Revelations (19 page)

“No,” she’s saying, in response to my query as to whether Kaplan always takes his meals here, “no, not usually. I knew he wouldn’t leave you here alone, so I decided to bring him his dinner. And yours, even though you haven’t eaten.” She offers me a reproachful smile, much as my mother would, were she here, and I find myself smiling at her in return.

“I’m sorry to disrupt your lives so,” I murmur, “but it won’t be for much longer, then you’ll have your husband back at home, where he belongs.”

“Two days.” She nods. “And then you’ll be released on bail. Don’t think he won’t watch out for you then, Mr. Stone, because he will. He’s a good man, and he believes in doing the right thing.”

“Please, call me Joshua,” I insist, “Mr. Stone is a bit formal, considering, don’t you think?”

She chuckles her agreement. “You’re right. Joshua. But then you have to call me Kathy, not Mrs. Kaplan. Deal?” She holds out her slender hand.

“Deal,” I agree, shaking her hand firmly.

“I meant what I said before, I’d love to attend your next show, with Sarah,” she continues. I make no response, casting my eyes upon the floor. I feel the bed shake as she takes a seat beside me, clasping my hands in hers. “What is it?” she asks me, concern blossoming in her voice. “What is wrong, Joshua? I want to help you. We only want to help you. Please tell us how we can do that?”

“There’s nothing you can do, thank you, Kathy.” I offer her a smile; perhaps it comes out a bit sadder than I’d intended. I’ve always found it difficult to dissemble, especially now. My emotions are too close to the surface to be hidden, and yet I must do so.

She remains silent for a few minutes, as if she’s trying to decide what it is she wants to say to me. Or perhaps how to say it. Finally, she begins. “You love him, don’t you?”

That’s a simple question to answer. I feel a warmth spreading through me, and my lips cannot keep from smiling as I reply, knowing exactly whom she is speaking of. “Yes, I do. Very much.” I look into her eyes. There’s nothing but kindness there—kindness and understanding.

“I could tell,” she says. “I hope you don’t mind my saying so, but I think you two are so cute together.”

That’s the first time I’ve ever heard that, and she laughs as I uncharacteristically redden, before she turns serious. “I’m sorry this is happening to you,” she says, “I don’t believe for a moment you’ve done anything wrong. I don’t understand what’s going on here, other than someone wants to cause you trouble because you won’t behave the way they think you should.” She squeezes my hand, looks earnestly into my face. “Once you get out of here, get yourself away from here. Far, far away. You and Mr. Jarvis. You deserve better than this.

Don’t let these people do you wrong, you don’t deserve it.” Her sweet words are balm to my aching soul, but alas, I know in my heart what she says cannot and will not be. I know I’m destined to never achieve the bail of which she speaks. By that time, I shall already be dead. This I do know. But at least if all goes well tonight, and I intend to see that it does, at least Judas will still be alive, and far, far away from here. And that’s what matters most to me at this moment.

“Thank you,” I reply sincerely.

She leans in, kissing my cheek.

“Might I ask a favor of you?”

“Yes, Joshua?”

“Might I be allowed to see the members of my band tomorrow? Just a few minutes each, if it would be possible…” It will be my last chance to speak with my apostles, until the next time.

She nods her head graciously. “Of course. We’ll make arrangements in the morning.” She turns to look at my untouched supper tray, and then back at me.

“Will you even try?” she asks, hopefully.

I shake my head, regret evident in the simple gesture. “I’m sorry,” I apologize,

“no offense meant, it smells wonderful, but I cannot eat…”

“I won’t push.” She sighs, rising as she picks up the tray, her hand caressing my cheek briefly, offering comfort as she would to anyone—man, woman, or child.

“You’re a very sweet lady, please always be happy. Might I see little Sarah again tomorrow?” I request.

“Oh yes, she’s made me promise to bring her to see you tomorrow, too.” She laughs softly. “How can I possibly refuse?” She draws her hand back, and leaves the cell, closing and locking it reluctantly. For a moment she stands there, contemplating me. Then she whispers softly, “Good night, Jesus,” her words and her tone a reminder of my purpose and my place as I give her a pleased smile before she turns and walks away, joining her husband and child for a few minutes before they leave for the night. Kaplan stays. Apparently he has a cot of his own inside his office that he uses for those times when he cannot get away from the jail to go home to sleep. Times such as now.

He sits behind his desk, feet propped up on it comfortably, a paperback in his hands. The only sound is the ticking clock and the occasional turned page. That’s how the evening passes—Kaplan lost in his reading, me in my thoughts. Until, finally, he replaces his bookmark, sets the paperback down, and begins to stretch.

Rising, not bothering to stifle his yawn, he checks the door to the jailhouse, makes sure it’s locked, but not before going outside, checking to make sure all is quiet there. The picketers have gone home, undoubtedly to return on the morrow. Once he’s certain all is safe and secure, he approaches my cell, checks the locks there as well.

“I’ll be in my office if something happens,” he says, not unkindly. “Try to get some rest, Mr. Stone. I have a feeling tomorrow will be a busy day for you.”

“Thank you, Sheriff Kaplan, you’ve been very kind.”

He studies me for a moment, as if wondering what to make of me. “Everything will be all right, if you let it be,” he says. “I’m here to help, whether you believe that or not.”

“I do believe that, I know you are…”

“Well, then, I’ll say good night,” he says at last. “I have to warn you, I’m an early riser. Hope that’s not a problem. ’Course it’ll make it easier for your visitors, so if they’re early risers, too, all the better for them.” And with a final good night, he leaves me to myself, and retires.

For security reasons, he leaves the lights on inside the jail, but they’re low enough so as not to be disturbing to me. Now it is I that pace, along the same path Judas took earlier, at least within this cell. Following in his footsteps, as if by doing so, I can feel myself inside his skin, imagine him to be there with me, for the illusion of him is better than not having him at all. I know he’ll return come morning, and that’s the thought that keeps me going. That and the knowledge of what I must do once my visitor arrives. And I have no doubt he’ll come. With his warped sense of humor, he’ll consider this to be the last temptation of Christ.

He’ll be very surprised by what I have to say.

It’s well past midnight. I’ve not slept at all, continuing to move to and fro, pacing just as Judas did earlier, until I can tell you exactly how many steps it takes to go from one wall to the other, from the back wall to the bars in front. I’ve stopped counting how many journeys I’ve made. I’m on my way to the back wall once more when he’s suddenly there, before me. No grand entrance this time. No fluttering of wings, or elaborate stage presence. It’s simply him. With a sarcastic sneer upon his once angelic face.

“Having fun are we?” He smirks, as I pull back at the last moment to keep from running into him, so sudden is his appearance. “Maybe you should consider trying out for the next Olympics?”

“Perhaps I should,” I reply, because it’s easier to simply agree than to point out I won’t be here for the next Olympics, or any other for some time to come.

He attempts to pull me close to him, his lips closing in on mine. He’s so close I can smell his breath, and although it’s not unpleasant, per se, it holds no attraction for me, as I push him away, push away his obvious intentions. “Do you never give up?”

“Never,” he admits candidly, “and neither does Judas, obviously. But then again, he got what he wanted just by being persistent. Maybe I can, too. What do you think, Jesus?”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to retort he’s a foul loathsome creature, whereas Judas is a beautiful, loving man, and I’d never deign to allow Lucifer such liberties as I’ve permitted with Judas, for with him they are acts of love, mutually explored.

But the words stick in my throat, for to utter them would be to lie, as that’s exactly what I intend to allow. Just one time. But for a price. The price of Judas’ life.

I’ve given the matter great consideration. Within two days, I shall be dead, and this body shall return to the earth from which it came. And my soul shall ascend to my father. The body is nothing, the soul is everything. If by giving myself to Lucifer I can ensure Judas is safe from harm, allowed to live out his life to its fullness, then I shall be happy. Beyond happy.

“I think I do not wish to discuss Judas with you, nor my relationship with him,” I reply evenly, refusing to accept his bait. “Why are you even here? After spending all day hanging around outside, you’d think you’d be tired of the sight of this place, wouldn’t you?”

“You would think that.” He laughs. “But then again, maybe I’ve just been waiting for you, sweet Jesus.”

“For me? What do you mean?” I remove the hand he’s placed against my cheek, and turn away from him in disgust.

“I can smell him on you still.” He comes up behind me, leans down to whisper in my ear, pinioning me with one arm that he wraps about my body. “Do you have any idea how much that turns me on, Jesus? Knowing you and Judas have been together, and how much you hunger for him still? Thinking of the two of you together, so very naked…Mmmm, mmmmm,mmmmm, such a delicious sight that was indeed. Good thing I have the photos to remember it by.” I squirm away from him, for I will not permit this. Not yet. Everything on my terms. Or nothing at all. “Lucifer, I don’t have time for your nonsense, nor your juvenile groping. I have no more time for your games, none of them, do you hear me?”

“I hear you, of course, son of God,” he replies, unperturbed, as he grabs my shoulder, not heeding my words at all, spinning me about so we are face to face once more. He peers into my eyes, staring carefully into them as if he can tell something of what I’m thinking just by staring. Maybe he can. The devil has many tricks, after all.

“I’ve been waiting for this moment for a long time, Jesus,” he fairly purrs in a very self-satisfied sort of way. “You’ve decided to do it, haven’t you? To allow me to have you to myself. As I knew you would, all along.” His smile is very irritating, and I bristle, knowing I’m only serving to feed his over-inflated ego, but what help is there for it? None whatsoever, so I hold myself in check and treat it like the business deal it is. Nothing more.

“After all these years,” he continues, “two thousand plus years, and now you’re giving in. Why? Because of Judas Iscariot, the very man who continually sells you out time after time after time? If that’s not the supreme irony, I don’t know what is, Jesus. What does your father say about this, about his son the Sodomite? Maybe he would’ve preferred you celibate, like him?”

I refuse to let his words penetrate my mind. I’m beyond being hurt by anything he can say. Let him have this moment. It’s the last he shall have of this sort. I’m here for a higher cause.

“I’ve not yet named my price.” I eye him warily. “Do you not wish to know what it is before you agree to this?” There’s no doubt we both know of what I speak. But he must agree to my terms, or there shall be nothing. Nothing at all.

“All right, I’ll bite, princess, what’s your price?” he asks cockily, his hand reaching toward my crotch, but I manage to halt it before it can reach its destination, push it aside, away from me.

“My price is this. Tomorrow night, you will save Judas.”

“Save him? From what, your father?” He laughs, obviously amused at my words. “Or are the outraged citizens preparing to lynch him? Do you think my merry little band of homophobes hate him that much? Well, it is Judas we’re talking about, maybe they do.” He runs the fingers of one pale hand through his platinum tresses, tossing his head in disdain as I, once again, do not take his bait.

“You’ll make sure he gets away from here safely, I don’t care how you have to do it. But you will keep him from dying. At anyone’s hand. Do you understand me, Lucifer?”

“Oh, I understand you,” he responds, his eyes seeming to glow as from an inner hellish light. “I understand you all too well. To save Iscariot’s mortal hide from a beating, or worse, you’ll give up your own. To me. Do I have that about right?”

“Pretty much,” I reply. “He has to be completely safe from harm, and well away from here,” I continue adamantly. “No negotiation on that point. If he is not safe, and if you cannot prove it, then the deal we strike is therefore null and void.”

“Goodness, you talk such legal mumbo jumbo.” He laughs, but in the blink of an eye, he draws a parchment from his inside pocket, and presents it to me. Am I surprised at his thoroughness? Not at all. He is Lucifer, and not without tricks of his own. I read the document carefully, make sure it covers everything I wish it to.

It does. I read it a second time, and then a third, just to make sure he doesn’t slide anything else into it, that’s it, just what I have agreed to and no more. And he has agreed to everything I demand. No less. When I’m satisfied the agreement is indeed airtight and unbreakable, I take the writing implement he hands to me, and sign my name.

And now it’s done. I’ve made a pact with the devil. But on my terms.

He seems to be rather pleased with himself, like a schoolboy who’s been promised his first lay. I feel suddenly tired, as I sway for a moment, sitting abruptly on the cot. He doesn’t even attempt to kiss me now. He knows there’s no need—he has me where he wants me. And I have him in quite the same position myself.

“Judas safe first, then we discuss where and when.” My voice sounds more sure than it is. No, I’m not having second thoughts, I am simply very weary suddenly. And desirous of sleep.