The Reincarnationist

Her hatred of him should have cooled his ardor. Instead, it seemed to inflame it. Alone in his own rooms, when thoughts of her would come, he’d find a prostitute. But not the lewdest, the lustiest, nor the most comely chased away the images of the virgin. Julius prayed to the gods to take away his desire. When they didn’t, he ignored and surmounted his feelings … He needed to … His attention could doom her. Any congress they might have shared could be her death sentence. And his.

Her eyes were shut. Her lovely red hair was singed and blackened. Julius sat beside her on the grass, unable to get up, although the fire was still raging and he knew the men needed him. Her sisters would come and get her body later and prepare it for burial, but he couldn’t leave her yet. Helplessly, he reached out and pushed a lock of hair off of her forehead. It was the first time he’d touched her. Tears coursed down his cheeks, surprising him with their velocity. Julius couldn’t remember the last time he’d wept.

“Sabina.” Again, a cry, not a word, still not a prayer.

And then it seemed as if the wind answered him, softly whispering his name in response. He looked down.

Her eyes were open. And upon him. And there was no anger in them anymore, but another expression: a mixture of defeat and desire.

Sabina had not perished in the fire after all.

He heard a sound that didn’t fit the picture. Loud. Shrieking. Not human. No. It was the ambulance coming to him from a great blue-green distance.

She looked at him, longing and pain in her eyes.

But the siren was pulling him up, up through the murky, briny heaviness into some fresh hell.

Chapter 11

Rome, Italy—Tuesday, 8:12 a.m.

There were three paramedics. Too many people in a suddenly claustrophobic space. As much as Josh wanted to get out of the tomb, which now reeked of blood, he couldn’t. Backing up, he flattened himself against the wall and watched the team go into action.

The female medic wrapped a blood-pressure cuff around the professor’s arm. One of the men swabbed his other arm and stuck a needle in his vein, readying him for an IV. The third asked Josh questions in broken English.

How long ago did this happen?

When had the professor become unconscious?

Did he know the professor’s family?

Did he have any phone numbers for them?

Fifteen minutes.

Five minutes.

No.

No.

He didn’t know.

They worked with choreographed precision, totally focused, not seeming to notice where they were or that there was a mummified woman broken apart in the corner. But Josh kept glancing at her, checking on her.

From where he stood, he could see the professor’s face, colorless and motionless. But his eyes were open and his mouth was forming words. Josh couldn’t hear the words, so he moved as close as he could without getting in anyone’s way. Which, in that tiny space, meant taking only two steps forward.

The professor continued whispering in Italian: the same few words over and over.

“What is he saying?” he asked one of the medics.

“Aspetta. Wait for her. He’s repeating it over and over.”

They worked on him for a few more minutes and then the woman counted—uno, due, tre—and together they lifted him off the ground, onto a stretcher, strapped him in, and then, in a complicated series of maneuvers, hoisted him out.

Josh followed after them.

Moving quickly, but also being careful not to jostle him, they wheeled him toward the ambulance. In the distance, the roar of a car engine grew louder. A navy blue Fiat raced up the road, dust flying in its wake. A few seconds later, it pulled to a screeching halt and a tall woman jumped out on the driver’s side. She moved in a blur—pure energy—rushing toward the gurney. Josh got a flash of sunburned skin, high, wide cheekbones and windswept, wild, honey-colored hair. Her voice was a combination of authority and fear as she called out her questions to the medics. Even under stress there was a lyrical cadence to her words. As focused on her as he was, Josh didn’t notice Malachai until he called out to him.

As always, Malachai was wearing a suit, despite the heat. He was so meticulous even his shoes were newly shined. That wouldn’t last long now that he was on site.

“Are you all right?” Malachai questioned.

“Fine. I’m fine. But I need to talk to Gabriella Chase.” Josh pointed to the woman who’d gotten out of the car. “Is that her?”

“Yes, but first—”

“The professor made me promise I’d tell her what happened, and—”

He put his hand on Josh’s arm to stop him. “She’s with the medics. So tell me, what happened?”

Briefly, Josh explained about the shooting.

“Were you alone with him?”

“Yes.”

“You were the only witness?”

“Yes. No one else was down there. Now I need—”

“Did you see the man who shot Rudolfo?”

“Yes. Yes, I saw him… .” Josh pictured the scene again as if his mind had filmed it. The man grabbing the box, opening it, pulling out the dark leather pouch, throwing the box on the ground, the professor’s moan, the scuffle, the shot. He stopped the pictures.

“The guard took the Memory Stones, if that’s what was in the box. Shot the professor and took the stones.”

“Did you get a photograph of him?”

“I was rushing to help and then it was too late.”

Malachai stood shaking his head back and forth, trying to absorb the loss. They’d both desperately wanted to see the stones, to talk to Rudolfo and Chase about them, discover if they did indeed have the legendary power assigned to them. Now it appeared they’d never have that chance.

“Did you see them before they were stolen?”

“No.”

“So you don’t know for sure they were in the box? They could have been somewhere else in the tomb?” A faint expression of hope.

“I don’t know for sure … but from the way the professor reacted I’m fairly certain—”

“I don’t think you should mention the stones to the police when they get here. Don’t conjecture about what was in the box.”

Malachai must have read the confusion in Josh’s eyes because he didn’t wait for his question before answering it. “If it appears that you know too much it will make you a more likely suspect.”

“But I’m not a suspect, and shouldn’t they know what they are looking for? Don’t they need to?”

“If they know, word will get out, it’s inevitable, and the very last thing Beryl or I—or, I’m sure, Gabriella, once she knows what happened—want is for the world to know of the existence of those stones. Especially if they’ve been stolen.”

“I don’t know. You’re asking me to lie to the police.”

“About something that isn’t going to help the investigation and that you didn’t actually see.”

“So what do I say—that I saw the guard and that I can describe him—but that I have no idea what he took? That I was too busy having flashbacks to the fourth century, where I was hanging out with the flesh-and-blood version of the corpse that’s buried here?”

Malachai was astonished. “If that’s true, you’d be instrumental to our understanding of what the stones are and how they work. You’d be vital to the solution.”

“Well, there are no coincidences, right? That’s what you and Beryl have been telling me for the past four months, and it looks like you’re dead on. The memories I’ve been having—” He held his arms out to include the tomb, the woods, the hills and beyond. “All of this … it’s what I’ve been seeing for the past year. All of this and more …”

Malachai began studying Josh, taking in his shirtless chest, dirt- and-blood-streaked face. “Are you sure you are all right? Your hands are bleeding.”

“It’s nothing but scratches. The professor is the one who’s been hurt, who might not make it.”

Usually, Malachai was compassionate, but from a distance. As a hobby, and to relax the children he and his aunt worked with at the Phoenix Foundation, Malachai performed magic tricks. One of them seemed to be how he suppressed his own feelings, except for a hidden, sorrowful look in Malachai’s eyes that Josh could see sometimes in just the right light, as if he had been hurt badly once and never quite healed. Josh often wondered whether, if he photographed the man, the melancholy would show through. But now, for the first time, he was overwrought and distressed. “This is a tragedy. A real tragedy.”

And for a brief moment, before Josh realized how absurd the thought was, he wondered if Malachai was referring to the professor’s shooting or the theft of the stones.

Chapter 12

As Josh looked for Gabriella, to give her the professor’s message, the crowd of bystanders grew larger. Josh remembered what Rudolfo had said about the dig becoming a tourist attraction. He looked at his watch. It was 9:00 a.m. Right on cue. The crime scene was going to be contaminated if these people trampled on it. The police still weren’t there to stop them. Shouldn’t they have arrived on the heels of the ambulance? Someone needed to keep the crowds back.

Scanning the gathering, he noticed a trio of nuns, two priests, a group of teenage Goth girls and a tall man holding a pad and pencil talking to one of the nuns. He had thick hair that fell into his eyes, and he brushed it away in a gesture that Josh recognized. Charlie Billings always expressed his impatience like that. Josh was glad to see him—not just because he’d always liked the reporter, but because, having been on assignment with him here in Rome, he knew Charlie spoke fluent Italian.

As Josh made his way over to the reporter, pushing through the crowd, Malachai followed him as if he needed to keep him in sight to keep him safe.

They exchanged greetings, and then Charlie, assuming that Josh was there on assignment, asked who he was covering the story for.

“I’m not here as press, I was here as a guest of the professor. But listen, I need you to—”

“Wait a minute. Do you mean you were here during the shooting?”

Josh nodded, annoyed that he’d inadvertently made himself part of the story.

“Did you see who did this? Did you get a shot of him?” Charlie glanced at the ever-present camera around Josh’s neck.

“I’ll give you all that later, but first you need to help me. This is urgent. This crowd could make it impossible for the police to collect evidence if they get any closer to the area around the tomb. They could be trampling evidence now. I can’t speak Italian, you can. Would you talk to them and ask them to stay back?”

“How ‘bout I trade you. I’ll talk to them and you tell me something I can use. What happened down there?”

“C’mon Charlie—” Josh pointed “—look.” The Goth girls were starting to cross the field.

“Okay, but when I’m done, I’m going to find you.” He started off. “You owe me now,” he called out over his shoulder.

Malachai had stepped away while Josh was talking to Charlie, but now he came forward again. “Bastard.” He indicated the reporter. “But I suppose it’s inevitable the press would be here.”

“He’s okay. I know him from way back. If I play it straight with him, he won’t screw us. Listen, I still—”

Loud wailing interrupted as three police cars arrived and officers jumped out.

“The press is the least of our problems now,” Malachai said. “After they figure out who’s who, the police are going to want to question us. We need to work out what we’re going to say about being here. This is going to be an explosive story, and I don’t want the foundation to be part of it.”

Yet another siren sounded as the ambulance readied to take the professor to the hospital. Josh glanced over. Something was holding them up. Now Josh saw Gabriella, fighting to get into the ambulance with the stretcher. The female medic blocked her and then, when Gabriella didn’t back off, physically pushed her away. Gabriella stumbled backward, tripped and fell to the ground. Without looking back, the medic hurried into the ambulance and slammed the door as it took off.

“She needs help,” Josh said, and ran toward her.

Once he reached her side he knelt down next to her. “Are you hurt?” he asked.

“They wouldn’t let me go with them.” She sat on the grass, eyes peeled on the vehicle as it disappeared.

“They didn’t have room.”

“But he’s alone,” she said, sounding dazed.

“He’s going to get the best care they can give him.” It was like talking to a child.

“Is he going to be all right?” She turned to Josh for the first time. As a photographer, he’d looked into thousands of anguished faces, but her pained expression ripped at him in an intensely personal way, which he couldn’t understand.

“I hope so,” he said. “Are you sure you’re okay, though? That was a tough fall.”

She didn’t seem to understand his question.

“You fell.”

She looked around, noticing where she was as if for the first time. Then, brushing off her hands, she stood up.

“I’m okay,” she said to Josh.

“You sure? You seemed pretty out of it there.” He handed her the knapsack she’d left on the ground, forgotten.

“I’m okay. I am. I just need to find out—”

By now, Charlie Billings had made his way over. “Gabriella?” He reached out and touched her arm. “What happened here?”

“Not yet, Charlie,” she said.

Josh was surprised that she knew him, then he remembered that Rudolfo had said she’d been talking to the press.

“Not for the record, then?”

“I don’t think she’s up to it. Give her some time,” Josh said.

“You’re really racking up those favors, you know?”

Josh offered his old colleague a nod.

“Can you tell me how the professor is?” Charlie asked Gabriella, still trying to get something for his story.

“He’s in critical condition, that’s all I know.”

Charlie scribbled something on his pad, and Josh took advantage of the moment to take Gabriella by the elbow and steer her away from the edge of the road and the reporter to her car. As Josh helped her into the backseat, Malachai, who was behind the wheel, said, “Josh, hurry up and get in. I think it would be wise to leave now and avoid the circus while we still can. Gabriella, do you have the keys?”

Focused on Josh, she didn’t answer.

“I just realized who you are. You’re Josh Ryder, aren’t you?”

He nodded.

“You were here the whole time?”

“I was. I’m sorry.”

“Where did all this happen?”

“We were in the tomb when—”

“You were in the tomb with him?” she interrupted. “This happened inside the tomb?”

“Yes.”

“I want to go down to the site … I need to see it.” Pushing past Josh she got out of the car. Both Josh and Malachai got out and followed her. Catching up to her before she got too far, Malachai put his arm around her shoulder and stopped her. “It’s better to leave all this to the police. We’ll take you to the hospital. Come back to the car with me.”

“Not yet. I need to see the site first,” she said, shaking free.

“Let me go with you, then,” Josh said, concerned that she not be alone when she saw the blood, the broken artifacts and the state Sabina was in.

Not answering, or waiting, she took off, but before she had gone five feet, two policemen intercepted her.

The conversation appeared to go smoothly for the first three or four questions, until one of them must have asked something that agitated her, because she gestured wildly to the road, then turned, pointing back toward her car, inadvertently including Josh and Malachai in her gesture.

The policemen followed her glance.

Thirty seconds later, the two carabinieri approached Josh and Malachai.

“Mr. Ryder?” the younger one asked, looking at Malachai.

“No. I’m Josh Ryder.”

He asked him something in Italian.

Josh shook his head. “Sorry, I don’t understand.”

It seemed as if he’d said that to a dozen people already that morning. The language barrier was frustrating. He wanted to tell the policeman not to waste time with him when there was a man out there somewhere who had a gun and an ancient treasure and who was getting farther and farther away, but there was no way he could communicate that.

While this was going on, the carabinieri had their back to Gabriella and so they didn’t notice when she broke away. There were other police on the scene, busily interviewing people in the crowds, but, curiously, none of them were paying attention to the real scene of the crime—Gabriella’s destination, the tomb.

Of course not, Josh realized. None of them knew that the shooting had happened underground.

The policeman, who was still trying to talk to Josh, noticed him glance away and looked to see why. When he saw Gabriella, he called out to her.

She turned. There was fierce determination in her eyes, tear marks and dirt smeared on her face, dust on her clothes. She yelled back something Josh couldn’t understand and then descended into the tomb she had been responsible for discovering.

Josh’s heart lurched as she disappeared. He was desperately worried for her. There was no time to wonder why he was reacting so strongly to a stranger because, at that moment, two things happened almost simultaneously: the group of onlookers broke free from the sawhorses, and all the police took off to contain them.

Josh took advantage of the distraction to race toward the crypt.

“Stop, Josh. Let’s get out of here. Don’t—” Malachai shouted.

“She shouldn’t be down there alone,” he yelled back. He kept going, not knowing if the police were behind him or not. Not caring.

He was only a foot away when he heard Gabriella’s scream coming up from the ground. It was sharp and ragged, and so pained it sounded as if she were being tortured.

Chapter 13

She was on her knees in the corner of the crypt, kneeling beside Sabina’s broken body, emitting a low, keening cry of grief. It took Josh a few seconds to understand that Gabriella was saying the word no over and over; it sounded like a prayer.

He knew he was looking right at her, but he was seeing the tomb on another day.

A flash of a white robe.

Red hair.

Dark green eyes, filled with tears.

Sabina.

He wanted to reach out into the darkness, grab the specter and make her tell him what was happening here.

Gabriella’s voice, insistent, dark, brought him instantly to the present moment. “Kick the ladder out. Kick it hard and break it,” she said.

“What?”

“Quick! The ladder, pull it away from the wall.”

Still under the spell of his memory lurch, Josh did what she asked but didn’t understand why he was doing it.

“Now snap off the rungs. Use this—” She threw him a shovel. “Please, help me, buy me some time.”

Attacking the wooden ladder with a vengeance, he’d broken the top six rungs by the time the police arrived at the opening. He didn’t need to understand the language this time to know they wanted access to the tomb.

“Show them the broken ladder,” Gabriella said.

He wanted to smile at her clever, quick thinking, but he refrained. The man who had questioned him earlier looked from the ladder to Gabriella and then at Josh. Then he said something that caused the other officer to laugh and made Gabriella curse under her breath, “Pigs.”

Josh didn’t need to know what they’d said.

“You said you were down here when it happened?” she asked Josh as soon as the carabinieri were gone.

“The whole time. It happened too quickly for me to do any thing … to stop him… .”

She wasn’t looking at Josh anymore, but beyond him, examining the state of the tomb. It was the first time he’d really had a chance to study her with a photographer’s eyes; he noted the long neck, shoulder-length, wavy hair, full mouth and strong bones. It was her nose, aquiline with a hint of a bump, that turned a woman who would otherwise have been typically pretty into someone intriguing. She was wearing jeans and a white shirt with the top two buttons open, and Josh was shocked, in the middle of all this madness, to find himself wishing she’d left the third unbuttoned, as well.

“You said you saw who shot the professor? Who was it?”

“A security guard. Or at least he was dressed like one.”

“Did you take a picture of him?”

“No, it happened too fast. I was trying to get to the professor … I wish I had.”

She seemed baffled for a moment. “Why didn’t he shoot you, too?”

“I was in there.” Josh pointed at the tunnel, and a rush of images assaulted him: moving slowly through the space, the feeling of the dirt under his hands, the panic of the narrow space, the sense that something was terribly wrong and the urgency to get quickly to the other end.

For a second he was confused. Were these fresh images of what had happened an hour before or were they part of the mind movies?

Gabriella walked over to where he had pointed and noticed the tunnel for the first time. “What the hell is this?” She peered into the darkness. “Who dug this out?”

“I did.”

“Rudolfo allowed you to do this to our site?”

“He tried to stop me but … that’s why I couldn’t help the professor—I was pretty far back in there.”

“I don’t understand. Why would Rudolfo let you do this?”

“Listen, I couldn’t understand anything anyone was saying up there. I’ll tell you everything that happened, but first, tell me, what did the medics say about the professor? How bad is it?”

“They won’t know until they get him to the hospital. But the bleeding had stopped and that’s a good sign. They said if he lives, that you’re the one who—” She stopped talking, reached down and picked up something off the mosaic floor.

“Why is this broken?” Her voice shook and so did the hand that held the piece of shattered fruitwood box. “Where is the rest of this?” She was back on her knees, frantic again.

“Gabriella.” Josh knelt down beside her and put his hand on her shoulder, to stop her, to comfort her, to prepare her for what he was going to tell her. Her skin felt warm through the shirt. “The security guard took what was in the box with him. That must have been what he came for. I’m guessing what that means is that he took what you and the professor think might be the Memory Stones.”

Her face distorted into two expressions at the same time, something Josh wasn’t sure he’d ever seen before: her eyes showed utter devastation, but her mouth set in a line of cold fury. She stared down at the pieces of wood she still held. Two seconds went by. Five. Ten. Finally she lifted her head up. All the vibrant rage and deep sadness had left her face. Only a look of resolution remained. He was surprised at her resilience.

“There’s no time to talk about this now,” she said. “Too much to do. The police are going to figure out another way to get down here and are going to want to know what happened.” She looked back at the broken body and the wood fragments and splinters. “I need to get to the hospital. They wouldn’t let me go with them in the ambulance. I’m not family, they said.” She shook her head as if she was clearing her thoughts, and her curls danced. Josh thought of Sabina’s curl, escaping from her braid during the robbery.

“Before I leave I need to make sure I get rid of anything that might make them ask too many questions about this area… .”

She peered into the tunnel’s blackness. “Do you have any idea how you’ve corrupted this site?” She took a deep breath, then turned to him. “What made you start digging there, anyway?”

Her eyes bored into him. There was no way he could explain it all to her now, even if he wanted to—and he didn’t know if he did. “I saw the discoloration on the wall and there was something about the size and shape of it that suggested there was something beyond it.”