish…”

  “He was a normal human being?” Laney deadpanned.

  Drew barked out a laugh. “Exactly.”

  Laney didn’t disagree with Drew’s interest. Before she’d turned to criminology, she’d thought hard about archaeology, for many of the same reasons that Drew had mentioned. According to mainstream archeology, the dawn of civilization began around 3,000 BC. Yet, there were more and more archaeological sites and discoveries of great skill that were being uncovered that pre-dated that arbitrary timeline. The Piri Reis map, the research of Steen-McIntyre, Puma Punku. None of them could be explained by the traditional timeline. She knew why Drew was so passionate about the topic. She just really wished the academic who was top in the field wasn't also such an ass.

  She grabbed her exercise bag as she headed down the stairs. “Well, at least I got you to laugh. And I hate to do this to you, but can I call you later? I’m heading to my self-defense class.”

  “You still teaching that?”

  “Yup. Every Saturday, me and Rocky have a group of anywhere between five and twenty women we take through the paces.” Rocky, a.k.a. Detective Rochelle Martinez, was a pint-sized powerhouse. Six months ago, she and Laney had started offering a free women’s self-defense class Saturday mornings.

  “Maybe that’s what I need. Some martial arts. I liked those classes you took me to in undergrad.”

  Laney smiled. She’d been studying martial arts since she’d been a kid. And she always loved introducing people to the discipline. But Drew, while a gym enthusiast, was not exactly the most coordinated student she had ever taught. “Well, I think exercise is always good,” she said diplomatically, as she waved goodbye to Kati and headed outside.

  Walking down the porch, she crossed the lawn to her silver Pathfinder. “I really do need to go, though. Can I call you later?”

  “Um, yeah. Actually, though, I have a favor to ask.”

  “Anything.”

  “Any chance you could read over a paper I’ve been working on?”

  “I thought you weren’t allowed to share any of that work,” she teased as she threw her bag into the passenger seat.

  “I’m not. But I thought maybe if I showed him something that we could send out, it would kind of pave the way for some of the bigger findings we're going to be revealing down the road. Before I give it to him, though, it has to be perfect. I want to make sure there are no glaring errors in the logic, or God forbid, a typo. But I really need you to keep this on the down low.”

  Laney hopped into the driver’s seat and hit the speakerphone button on the cell. “Not a problem. I have some papers to grade tonight. I can look at it tomorrow, though, and get some comments back to you by around lunch. Will that work?”

  She could practically feel Drew's relief pour through the phone. “That would be incredible.”

  Putting the truck into reverse, she started to back out of the drive. “What's the paper on, anyway?”

  Drew was silent. She waited for a slow-moving Honda to pass and maneuvered out, onto the street. “Drew?”

  The sigh was barely audible, but she caught it. “Promise me you’ll be open-minded?”

  “Of course.”

  “It’s on an ancient technologically-advanced society that existed prior to written history.”

  Laney slammed on the brakes and stared at her phone, knowing exactly what Drew was trying to avoid saying. “Drew, are you talking about what I think you’re talking about?”

  “Yes. It’s about Atlantis.”

  CHAPTER 2

  Saint Paul, MN

  A few stray beer bottles rattled along the street, blown by the wind. Gideon curled his lip in distaste. Neighborhoods like this disgusted him. It was populated almost solely by undergrads, with a smattering of graduate students and a few young professors who had not yet made enough money to move to better accommodations.

  The houses weren’t rundown because of economic shortcomings, but because of neglect. The residents didn’t take pride in where they lived.

  Although it was late morning, the neighborhood remained quiet. Given the hours traditionally kept by this population, that was not surprising. In fact, Gideon had been counting on it.

  He’d watched the couple on the first floor of the prewar-era colonial drive away a few minutes ago. Like most of the houses on the block, this one was broken into two apartments. His target lived on the second floor. He watched the street for another few minutes, noting little activity.

  Easing himself out of his car, he straightened his trench coat, pulling up the collar against the slight rain. He crossed the street and tried the front door. Unlocked. He sighed. This was simply too easy. He passed the entrance to the first floor apartment and headed up the stairs.

  At the landing, he followed the hallway back to the front of the house. Pausing before the only door, he listened for any sounds from inside. A chair scraped along the floor and someone crossed the room.

  He rapped on the door three times, tapping his foot as he waited for the occupant to answer. He heard the locks being undone and restrained the urge to roll his eyes. No asking who it was, simple trust that nothing of harm could be on the other side of the door.

  The man who opened his doors was in his late twenties, of medium height, with a mop of curly brown hair, jeans in need of a good wash, and a rumpled Henley.

  “Can I help you?”

  Gideon smiled. “Drew Masters?”

  Drew nodded.

  Gideon took a step forward, crowding Drew back into the apartment. “We need to have a little chat.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Dewitt, NY

  Muscles aching, Laney settled into the bath with a contented sigh. A
fter the self-defense class, she’d stopped by the Kung Fu school for a little sparring.

  The plan had been to stay for a half hour, tops, and then get right back to her papers. But Sifu had decided to run a bracket. Everyone paired up and the winners fought the winners of the other pairings until only one remained.

  She’d tried to beg off, knowing if she didn’t, she’d be up all night grading. But then one of the new guys made a snarky comment about women getting black belts due to affirmative action, and she was in. She smiled. The victory was good, but man, it hurt.

  The house phone rang just as she started to doze off. She opened her eyes with a groan. I’m not getting it. There is nothing short of fire that can get me out of this tub right now.

  Kati and Max had left an hour ago to spend the week with Kati’s parents in Ohio. Quiet in this house was a rare and wonderful thing. She wasn’t giving it up, short of an emergency. A really desperate emergency.

  But then thoughts of her ungraded papers replicating like rabbits in the kitchen seeped into her brain. With a muttered curse, she pulled herself from the tub and dried off. Throwing on some sweats, she did a quick run-through with the hair dryer and headed back down the stairs. Pouring a giant mug of coffee, she settled down once again in front of her papers with a sigh.

  Twenty minutes later, she was deep into a paper on the role of neuropsychological deficits in violent crime when the front bell rang. She looked at the clock. Six o’clock. She couldn’t think who it could be.

  Walking to the door, still holding her paper in her hand, she peeped through the transom glass next to the door. Smiling, she undid the locks and flung open the door. “Uncle Patrick. I didn’t know you were coming by.”

  “I called. I guess you didn't hear me.

  His strong Scottish brogue seemed more pronounced in the quiet. She’d overheard one of his parishioners describe him as a redheaded Paul Newman. She couldn’t disagree. With his strong cheekbones, bright blue eyes, and just the smallest hint of grey around the temples, he did bear an uncanny resemblance to the actor.

  She stepped back to let him in. “I was in the bath. We ran a bracket at the school.”

  He pulled her into a hug and held her longer than normal.

  She pulled back and looked into his eyes. “What's wrong?”

  He shook his head. “How’d you do in the bracket?”

  “I won. But they gave me a good run for my money.”

  “You really should get your instructor belt. You could have had it years ago.”

  She waved his words away, leading him back into the kitchen. “I don’t need it. I’m happy with my current belt.”

  “What’s all this?” he asked, eyeing the papers covering the table.

  “First term papers of the year.” She held up the paper she was grading. “Believe it or not, one of my students has actually written a good paper. Miracles do happen.”

  “So I’ve heard.” He smiled, but it lacked its usual warmth.

  She frowned. Her uncle could always be counted on to bring up the energy level in a room. Today, though, a worried expression marred his usually upbeat countenance. And his ramrod-straight posture, a remnant of his Marine Corps past and strict exercise routine, was also noticeably absent.

  “Are you sure everything’s okay?”

  He cleared his throat. “It’s just …” He looked around the room, anywhere except at her. His eyes stopped on her coffee pot. “Could I get some of that coffee?”

  Alarm bells shrieked in her head. Her uncle never drank coffee. Tea, yes, practically by the bucket. But coffee?

  She paused before nodding. She knew from experience her uncle would tell her what was going on when he was ready and not before. Growing up, it had frustrated her to no end.

  “Of course.” She gestured at the table. “Take a seat.”

  In less than a minute, she’d placed a coffee before him. Settling back in her chair, she waited until he took a shaky sip. “Okay, you’re beginning to scare the heck out of me. What’s going on?”

  He sighed and looked into her face, a veil of tears in his eyes. “It’s about Drew.”

  Her stomach plummeted and she shook her head. “Drew? Nothing’s wrong with Drew. I just spoke with him this morning.”

  He leaned forward in his chair, his surprise and intensity evident. “You did? What did he say?”

  Laney recounted their conversation. “So I told him I’d review the paper, and get it back to him tomorrow.”

  Patrick’s shoulders drooped at the words. He reached out, taking both of Laney’s hands in his. “That won’t be necessary, sweetheart. I got a call from a colleague of mine out at Saint Paul. Drew…”

  Laney tried to pull her hands away and ignore the icy fingers of fear that ran down her back. “Of course it’s necessary. I promised him I’d get it back to him.”

  She could feel his hands trembling, and tears now ran down his cheeks. She felt a catch at the back of her throat as her own tears threatened.

  “I’m sorry, honey. Drew died this morning. He committed suicide.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Her uncle wanted to stay, but Laney needed to be alone. She needed to grieve, yell, break things. And if her uncle were here, she’d be focused on him and how he was reacting. She needed to be selfish. Just for tonight.

  Outside on the porch, he hugged her tight. “I’ll be back in the morning, right after 7:30 Mass. I’ll bring bagels, okay?”

  Laney concentrated on keeping her voice even. “Sounds like a plan.”

  Patrick gave her one last look. She knew if she showed any sign of despair, he’d never leave. “I’m okay. I just need some time to myself.”

  He reached up and kissed her on the cheek. “You call me if you need me, okay?”

  She nodded, but didn’t speak. She knew if she opened her mouth, the ocean of tears she was holding back would burst forth. He headed down the porch stairs to his car. She watched until he drove off.

  Her legs shook as she walked back into the house. Tears began to rain down her cheeks. She focused on the stairs. Just make it to the stairs, she ordered herself. Just there.

  Her knees gave out just before she reached them. Pulling herself to the bottom step, she collapsed, her back against the wall. The rain of tears was now a waterfall. She squeezed her legs to her chest, as if somehow she could provide herself with some comfort.

  This wasn’t possible. He was fine this morning. There was nothing in his voice to indicate he was that desperate… Was there?

  She replayed the conversation in her mind. She shook her head. No, something was wrong here. There was nothing to suggest he was suicidal. He was the most upbeat person she’d ever known. He wouldn’t have killed himself. Her conviction drove her to her feet.

  “He wouldn’t have killed himself,” she said, needing to hear the words out loud.

  She walked into the kitchen, swatting at the tears on her cheeks. Pulling a bottle of water from the fridge, she took a long drink. Okay, if he didn’t kill himself, it must have been an accident. But what happened? She knew the police wouldn’t reveal any information to her. But…

  She pulled out her phone and punched in Rocky’s number. “Detective Martinez.”

  “Rocky. I need some help.” She quickly explained about Drew. “They’re saying it’s a suicide. But I know him. He wouldn’t have killed himself. Can you find out anything?”

  “Give me a couple minutes. I’ll call you back.”

  A couple of minutes turned out to be over an hour. She tried to grade some papers while she waited. But her mind kept wandering back to Drew. She gave up when she could no longer read the words through the tears.

  She needed to do something with her hands, something that would distract her. She unloaded the dishwasher, folded laundry, filled the dishwasher, swept the kitchen floor.

  The whole time, doubts flooded her mind. Had she missed something? Should she have called more? Should she have pushed him more when her uncle offered him the
job?

  With each new question, she cleaned harder. She was about to tackle the bathroom when her cell rang. She had it open before the second ring.

  “Rocky?”

  “Yeah, Laney. How you doing?”

  The calm tone made Laney go cold. “What’d you find?”

  “You might want to sit down.”

  She pulled out a kitchen chair and sank into it. “Okay. Tell me.”

  “I’m sorry, Laney. Drew hung himself.”

  Her body jolted at the words. A vision of Drew, lifeless and hanging, flashed across her mind.

  Rocky continued, oblivious to Laney’s response. “Apparently, a friend stopped by. They were supposed to go to lunch. When Drew didn’t answer, he used his spare key to open the door. He said Drew sometimes got caught up in work and didn’t hear the door.”

  A memory from college ghosted across her mind. Eight friends had shown up at her and Drew’s place once for a night of drinking. Drew had been lost in his work, oblivious to the party that had broken out around him. An hour after everyone arrived, he’d looked up, shocked, when she’d handed him a beer.

  Rocky’s voice was somber. “He found him hanging from the ceiling fan and called the police.”

  Laney rocked in her chair, tears streaming down her face, a hitch in her voice. “There’s no mistake? They’re sure it was a suicide?”

  “They’re pretty sure. I’m so sorry, honey.”

  Standing, she paced the room. “No. You don’t understand. He wouldn’t do this.” Her voice broke. She paused, staring at the ceiling, and willed the tears back.

  Taking a deep breath, she continued. “Was there anything off in the apartment? Anything missing?”

  “No…nothing was missing, according to the friend.”

  Laney pounced on the hesitation in Rocky’s voice. “But there was something, wasn't there?”

  “Well, there was just this one thing. Everything was there, like I said. But his laptop was completely wiped.”