7

It took some time to locate it, and once they had it they worked in conjunction to try and put the loose pages in order. Once they had determined that they had found all of his notes, they spent some time trying to figure out what the odd configuration of the words signified.

While Rory had enjoyed a deep and restful nap, Indy was fighting exhaustion. Soon even coffee was failing to keep him alert. "I need to make a phone call," he told the other man, and when he returned to the mess of papers and his new acquaintance, he copied the stretches and movements he had seen the other perform earlier.

"You look terrible."

"Have you known me long enough to really make that assessment?"

"I just meant you look tired," Rory told him.

Indy looked at his mantel clock. "If I can just hold out for another half hour or so, someone will be here to help you look for clues."

"I could try and figure it out myself if you'd like to catch a little-oh. Oh, that's right. I did try to steal from you."

Jones nodded. "Sorry, but you made a really lousy first impression."

"Understood."

They sought patterns in the words that hadn't been copied directly from the Bible. "It just looks like word association," Indy muttered. "Freeform thoughts."

"That's it!" McKenna blurted, snapping his fingers. "Freeform thoughts! Like a dream!"

"But Revelations was thought to be a vision-"

"Or a dream! Maybe a series of them! Remember when I told you I was looking for your father's dream journal? That's how it was described to me by my employer."

Not thinking clearly, bone tired and brain weary, Indy said, "Dad dreamed of the Book of Revelation?"

"No! It should be deciphered like a dream!"

Jones chuckled and shook his head. "That's crazy! You mean like dreaming of salt is bad luck and left is right and numbers you dream of are always backward to how they should be in real life?"

Rory gazed at the older man in bewilderment. "Is that how that works?"

"It's all nonsense," Indiana grunted, moving papers from the Davenport and removing his shoes so he could stretch out. "One Gypsy says the color blue is healing, and then a swami in India tells you it means you will drown before the next full moon."

"But dreaming has to be the key. Who's that guy who knew what everything in dreams meant? Sigmund Freud?"

"He never compiled a concise lexicon," Indy told him. "He even said, 'Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.' Besides, my father didn't place any stock in dreams. Nothing he ever dreamed concerning his pet obsession, the Holy Grail, ever came true."

"It could be that the Grail he pursued was merely symbolic for what he truly desired, even if he couldn't admit what it was to himself."

Indy hadn't thought Rory McKenna to be any more intelligent than average until that moment. "Psychology major?"

"Ninth grade education."

"You seem fairly sharp for a drop-out."

"No one said I was stupid," Rory informed him with a sparkle in his eyes.

"I've asked a friend to come by to help see if you can make sense of any of this. He's a doctor of theology."

"A Bible expert."

"Unless you have a better suggestion?"

"At this late hour?"

Indy shrugged. "Try anything and I'll be forced to get rough with you."

"No problem," Rory said, rubbing at his bruised knee.

Perhaps ten minutes later there was a knock at the door and Indy rose with a groan. He opened the door to find that a fine, misting rain had silvered the night, and an angelic-looking strawberry blonde stood on the doorstep smiling expectantly. "Dr. Jones?" she asked, her voice soft and almost whispery. She extended a slender hand. "Ellie Welsh. Professor Welsh's daughter."

He gazed blankly at her for a moment, and then invited her in. She untied a floral print scarf from her head, and then doffed her long coat, handing it to him as she took a good, long look around the entrance parlor. "Adequate," she decided, then moved away from him toward the most brightly lit part of the house.

Rory caught sight of her and stopped breathing for a moment. "Ellie Welsh," she announced. "Theology major with a minor in Judeo-Christian studies."

"Rory McKenna," he said, rising to his feet. "Common thief."

The young woman cocked her head and lifted an eyebrow as she smirked. "Does that mean you're an honest man or a dishonest one?"

"Whatever the situation calls for," he told her.

"Will you take coffee?" Indy asked from behind her.

"I have no taste for it, I'm afraid. But if you happen to have a nice chai?"

"Sri Lankan?" he asked.

"With molasses and cream if you have it, please."

"Molasses?" Jones mouthed silently, making an odd face as he moved toward the kitchen. "Your father sent you in his stead?"

"Indeed. I'm afraid his brother is not faring well and he was preparing to go out anyway."

"I'm sorry to hear that. He didn't mention it-"

"It was my idea to assist you," she said, settling on an ottoman she drew up to the messy table. "Now, what have we here?"

Rory explained as much as he could to the young woman while she collected up the papers and consulted Indy's Bible. "Definitely the Book of Revelation," she decided, her voice so soft it was barely audible.

Indy returned shortly with the fragrant, black tea, a small jar of molasses, a bottle of cream, and a spoon on a small tray. He perched on the center of the Davenport to watch her, and McKenna cocked an eyebrow at him.