Solomon's Grave

leaving here with you, or they’ll know something’s up. They already killed Pastor Hayden. If they realize Nathan is the one they’re after, then he’s in terrible danger.”

For the moment that stopped her, but her stare became even icier than before. He had hoped that the two of them leaving without him would be enough to appease her. Give her a chance to convince Dinneck to change his mind. It didn’t matter. Nathan had been chosen by God and there wasn’t a damned thing she could do about it. He would be there, if for no other reason than to finally have answers.

Nathan said, “So, what’s the plan?”

“Drive back to your church, Reverend. You know there’s a hiking trail that runs alongside the properties? Go into the church, turn on one light then go out through another door. Use the trail to reach the cemetery.”

Nathan nodded. Every child growing up in that part of town knew where the path led, not to mention Nathan’s own jaunt along it just last week. There was a spot where the cemetery’s bordering rock wall opened up.

“Wait at the gravesite if I’m not there. It’ll take me a little longer since I’m going to walk. If I drive they’ll see me. Best they think I’ve gone to bed.”

Elizabeth muttered, “Can we go now?”

“Yes. Stay safe, and may God protect you.”

“Sure, whatever.” She headed for the door, stretching Nathan’s arm between them. He held back.

“Don’t take long,” he said. “As much as I want to resolve this, we’re not going to wait all night.”

“Agreed. Go now.”

When they were gone, Vincent reached down and patted the dog’s rump. “Come on, Boy, bedtime.” He turned off the kitchen light and walked in the dark to the bedroom, tossing the jacket onto the bed. He unwrapped the gun and loaded fresh rounds into the clip. He worked quickly in the light spilling from the hall, not wanting to be out of sight much longer. He put the gun into the front pocket of the windbreaker and went into the bathroom, turning the light on as he entered, and began brushing his teeth. Johnson had remained in the bedroom, eager for the routine to fall back into place. Vincent finished at the sink, used the toilet and turned the light off behind him as he left. He had to be careful not to break his pattern. Anyone watching him, if he was being watched, would notice. Bad enough Dinneck and the girl showing up so late. He turned on his beside lamp, knelt beside the bed and prayed. He stayed longer than usual, begging for strength, for the Lord to protect the two young people and not let the woman keep Nathan from doing what he was called to do.

He prayed also that he would be allowed to serve Him in some way even after the prize was turned over to new hands.

He rose at last, stripped and went to bed. He set the alarm clock, turned off the light then jumped out of bed and dressed again. In the dark living room he carefully put on the windbreaker, made sure the pistol was secure in the pocket with the Velcro-fastened flap. He opened the kitchen window, then the screen, and slowly crawled outside. The gun clunked once on the sill, but otherwise he emerged onto the grass without a sound.

Johnson tried to follow him out the window.

“I’ll be right back,” Vincent whispered, and pushed the dog back inside with one last scratch behind its ears. He slid the window as far closed as he could manage with one arm still holding back his oldest and best friend. “Stay. Good boy.” He gave him another scratch, then withdrew his hand. “Good boy. I’ll be right back.”

The dog whimpered in protest.

Vincent turned around and waited, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. Then he ran the short distance to the tool shed.

He knew the location of every tool, every unobstructed space, without needing the light. The crowbar was where it always was, on the lip of the second highest shelf near the door. His hand passed through a thick layer of spider webs to reach it. He’d had no use for this tool—he used much larger versions for working with gravestones —since Ruth last opened the crypt for him. He wiped off the cobwebs and a layer of rust all around it. He hoped it was strong enough to do its job. He reached behind him and slipped it under the jacket, wedging a third of it into the back of his jeans. Once its position had been adjusted enough to offer the least discomfort, he left the shed. The crowbar pressed painfully against his right buttock with every step. There would be no running, not without some severe and painful consequences.

He got his bearings before moving across the yard, keeping to the edge of woods whenever possible. He walked silently, but quickly.

Chapter Forty-Eight

For most of the ride to the church, Elizabeth remained quiet. She brooded beside Nathan, arms folded across her chest. He would have welcomed a distraction from his jumble of thoughts, even if the distraction was Elizabeth finally blowing her top. What he was planning to do felt right, the next logical step. Even if all this was pointless, even dangerous, at least it would be an answer. Either the dreams and Hayden’s murder and his father’s situation were all connected, part—or the result of—some overall plan by God, or he was letting himself be drawn into another man’s delusions. Either way, it was coming to closure. It felt like he was moving along in another dream, unable to change what was coming.

He could stop it now, call the police and turn Tarretti in. Let them separate truth from fantasy. When he considered this, a tightness pulled at his stomach. It would be wrong, his instincts told him. Don’t fight the current; swim with it to the end.

Then maybe Nathan could move on with his life, prepare the congregation for the shock of learning their former pastor was dead. There would be many, many people who would need him; his ear and his arm and his words for comfort.

Problem was, he couldn’t see that result on the horizon. Not in the direction they were heading.

The intersection with Greenwood Street passed by on their right. Elizabeth followed its progress through her window but remained silent. Nathan took the next right onto Dreyfus Road and in a moment was turning into the church’s driveway. The building was dark. He considered driving past the smaller lot in front, with its space still marked “Pastor Hayden”, and parking in the back. It would be closer to the woods and the path leading to the southern edge of the cemetery.

That would be breaking his own routine. He parked in front. Seeing Hayden’s name bathed in the headlights filled him with a renewed sense of pain. He pushed it down. Time for that later. There was something else, another sensation kindled at seeing the sign. A sense of urgency. Nad ei tohi seda votit saada!

What did that mean?

It was going to be a long night. He needed to stay focused. Looking back to the road, Nathan saw no sign of them having been followed. Time to enter the church, then pass straight through and out the back door. If someone was watching, hopefully they’d think he was still inside.

With Elizabeth.

Let them think what they would. At the moment, it really didn’t matter.

As soon he turned the car off, Elizabeth turned toward him, partly restrained by the seatbelt.

“Nate. I’ve given you enough time to think about this. Let’s go inside, and stay there. Tell me we’re not going to walk through the woods and wander into a cemetery. Please tell me that.”

He stared out the windshield. In the dark, he no longer could read Hayden’s name except for a veiled impression of the letters. He didn’t dare look Elizabeth in the eye. Not yet. “I’ll be willing to drive you home, E. I just—”

“I’m not going home! Especially if you’re still going through with this!” Her voice fell soft, pleading. “Nate, let’s go inside and call the police. I’m not saying Tarretti doesn’t have some connection to all this. He might even be right about your dad’s group being involved.” She laid a hand on his arm. He flinched involuntarily, but she did not let go. “But Tarretti might be involved in a bad way. Have you thought of that? Reverend Hayden was found in the middle of the woods; you told me that yourself. Now some guy wants you to climb into a grave with him?”

She had a point. But the images from the dreams, the vision during the Sunday fellowship dinner....

What if they’d been warnings? What if God wasn’t telling him to pay more attention to John Solomon’s grave but rather to stay away from it?

He closed his eyes, prayed to know the truth. Elizabeth, perhaps sensing she’d made ground with him,