Shadow of the Sun Page 5

CHAPTER 3: CELESTIAL BEING

  We descended to the lower level in the small elevator. When we stepped off, fluorescent lights flared to life in the room outside the Fishbowl. The incandescence made me blink to reorient myself. My heart still thudded profusely as Darren advanced into the room. He was oblivious to my overwhelming anxiety.

  Rows of computers lined the glass walls of the Fishbowl. A few monitors would mirror back the lab during major autopsies or experiments. I lingered outside the elevator door, undoubtedly terrified at what was behind the glass. The lab was cast in shadows, and the ominous dark called out to me. The push to go towards the lab was more powerful now that I was feet away from it, as if a physical force was shoving me in its direction. I fought it.

  Darren noticed I hadn’t followed him and turned to give me an incredulous look. He held out his hand, a gesture I didn’t expect. I stared down at it.

  “What’s gotten into you?” he asked and moved towards me, smiling, his hand still out stretched.

  My mind was still reeling. Everything had gone from normal to bizarre. Hell, we left Saneville and went straight to Mystifying Villa. To say I was completely blown away by this extraordinary finding would be an understatement. But of all the people to come across something like this, I supposed it would be a supernatural specialist. However, it still wasn’t determined if this was a good or bad thing. My instincts continued to beg me to go towards the bodies in the darkened lab. My brain, however, was screaming a resounding “hell no.”

  Darren took my hand when he realized I wasn’t going to move and pulled me into the overly bright room before letting go. The elevator doors shut behind me, and I jumped at the noise. Anxious, who me? Staring through the glass surrounding the sealed off lab, I prayed what had happened upstairs had just been my wild imagination and lack of sleep. Something deep inside me continued to repeat the dark creature’s words. Don’t wake them . . . the angels.

  Weren’t angels good? God’s creations? What was so bad about that? I knew from personal experience not all of God’s creations were good. Still, from everything I had learned about angels and about the Bible—which was very little—weren’t angels supposed to be a celestial being?

  No matter how prophetic the dark creature’s suggestion—or demand—had been, being near the “angels” seemed to make all my worries about the fire-blazing creature subside, and I suddenly felt safe from it. I imagined angels battling against the dark creature two thousand years ago, and I wondered what had happened or what they might have been fighting over.

  Our reflections were crystal clear as we approached the glass. My mind must have been in another dimension because, during my contemplations, I hadn’t noticed Darren was speaking to me.

  “Are these the bodies from Italy?”

  He reached for my hand and squeezed it when he realized that I was somewhere else in my head. Somewhere far from there, more like 100 B.C., the time period the angel bodies were supposed to be from. He shot me a questioning smile, but my brain was still on another wavelength. It’s remarkable they were in as good a shape as they were in the pictures, I contemplated, but now they’re practically alive.

  Even in the shadows of the lab, I could see their flushed skin. This made me even more anxious about unsealing the doors. My body continued to feel the pull towards the lab. It was stronger than ever—a stupid, excessive longing.

  “Gabriella, are you okay?” Darren asked, concerned.

  Surely my face was showing just how nervous this whole situation had made me. There was no hiding my feelings, at least not at this juncture.

  I turned to him, nodding. “Yes. There’s something—” I didn’t know how to tell him about the bodies lying in the dark on the other side of the glass. Usually a visual demonstration would be the preferred way to explain a case, but this time I didn’t think we should enter the room—even though everything in my body screamed for me to slide my key card for access.

  Darren eyed me eagerly, awaiting my continuance. An urgent message from me was the equivalent of a radio signal from an alien planet, telling him the Earth’s people had three days to vacate or be destroyed. So of course he was expectant to hear about my findings.

  He finally gave up on any response when I moved towards the lab door. I didn’t enter. Instead, I flipped on the light switch next to the entrance. I decided the best avenue of attack would be to show him what lay behind the reflective glass. The glow of lights bore down on the angels (a much better way to think of them than “the bodies”) like spotlights. Darren reached out with his plastic key card to unlock the door.

  “Don’t!” I screamed out. All the air vanished from my lungs as I launched myself towards him, diving through the air to stop him. My old baseball coach would have been proud of that save.

  He retracted his hand, eyes wide and startled as my back slammed against the door, my body between Darren and the angels—protecting them.

  Protecting them? What was I thinking?

  My hand gripped the door handle with all my might. As soon as I touched the cold metal, electricity shot through me, a low current that was pleasant in every way. I almost collapsed at the rush of emotion as it spread through me. My breath caught in my throat as I slid slowly down the door.

  “Wait,” I whispered.

  What the hell just happened?

  Darren bent down to me, an unreadable look on his face. “Dr. Moretti,” he began formally, “first I receive an urgent message in the middle of the night. When I arrive, you’re locked in your office, looking absolutely frantic. And now you won’t let me in the lab? What. Is. Going. On?” His tone was irritated as he distinctly pronounced each word.

  With a great effort I rose to my feet, noticing Darren didn’t offer his hand. Was I overacting about everything I had seen last night? Was it all in my imagination? I peeked through the glass to see the angels in their wooden boxes. They looked alive, not dead. I blinked twice, trying to clear my eyes in case of some paranormal disturbance. Nothing had changed. I was starting to think like one of those people. You know, the ones who are convinced they’re being haunted because the central heater’s making a noise.

  “Do you see those bodies?” My voice was high-pitched and somewhat hysterical. I pointed towards the glass, hoping I didn’t look like the lunatic I felt like.

  He nodded impatiently; the Fishbowl was always full of the deceased. His eyebrows came so close together they formed one severe line. “I see them, Gabriella. Now explain. What about them?”

  I turned to look through the glass, almost expecting one of them to rise from their holding box. “Don’t wake them,” echoed in my head.

  “Well,” I said cautiously, my finger outlining them against the glass. “These bodies . . .” I trailed off, my mind wandering elsewhere as the pull towards them grew exponentially. I craved to be near them. Stupid, stupid, stupid! I chanted to myself.

  Darren sighed heavily at my back. “I’m growing impatient, Gabriella.” In the reflection, I could see him close his eyes as if praying for more patience. Any second he was going to tire of our conversation and just unlock the damned door himself.

  When I still didn’t answer, he grabbed my shoulders with his big hands and spun me around so I had to look right at him. His eyes searched mine. Instead of staring back at him, I looked over his shoulder at the line of computers.

  “I need to show you something.” I pointed at the computers and gestured for him to follow me. He did, raising his eyebrows and looking reluctant. Maybe he does need more patience, I thought, though that was sort of like the pot calling the kettle black.

  I opened my email and clicked on the attachment from Adriana. Pointing to the screen, I said, “This is what these bodies looked like four days ago.” I wanted to say, “Now do you understand my hesitation?” But I thought that would be rude. Instead, I gave him a significant look.

  He stared in disbelief at the photos and then at the boxes in the lab. All the blood drained from his face. He whispered under hi
s breath, but the only words discernable were supernatural, not possible, and unorthodox.

  Tell me about it.

  “And,” I continued, breaking into his muttering, “I took a skin sample from one of them. When I turned around after putting the vial in the rack, the skin had grown back. There wasn’t even a scar or mark of any kind.”

  For a second he looked as though he was struggling to comprehend my words. He stood so still you’d think a group of industrious lab technicians had carved a statue in the middle of the lab, though I could tell by his frozen expression his brain was working feverishly. If I thought his face couldn’t turn paler or more skeptical, I was wrong. His mouth went all fish-out-of-water, and he visibly gulped before fiddling in his jacket pocket. His cell phone flashed to his ear. I knew what that meant: the FBI would be here soon. I wanted to kick myself for bringing this to his attention before I had researched everything more thoroughly. It seemed like a brilliant idea two minutes ago.

  The conversation on the phone was quick. I roughly translated from the one-sided conversation that the bodies would be flown to D.C. with the FBI in tow. I opened my mouth to speak, but Darren had already dialed another number, and within seconds he was speaking again, eyeing me with mild apprehension.

  “Yes, this is Darren Halistor,” he said with a determined calm. He walked across the room to give himself privacy.

  After the brief conversation, Darren closed the space between us again. “The lab techs need to stay out of the Fishbowl until the FBI arrive.”

  “That’s not fair,” I insisted, sounding almost like a petulant child.

  He nodded. “You’re right. It’s not.” He turned and walked toward the elevator. “Gabriella?” he said over his shoulder. “Fair or not, keep the Fishbowl sealed until the FBI arrive. We don’t want anything tampered with.”

  “Of course,” I said reluctantly.

  For two hours and twenty-six minutes I stared at the angels through the glass walls like they were fish in an aquarium. That was how the lab became known as the Fishbowl. During that time, all I could think about was how they ended up in my lab.

  As I sat at one of the lab tables, the place swarmed with laboratory workers and FBI agents. It was like a sea of white coats and black jackets had taken over. How the FBI arrived so quickly was a mystery. They marched in, preparing to escort everything we had received from Italy to another laboratory in Washington, D.C. Several of their scientists groped my equipment, and I glared at them. As silly as it was, I couldn’t help but be upset as they touched what wasn’t theirs. My displeasure was surely obvious on my face. It was only natural the U.S. government would be interested in this kind of discovery, but that didn’t mean I had to like it.

  My poor associates crowded together in a corner, eyeing the newcomers suspiciously. One thing everyone had in common was the fact they were all waiting for me to open the lab and enter first. Even Darren seemed afraid to pass through the doors first. When the time came, I stretched my hand out toward the door handle, the key card in my other hand. Both trembled nervously, but as soon as my fingers touched the door, my body relaxed. All I could think about was going to the angels. Who or what had possessed me? This time I slid the key eagerly through the lock.

  When the door opened, air rushed into the lab, and the movement caused me to involuntarily take several steps in. My heart calmed, my nerves died down, and I felt like the angels were welcoming me. People anxiously flooded into the lab behind me.

  “Dr. Moretti.” A taller, older man approached me. He was definitely an FBI agent. His muscles filled the black, wrinkle-free suit, and his full head of hair was sprinkled with salt and pepper. An earpiece curled around his right ear. To top off the look, he wore dark sunglasses. “I’ve been informed this is your field of expertise, and you’re the best. To think you graduated with your doctorate at nineteen. Amazing.” He didn’t sound amazed.

  I nodded, not sure how to respond. My brain had always functioned at a higher level than my fellow classmates. Plus my specialty was unique in every aspect. How many people were paid to prove the paranormal or to disprove legends and myths? A terrible thought bobbed to the surface. What if this was the last time I’d see these angels?

  The agent continued, not noticing my mind working a million miles an hour. “I’d like to request you join us at our P.I. Laboratory to continue your research on this project.”

  That was a surprise. It was as if he read my mind. “P.I. Lab?”

  “Paranormal Investigations,” he answered with a disgusted curl of his lips. He apparently thought something was funny about this. Maybe he didn’t believe in the supernatural.

  Over his shoulder, Darren nodded approvingly. I took his cue and nodded to the agent. I was still in a daze. Someone could have asked me if I liked ketchup over my ice cream and I would have agreed.

  The agent stared at me, trying to read my face.

  “Excuse me—” I groped for his name, realizing he hadn’t given me one. It wasn’t like the FBI had name badges that said: “Hi my name is so-and-so.”

  “I’m sorry.” He didn’t sound sorry. “I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Special Agent—” He put his finger to his earpiece and frowned angrily. “You can call me Jeff.” He smiled, and the gesture seemed forced.

  Something familiar in his eyes blazed from beneath his sunglasses. Gooseflesh ran up my arms and down my spine. “Nice to meet you Jeff, I’m Dr. Moretti, as you already know,” I said, using my formal name.

  Before he had time to respond, he glanced over my shoulder. Someone must have said something over his earpiece, because he pressed his finger to the small device again and said, “Excuse me.” He walked away.

  I was relieved and felt a rush of gratitude to whoever had contacted him. My mind wasn’t coherent enough to respond, and my concentration was sliding away. I had a fervent desire for the day to end, but it had only just begun. As the busy workers packed up the other artifacts that had been shipped from Italy, I stared at one of the boxes that held the human remains—if they were human. There were two males and one female. What I was seeing, though, was the opposite of remains.

  My fingers curled around the box’s edge that held one of the males. All my previous fear seemed to evaporate being this close. His long black hair was shiny and appeared freshly washed. His cheeks had lost some of their sallow look, and his chest was full of knotted muscles. His skin color was superbly browned, as if he had been working in the sun for hours. However, his clothes were old and torn to pieces, consistent with being buried for hundreds of years, although the necklace around his neck appeared completely untarnished by time. This man couldn’t be the same dehydrated corpse in those pictures. But what bothered me even more than his strange appearance, or the fact he looked alive, was that I thought he was beautiful.

  Crap.