Solomon's Grave

by Daniel G. Keohane

  These figures stood in rows stretching away as far as he could see, standing in twos and threes. Hair long and flowing, they disappeared, returned, women, men, bald headed with beards, naked, clothed, wings? No, yes. Anger from them, savagery, love, armed with swords that burned white with flame.

  Too much. More sounds behind him. More of the demons filled the room around him. Nathan forced himself to look away from the door. Behind him the wall was gone. A long shadowed hallway, stretching to eternity like the world beyond the door. But in this direction was only black, with bodies of thousands of millions of creatures racing along the walls and ceilings toward him, around him, filling the room with their stench. Too many, they couldn’t be—

  He looked back toward the door. The army of monsters poured through it, tarnishing the perfect light beyond. The tall men/women/angels fell onto the creatures and smashed them from existence. But more came from behind Nathan. More and more. Beyond the door was a war not seen in this universe since—

  Nathan opened his eyes.

  Windshield.

  Reverend Hayden on the sign.

  He was in his car. Staring at the church. Staring at the sign.

  A sob hitched in his chest. Nathan reached up and wiped cheeks wet with tears. He wanted to get out of the car and start running because his heart was racing.

  The engine idled. A song played on the radio.

  His hand shook as he reached forward and turned the radio off.

  Details of the blue room and the universe beyond the door flared in perfect detail one more time; then the dream began to fade.

  He hadn’t fallen asleep. He had just parked the car. Couldn’t have simply dozed off. He remembered pulling into this space. Just a second ago.

  But he had dreamt... hadn’t he? Another vision. A room. No, a light, along a hillside. Something terrible. Something beautiful.

  He couldn’t remember. It had been frightening. At least, he thought so.

  Nathan’s pulse slowed. He must have drifted off for just a second, gotten confused when he realized he was still in his car. He rubbed his face, remembered the tears. He’d been crying? Sleep tears, maybe.

  No, he didn’t have another vision. Definitely not. More like an extended blink. Details of a large room came back to him. Must be thinking about the funeral parlor. Relief. Not a dream. That would’ve been the straw that broke the new pastor’s back, wouldn’t it? He turned off the car and got out. When he put the key into the lock of the side entrance, a pang of fear jabbed at him.

  What was that about? He was just tired. Maybe take a quick nap, set the alarm for an hour later, then finish up Mr. Gipson’s paperwork.

  By the time he closed the door, Nathan had forgotten the vision entirely.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The Eastside Mall was a low-lying strip of five businesses, side by side along a narrow parking lot on Main Street. Like the rest of Hillcrest, this section of town was primarily residential, but the road’s small-town semblance of traffic served enough of a justification for the mall’s existence. The large sign, embedded in the sidewalk along the road, sported distinctly-tailored logos of each company, one atop the other. The topmost advertised the town’s one small convenience store The Greedy Grocer, followed by the lace-adorned Hair U Doing? salon. Below the hair salon’s name was a blank sign, then Thames Carpets and Breaker Mortgage Group. The signs cast the parking strip in a multi-colored hue, though with the exception of the men’s club set in the middle of the strip, The Greedy Grocer was the only establishment still open this time at night.

  Josh Everson slid the door sign to its Closed position as the last customer pulled from the lot with his emergency milk ration. He flipped a switch beside the door. The outside light above the entrance turned off. At the same time, the large marquee at the side of Main Street went dark. It was wired to shut off once the final store killed its overhead light. The Hillcrest Men’s Club had theirs off all the time. Just one more quirk of their bizarre little troupe. Now that The Greedy Grocer was closed, the neighborhood fell into darkness for the next nine hours, at which time Josh would drag himself back to start another day.

  Not that he minded. He was never much of a late sleeper and all he had to do was open the place until Shirley Riggalaro showed up after her kids got on the bus. Then the day was his own, until the closing shift.

  He checked his watch. Five minutes past ten. Before moving back to the register to cash out, Josh looked outside, pressing his hands against the glass to see past the inside glare. Aside from his own rusting Toyota parked out front, three other cars sat bathed in the filtered white light spilling from the men’s club two doors down. Every night, with few exceptions, someone was over there. Granted it was Friday, but it could as easily have been a Tuesday or Wednesday. Having to get up for work didn’t seem a priority for them. Including Nate’s dad. Mr. Dinneck’s car had arrived sometime in the past hour.

  For some reason, the fact that Mr. Dinneck frequented the place never seemed odd until now. He never came into the store when Josh was working, not even for a last minute loaf of bread. The guy in charge of the club came by often enough. Perfectly coiffed white hair and clipped moustache like some displaced English gentleman. The few times he and Whitey (a private nickname Josh tagged for him since he never got the guy’s real name) exchanged pleasantries, Josh invariably got uncomfortable. Something very weird about the man. For some reason, he never felt the need to mention anything to Nate about any of this during the past few months. Now he wondered why. Not until Nate swung by this evening to grab a few necessities like soda and microwave popcorn, did Mr. Dinneck’s nightly sojourns to his little club take on significance.

  During their brief conversation at the counter this afternoon, Nate kept looking out the window. When Josh asked what was up, Nate explained about his dad. Not much, but enough to let him know that all was not well in Dinneck Land.

  The discussion took a U-turn when Josh bagged the groceries and asked, “Any big plans for the weekend, Nate?” He assumed his buddy was planning some wild night of reading the Book of Moses or something equally enthralling. When Nate beamed and shyly mentioned his date with Elizabeth, Josh couldn’t suppress the sudden fear slamming into his belly.

  Not that he’d done anything wrong. Not really. Well, maybe a little. He’d never told Nate about what happened, after all. Not once in the years between the then of his dirty little secret and now. He tried to mask his worry as surprise. Josh’s instincts screamed to tell his friend the truth, now, before Elizabeth did. But, well, Nate seemed to have somewhere to go.

  If E told him tomorrow, so be it. No big deal. It was over now, anyway. Still, Nate was his best friend. Friends don’t keep secrets.

  Josh hunkered down behind the counter and locked the canvas money bag. He dropped the bundle into the safe and spun the day’s cash into the floor. He preferred not to do any bank drop-offs at night; too many stories of ambushes to make it worth the risk. Muggers didn’t usually work the morning shift. He shut off all lights except for the few needed for security, and left the store.

  He hesitated in front of the Toyota. To his left, an occasional shadow passed across the men’s club windows. No details, though. The glass was covered with some kind of white paint, or soap. Why they didn’t get drapes or curtains instead of smearing goop all over the window was beyond him. Then again, that would be something a woman might think of, not a bunch of chain-smoking Bud drinkers playing poker.

  Maybe he could take a peek, if there was a gap in all that paint. Let Nate know what his dad was up to. He felt a sudden sense of déjà vu. Hadn’t he done this once before? It sure felt that way. He’d have remembered it, of course. More and more the fact that he hadn’t been keeping tabs on Mr. Dinneck until now, nor even mentioning anything to Nate about the place bothered him. There was a reason, a good one, but right now he couldn’t remember what it was.

  Maybe he should mind his own business and head home, or go back into the store and gr
ab a movie from the rental shelf.

  Just one peek...

  As he thought this, he was already moving down the front walkway. His reflection in Hair U Doing?’s front window followed. He stepped lightly, stomach tight as if he was spying into a neighbor’s bedroom, then paused. He was just taking a peek.

  The paint/soap was fairly consistent across the windows. The place reminded him of one of those campaign headquarter politicians set up during election season, taking up residence in an abandoned storefront only to abandon it after the votes were cast.

  He tried not to venture too close to the door—another soaped over glass job. Someone might decide to leave. Wouldn’t be very cool to catch the Grocer’s manager spying on their secret games. There. A scrape, no more than a few inches long at roughly waist height. He could see old floor tiles from his current vantage.

  Go home, he scolded himself. He suddenly needed to go to the bathroom. Just look, then you can go, you chicken.

  Josh hunkered down until his left eye was level with the clear spot. The only light around him came from inside so he shouldn’t cast any shadow on the window. He leaned forward, stopping when his forehead rested soundlessly against the glass.

  Someone at the bar. The guy who came in now and then for a six back of Sam Adams. He liked to glare at Josh when he paid. Typical crowbar to the wallet dude. The guy also liked to park in the back alley next to the owner’s car. Someone’s knee just to his right. Josh rolled his head, careful not to bump the window, and Mr. Dinneck came into view.

  The guy looked wasted. He sat in a folding chair and stared across the room at a point to Josh’s left. At least the guy wasn’t looking at him. He didn’t seem to be looking at anything, in fact. Mr. Dinneck just sat there, hands flat on his legs and stared. Behind him, some kind of card game was going on. No one inside seemed concerned about the way the guy was acting.

  Very creepy. He wasn’t drunk. Drunks wouldn’t be able to sit that still. Drugs, then? Yeah, maybe. Mr. Dinneck’s eyes were open, so he wasn’t asleep. What was he looking at?

  Josh did the roll-thing with his head, trying to see what—

  Everything went dark. Something blocked his view in that direction. He looked back toward Nate’s dad.

  Still dark.

  Uh-oh.

  He stood up. Where his face had been was now a hulking shadow on the other side of the window. The shadow rose.

  A man... who was now walking toward the front door.

  OK, folks, time to leave. Josh looked back at his car. He’d only make it halfway before the guy came out. That would look worse than what he was doing now.

  The front door opened. Be cool. I was just heading home and thought I’d take a peek. That’s it. Nothing else. It was the truth.

  He turned back to face Whitey himself, holding the door open. He said with that bizarre voice of his, “Mister Everson, I presume?”

  Josh’s ears suddenly itched. He ignored the feeling and put on his best Oh, hey, how you doing? look, hands in pockets. His right hand felt car keys. They represented escape. Just in case. “Heya,” he said. “Just locking up for the night.”

  Whitey let the door close behind him and walked forward. “See anything interesting?”

  Josh took a breath, let it out. “Just Mr. Dinneck staring off into La La Land, not much else.” Why did you say that, you moron?!?

  “You didn’t see anything inside,” the man said. “Surprisingly, for a Friday, there was no one here. In fact—”

  …Josh began to pull out of the parking lot when he hesitated, pressing the brake harder than he needed to. He blinked. How’d he get here? He looked over his shoulder. The Greedy Grocer was closed up, security lights on inside—always the last step in closing. Yeah, he remembered doing that. Then he took a peek into the Weirdo Club. No one home tonight, though. First time that had happened on a Friday. He looked over his shoulder at the club’s soaped-over windows. Dark and lonely.

  Josh rubbed his eyes. Driving home was getting too routine. He was doing it in his sleep. Not good. He pulled onto Main Street, only then remembering that he wanted to grab a movie from the rack. No, better get home and catch up on his sleep.

  Peter Quinn watched the car drive away. He stood silhouetted against the club’s lighted window. His experimental prodding into the store manager’s head on the occasions they’d spoken paid off well tonight. According to Manny Paulson, he and the new minister were close. Now the boy was snooping around. Checking up on Art, no doubt. It wasn’t the first time, either. Controlling him was becoming easier each time. Peter thought he might prove useful to him some day. Maybe. It was good to have options.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Elizabeth O’Brien looked one more time into the mirror over the fireplace mantle, pushing a stray hair back into place and inadvertently releasing three others from captivity. It was no use. Keeping the mop on her head pulled back was the only way to manage some semblance of neatness. Before the night was over, though, she’d be ripping the scrunchy out in exasperation. Her unruly mane would be free to fall back into her face and her food. Some impression that would make.

  She wondered again why she cared. Five and a half years and he hadn’t sent one letter, one email or Christmas card. Of course, neither had she. She’d learned Nathan was back in town both from Mrs. Conan, and in a call from Josh Everson. All morning Tuesday she’d walked on pins and needles, expecting the inevitable confrontation. When she walked by Mrs. Conan’s room and saw Nate sitting at the bedside, her first reaction was to turn around and hide in the break room.

  Then she heard his voice, the voice that sounded so much like home. She stopped and listened to him work. He was reading from the Bible, of course. He was always reading from that book.

  She envied him his unwavering faith, but felt frustrated at how pointless it was. She’d reconsidered her convictions only once, six years ago when she’d prayed for the first time in her life. There was never the need to ask Nate’s God for anything before. Even that one night, leaning exhausted against her mother’s hospital bed, she felt like she was whispering her prayer to the walls and nothing else. Still, was it so much to ask? Her father was gone. All she had left was that woman. Nate was only around for short intervals before jaunting back to school. If her mother died he would come home, but not to stay. His plans to become a minister had always been stronger than what he and Elizabeth had. That much she couldn’t deny.

  The summer after the funeral, after her pleas were ignored and her mother was stolen away, she sat in his room as he packed for his senior year and thought, it’s time to move on. Nate knew she was alone, knew she needed him, but still was packing up to serve a God who didn’t give any thought to her. Then Nate had the gall to ask her to come to his church again.

  After returning to her empty house that night, she’d cried, knowing it was over. For a long time, the loneliness felt too strong. She’d lost her father, her mother, and Nathan Dinneck forever. It occurred to her that there was nothing else to live for. She could end it, walk away from life and maybe, if the New Agers were right, come back as someone else. Get a second chance. Elizabeth was usually smart enough to ignore thoughts like that, but one night the urge was so strong she filled the bathtub. Standing there, fully-dressed beside the tub, she began to plan the best way to die.

  Since her mother passed on there had been two conflicting voices in her head, both of them her own. Both had their own opinions. One was quiet, whispering, telling her that things would be OK, time heals, all that yadda yadda. The second had darker thoughts which she’d eagerly been nurturing. Nothing was going to get better, the second voice said. Thinking otherwise was pointless. She deserved better and if she couldn’t get it, then why continue?

  With uncharacteristic assertiveness, the first voice chimed in with, If you take your life in this way, what will be waiting for you on the other side will make today’s problems glorious in comparison. That night, standing by the tub in a moment of indecision, she ch
ose to listen to this other voice. It wasn’t Nathan’s, though it did sound like something he might say. It got her thinking. This might indeed be her only chance to live in this world. What was waiting after death? She never held much stock in the concept of Hell. What if there was nothing at all? The idea sent a wave of fear through her. She put her hand on the lever to open the drain, ready to forget the whole thing. Still, she hesitated. The voice, once so subtle but in that moment more insistent than ever, said, Use the life you have, if not for yourself then for others. Be patient, believe in yourself. There are other people, with their own trials. Help them....

  It was an idea filled with inspiration. She thought of Nathan. He was giving up so much for his own calling. He was a smart kid, would have succeeded at anything he tried, but he chose a path of service.

  Elizabeth understood then, her hand lingering on the lever, that this was an option for her, too. Obviously not the same as for him, but if she was so ready to throw her life away, why not... recycle it? Since it wasn’t doing much in the way of helping her own situation, change it to one that helped another’s.

  She’d thought often about going to school for nursing. She’d inherited the house from her parents, and its mortgage had been paid off with the money from her father’s life insurance policy. She had enough money from her mother’s insurance and bank accounts to carry her. And there might be financial aid out there. She supposed she could give school a shot.

  And if the voice was right, it might be the only chance she had left.

  It was odd, thinking these thoughts as if they’d come from someone else. She was alone in the world, in the same small bathroom where her mother used to sing while baby Elizabeth took a bath, where her mother would wash her hair, pat her dry.

  She knew the tub would still be there if this new idea didn’t pan out. A disturbing thought, and one which had prompted her on that lonely night to push the lever down and send the water swirling into the drain.