Solomon's Grave

Chapter Sixty-Eight

This isn’t happening. How could that man have lived?!?

Peter Quinn looked up from his prostrate position before the sanctuary. It was a gesture not of supplication but self-preservation. Tarretti had been packing a weapon! He cursed himself. The fact that the caretaker might have been armed was the reason he’d originally sent Everson into the crypt first, the reason he’d told the boy to shoot the man as soon as he identified him from Peter’s description. He’d been right to do so. The man had not only cheated death long enough to crawl to this place, but he still had his damned weapon.

Manny Paulson moaned against the pew, beside him. Peter ignored him. He’d served his purpose and was dead to him now. Tarretti had done him a favor, actually.

Nathan Dinneck and Elizabeth were crouched awkwardly on the floor, their bound hands keeping them off balance. Josh Everson stood beside them, oblivious to what had happened. Peter was grateful he’d thought to bring the boy this far. Aside from being the only one who could be tied to any murders, he would prove useful now that Paulson was down.

Any leeway he might have had, time-wise, was gone. There weren’t many neighbors close enough to hear the gunshot, but he couldn’t play the odds any longer. Not when his final act of devotion to Molech was so close.

Nathan Dinneck rose up suddenly and Peter had to make a decision. Tarretti dropping his gun could only mean he was finally dead. Had to mean that. And now young Dinneck was going to do something stupid.

Peter stood just as quickly and said, “Mister Everson still answers to me, Pastor. I can have him kill your girlfriend or your father with one command. Do not try anything that will test my patience.”

The minister said nothing. The girl still knelt beside him, unable or unwilling to lift herself up.

Peter shone the light over the caretaker’s body, then looked back at Josh Everson. The gun in the boy’s hand was the only thing keeping Dinneck at bay. He couldn’t risk leaving Tarretti’s weapon too close to his hands. Just in case.

Only one option, unless he wanted to do it himself. He stepped toward the woman and gently helped her up. Undisguised hate poured from her. As soon as she was standing she stepped away from him.

“Such a temper you have,” he said, focusing his voice toward her. Eyes widening, she muttered incoherent words through her gag. She was feeling his power already. The thought gave him the pride and impetus to continue. “I have a task for you, young lady. It will not take long, but you need to do it right away.”

“Elizabeth, don’t—” but Dinneck’s protests were cut short by Peter’s hand rising up quickly, stopping just short of slapping him across the face.

“Do I need to demonstrate how serious this moment is, Reverend?” Without turning from Nathan’s stare he said, “Mister Everson.” He needed to keep any panic or impatience from his voice. To keep control of these people, even for these few remaining minutes, required calm.

But he had to hurry.

When the boy looked his way, Peter repeated, “Mister Everson, please count to six, then shoot yourself in the head.”

Nathan had expected Quinn to tell him to shoot him, or Elizabeth. He shouldn’t be letting him hold their lives for ransom anymore. But Josh had killed a man tonight, if Vincent’s unmoving form meant that he’d finally passed away. Intentional or not, could he take that chance? His friend was unprepared for death. The same was true for Elizabeth. Could he let any of them die out of Grace if he could prevent it?

Josh raised the gun to his own temple.

No, he couldn’t. If there was any chance, even three more seconds of a chance... “OK,” Nathan said. “But stop now or forget everything.” Something dark stirred within him, a horrible realization too heavy to dwell on. Not yet.

“Mister Everson,” Quinn said quickly, “stop what you are doing and lower the gun. But keep it trained on the lovely Elizabeth.”

Nathan felt Elizabeth move against him again as she began to come out of her funk. Her return to normalcy was short lived.

“Not to worry, young lady. After our enjoyable talk outside, I’ve decided to spare you, for a while. I think we can have great fun together. In the meantime, you will please go to the podium and put Mister Tarretti’s gun atop the back altar so it is no longer within his reach.” Elizabeth did not respond, but quietly took a step toward the sanctuary. “One moment,” Quinn said, his voice losing some of the calm of earlier. Elizabeth hesitated. Quinn cursed quietly and fumbled with the knots binding her wrists.

Seeing this man touch her, even if only untying her, filled Nathan with a rage he could barely contain. He looked sideways to Josh, saw the pistol still aimed at her.

Even if only for a few seconds... he reminded himself. He did not know how much longer he could hold back. His hands were tied, but if he surged forward, perhaps knocked Quinn’s head against the floor...,

God, give me patience. So many lives are at stake. Help me to know what to do.

The short prayer calmed him, if only enough to stay his ground. The darkness returned to his heart. In those brief seconds when Josh had raised the gun to his own temple, Nathan understood how much he had failed these people. All his life, the only thing he wanted for himself was ordination, a chance to share the Gospel with as many people as possible. People except, apparently, those closest to him. Nathan went out into the world, but left Elizabeth and Josh to find their own way to salvation. She never wanted to hear it, true, but Josh... for all Nathan knew, his best friend yearned to be part of Hillcrest Baptist, to follow the path Nathan walked. But in all the years they’d been friends he’d never asked, save for casual invitations. Afraid it might come between them. Now, it was too late.

Chapter Sixty-Nine

Quinn managed the knots at last and flung them away. The rope landed across Manny Paulson’s shoulder. Paulson had managed to move against the pew, obviously trying to reach the side exit, but his strength seemed to be ebbing as fast as the blood from his hip.

“Peter,” he gasped from his dark corner. “Peter, call an ambulance. Please help me. I can’t move my leg.”

Peter ignored the plea. It felt as if he’d lost an hour just untying the stupid woman. Now that she was free, he needed to maintain a steady voice. He expected to hear police sirens approaching in the distance at any minute.

“Elizabeth,” he whispered into her ear. “You may now approach the man on the altar and take his weapon.”

She did so, with hesitant but obedient movements. When she had the gun in her hand and Tarretti made no sign of resisting, Peter took a deep breath and let it out slowly. One less obstacle, at least. “Please lay it atop the altar and return here.”

As she did, Peter stared down at the dirty sack beside the dead man. It was surprisingly free of any bloodstains. Tarretti’s body had been mostly moved aside by Paulson. The long-sought-after tablets, carved by the finger of the Israelites’ God, lay inside. As if this thought was the catalyst, the sounds they’d all heard earlier returned. A single note from a distant organ, voices that were nothing but wind, voices singing, chanting.

Stop it! Focus.

Elizabeth slowly returned from the back of the sanctuary and stood between Everson and the preacher. The gun lay on the altar, too far for Tarretti to reach without giving away any pretense he might be playing at. Peter moved the flashlight beam away from the prize and saw again the faint glow; felt it, electric, a tingling across his face.

“I—” Peter began, but the overwhelming significance of what he was about to say caught in his throat. So long searching. So long, and now he would be the one to bring it to fruition. Not his uncle, not some faceless follower a hundred years from now. He would finish it.