Revelations (23 page)

He hovers over us now, his wings outspread, although I never saw him move, but that is the nature of dreams. There is no true logic involved. I can feel Judas becoming more and more frantic beneath me, pulling at the chains futilely. “Get away,” he urges me, “get away, now,” but I refuse to move. Lucifer reaches out with one well-muscled arm and, as if I’m of no consequence in the scheme of things, sweeps me aside, flinging me across the room effortlessly. I fall to the floor, and for a moment, I’m stunned, but then I recover myself and I rise to my feet, attempting to return to Judas’ side. Suddenly my feet refuse to cooperate, I cannot move them, no matter how I try, and I’m forced to watch helplessly as Lucifer touches my Judas in the most excruciatingly inappropriate ways.

Judas, being the man that he is and not one to take things without fighting, spits at him, and Lucifer backhands him hard in response, but there’s nothing I can do to protect him, tears streaming down my face. It’s my fault, I know it is, that he is being hurt—all my fault. As if to enforce these thoughts, Lucifer draws a whip out of thin air, a long cruel looking thing it is, knotted at the ends. “Watch this, Jesus, watch this.” He laughs as he begins to lay cruel strokes against my love’s skin, and I feel as if I’ll never stop screaming, never…

I feel a gentle hand upon my shoulder, pulling me from my tortured sleep. I open my eyes to discover Judas kneeling beside my cot, concern blanketing his handsome face. I’m so relieved to see him not only alive and unharmed but here and safe with me that without pausing for breath I launch myself at him, latching onto him for dear life, trembling. It doesn’t occur to me to question how he’s gotten inside this locked cell, only that he’s here. I can see the questions in his eyes, know that he’s about to ask for an explanation, but I still all words with a kiss, and we breathe together for as long as we can.

When he can finally get a breath in, he whispers the question, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing now.” I smile at him, as I manage to pull myself together, becoming more cognizant of my surroundings. “Just a bad dream.” I force myself to laugh, to allay his fears. “I’m just being silly, that’s all.” He doesn’t look quite satisfied with my response, but he isn’t probing, either, probably because we aren’t alone. Which I’m also becoming aware of. Although out of respect, they’re allowing us our privacy. I can hear their voices. Sheriff Kaplan. My mother. Mary Magdalene. And the boys. She’s brought them to see me—I’m grateful for that. Today will be my last chance.

“Yes, hail, hail, the gang’s all here,” Judas mutters, a trifle sullenly, and I cup his cheek, gaze into his beautiful blue eyes.

“Sssh, don’t be like that,” I murmur. “We’ll have time together, I promise you.” We will, no matter what I have to do to get it. I hate to see him get this way, to know they’ve been arguing. Again. And then as I really start to wake up I can’t help but stare at his forehead, and the very large bump there. It’s swollen and angry looking, and it certainly wasn’t there when I saw him last. “Jude, what happened?” He hesitates before replying, and I can just imagine the internal battle that is waging within him—he doesn’t want me to know, yet he doesn’t want to lie to me.

He doesn’t want me to worry, so he’s trying to bluff his way through it. I sigh, realizing all too well what must’ve happened, even if I don’t know exactly who or how. I wish they could just get along, but even I can see that isn’t likely to happen.

Not this time.

“It’s not so bad,” he compromises, reaching for my lips instead. “Looks worse than it feels. Brought you fresh robes.” He deftly changes the subject. So we drop it. For now. I take the clean clothes gratefully, and a few minutes spent in the jail’s single bathroom help to lift my spirits. Now I’m fit to face my loved ones again.

Poor Sheriff Kaplan. With all of them here, his poor jailhouse has become a bit crowded, but he’s taking it in stride. In fact, he’s talking with them as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. I’m glad.

My mother draws me to her, hugs me tightly, and I ache with the knowledge that she’s about to lose her son again, but there’s nothing I can do to stop that. I receive hugs from Mary M and all of the boys, too, as they crowd around me excitedly, all talking at once. I can feel Judas’ withdrawal, and it saddens me, but I don’t know what to do to make the situation any better. Not without knowing the particulars, which he isn’t giving me. I want to bring him back to my side, but perhaps that isn’t what’s best for him, maybe that’s just me being selfish simply because it’s what I wish to have happen. Not the same thing at all. I don’t want to force him to do this, or anything else.

While I’m waffling indecisively, one of the boys thrusts a flyer into my hand, and I read with pride and amazement about the concert that’s planned for this night. Mary’s done quite a lot in a short time. I’m very proud of her, even if the cause is a futile one. I can tell she’s trying desperately. She wants to cheer me up, to give me some feeling that all isn’t hopeless. I offer her a smile and a quick thumbs up. It’s not a bad idea. It’ll give them one more night together, before everything falls apart on the morrow. That isn’t a bad thing at all. But I also know that while it’s good for them, I don’t see it as being something Judas will even remotely want to do, not without me there, and certainly not after last night. So I’ll have to come up with something else for him.

It’s my mother that comes up with the perfect solution. I can always count on her when the chips are down, she understands me only too well. “Joshua,” she says softly, “would you mind if I borrowed Judas for a little bit? Mary and the boys can keep you company, I’m sure they won’t mind.”

My eyes meet Judas’, above my mother’s head. He looks as surprised as I am, so whatever she has or hasn’t planned, he isn’t privy to it. And he can clearly see neither am I.

Her next words are for Mary M, as if they are now co-conspirators in this unknown plot. “What time will you and the boys need to be getting ready for the benefit?”

“Let me think.” Mary deliberates for a quick moment. “I think we should leave here no later than about five, do a quick sound check. You’re basically set up still, aren’t you?” She turns to her new band next, drawing them into her plans. They’re more than eager to do as she wishes. How I do love her for that, for making them happy in this way, making them feel a part of things. I just wish… Never mind what I wish, it isn’t likely to come to pass. They all nod at her, assuring her they’re ready whenever she is. They’re obviously quite excited at the prospect of being involved in one of her concerts.

“We should be back just after five then,” Mother finishes, and it’s clear to me what she’s doing—she’s allowing me my time with Mary M and the other apostles, and keeping Judas safe from harm, for my sake. I breathe a very big sigh of relief, and again I seek Judas’ eyes, begging him to accept these terms, for me. Happily, he’s as pleased with the arrangements as I am. Even more so. What can he be thinking? My mind runs over various possibilities before it hits on the right one.

The obvious one. Every single one of them is going to be at Mary’s concert tonight. Except for Judas. Which means…he and I have the whole night to ourselves. Relatively speaking, of course, while within the confines of the jail, and in the presence of the jailer. But even so, my happiness knows no bounds. To spend my last night on earth with Judas is the greatest gift I could’ve asked for.

Thank you, Father, I say a silent prayer.

They’re leaving now, heading toward the door, to run the gauntlet of the members of C.O.C.K. who are still picketing without. But no, not yet, my heart protests. I catch the sleeve of his jacket, tug on it gently, and when he turns back toward me, I give him something to hold him until we see one another again. And I don’t care how much the boys catcall or make noises at us. I love Judas and I’m not ashamed to show it. By the time I release him, we’re both smiling, and that’s the image I hold on to for the rest of the day.

This is the hardest part of our time here. The end. I know it’s coming, but I try not to think about it. It would be hard for any mother to know she’s about to lose her son, no matter how she lost him. That doesn’t mean my burden is any greater than any other mother’s, not even because I’ve lost him so many times before. I never really get used to it, either. I don’t think any woman would, but at least I do understand the necessity. That doesn’t mean I like it any better for knowing the reason why.

One thing I’m happy about this time is that Jesus is so happy. Not that he was unhappy before, but this is different. He’s truly learned the meaning of love in a way he was never aware of before. That also makes it harder for him to leave this world—and Judas—behind. Even knowing they’ll see one another there isn’t the same as being together here. They deserve to have more time. I only wish they could. I’m sad for both of them. Life is never easy, is it? I’ve prayed for them, a great deal. Prayed they both find the strength to do what must be done, and the wisdom to see the best course of action. I want them to spend as much time together as possible. The only reason I’ve taken Judas away for now is to keep him apart from the other apostles, not to keep him away from Jesus. They’ll have their time tonight, this I know. In the meantime, he is good company. I’ve always liked him.

Judas is a good boy, despite what some think. He’s just very misunderstood.

Part of that is his fault, I know. He doesn’t make it easy for anyone to get to know him, not really. He’s been put into a very difficult position, and because of that, he’s gotten a very bad reputation, undeserved. He’s always been very kind to me, but his relations with the others have always been rather rocky. I have to admit, I do like to tease him about Jesus just to make him blush. It’s just too cute for words.

I’ve been observing him for a very long time. I think I’ve always known how he feels about Jesus; it’s rather obvious. And I had a pretty good idea those feelings were reciprocated, knowing my son as I do. But there’s only so much a mother can do. I had to let nature take her course. I’m just glad she finally did. It breaks my heart to think they’ll be ripped apart so very soon. But I haven’t given up on them.

I never will. Love is a very powerful force. And so is prayer.

I have to hand it to her, his mother is something else. And I mean that in a very good way. She’s as wonderful, kind, and loving as her son. Which stands to reason, as she raised him to be the man that he is. Which is perfect. She shows great perception in defusing a potentially dangerous situation by simply removing me from the scene. If I’d had to spend any time with them, I don’t think I’d have been able to stand it. I simply want to choke the life out of whoever threw that bottle at me. I know, I know, I should turn the other cheek, forgive and forget, it’s what he preaches. I know that, how could I not? That doesn’t mean I’m not still angry about it. I’m just not as good as he is, and that’s the God’s honest truth. I’m not perfect, far from it, and if I want to be really honest with myself, I have no idea what he sees in me. I’m just grateful he sees it.

Mary’s certainly kept me busy all day. Once we skirt the dodgy members of C.O.C.K. upon leaving the jail—and their numbers seem to be swelling, if I’m not mistaken, although I see no sign of their fearless leader—we begin by doing errands in and about the town, running everything she buys back and forth between here and our camp. As if we’re preparing for a siege or something, although I know better. At least I think I do. Personally, I think it’s just busywork, something to keep me from causing trouble. Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful to her for removing me from harm’s way, just not the reason why it needs to be done.

We’re pushing a shopping cart around a large discount store—or rather I’m doing the pushing, Mary’s checking the shelves for the items she’s searching for—

when I spot one of Lucifer’s faithful. I guess they take shifts or something so they can keep our dangerous asses under observation at all times. It’s the one I yelled at before, the man who said we queered up his son. All right, I’m paraphrasing.

Suddenly I remember where I’ve seen him before. He was there on our first night

—our only night, this time. He was the one who was talking to Thomas. Never did get a chance to ask him what that was all about. Now I wish I had.

I mumble something to Mary along the line of be right back, heading toward the man. I tap him on the shoulder. He’s so engrossed in what’s on the shelves he hasn’t noticed me yet. He half turns and a suspicious look crosses his face. All I can think at the moment is to follow what Jesus teaches, what he tells us to do, how to act, something I might’ve been a little remiss in doing lately.

“Wait,” I entreat him as he tries to walk away. “Just a moment of your time, that’s all.” I hold up my hands in the universal sign for peace. He stops, but he looks as though he could bolt at any moment. “I’m not looking for trouble, I assure you. I just wanted to apologize for the way I talked to you before. I was upset and I took it out on you. I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that.” He looks surprised to be on the receiving end of my apology, but at least he’s still listening.

“Look, I won’t keep you, I just want to tell you that being gay isn’t a choice, it’s how people are born. Your son, he’s a good boy, right?” The father nods. “I think I saw him at our concert. You, too. You came with him because you’re concerned about him, didn’t you? You wanted to make sure he was all right?” Again he nods.

“The best thing you can do for him is to talk to him.” I gaze directly into his eyes in my earnest desire to make myself understood. “If he’s getting into trouble, find out why. Maybe he just wants your attention. Kids do stupid things to get their parents to notice them.”

“I love my son,” the father maintains, “very much. I don’t want to see him…” He hesitates.

“See him hurt?” I try to fill in the blank.