Revelations (18 page)

But I can tolerate him a lot more than I used to, and that’s saying something, I guess.

Mary makes us all some lunch, says we need to keep up our strength, which makes sense to me, even though I’m anxious to get going. I notice Judas doesn’t bother to eat. He wanders off instead, and sadly nobody seems to notice or care, other than Mary. She doesn’t try to force him, though; her eyes just follow him sadly. What is she seeing? I think she knows something we don’t, but I know better than to ask. She’ll talk when she’s ready. By the time we’re done eating, he’s back, and Mary and I freshen up for our trip into town.

I don’t care how many times we do this; it isn’t easy to see the Master imprisoned. It simply breaks my heart. But I know I have to be brave, for him. I have to do what I can to make what time he has as pleasant as circumstances will allow. Which isn’t damn pleasant, if you get down to it. I push all these thoughts and concerns to the back of my mind. I’m determined not to show him anything but a smiling face. He has more than enough to worry about without us falling apart on him.

I expect Judas will demand to drive, being the man he is, and I prepare my argument in advance—it’s my rental, I paid for it, etc. But he surprises me by handing me over the keys instead. He helps Mary into the passenger seat then climbs in behind us, without saying a word. I notice he’s changed clothes too, into his own clothes—not designer or chic anything. His hair is still in braids—I guess he’ll need my help with those; he’ll never be unable to undo them. He can ask, if he wants it. Or he can suffer with them. Whatever.

It’s a silent drive into town. I turn on the radio, just for some noise. Luckily I have Sirius in this thing, or we’d be stuck listening to whatever crap the locals call music. I have to smile when one of my songs starts playing, even as an idea begins to form in my brain. I half expect Judas to tell me to turn that shit off, like he usually does. But he doesn’t say a word. It’s just too strange for words. Eerie even.

When we reach the jail and park, I’m not surprised to see the stupid bastards of C.O.C.K, there, along with their fearless leader. They’re picketing in front of the building, just like Judas said they were. These people need to get a life. Seriously.

I’m tempted to say something to Lucifer, but I don’t want to waste time on that stupid prick. He sees us, of course. Although he makes no attempt at conversation, he manages to bow to us in his usual overblown way as we pass by. We ignore him, and go on into the building.

I know Jesus’s been in worse places before, but the sight of him behind bars is simply painful. Although at the moment, the circumstances are somewhat mitigated due to the fact the door to his cell is actually open, and he’s sitting inside with a young child fast asleep in his lap. Mary and I can’t help but smile at the sight. At the same time the sheriff has materialized from somewhere, a pretty young woman right behind him. He relaxes when he sees us. Judas stops before him, as if half expecting a confrontation.

“I’ve brought his mother and sister,” he says, lying rather smoothly but it’s probably a good ploy on his part and besides, I
am
like a sister to Jesus. “Is that a problem?”

It is the woman who speaks. “Of course not,” she assures him with a smile, as the sheriff nods his agreement. Of course, what else can he do at this point without looking like an utter ass? Mary hastens towards the cell, me close behind her.

“Who’s your friend?” I greet him with a smile. The child has her arms around Jesus’ neck in a trusting manner. The children all love him, of course, always have.

“This is Sarah,” he replies with a smile, “Sheriff Kaplan’s daughter.” I notice his words are for us, but his eyes are trained on Judas, who hasn’t followed us into the cell but remains on the other side. Maybe he’s giving us time together, I don’t know. It’s not like him to be so thoughtful. I know, I know, I’m trying. It’s hard to break an old habit. When I see the looks he and Jesus exchange, it actually breaks my heart. The child’s mother comes into the cell, and takes her sleeping daughter.

She pats Jesus’ arm gently, whispers, “Thank you.”

As Mary embraces her son, I turn away from their private moment, my attention focused on the woman and her child. Upon leaving the cell, she stops before Judas, who’s put on his I’m so tough bad guy look, the one that impresses no one. “Can I trouble you to hold Sarah, please, Mr. Jarvis? There’s something I need to do.” Just that quickly she’s handed her daughter to him, and nodded to her husband, and though he seems a bit reluctant, he follows her into his office, shutting the door behind them. Now
that
is a whole lotta trust there. I suspect the woman has a bunch of insight into stuff, and she knows exactly what she’s doing, and it has nothing to do with needing a babysitter.

Judas seems a little baffled at first. It’s probably been a very long time since he’s had to babysit, and my instinct is to go out there and take charge of the situation. But Jesus’ hand upon my arm stops me. I glance at him. He shakes his head no, and motions me to sit beside him. His mother sits on his other side, her head upon his shoulder as he comforts her. I take a seat, a bit reluctantly as I’m not sure this is a great idea; I continue to observe Judas and the child. My fears are groundless though. He holds her gently, rocks her in his arms, every now and then bestowing a tender kiss upon her head. Maybe Jesus is right—maybe he just needs something to hold on to. I guess I can relate to that.

“Give him time,” Jesus murmurs softly, his eyes meeting mine, “this is very hard on him.”

“Hard on
him
?” I sputter while trying to keep my voice down, not an easy thing to do, and the man is standing right there, after all. But when he doesn’t react, I come to the conclusion he’s being somewhat oblivious. “I’m more worried about you and what’s happening to you, not him.”

“Mary, please,” he pleads, and his dark eyes are brimming with emotion and unshed tears and they’re so sorrowful I just want to cry. This is too hard, too hard, God, why are we doing this like this, it isn’t fair? “I know you don’t really care for him, but please…his time…” His breath seems to catch in his throat. “His time, too, is almost done. Our time…is almost over. Please…for me?” I grit my teeth and nod. I’ll do whatever he asks of me, of course. But my mind is racing now, and I’m thinking maybe this time we can do things differently, change how things will come out. I don’t know if it’ll really make any difference, considering the odds are kinda stacked against us, but I sure intend to give it a try.

“Mary,” he repeats my name, and of course I give him my full attention—I’d do anything for this man. I’d even give my life for him, gladly, if I thought it would do any good, although I know better. “When I’m gone—”

“No, don’t!” I hiss at him fiercely, the very thought of his death pierces my heart, “please don’t talk like that, it’s not over…”

“Ah, but it is,” he replies, smiling sadly, “it is, and we cannot change what’s to be. But please, Mary, just be happy, and continue to make others happy with your music. Be as beautiful as you always have been…”

I can’t help the sob that tears from my throat. It’s just so cruel, and to witness it is almost unbearable. “There’s always hope,” I argue, “something can happen, you never know…”

“I do know,” he maintains in a soft voice, “and nothing will happen, everything is ordained, you know that. Maybe next time…maybe there’ll be more time to get the message across. Every time we get closer, you know?” I brush away the tears that fall upon my cheeks. “This time isn’t over,” I say stubbornly, “right, Mary?” as I try to enlist his mother in my cause. She merely smiles at me enigmatically, although I can see her own eyes are wet with tears.

“What will be, will be…” she says.

If she knows something, I really wish she’d let us in on it. But for now, I’m just going to take what I can get, and spend what time I can with him. God, this is so painful, please, please, help your son. For once, please do something for him, as a person, as your beloved son, and don’t worry about the rest of us. We’ll get by.

I had to send him away tonight. I just had to. It was for his own good, difficult as it was. If it had been left to my own desires and wants, I would’ve gladly allowed him to stay here with me, but I knew I couldn’t. Not for any sort of moral reasons, or because I’m afraid of what anyone will think of me or us—I would’ve shared my cot with him, and held on to his warmth all night, gladly, were such a thing permitted. But the truth of the matter is that I couldn’t even consider doing so for there is something I must do this night, something he cannot witness. Someone I must talk to, about him. And if Judas knew what it is I plan to do, he’d try to stop me, and that I cannot have. I’ve given this matter much thought, and many prayers, and I’ve decided what I need to do, what I shall do.

It was good to see my mother and Mary, and yet heartbreaking at the same time. They are both so very brave. I wish there were more I could do to comfort them in this time of their need. I know how my death will affect them, how it has affected them in the past; despite the fact we’ve been through it all so many times, it doesn’t really get any easier. Preparation, although good in theory, doesn’t really mean a whole lot when you’re faced with the reality of the situation. I know they love me very much, just as I’ve always loved and shall always love them. An amazing thing, love. But painful, too, when you’re faced with losing the one you love. And there’s nothing that can make that any easier to bear or any less painful.

The knowledge we’ll be together again in just a matter of years is some small comfort, even if it doesn’t appear so now, and reminding them they both will continue to live and have rich and fulfilling lives even without me doesn’t seem to ease their burden any, either. My mother gives me words of encouragement and love all afternoon; she’s being very enigmatic about something, but I’m not sure what it is, and I know better than to ask. I have a feeling she knows about Judas and me—and not only does she understand, but she approves. At least that’s the sense I get from her. We haven’t discussed it yet. And if we don’t talk about it soon, then we won’t have a chance to discuss it at all, time limitations being what they are. But I’m sure she’s noticed the longing glances I send his way, and he mine; it’s not like we’re attempting to hide anything. As if we even could. I think it’s written all over our faces now, for everyone to read.

Watching him hold that child so tenderly was priceless. He
is
a tender and loving man, if only more people realized that. The little girl woke at some point, and never seemed to mind she was behind held by someone else. She smiled at him, and then at us, before she whispered to Judas confidentially, “He’s Jesus,” pointing to me. Judas whispered back to her, “I know, honey.” She rewarded him with a big hug, which warmed my very heart. But all too soon the mother and child were gone, leaving to attend to errands of their own. And once they were gone my Judas began to pace, back and forth, to and fro, inside the cell and out, like a captive tiger on a very short leash.

I understand his restlessness; I feel his desire to take action, some sort of action, for that’s his nature, and this waiting must be wearing on him. My Judas isn’t very patient, I’m afraid. I hope and pray I haven’t harmed him by loving him.

No, in my heart, I feel it was the right thing for us. I wish I hadn’t been so blind for so very long. Or that I’d dared to be more open with my feelings earlier. But it’s pointless to look back on what might have been. Instead I need to focus on what may be. And what may be is the saving of Judas Iscariot. He deserves to live, and I intend to see that he does.

My mind is made up.

As if Jude’s restlessness has become contagious, Mary Magdalene seems to be anxious to go, and I realize that for now it’s probably for the best. If he stays here with me much longer, I’m afraid he’ll notice something, and query me about it, and I cannot and will not lie to him. So I make no objection when Mary says it’s time to leave. Judas objects, of course. Almost violently. I must calm him down, the ladies discreetly withdrawing in order to leave us alone for a few minutes.

“I will not leave you!” he insists. He gazes at me heatedly, and I know he means what he is saying. “I
will
stay all night. I’ll sit on the floor outside this cell if I must, but I am
not
leaving!” He punctuates his words by crossing both arms over his chest in his most stubborn manner, as he plants himself defiantly in front of me, knowing I’d never use any sort of brute force to move him. But I also know I don’t need to. If I ask it, he will go. For my sake. And if that’s taking unfair advantage of his feelings for me, then so be it; in the long run it’s for his own good.

“Judas, please.” I lean in to him, whisper into his ear. I can feel him shiver at the warmth of my breath. “Please, Jude…for me? You know I wouldn’t ask, if it weren’t necessary. Please understand.”

I can feel him begin to weaken, he cannot resist my entreaty, and he closes his eyes in anguish. I can feel the tears he’s fighting, and it takes all of my strength not to simply collapse and give in to this treacherous tide that urges me to forget it all, forget everything, take him and run now, run far away where no one can find us.

Wherever that might be. Is there such a place? But we can’t do that, and I know we can’t. So I kiss his cheek softly, and murmur, “Come back to me tomorrow, as soon as you can, please. I need you so very much.”

And he promises he will, and with a final kiss—this time upon his pretty lips—

I send my love away for now, although it almost kills me to do so.

Mrs. Kaplan returns at dinnertime, with food for her husband, and for me. I thank her for her trouble, but I’ve no appetite. While her husband and child eat, the gentle woman comes into my cell and sits with me, as the evening shadows begin to climb upon the wall. I think Lucifer’s group has gone to their dinner as well, for I hear nothing from outside. The town must be settling down for the night. It’s a welcome respite from their earlier vitriolic ramblings.