"You only did it for a week or so."—David rested his chin on her shoulder, touched his cheek to hers, and asked her to continue.
"I must have been looking for a store to buy bread."—Mattie responded to David's touch on her face by reaching her left hand back to his firm neck and resumed.
"I remember walking away from the building. I remember that I had two children. I did not know where they were. All I could think of was escaping the fire and finding my children. David, it was another time and place. It was a long time ago and near the ocean. I feel like I must have lost two children. Yes, I had two children that died in that other time."—Mattie had remembered something else, but she stopped herself as she decided not to reveal quite all that she remembered.
David asked her if she was talking about reincarnation or a past-life memory. But Mattie told him that she did not believe in reincarnation, although she could not prove it to be true or false.
"I was there, David—somehow and someway—I was there!” she insisted as she brushed his arms off and stood up against the wind as if to make a stand.
"How do you forget a horrible memory like that?"—Mattie hid her puzzled look as she covered her face with her hands and faced a bright sun.
While Mattie and David talked on the shore, the nearby Lover's Point Coffee Shop opened their doors to their familiar customers. It was an old and favorite shop of surfers, tourists, and drifters. It was also home to numerous sea lions that waded through the wooden beams that held up the coffee house below. The shop provided both outside and inside seating, and the menu was full of various choices of sandwiches, teas, and coffees. It opened its doors mid-morning because it catered first to the late risers.
A Cadillac pulled into the coffee shop's parking lot, and a large man exited. The African-American man carried a cane and wore dark sunglasses. His attempt to wear a Hawaiian shirt and blend in failed miserably. The shirt was a tight fit, and he perspired profusely through it. The man had evidently purchased the shirt recently—the attached purchase tag waved in the blustering wind near the belt level.
The man ordered his coffee with cream and sugar and headed toward the sundeck in the rear of the shop. He walked and shifted his weight back and forth between his leg and his cane. His alternate limp caused the floor to creak as he made his way to a table and took out his cell phone. After a moment, he reached his party on the other end while perspiration started to pool on his eyelids and drop on his shirt.
"Where is he? I thought you said he was on the beach!"—the man disconnected the call after he heard a productive response. Then he reached into his pocket, withdrew a pack of cigarettes, and extracted one. Colored at one end with a grey and reddish orange tip, it was visibly distinguishable from the others in the pack. He twisted it at one end, and the cigarette extended. Then he pulled on the extended end, and it elongated even more to a length of almost five inches. This action seemed to light up the colored end, and it simulated a burning cigarette. He held it up in a natural position, between his two first fingers of his right hand, and he viewed the beach with his mini scope. An image transmitted to only the inner part of his dark sunglasses. He spotted Mattie and David, although the image was not clear. He could see them but could not hear their conversation.
"I woke up in a hospital with those memories and with little others. I did not even know how to drive a car. I could not remember the names of family or friends, and I did not even know who my boyfriend was when I returned from the hospital."—Mattie's face grew cold and stiff from the brisk wind.
"The doctors never knew what I was experiencing. I was in the hospital with a bladder infection for three days. The doctors never knew I had lost my memory. I never told anyone, except for Sylvia Reeves, a friend of mine. I mean—she claimed to be my friend—I didn’t remember her either. For all the doctors or anyone else knew, I was just another hysterical female that didn’t know her own mind.
"Sylvia Reeves took me in for a few weeks while I recovered mentally. I left my boyfriend and moved in with Sylvia and her children. Sylvia had recently lost her husband. She said that she felt that she had a common bond with me, and she offered me support, with no strings attached. She explained to me that she was a good friend of mine, so I trusted this stranger to guide me back into the land of the living, so to speak. I learned how to drive, and I obtained a job at a hospital doing laundry. I went back to school or college. That was about four or five years before we met in San Francisco.
"Sylvia told me that I had just lost my former spouse in an apparent suicide two months before my memory loss. She said there had been a nasty divorce two years before that. I was a woman of mystery even to myself.
"Everyone that knew me before my hospital stay said that I had changed and that I was different in so many ways. I had no memories of my current life before the hospital, except for the burning building scene that I tried to tell you about."—Mattie sat down again and allowed another comforting embrace from David.
"So you woke up in a hospital and could not remember your former life?” David probed. “What happened before the hospital? Do you remember anything else? What triggered the memory loss?" David spoke softly in her ear with a non-evasive tone.
Not far away, at the coffee shop, the man put away his scope, finished his coffee, and hobbled back to his car. He did not realize that he was being watched and monitored.
On a nearby hill, a BMW was parked with its left window rolled down. The man was in a sports jacket, and his black hair flapped in the intrusive wind. He held binoculars and an audio antenna, and he pointed them in the direction of the man that walked toward his Cadillac. He then pointed the equipment to David and Mattie on the beach. He had heard their entire conversation and was still listening. He pushed a button on the dash of the BMW and connected to a Bluetooth phone call. He talked with confidence while he observed Mattie and David.
"Reporting in, sir. You were right about him. He didn't drive to Los Angeles like he said. He came to see David, in Monterey! What do you want me to do?" the man asked.
The voice on the other end of the call said, "As to David and the girl, keep watching them and report back anything you find out. As to the man in the Cadillac, don't let him get to David. I don't tolerate disloyal employees." He paused. "Let him leave the area. Follow him. Then kill him!"
On the beach, David and Mattie finished their conversation.
"I am going to be honest, David. I do remember more details—much more. But the memories are too painful for me today!"—Mattie leaned into David's chest. She could not tell him everything now. She needed time.
"It's ok, babe!"—David held her tightly, warming against her body. "I am sure with such trauma of a divorce and memories of losing children, regardless of when it happened, or where..."—David's watch beeped slightly and flashed. David saw the words on the watch screen that indicated that it was Thomas. It was a reminder that brunch would be ready soon and that David had a call from a friend. "We have to get back Mattie. We got food waiting for us."
Mattie felt that there was one detail that David needed to know. She thought that it would break the ice later when she would tell him her entire story.
"David, I do remember another detail,” she said. “I remember holding two stones. This mysterious man gave them to me and..."—Mattie was interrupted.
"What did you say?"—hooked on every word, David turned and looked into her eyes as she resumed her story.
"I held on to two stones while I was at the burning building. I remember one was blue, and one was white," Mattie told him.
"Let's get back to the house. It's getting colder.”—David was interested but changed the subject. There was a pressing matter elsewhere. “Besides, I have a few tales of my own to share with you."—David stood and offered his hand to help her up. He dusted off the sand that invaded his pant's crevices and stuck to the moisture-drenched denim.
"David, you don't understand! I have those stones. I woke up in the hospital after I had co
me to myself. I was holding onto those stones with my hands!"
"What!"—David looked around suddenly and acted paranoid as if no one else should hear that information. "Where are they, Mattie? The stones—where are they?”—David looked around the beach from his viewpoint at Lover's Point and quickly combed the area with his glance.
"I gave them to Sylvia, just before leaving North Carolina for California,” Mattie answered. “Why? What's the rush anyway?"—Mattie stretched her thin bare arms toward the clear blue skies and yawned.
"Mattie, I am going to break Haj out of jail!" David declared.
Meanwhile, the man at the BMW, on the nearby hill, put away his scope and listening device. He said with some degree of satisfaction while he smiled, "That's what you think David! That's what you think!"
Chapter 9
Peter and Dred
Just Before Egypt
The idea of having a brother intrigued Peter. So he decided to stay an extra night at his hotel in Carmarthen because Dred wanted to drink and dine downtown—the funeral would have to wait one more day. Peter thought it was odd that Dred had no place to stay and felt some superficial degree of pity on him. He took a taxi back to his hotel with Dred, who gave him a hard luck story about being out of work. Then, after a quick trip to his hotel room, they both made a day of it in Carmarthen. Dred pretended to be interested in Peter, and Peter pretended to care about Dred, each of them seeking information about the other. After a day of insincerity, they ended their night at a popular local pub.
Dred wondered why Peter had mentioned the name Cai earlier. Had Peter believed his lies and suggestions that he had placed in his mind? And, if so, would he believe his truths as well?
Dred’s disdain was partially due to jealousy and partially from a low tolerance of ignorance or failure.
Does Peter actually expect me to sit in a pub and bond with him emotionally or spiritually?
They were at the King's Pub in Carmarthen when Peter began to open up to Dred—first with a question.
"Why didn't mum ever speak about you?"—Peter suspiciously leaned over the table—as if he was prepared to hear a secret.
This question made Dred think a moment.
Should I say that his mother was a whore? This is going to be fun! Perhaps the truth or at least part of it might prove amusing to us both.
"Our mother had several affairs, Peter!"—Dred could not resist.
"Jenny had…I mean, our mother…she was extremely dissatisfied with her marriage to her lord and master...her king!” Dred almost choked on his words.
Peter clarified, “Her king?”
Dred knew this was not going to be easy at all, and he wondered if he could explain to Peter that both his father and mother were once members of a royal family. Did Peter know his true history?
“Your mother regarded her husband as nobility, in a way.”—Dred compromised the truth to avoid a discussion.
Dred became uncomfortable talking about Peter’s family. This conversation and relationship builder intruded on his true purpose, but Dred was quite surprised to find out that Arthur had alluded to his royal status, just before his death.
“Father said that he was once royalty, but, of course, I thought it rubbish.”—Peter was sincerely inquisitive to a bothered Dred as he downed the rest of his pint of ale.
“Right!” Dred said. “Not wanting to be rude, chum, but there are more important things to discuss than parents and their delusional minds. My friend—our friend—was just murdered…”—the two pints kicked in heavily, even for Dred. That slipped out. Dred did not mean to use that word, but Peter corrected him.
“I never said murdered. I said he passed away,” declared an equally inebriated Peter. Peter emphasized his point as he slammed one of his empty mugs down on the table. Some powder spilled to the table from the frothy rim of Peter’s pint, and it caught Dred’s eyes.
Earlier, when he had first arrived at the pub, Dred had drugged Peter’s first drink, but Peter had not noticed the slight traces of white powder on the rim of his glass. Dred grabbed his mug and demanded the waiter to bring another drink while he clandestinely wiped the powder off with his sleeve.
Upon the next drink, laced again with another concoction of mystery, Dred began his interrogation.
“Where are those stones, Peter?” Dred commanded.
“What stones?”
“The ones you surely must have and must know about. Those stones were your mother’s stones. Where are they?”—Dred heavily perspired while he grew more impatient with Peter.
Peter’s eyes were bloodshot, and his head spun. He realized something was wrong in his mind, and he dished out his accusation.
“You drugged me. You bastard!” Peter slurred.
Dred insisted that Peter was just pissed and not drugged. But Peter’s head fell quickly, and he passed out. Then Dred promptly got up from his side of the table and sat beside Peter and began to search his pockets.
The crowd in the pub was boisterous that night with a party of boys that boasted a celebrated win at a local rugby event. The noise had muffled the drunken objections of Peter, and the distraction had hidden Dred’s attempt to loot Peter’s valuables.
But Dred found nothing of value because Peter had locked up Uncle Willie’s cryptic book at his hotel. However, he had in his pocket one important thing that was discovered by Dred. It was the note from Doctor Habib. He read the note that said that Habib would be there to “sort things out.”
Habib is alive? I thought he was dead. Is this his son? Or is this the same Habib that I once knew?
“Peter must think that Habib killed Willie!” he mumbled softly.
“Hey, fella! Who ya talkin’ to?”—Doris, their waiter, came to ask if they were ok. She was about to ask if they needed a cab but noticed Peter’s head on the table. “Is he ok?”
“He’s fine. Leave us be.”—Dred said it again more forcefully and then pushed Doris away so that she fell to the floor and spilled a drink. Some of the noise died down when people heard the sound of a bottle breaking along with some swear words from Doris. Then Doris picked up her tray and walked away.
Dred searched again through Peter’s pockets. He hoped to find something that belonged to Willie. A man then walked up to the table and bellowed, “What’s this? You taking the man’s wallet, eh?” It was a boyfriend that Doris had cried to, who was part of the loud crowd earlier.
“You heard me, mate!”—again the persistent man pestered Dred and stood quite close to the table.
Dred would be bothered no more. He straightened his back after a brief roll of intimidating eyes that pierced the stranger with a look of grotesque evil. Dred pushed the table forward with one hand to give a threatening effect, and it allowed him to stand up quickly against his intruder.
Dred’s tall stance overshadowed the other man as his rigid right forefinger extended with a straightened arm. The tip of his finger touched a button on the man’s shirt. He pushed forward with his finger and again struck his victim with a devilish stare.
“I said to leave me alone!”—Dred’s eyes started to glow an unnatural and reddish hue in the iris that quickly faded back to a black color. This display scared the man, who promptly left and returned to his party. Peter was still passed out on the table.
The owner of the local pub had called the police, and their lights flashed just outside. Dred, not amused with the blue lights of warning seen through the windows, rapidly scanned the pub and looked for an exit.
Doris and her boyfriend escorted the police in, and they pointed to Dred’s table in the back. Some of her boyfriend’s mates blocked the rear entrance. They thought this would keep Dred from leaving and avoiding the police.
Dred grabbed a pen from Peter’s pocket and scribbled something on the back of Haj’s note that he had stolen. He swiftly bent over and shoved it back into Peter’s pocket as two police officers arrived at the table. Dred stood and turned to face them. There was a constant and glowing redness
in both eyes that did not fade. The police though frightened quickly took a defensive stance.
Dred stretched out his right hand toward the officer on his right and slightly moved his hand with a flick of the wrist to the right. At once, the police officer’s body was lifted off the floor by an unseen power and thrown over three tables to Dred’s right. The body sailed and collapsed against a wall.
Dred’s eyebrows rose, and his head tilted as if he invited the other officer to stand down. But the other officer on his left ignored Dred’s prior display of telekinesis and fully charged toward him with a droll expression of determination. It was then that Dred motioned his left hand in the opposite direction of the prior move. With a flick of his left hand, he threw the other officer over several tables and into a glass photograph case that contained several local trophies that heralded pub-sponsored athletes.
Small pieces of glass covered a large area to his left, but Dred navigated through it and made his way to the front entrance. His eyes ceased their glow and returned to their original black color. The patrons either stayed under their tables or crouched against walls. The fear that struck them kept them from running away.
Dred exited the establishment and looked for a vehicle to steal while the lights of blue still pulsated and beat out their defiance just outside the pub. He quickly spotted a motorcycle and walked over to the bike. He raised his black coat to mount it and tightened his pair of black leather gloves over his fingers and triangular nails.
He then noticed that there was no key in the bike as the sounds of nearby sirens increased their intensity. More police were on their way. Again, Dred’s eyes glowed red, and he waived his right hand over the bike. The engine started instantly, and Dred pushed the kickstand back with his black leather boot. Then he revved and tore out of the parking lot just as two more police cars arrived at the scene.
The Royal Stones of Eden (Royal Secrecies Book 1) Page 9
