Solomon's Grave

air coming in from outside.

They drove on, staying on the interstate. Nathan still felt exposed on this open road, uncertain of where to go next. He needed to listen to his instincts from now on. Go where the Spirit might direct them.

When it returned fifteen minutes later, Elizabeth’s voice was weak, tired.

“Nate?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you think God’s going to mind me tagging along like this?”

He smiled, sensing the Old Elizabeth returning. Even her jabs at his faith were a welcome relief. “I thought you didn’t believe in God,” he said.

“Yeah, well, regardless, do you think he’ll mind? I mean, bringing the dog wasn’t one of your brightest ideas, but me... what about me?”

The question carried such a weight of importance, in its implication and the almost desperate way in which it was asked, Nathan took his time in answering.

“No, E,” he finally said. “I don’t think He’ll mind. Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m beginning to think you were supposed to come with me.”

He’d gone too far. His fear doubled when Elizabeth suddenly broke out in renewed sobs, at times banging her head lightly against the passenger window. He doubted she even knew she was doing it.

He wanted to take back what he’d said, then remembered something his pastor in Florida once told him. If a parishioner is crying, they do not want to hear anyone’s voice. They only need to know you’re there with them.

He reached out and gently touched her arm. Her sobs, after a while, lightened. She turned back to him, holding his arm with both of her hands, and leaned her head on it like a pillow.

After a while, he assumed she’d fallen asleep. Instead, she whispered, “We’re going to have to eat, I suppose, and find some new clothes, a pair of shoes for me, if that’s OK. Get rid of this car.” She sighed. “I can’t believe you brought the dog with us.”

“I’m not sure how much money I’ve got, and I don’t dare use my ATM card. Not that I have a whole lot in the bank anyway.” He tapped the steering wheel with two fingers. “Not sure how we’re going to trade in this car, either. I mean, technically, it’s stolen.”

“Well,” she said, her voice fading, falling into sleep, “we could always sneak onto a train car, or something. I’ve got forty bucks in my pocket. Not much, but I guess if we’re supposed to be where we are, like you said, something will come along.”

Nathan agreed, but since he could feel Elizabeth’s weight fall heavily on his arm, he didn’t say so. Her breathing fell into an even rhythm of sleep.

She was right. They had no money to speak of, a car stolen from a dead psychopath, a ninety-pound orphaned dog, and objects of unlimited power and historical consequence—which could easily change the world simply by the knowledge of their existence— wrapped in a potato sack in the trunk. Something had to come along. They would drive until they could drive no more, and have faith that in the end, something would present itself.

They drove in silence down the empty highway, headlights revealing only the next few yards ahead. Soon the car was only a red point of light fading into the distance. Then it, and its occupants, were gone.

About the author:

Daniel G. Keohane’s short fiction has appeared in a number of magazines and anthologies over the years, including Cemetery Dance, Apex Science Fiction and Horror Digest, Shroud Magazine, Extremes 4, The Pedestal Magazine, Gothic.Net, and many others. Solomon’s Grave is his debut novel, though it has been previously released in both Germany (as Das Grab des Salomon) and Italy (as il Segreto di Salamone). An active member of the HWA and SFWA, Dan lives with his family in Massachusetts, where he is always at work on the next novel.