The Royal Stones of Eden (Royal Secrecies Book 1) (4 page)

I then saw in the cloud what looked like a man’s face. He started to appear slowly, and then the rest of his body was revealed. His image was like a blurred photo. It was just like an old photograph from the 1800’s. I could see his clothes faintly. He wore khaki pants and a brown checkered coat and was covered in dust—as if he had just dug through it. He had black boots that came up to his knees. He had on his head what looked like a cowboy hat. He had slightly dark skin and a short mustache and beard.

He called out to me. I saw that the movement of his blurry image did not quite match the speed of the words that I heard. It was as if the sound was quicker than the image.

“David! Trust no one with this!” he said. His accent was not familiar to me at all.

His arm rose up in the cloud, and he tossed something from his hand. It went through the cloud and came toward me. I instinctively grabbed and caught the projectile. It was an object that glowed with a bright white color. My hand suddenly warmed to its touch, and I looked at the curious object. It was a little white stone that pulsated with what looked like radiating patterns of brilliant illumination.

The stone’s brightness did not last. As soon as I had caught it, the color of the stone turned to a very light sandy color. I saw that it had markings of white waves and circles on it. Then I looked back at the cloud and saw that it had vanished. There were no traces of it ever being in the room.

My voice returned to me, and I called out to my grandmother to come quickly. I regained my movement and ran to my grandmother’s car, and she met me at the front door with a reassuring hug, but with curiosity and concern. As I held her, I started to cry while my hand held tightly to the cooling stone. I decided at that moment that I would guard my secret well. I would tell no one about what I had seen or heard from the man in the vision.

Chapter 3

How Mattie and David first Met

“David, are you even listening to me?” Mattie said as she sat down her tepid glass of wine.

David and Mattie were at a late supper at a British pub, in downtown Salt Lake City. It was nearly closing time. As they were regular customers, they were able to get the last order of the fish and chips. This dinner was an after-concert tradition for them. They reminisced about the events of five years before, in Egypt.

“Sorry Mattie, I was thinking. It’s been five years now, you know?”—David’s sadness poured through glossy eyes.

“David, for the millionth time, you are not to blame for his accident. Haj must have had his reasons to tell you to stay away that day. It’s been long enough for you to move on, don’t you think?”—Mattie directed an annoyed look at him while her blue eyes sparkled, and her red hair softly glistened in the dimly lit bar.

“Mattie, I know that we’ve been through this before,” David ignored. “Haj asked me not to come to the archaeological site that day. If nothing was wrong, then why did I find those cut ropes in his climbing kit the next day? I should have gone anyway! There was something wrong in his voice.”

“David, you did what he asked. He probably wanted some privacy or something. You, scientists, have your weird ways, you know. Besides, you cannot, after five years, keep dwelling on that,” Mattie chided.

“Mattie, there were things said to me—things that happened—things that I never told you about—I think that I should tell you now.”—his drunken words spilled out.

“Tell me tomorrow. I need some rest,” she said as she attempted to stir the guilty soul out of his daydream.

Mattie and David had what seemed like a fairy-tale romance. Five years earlier, he had first met her at a New Year’s Eve concert in San Francisco, a few months before their Cairo trip. It was a concert at the University of San Francisco. Mattie played the violin in the school orchestra, however, at that time, most people called her Mary because this was before David gave her a nickname that would stay with her forever.

During an intermission break, David, who was there because of a friend’s invitation, left his seat to admire some paintings in the concert hallway. A woman that sat next to him during the concert suggested that he look at a popular historical painting. It hung downstairs in the lobby. Having studied history, he was curious about it. He walked downstairs from the concert hall toward the lobby and found it walled with historical memorabilia and artwork.

David found the famous painting in the middle of the lobby, displayed in an obvious manner, in the direct center of the wall. It was a painting of Old San Francisco, around the early 1900’s. As he stared at it, he heard a voice behind him interrupt his cogitation.

“Those were the good old days, huh?” an unsettled feminine voice inquired.

David turned around and saw a tall lady in a black gown with golden curls that spilled over her bare shoulders. She flirted with him with a spark in her eyes and received David’s inquisitive smile. David wore a black blazer with a dress shirt underneath that clashed with his faded jeans; he wore glossy black shoes but had no socks.

“Sorry, have we met?”—David stammered.

“I’m Mary—Mary Madison,” she said.

“I’m David Hughes. I was just trying to stretch my legs and keep awake”—David yawned.

“Did my violin bore you, Mr. Hughes?” she inquired with a smirk.

“No, not at all!”—David realized that he had implied the wrong thing but was not sure what it was. “Oh, so you are in the orchestra,” David asked with a look of childlike innocence.

“Now you got it,” Mary sighed. “I often come out during my break and look at this old painting. An art student pointed it out to me recently. It gives me a feeling of peace not found these days. I could not help but notice another admirer of this painting.”

“I must confess that I’m not usually an art lover. I apologize if I gave you the wrong impression,” David confessed.

“No worries, love,” she quipped, with a partial accent.

“No worries, love?” he asked. “Are you English?”

“Sorry, I had a stint at a British boarding school early on. It occasionally slips out.”—her eyes gleamed at him. “I don’t usually do this. Would you like to get some coffee after the concert?” she asked with a bit of guarded hope in her voice.

“Coffee? Do you mean champagne? After all, it
is
New Year’s Eve,” he corrected.

“No. I mean coffee first. You look exhausted. You look like you are about to fall over,” she taunted.

“Madam, your wish is my command!”—David imitated and bowed to her in a noble manner. Then they agreed to have coffee after the concert, and David promised to pay because he felt somewhat chivalrous that evening.

Later that night, in a small coffee shop near Market Street, not too far from the wharf, Mary and David sat and jabbered for a couple of hours. They discoursed, and they prattled as they continually shunned a direct look. Of course, they did finally stare, and they did fall in love, almost immediately. They connected quickly because they both had experienced tragedy early in their lives.

Mary told David that she had lost children while they were still very young, but she was vague about the details. David told Mary that his parents had died when he was still very young, but he omitted his father’s apparent suicide and the appearance of the mysterious man and the stone. Mary’s past contained a husband that had abandoned her, and David had an abusive father. Each of them had their stories to tell. They traded their sorrows up to the midnight hour and then gave a New Year’s toast.

“Hey! It’s New Year’s Day! Here’s to new beginnings, right?”—David held his coffee up and toasted her.

“Here’s to new friends,” Mary said soberly and beamed. Their coffee mugs clicked lightly together.

“Hey, Mary—or, if I was drunk with champagne, I might say, Maddie—your last name is Madison right?”—David, although sincere, was drunk. Earlier he had poured some pocketed bourbon into his cup. It was when they had first arrived at the coffee shop. He had improvised a celebration.

“Help—I am with a crazy guy,” Mary said facetiously, with a soft sneer.

“I will compromise me lady from the old country. I shall call thee Mattie,” David grimaced.

Mattie and David enjoyed a time of laughter that night while they also talked seriously about music, science, history, and their careers. Mattie talked a lot about California and North Carolina, the two states where Mattie grew up. David learned that Mattie was originally from Asheville, North Carolina. Mattie was vague about her past, but so was David. They both were careful, discreet, and not offensive in their tones, words, and body language. They both needed new beginnings. They both needed to break ties to their past.

“Mattie, are you staying at an apartment here, while in school?”—a hopeful David questioned her innocuous look.

“Yes. Why?” Mattie said, with an all-knowing air.

“Well, I just wondered if you would like to see part of an old side of town,” he said.

“Sure, why not? But wait! Are you asking me over to your house? At this hour?” she asked, with her matched grin to his fraudulent look of surprise.

“Only if you want to. And I won’t touch you—much,” he said. “Besides, it is late, or should I say early now. And I have a huge house and plenty of places for someone to hide from the big bad wolf!” David looked at his watch and saw that the hours had flown by with relative ease.

Mattie asked David to allow her to grab some clothes from her apartment because she was rather tired of her sticky evening dress.

“Of course—absolutely!” he said with assurance. David was tired and realized that he should have called it a night and driven her home. She had arrived at the concert earlier by bus, and it would have been the kind thing to do—but he just did not want the evening or the morning to end.

♦
♦ ♦ ♦ 

The drive to Alameda was a congested one, even for 3 am. Throughout the drive, through many historical districts, Mattie commented on the magnificence of the architecture, almost in an old familiar way. She rolled down the window and allowed the intrusive wind to blow carelessly through her waves of red hair.

When they finally arrived and parked in front of David’s house, Mattie blurted out, “Wow! Now,
this
is San Francisco!” Mattie saw the majestic old house as an amorous mansion in the romantic pale moonlight. Its various layers of designs and windows spoke of a time long vanished. The varied open gables and their divergent styles of shingles glistened in the crystal light.

In a subtle attempt to be informative, David pointed at one of its rooftops as they both exited the street-parked car.

“That’s a turret!” he gloated. He had no idea what that meant really.

“Oh, I know—it’s a witch tower! That’s wonderful!” she said with boiling excitement.

“It’s just a very old house,” David sighed and then processed what she had said. “A witch tower? Is that a British thing?”

Mattie ignored his ignorance.

There was a porch light on, but no one resided there, except for David. It was his grandmother’s home. He was raised there after the death of his parents. It was a two-story split-level house. It was an old Victorian home, built in the early 1900’s. It was a five-bedroom house with only a bath and a half. The house was a little dusty, but it was otherwise clean, with limited furniture and clutter.

David’s grandmother had another house in Monterey, California, but David chose intentionally to hide that house from Mattie. That house was cleaner and well-maintained, but the house in San Francisco was his favorite. It was home. He was in charge of it from roof to floor, and all of the dust that was in-between. He wanted to appear to Mattie as just a regular guy. And maybe he was.

As soon as they entered, David asked Mattie if she wanted anything to eat. Mattie was full of caffeine, and David’s alcohol left him empty.

“I could use a bird and a bottle,” Mattie responded.

There she goes again!

“A what?” he interrogated as he grew mystified. This girl was complicated, he thought.

“Oh sorry,” she said. She pronounced it as “sew–ree.” She quickly felt embarrassed, but she did not know why. “I don’t know why I said that. I mean, whatever you have is fine with me,” she consented. She was just as puzzled. Where did that come from, she thought.

There were occasions when Mattie would say something, and then she would catch herself. She sometimes wondered why she would say something in a certain way. David was intrigued. She carried herself with an air of magic and mystery. She had a purity that he had not found with most women. She also had a toughness to her that David thought was from living a hard life. Sometimes she sounded as if she was British. Other times she simply used antiquated words. She used words like those he had heard in old movies. She beguiled him in countless ways.

After they both had changed into more comfortable clothing, they sat down at a small table in the kitchen. They snacked on fast-food. The feast was some chicken from a venerable fridge in the cramped corner of the room. They drank milk. It was, unfortunately, David’s only available libation.

Mattie wore shorts and a plain T-shirt. The shirt read, “North Carolina Girl at Heart!” David also wore shorts. His black shirt read, “E=MC SQUARED.”