Solomon's Grave

Nathan looked over at Peter Quinn. He had moved a few paces away, his mouth a tight line.

Nathan remembered with a sudden shock how close he’d come to telling this man everything. He’d been powerless not to. The voice... no, such an ability was reserved for stage tricks and vampire movies.

Of course, so were a bunch of other things that had already happened. All he wanted was to get outside.

Quinn’s demeanor was all business again, but a trace of sweat had broken across his forehead. “I apologize, Reverend, but I have other business to attend to soon. Thank you for stopping by. I’ll tell your father I saw you. He’ll be pleased.”

Nathan doubted that. Still, for some reason he didn’t think Quinn would tell his father. Why he thought that, he couldn’t say, but so many things were occurring to him in the frenzied state of mind that he decided not to question it.

He said to Josh, “I’ll head out with you.” His friend looked relieved. Nathan took one last look at the painting of the Molech temple, assured himself that it hadn’t been a mirage. He shuddered visibly and turned away. Peter Quinn was watching him, and the same half-smirk returned to his face. He called after the men as they walked to the door, “Perhaps we can continue our discussion another time, Reverend.” Back in control, his voice said. A minor setback only.

“Maybe.” Nathan grabbed the door handle. Josh kept a loose grip on his arm as if preparing to catch him if he fell. Nathan had no intention of falling down, or ever speaking to Quinn again, if it could be helped.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Nathan barely felt the cool air against his skin as they stepped outside. His legs were heavy, filled with clay. Too much, he thought. It’s all too much.

His world had always been clearly defined. Even his faith was a straight-edged resolve that never wavered. Now, he found himself in a place where mystery heaped itself upon more mystery. Supernatural was a word he never cared for in the past. Now it fit too neatly. Nightmares scratching their way into the real world. Daylight becoming more and more a bad dreamscape, not something of solace to wake up to.

Should talk of demons and ancient religions really be alien to him? The Old Testament spoke incessantly on the subject. God Himself warned the Israelites to worship only Him. Why would He bother acknowledging such dark creatures within the universe if they didn’t exist?

Peter Quinn certainly believed in them.

Dad, what have you gotten yourself into?

When they reached his car, he wanted to fall to the sidewalk and pray for God to clear his mind and open the thickening gray clouds in his head.

Of course, if he fell to his knees, Josh would probably call an ambulance.

“What was all that about?” Josh leaned against the hood of Nathan’s car, beside a large paper shopping bag.

Instead of answering directly, Nathan gestured to the hood. “That yours?”

Josh craned his neck to look beside him, and said, “Oh, yeah, right.” He picked up the groceries as he said, “You looked like you’d just seen a ghost or something.”

“Or something,” Nathan conceded. “Your timing was impeccable.”

Josh scratched the back of his neck with his free hand, looking suddenly uncomfortable. “Pretty weird timing, more like it. I don’t even know why I’m here.” He looked into his bag. “I mean, chips, soda and a loaf of bread... oh, man, Shirley put the bottle on top of the bread.” He nodded toward The Greedy Grocer. “I’ve really got to send my employees to Bagging School or something.”

Nathan looked at the club’s closed door. He turned and leaned against the driver’s door and stared at the convenience store. “Why are chips and crushed bread weird?”

“Just that I was done with my opening shift a half hour ago. Cashed out; Shirley cashed in. She’s good enough that I don’t need to hang around. Instead of leaving, I decided to get some stuff I needed. Like a craving or something.” He slapped the bag. “Don’t even need chips. I mean, isn’t this the same stuff you got the other night?”

Nathan nodded at the shopping bag. Not exactly the same, but close enough. “Craving? You pregnant or something?” Their apparently pointless banter had a strengthening effect on him. He took a breath and leaned his backside against the driver’s door.

“That’s just it. I’ve got plenty of bread at home. Half a loaf at least. Why I needed to stick around to get this,” he pulled the crushed bread out of the bag and laid it gently back in beside the bottle of soda, “is beyond me.” He sighed. “Anyhow, I saw your car when I was leaving and figured I’d poke my head in to see if you were, well,” he nodded toward the store, “in there.”

Slowly, the implications of what his friend was telling him registered. One thing Nathan had learned in life was never to believe in coincidence. He had been about to confess everything to Quinn—a man who had pretty much admitted to being a demon worshipper, then Josh arrived just at the right time to stop him.

He considered explaining all this to him, but decided against it. When he sensed God had  intervened in some way in his or others’ lives, it usually filled him with joy, a sense of confirmation. This time, it scared him to death.

“So,” Josh said, “what was going on with Whitey in there? About your dad, I assume?”

Nathan nodded. “Figured I’d stop by to check it out.”

 “The place gives me the willies. Looks like a college dorm room inside—well, not yours, but Marty Connolly’s, definitely.”

“You ever see my dad in there with anyone?”

“No. After you came by Friday, I took a peek. Dark outside, and the lights were on,” he spoke with a mock Bela Lugosi voice, “but no one was home...”

Nathan smiled. The expression felt alien to his face in light of everything that had happened.

“So,” Josh pressed. “Why did Drac look like he was going to bite you in the neck just now?”

Nathan felt infinitely better. A conversation of any length with Josh Everson made anything seem humorous. He wanted to tell him about his dreams, about Hayden’s disappearance, Tarretti and the cemetery. Even more so, the painting on the wall just now. It felt more and more like his only chance at mental salvation, the only way to put things in perspective. They could hash it out together and Josh would let him know that he wasn’t losing his mind.

Because he’d come so close to saying it all to the wrong person, he was reluctant. He needed to sit in silence, in prayer, before anything else passed his lips.

“Nate? What’s up? You’re looking all ghosty again.” Josh wouldn’t let him get off without some tidbit to make his shopping madness worthwhile.

Nathan shrugged. “Not much. Quinn’s a little crazy I think, and he might be into some bad stuff.”

“Bad stuff?”

Nathan shrugged again, not knowing what to do with his body. “I thought drugs at first, from the way Dad’s been acting. But I’m suspecting something a little more dark, now.”

He got a raised eyebrow in response.

Nathan whispered, not wanting his voice to carry too close to the door. “I don’t know, really. I think it’s some kind of cult. Quinn’s into something nasty, maybe demon worship.”

Now it was Josh’s turn to go pale. He wasn’t normally one to have a dark complexion as it was, so the simple fact that Nathan actually saw the blood draining from his face was unsettling. He raised a hand, “I really don’t know. Just a few things he said and all.” He hoped Josh wouldn’t ask what “and all” meant.

A thought occurred to him, and he slapped his friend’s arm. It felt good to have something concrete to suggest. “Listen, Josh, you’ve got Internet access, right?”

“Sure. I don’t suppose the old man had a computer at the church? I assume he’s turned up, by the