Dark Corner Part 11

He hated that Mother had lied to him for so long about his father, but he was grateful that when she finally revealed the truth, she had spared no details. Mother had given him the precise location of this cave, though she never had seen it with her own eyes.

Indeed, Mother had told him everything-except for where he would find his father sleeping within the earthen tomb. She rightfully expected that Kyle would be able to discover his father's resting place on his own.

"When we are finished tonight, I would like for you to return here and dispose of the bodies." Kyle swept his arm across the heap of fallen vampires. "Burn them to ashes, and bury them. I don't wish to leave behind any evidence."

"It will be done"

Deeper in the tunnel, Kyle saw symbols engraved on the wall. He moved closer.

The symbols were a language that Kyle could not interpret.

"Can you read this?" he said to Mamu. Mamu was fluent in nine languages.

Mamu brought the lamp closer. The words had been chiseled into the rock.

"I am sorry," Mamu said. "It is an African tongue, I believe, but I cannot decipher the meaning. I can research it-"

"He lies here" Kyle tapped his boot on the ground beneath the inscription. "I sense it. My father lies here!"

Kyle dropped to his knees. He traced his fingertips across the smooth, cool cavern floor.

"I feel him, underneath us," Kyle said in a trembling voice. "Ah, the power"

He plunged his hands into the earth. Mamu set down the lamp and came forward to help him, but Kyle shoved him aside.

"I will do this alone. I have waited all my life for this moment!"

He tore great plugs of dirt out of the ground. He worked with machinelike speed. Dust plumed through the air, coated his face and his hands. But he did not slow.

After he had dug about three feet beneath the surface, he touched something: cloth. Cotton overalls.

He furiously ripped away chunks of earth.

Dusty, dark skin became visible. Cool to the touch.

Kyle heard someone shouting. He initially thought it was Mamu, but it was him. He cried, "I am here, Father!" in a delirious chant.

He uncovered large hands, long arms, a wide torso, broad shoulders. Then a face.

Even though his father's face was slack and crusted with dirt, the resemblance to his own features was clear.

My father.

Tears tracked down Kyle's cheeks.

But his father's eyes did not open. He continued to float in the depths of Sleep.

Kyle dug away more dirt, freed his father's legs.

"Extraordinary," Mamu whispered. "He is so well preserved, as if he had slept only a day."

"Help me, Mamu!" Kyle gently hooked his hands under his father's armpits. "Lift his legs!"

Together, they removed Diallo from the grave. Kyle carefully cradled his father's head in his arms.

He felt as if he might explode from the impact of the emotion that rushed through him. He was crying, trembling.

He rested his fingers against Diallo's neck. The flesh was cool. But there came, slowly, the throb of a pulse.

"He is alive," Kyle said.

Awe widened Mamu's eyes. "I will help you transport him inside, monsieur"

"I will do it myself." Kyle placed his arm under his father's back, then slid his other arm in the bend at the back of Diallo's knees.

His father was enormous. He had to be at least seven feet tall, and weighed well over two hundred pounds.

Nevertheless, Kyle carried him. Weeping, Kyle carried him all by himself, toward the house.

Toward a new life.

Chapter 6.

r1unday morning, David attended worship service at New liLife Baptist Church, on Main Street. Nia had mentioned that his father had attended the church regularly and counted the pastor as a friend. David hoped to speak to Reverend Brown after the service, to learn more about his dad.

The church was a large, simple brick building with stained gla.s.s windows and a gleaming white cross atop the roof. Inside, dozens of polished oak pews filled the sanctuary. The pews were lined with plush, royal blue cushions that matched the carpeting. White lamps that resembled small globes hung from the ceiling, showering the chapel in golden light.

David arrived early for the eight o'clock service. At a quarter to eight, the church was nearly full. He sat near the back. A chorus of six men and women arrived at the altar and launched into a familiar song of praise. He tapped his foot in rhythm with the beat. Although New Life was smaller than the church he attended in Atlanta, a comforting atmosphere filled the place.

When he was a child, David's mother had dragged him and his sister to church every Sunday, forcing him to attend Sunday school and partic.i.p.ate in activities such as the youth choir. David had learned a great deal and mostly enjoyed going, but he grew to resent his mother's pushing him to attend, yanking him out of bed when he wanted to sleep in, demanding that he go to choir practice when he'd rather hang out with his friends. He vowed that as soon as he moved out of her house, he would go to church if he felt like it-and if he didn't feel like it, he wouldn't go. When he moved out to attend college, he went through a period of eight years during which he slipped into church no more than four times a year.

But two years ago, one of his high school friends died in a car accident. David suddenly decided to begin attending church again. There was nothing like a shattering realization of your own mortality to awaken a yearning for Divine guidance.

Worship service began promptly at eight. Reverend Brown made his way to the altar. He was a bear of a man, middle-aged, with gla.s.ses and a somber demeanor. He was dressed in a conservative blue suit, and the only piece of jewelry he wore was a wedding ring.

A choir of about twenty-five people led the congregation through several stirring songs. People clapped, sang, shouted, and danced. David smiled. Baptist churches were the same across the South.

After the choir finished singing, a slim woman in a yellow dress read the announcements, and then asked the visitors to stand to be welcomed. David hesitated, then rose.

"What is your name, young man?" the woman said.

"David Hunter."

A murmur rolled through the crowd. That's Richard Hunter's boy, many people whispered. Looks just like his daddy. Reverend Brown raised his head from his notes and made eye contact with David. David nodded at him, and the reverend nodded in return.

Now that he had made his presence known, he was certain that the pastor would make it a point to speak to him after the service. He sat, palms sweating in antic.i.p.ation.

The reverend delivered a sermon about seeking the truth and being prepared for the answer you might receive. He spoke in a clear baritone, sprinkling his speech with precise references to Bible scriptures. "'Ask, and it shall be opened to you,"' he said. "But to this I'll add, you better know what you're asking for and be ready for the answer! Don't go knocking on G.o.d's door till you got your act together! Can I get an amen, friends?"

A chorus of amens! erupted from the congregation.

When the service concluded, exit doors along the sides of the building opened. People filed out into the steaming morning, buzzing with conversation. David had seen the pastor stride into the lobby, so that was where he headed.

On his way, many people approached him to ask if he was, indeed, the son of Richard Hunter, and he confirmed that he was. "Boy, you a spittin' image of your daddy!" was the most common response. Then they offered their condolences. David thanked them, and moved on.

He found Reverend Brown in the lobby, greeting church members with handshakes and hugs. David awaited his turn, and when he finally came face-to-face with the pastor, he was startled when the man pulled him into an embrace.

"I prayed that you'd come to the service, David," he whispered. "I have to speak to you"

"Okay," David wheezed, his chest constricted by the rev- erend's bear hug.

Reverend Brown relinquished his hold. He put his meaty hands on David's shoulders and sized him up, grinning.

"I know you've heard this many times, son, but you look exactly like your father did as a young man"

David smiled. "Yes, I've heard it before"

The pastor's smile faded. "I want to speak to you in my office. It's at the end of the hallway. Please wait in there, and I'll be with you in a few minutes. I have to finish greeting the church family."

What's this all about? David wondered, walking away. At the end of the hall, a sign beside a door read "Reverend Brown"

It was a small but comfortable office, with a large oak desk, a leather chair, and two padded chairs flanking the desk. Photographs hung on the walls. The pastor had two framed degrees, one from Hampton University, the other from Alcorn State. An attractive family photo-the pastor, his wife, and two teenaged boys stood on the desk. A window gave a view of the meadow behind the church.

Reverend Brown entered the office five minutes later. He settled into his chair and removed his gla.s.ses. He ma.s.saged the bridge of his nose.

"That was a powerful sermon you preached this morning," David said.

"Thank you," Reverend Brown said. "I also found it appropriate that you happened to be in attendance the morning I delivered that particular sermon. It proves the hand of G.o.d in our lives."

"I'm afraid I don't follow you," David said.

Reverend Brown tapped the desk with his thick index finger. "Seeking truth, son. You've come to Mason's Corner because you're seeking the truth about your father. Is that right?"

"How did you know?"

"I knew your father well. Probably better than anyone in this town. He told me that he hadn't done right by you. But when he pa.s.sed on, he left you ... everything" Reverend Brown spread his hands to emphasize his point.' Yes, he told me that he was going to bequeath his fortune to you. It was bound to make you curious and eager to learn more about Richard."

David was stunned at the pastor's insight.

"I'll interpret your silence as confirmation that I'm correct," Reverend Brown said.

David leaned forward. "What can you tell me about my dad?"

Reverend Brown steepled his hands. "There's no simple way to summarize the character of a man like Richard Hunter. He was a complex individual, driven by motivations that I think he didn't often understand himself. Just as one cannot easily reach a conclusion about what kind of man he was, likewise did Richard distrust easy, obvious answers"

"Like what? Break it down for me, if you don't mind."

The pastor rotated slowly in his chair. "Richard loved to debate theology with me. He was a Christian and had been for all of his life, but toward the end, I think he grew dissatisfied with the answers that the Bible supplies about achieving everlasting life, Divine mercy, and a place in heaven weighty subjects of that nature. Richard began to study other religions: Buddhism, Islam, Hinduism, all of the other 'isms' you can think of. He was seeking answers to questions that had puzzled him for his entire adult life."

"I did notice a lot of books about religion in his library."

"Of course. He didn't stop with the books, either. He began to hold discussions with a young woman named Pearl. She lives on the outskirts of town, and a lot of folks believe that she's psychic. Your father was relentless in his search and would leave no stone unturned"

"Pearl" David made a mental note to follow up on her later. "Still, I don't get it. What was he obsessed about?"

The pastor tapped his lip with a pencil. "Have you read your father's work?"

"I've read all of his books. Many of them twice."

"What common theme runs through them? Consider it carefully."

David leaned back in the chair. "The plight of the black man in America?"

"Probe deeper."

"I guess he ... he seemed kind of obsessed with death"

"Close, very close. But what, exactly, about death interested him? Think about one of his last books, Prodigal Son."

"Okay. The story was about a man who fakes his death"

The pastor smiled, but it was a rueful expression. "There you go. '

Shock ejected David out of his chair.

"Are you serious? You think my dad faked his death?"

"I'm convinced that he did, David."

"But .. ." David couldn't finish the sentence. He collapsed into the chair. He felt dizzy.

Reverend Brown turned, reached into a mini refrigerator beside the desk, and withdrew a bottle of water. He handed it to David. David thanked him and took deep gulps of the water. His nausea faded.

Reverend Brown raised his index finger. "Please understand now, I wasn't an accomplice in Richard's plot. He shared nothing with me about his plan to disappear. I'd never go to the police or anyone else to voice my opinion, as it's just based on my knowledge of his character and recollections of our discussions. I'm only sharing this with you because you're his son, and you wanted the truth. I've given you the truth as I see it."

David shook his head. "I don't want to believe it, but I've wondered ... you've just validated what I've suspected all along"

Reverend Brown came around the desk and put his hand on David's shoulder. "I'm sorry. But remember that when you ask a question, you have to be prepared for the answer."

"So where is he?" David said. "If he isn't dead, where did he go?"

The pastor clasped his hands, sighed. "I don't know. I tell you, I've racked my brains thinking of where Richard might've gone, what he's doing. He's traveled the world, you know, and is comfortable in a wide range of cultures. He could be anywhere"