The Reincarnationist

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.