Vigil

Table of Contents

 

 

 

“Did your colleague tell you anything, no matter how odd, about what happened in the lab that night? About the explosion? The fire? The fossil?”

Carter debated going into it; all he wanted to do was get away, but at the same time there was something in Ezra’s query—in the imploring look in his eyes—that made him pause.

“Okay, he did say one thing that might interest you,” Carter said. “Now, you’ve got to remember that he was delirious and doped up to his eyeballs when he said it—”

“Tell me.”

“He said the fossil had come to life.”

THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA
Penguin Group (Canada), 10 Alcorn Avenue, Toronto, Ontario M4V 3B2, Canada
(a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)
Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
Penguin Group Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.)
Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia
(a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.)
Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi—110 017, India
Penguin Group (NZ), Cnr. Airborne and Rosedale Roads, Albany, Auckland 1310, New Zealand
(a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.)
Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196,
South Africa

 
Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

 
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

 
VIGIL

 
A Berkley Book / published by arrangement with the author

 
PRINTING HISTORY
Berkley edition / June 2005

 
Copyright © 2005 by Robert Masello.

 
All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

eISBN : 978-0-425-20350-7

 
BERKLEY®
Berkley Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
BERKLEY is a registered trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
The “B” design is a trademark belonging to Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

 

 

I’ll make this short, I swear, but I do want to thank my literary agent, Cynthia Manson, for her unflagging encouragement and confidence; my editor, Natalee Rosenstein, for immediately grasping where I was trying to go and helping me to get there; and for my long-suffering wife, Laurie Drake, for allowing me to brood in peace.

 
—The Rev. Canon Dr. Arthur Peacocke,
on being awarded the 2001 Templeton Prize
for Progress in Religion, March 8, 2001

Lago d’Avernus, Italy

The boat bobbed lazily on the water, the waves slapping
softly against its sides. Kevin lay on the deck, soaking up the sun, one hand curled around a can of cold beer, his feet propped up on the furled sail. This was what he’d been dreaming of for days, all through the endless rehearsal dinner and the asinine toasts, the elaborate wedding and even more elaborate reception afterward at the Great Neck Country Club. Even as he’d been standing in that receiving line, shaking the hands of people he’d never seen before and would probably never see again, he’d been counting the hours until he could escape. All he’d been thinking about was the time when he and Jennifer could finally be alone, in a place where there’d be no more bands, no more dancing, no more cakes to be cut or presents to be acknowledged or strangers to greet.

And now, without a doubt, he was there.

On the flight from Kennedy Airport, he’d slept almost the entire time, and on the shorter connecting flight from Rome to Naples, he’d finally started to feel like he was really on his way, the honeymoon had begun. In fact, he and Jennifer had managed to get two seats on the aisle together, and under a red Alitalia blanket they’d fooled around for the first time on—or at least
over
—another continent.

“Now we’ve covered Europe and North America,” Jennifer had whispered with a smile. “Just five continents to go.”

“I’ll call our travel agent as soon as we get back,” Kevin replied.

The boat they’d rented, as part of their package, wasn’t as nice as the ones Kevin regularly sailed on at the country club, but it had everything they needed—a cooler, a CD player, a cabinet filled with everything from suntan lotion to condoms (the Italians thought of everything). They’d have three days on the lake, to relax and slow down, before going on to Venice. Jennifer’s parents, he was glad, were footing the bill.

He heard a splash, and a spray of cold water traced an arc across his feet and legs.

“Come on!” Jennifer called out from the side of the boat. “Don’t you want to get some exercise?”

Kevin rolled over and propped himself on one elbow. Jennifer, in a bright red bikini, was paddling in the azure lake, her long brown hair spread out across her shoulders.

“Why don’t you come back on board?” he said. “We could get some exercise right here.”

“That’s not aerobic.”

“It is if you’re doing it right.”

Jennifer laughed, then paddled away from the boat. Kevin watched her as she lazily swam toward the rugged gray cliffs surrounding the cove where they were anchored. Draining the beer can, he tossed it into the cooler, then stood up and stretched. Maybe a swim wouldn’t be such a bad idea, after all.

He stepped around the mast, took a second to prepare—he already knew that the water was going to be a jolt to his hot skin—then executed a perfect dive into the lake. The water was even colder than he’d expected, and he came up sputtering, wiping his hair back out of his eyes.

“I’m over here,” Jennifer called.

Kevin looked around—all he could make out was the flash of her red bikini, somewhere off to his right—and he started swimming toward it. The water was so clear he could see his own arms cutting through it.

“And you will not
believe
what I’ve found.”

“Atlantis?” he said.

“Maybe.”

As he approached her, he started to grow more accustomed to the water temperature; in another minute or two, it might actually feel refreshing. He could see now that Jennifer was treading water in front of what looked like a small cave in the side of the cliff. Jagged gray rock jutted out above its entrance.

“Look,” she said, “you can see inside.”

Kevin swam up beside her and took hold of the overhanging rock. She was right—the sunlight, glinting off the water, was reflected into the narrow cave. And there was something inside—a mineral phosphorescence?—that made the interior walls sparkle like a million tiny diamonds.

“Look at how it glows,” Jennifer said, slipping forward under the overhang and toward the mouth of the cave.

“That may not be such a good idea,” Kevin warned.

But with one wide stroke of her arms, she’d already entered. “Ooh, it’s so spooky in here,” she said, her voice echoing hollowly off the stone walls. “And air-conditioned.”

Well, what can I do now but follow her?
Kevin thought.
Even if it does seem like a bad idea.
He ducked his head and paddled into the cave after her. The moment he passed inside, he felt the hot sun sliding off the back of his head, and a cool, ancient air enveloping him instead.

Jennifer, a few yards away, seemed to be standing on something, her hand braced against the low roof of the cave. “There’s a ledge here,” she said, “so watch where you kick.”

A second later, he barked his shin on the underwater outcropping. “Damn.”

“Sorry. I stubbed my toe on it, too, if it’s any comfort.”

“It’s not.” He gingerly put his feet down on the smooth, slimy rock; something—seaweed, he assumed—brushed around his ankles.

“What if we’re the first two people ever to discover this place?” Jennifer whispered.

“I’ve got to believe somebody’s anchored here before and spotted it.”

“But didn’t they say there’s been a drought this year and that the level of the lake is lower than it’s ever been?”

“Yeah, they might have said something like that.”

“Then what if this cave has never been above the water level before?”

Kevin shrugged; he supposed it was possible. And in the dim, flickering light, washed in on the waves and refracted by the crystalline rock, it certainly seemed as if no human had ever intruded there. The cave felt like . . . like the oldest thing he’d ever seen, older than the steep walls of the Grand Canyon, older than the dinosaur bones he’d seen at the natural history museum, older than anything he could even imagine. He felt a chill run down his spine.

“Come on,” he said, “it’s cold in here. And the tide could turn any second.”

“In that case we’d better work fast,” Jennifer said, throwing her arms around his neck. “This will be our secret place, forever.” She pressed her body against him and kissed his lips. Kevin wanted to resist—he wanted them to get out of there—but when he felt her breasts rubbing his chest, the thin fabric of the bikini top sliding against his skin, his natural caution evaporated. He put his arms around her waist and pulled her even tighter. He closed his eyes—if this wasn’t the perfect honeymoon moment, then what was?—and opened them again only when he suddenly heard her gasp and pull away.

“What is
that?
” she said, staring over his shoulder.

Even if he’d thought she was kidding, the look on her face told him no—this was not a joke. He whipped his head around and saw it, barely.