Revelations (22 page)

“I suppose you want me to sign that?”

“I do.”

“I suppose you want blood?”

That produces another laugh. And a pen. “Not necessary, although a nice gesture, Judas. No, feel free to use this.”

I take the pen, and sign the document, examining it as well as I can in the limited light the night affords. Which isn’t very damn much. “There, take it and be damned,” I murmur, “now please go away and let me sleep.”

“You’re sleeping out here?” He arches an eyebrow.

“None of your fucking business!” I growl.

“I could stay and keep you company.” he offers. God, he’s enjoying this far too much for my taste, the bastard.

“Go to hell,” I counter. “As soon as possible.”

Taking advantage of my agitated state, he pulls me to him, pressing our lips together. Damn his fucking soul! I push him away, and proceed to spit the taste of him into the grass. He doesn’t seem to care.

“You’ll get used to it.” He chuckles before he disappears into the night, and I’m alone once more.

Falling to my hands and knees, I grope about in the dark, finding my clothes at last, and drawing them on. At least I don’t feel quite so vulnerable now. And yes, I’m going to sleep here, damned if I’m going back there. I lie back in the damp grass, my hands laced beneath my head, staring up into the night sky, no longer tired, my thoughts revolving around Jesus, and what he’s doing, what he’s feeling and thinking, and missing him incredibly.

Last night was such a blast. What I remember of it, anyway. Mary M

brought us the most wonderful fried chicken, and lots to drink. We were having a ball when Judas had to try to ruin it. He’s such a sourpuss. I don’t know what Jesus sees in him, why he wants him around. And it’s his fault, just like everyone said, that Jesus is already in jail. It’s not fair, it isn’t. Judas deserved everything he got last night. I don’t know who hit him with the bottle, and I don’t care. I just know it wasn’t me, but I wish it was. Haven’t seen him since.

Maybe he’s gone for good.

Mary M is so beautiful. Last night she was talking to us about an idea she had, something about a concert. I don’t remember just what it was, I’ll have to ask her about it today. Maybe when my head feels a little better. She made me so happy last night. She kissed me! Right in front of the others. More than once.

It was awesome! I wasn’t the only one she kissed, maybe, but it was so good, and I think she smiled at me more than anyone else.

Oh, there she is, everyone’s running up to her, she’s handing out pieces of paper, and I manage to grab one, trying to make sense of what it says; my eyes are a little blurred. Am I imagining things, or am I seeing what I think I am?

Mary M is giving a concert? Here? Tonight? And we’re going to play back-up for her? I can’t believe it! That’s my every dream come true, right there! And even better, it’s a benefit for the Master. So not only do I get to play with Mary, and hear her sing, we get to help Jesus! Can this day get any better? I don’t see how!

Everyone is hugging her and jumping up and down, and she’s jumping up and down now, and giggling, and oh Lord, she…I mean…when she jumps…

they jiggle…and just damn…

What was I saying? Guess it doesn’t really matter right now.

The boys are all excited at my news, and at the prospect of playing with me in a benefit concert for the Master. Of course I can’t label it as such, for obvious reasons. But I think it’ll be plain to anyone who reads the tabloids. Yes, those tabloids. The ones with names like the Midnight Last Hope Star Enquirer. Or something like that. Somehow they found out about Jesus’ arrest—or, as they know him, Joshua Stone, lead singer of The Apostles—and it made the front page of all the supermarket scandal sheets. Wonder how that could possibly have happened? Huh…Connections are a wonderful thing, and I’m blessed with lots of

’em. I have to think that’s why I’m in the position I’m in, being my own woman, having my own career and all, not just for me, but for Jesus, too. It’s certainly coming in handy right now. I’m feelin’ mighty blessed at this moment.

And what can anyone say about this? I mean, we already had permission to hold a concert, we have all of our permits and licenses and whatnots in order. Yes, I’ll give Judas credit for that, he’s always good at what he does, and yes, I do like to tell him he’s anal retentive. But once again, everything’s coming together, and I can’t help but believe that tonight’s concert won’t only draw attention to this place and these people but the injustice of Jesus’ incarceration, not to mention the very issues and causes he’s been espousing this whole time. So tomorrow not only will he be given bail, but I predict he’ll be freed as well. Completely. After that, who knows? We’ll just have to take it one day at a time.

So, what about the script? The part where Jesus dies? Does that get pushed back? Are we due to receive some sort of revision, a change in what will be? I wish I could tell you, but I have no clue. I’m just flying by the seat of my pants here, and hoping this’ll be the time, the one Coming where people will finally realize what they’re doing wrong, and stop doing it. And maybe, just maybe, Jesus can live.

Judas is less than thrilled about the concert, but I expected that. I know he slept out by the pond last night. I made sure none of the boys bothered him. They were good and listened to me. It helped that we all sat up ’til I don’t know what time, drinking, dancing, partying, having a general good time. I don’t think anything less than the thought of being able to see Jesus today would’ve gotten them out of bed, but they’re up, I’ll give them credit for that, no matter how they might feel. That’s

’cause they love him so much, you know. They’d do anything for him. Now, if I can only get them to behave with regard to Judas, so they don’t upset Jesus. While the boys are getting ready to go, I’ve worked out the arrangements for today. I just need to explain them to Judas. Very carefully. I go out to the pond and take him some fresh clothes, and a little food. Not much, but enough to keep body and soul together. I make him eat it, too, even if I can tell it’s against his will.

“If you don’t eat that whole thing, right now, Judas Iscariot, I’ll tell Jesus and he’ll be upset with you and I know you don’t want that,” I threaten him with a knowing smirk. The one that tells him I mean business. Yeah, maybe it’s a low blow, but it works. He scowls even as he puts the pastry into his mouth and chews.

Good boy. I make sure he swallows, too. Not that I don’t trust him, but I don’t trust him, if you know what I mean. Then I wait until he gets dressed and is ready to go before I bother to tell him about tonight. Mostly ’cause I know what his reaction will be, and I’m right, as usual.

“What the hell use is that?” he thunders at me, shaking his head. Sometimes he acts like he’s talking to a bratty child, a stupid one at that. You know, the one who can’t possibly understand what she’s saying, rather than a grown woman who can think for herself. I scowl back at him, ’cause he don’t scare me none.

“It’ll help tomorrow when that circuit judge comes around here to set his bail, you doofus, and he sees that Jesus has a lot of people who support him and love him, and not just us, but a lot of people all over the world. What don’t you understand? Can’t you see the big picture? Like maybe he’ll be released tomorrow, not just on bail, but permanently? Don’t you want to see him free?” I know he does, but I ask the question anyway, to give him a chance to think this through and stop thinking with his damn dick.

“It doesn’t work like that. He still has to come to trial,” Judas argues, but I can tell he’s softening, so I throw in the part I’ve been saving, the pièce de résistance I have tucked up my sleeve.

“And just think of this, Mr. Iscariot,” I add, pointing my finger at him, practically shaking it in his face. “Tonight I’ll have every one of the boys on stage with me…”

“I know that,” he grumbles, swatting at my finger. “Do you think I care? Do you think I’d come anywhere near where they are?” He puts a hand up to his head, in memory of the souvenir he got from one of them last night. I still have no idea who did it, no one’s ’fessed up to it, probably ’cause they know I’ll be pissed when I find out. Yeah, quite a goose egg he’s got, dark and ugly. Damn ugly. I consider offering to pancake it for him, but on second thought, I rethink that. “Why do you think it matters to me if they’re on stage with you…all I want is—” Suddenly he stops speaking, and I watch his eyes grow wide—I can almost see the gears moving inside—as he finally gets the idea through his thick head. I swear, sometimes men are almost more trouble than they’re worth. The operative word being almost.

“Yes, I think you have it now.” I nod. “While
they
are here with
me
, that means
you
can spend the entire night alone…”

“With Jesus,” he says, wonder and glee evident in his voice as he begins to see the possibilities of this situation. And he begins to appreciate them. Good. His cooperation will make things a whole lot easier, believe me. I move on to the next part. I figure he’s so high on what I just told him, he won’t even mind the rest of it.

The part where we’re all going into town to see Jesus—at his request, mind you—

and the boys are going to take turns seeing him. Which means Judas will have less time with him, besides being stuck around us for at least a little while. But there’s nothing I can do about that. This is Jesus’ request, and I’m going to do my best to see that it’s done. Judas’ll just have to get over himself.

The good part about what I’ve arranged, though, is that I’ll take the boys with me, in the two group vehicles we have, and I’ll give Judas my Humvee to use.

Personally, I consider that pretty damn generous of me. He better appreciate it.

Once Lucifer has removed his touchy-feely self from my presence—for which I’m nothing but grateful—I decide sleeping is the most sensible course of action I can take, rather than worrying, which seems rather counter-productive. I tell myself that torturing myself over sending Judas away would accomplish nothing, whereas if I go to sleep, the morning will arrive that much sooner. As will Judas. I close my eyes, falling into a troubled sleep. And then I begin to dream.

I dream that I’m in my Father’s house. It’s the place I always return to between incarnations, into his loving hands, to wait for the next time. Until such time as he chooses for me to return to the world of men once more, another unannounced coming. I’ve long since lost track of how many of these there’ve been.

Homecoming is a bittersweet time for me, because I invariably feel as if I’ve failed at what I was sent to do, even though my father assures me such is not the case.

But right now all I can think about is finding Judas. I’m feeling rather anxious; why, I don’t know. Judas should have arrived before me, and all I know is I need to find him. To see him. To hold him.

I open the door to the room he normally occupies, which is near to my own, but I can see it’s empty. Perhaps he’s waiting for me in my room, I think, but when I open that door as well, I find there’s no one there either. Frantic with worry, I call out his name as I begin to search through the many rooms in my father’s mansion.

“Judas! Judas!” I’m met with only silence. Frantic now, I wander the silent corridors; they stretch endlessly before me, twisting and turning in ways that, if I were awake, I would realize are physically impossible. But in dreams, everything can be, and often is. And nothing is what it seems to be. This last hallway dead ends before me. I find myself facing a pair of strange double doors, and I know I’ve never seen them before, and I also know I must go through them; something important awaits me on the other side. I burst through the doors, my heart racing inexplicably, hopeful and yet fearful of what I shall find.

A horrible tableau meets my eyes. In the center of this room, which I swear is unknown to me, is a large round bed, covered in the most vulgar red sheets imaginable. And manacled spread-eagle across the bed is my poor, sweet Jude.

Naked to the world he lies there, helpless. When he sees me, he cries out. “No, no, no, run…run, Jesus, run, before he gets you, it’s a trap.” But I refuse to do so, flying to his side at once, my heart breaking even more as I see the lash marks that stripe his arms and legs, crisscrossing his torso.

“Who’s done this to you?” I cry out in agony as I try to free him from these terrible chains, but to no avail. Nothing I can do will loosen them even a little. His own struggles have simply served to rub the skin about the irons raw, and his wounds are bleeding most piteously. Tears flow from my eyes. I am the son of God, and yet I’m useless to do anything to help Judas, my dearest love. And still he’s urging me to go. But I won’t. I can’t.

And then I hear it, a voice that sends shivers of disgust running through me.

“Another fly for my web, I see?” I don’t have to look to know whose voice that is.

I’ve heard it far too many times, unfortunately. Whereas normally I feel nothing but compassion and love for my fellow man, for this one I hold nothing but contempt. He is foul and loathsome, and what he’s done to my poor Judas is beyond horrendous.

I force my voice to remain calm, for I only know my anger will fuel his amusement. “Release him,” I demand. “Release him now, and then begone. You aren’t wanted here.”

“Jesus, go,” Judas urges me, as he continues to struggle against the chains that bind him. “Leave here, now, it’s a trap, please, love, go…” I won’t leave him, I’ll never leave him. I turn a defiant face to Lucifer, who stands on the other side of the bed, completely naked as well, evil intentions written all over his face, as well as other areas. “You cannot have him,” I insist defiantly, interposing my body between them, protectively. If he wants Judas, he has to go through me first. If I were thinking more clearly, I’d wonder what he’s even doing in my father’s house, but I’m not. I’m too intent on protecting my lover.