Revelations (29 page)

“I’m sorry, can you repeat that?” I ask stupidly. Surely I didn’t hear what I just think I did.

“Mr. Stone isn’t dead,” the sheriff is saying, “he and my wife have been taken to the hospital by ambulance, I’m on my way there as soon as I secure the jail.”

“Not dead,” I repeat, “not dead…” I’m crying now, after all, just for a different reason, and Mary is smiling at me, probably thinks I’m crazy.

“No, he’s not dead, thank God,” Kaplan is saying, “they’re both in bad shape, but the medics think they’ll be fine. I can’t find Mr. Jarvis, though. He was here but he isn’t now. I hope he’s all right. If you see him, maybe you’d tell him? And call me, just to let me know you found him, I’ll do the same.”

“I will, yes, thank you, Sheriff. I’ll go to the hospital right away. Thank you very much.” I flip my phone closed, and Mary and I hug, and I’m crying like crazy whoa, but I don’t care, I’m just incredibly thankful. Jesus is alive, he’s alive, he’s…

Wait a minute. Did he just say Judas isn’t with him? Why not? Oh dear God.

The boys…the boys think he’s killed Jesus. What will they do if they find him? I have to find him first. I have to. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I have to save Judas from them.

“Mary, I gotta go find Judas,” I mumble before I take off running, out of the tent. There’s no one in sight now, but the vehicles are still there. Then where did…

And suddenly I know. I kick off my heels and speed barefoot through the grass, holding up my skirt, screaming for Matthew. He’s the most likely one to listen to me, if it’s not too late for words to get through to any of them.

By the time I reach the pond, they’re already there, grouped around Judas, who looks like bloody hell. And Judas is goading Peter, as if he’s trying to deliberately provoke him.

“
Noooooooo
!” I scream, but before I can get the next words out, Peter’s on top of him, whaling on Judas. I grab Matthew, hard.

“Stop him!” I yell. “Jesus isn’t dead, he isn’t dead!” It takes all of them to pull Peter off of Judas, and as I hit 911 on my phone, I fall to the ground, covering his poor beaten body, and I begin to weep.

More than the bright white light, it’s the cessation of pain that tells me it’s all over. I’m dead. Dead again. That part doesn’t even faze me anymore, I’ve done it so often. And I don’t care, because I know I’ll see Jesus again soon. Even if it’s in his father’s house, where I may or may not be in trouble. Yes, I do have that whole deal with the Devil thing going on. But it was never consummated. Surely that’s a point or two in my favor? At least that’s the argument I’ll use when the subject comes up. And trust me, it
will
come up.

The bright light recedes as my eyes adjust to their surroundings. I pinch the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger, brushing my hand over my forehead. No goose egg. No blood. Nothing but me. Not surprising, it works this way each and every time. Why should I think this time would be any different?

Looking about me, I find I’m lying upon a leather couch. I note with a distinct lack of interest my robes are gone, and now I’m wearing the Armani suit again. The dark blue, pinstripe one. Whatever. I swing my legs over the side, bring myself up to a sitting position, so I can get my bearings.

“Welcome home, Judas.” A deep voice comes from the other side of the room.

From the vicinity of the pool table that’s there. It’s his father, naturally. He stands beside the table, dressed in a charcoal suit, of Edwardian vintage I believe, pool cue in his hand, chalking it. As I’ve mentioned before, he’s a very handsome man, very distinguished. Classy, even. His son most definitely takes after him. But even more handsome. Positively gorgeous, Jesus is, without a doubt.

I lick my lips before I reply. Death has a tendency to dry them out. FYI, a tube of Chapstick won’t go amiss when you’re packing for the next life. Just saying.

“Thank you.” I rise to my feet, gaining my sea legs, so to speak. Nothing a little bit of blood circulation won’t cure. God knows how long I’ve been lying there, time is immaterial in this place. My head pivots eagerly, but I fail to see the object for which I search. Perhaps he’s in his room. This is different from the way it usually goes. Usually I’m the first to arrive, and I’m there to greet him upon his own arrival. But surely he’d do the same for me? I’m definitely confused, and more than a little disappointed.

He indicates the rack of pool cues that sits upon the wood-paneled wall of this elegantly furnished room. Like a gentleman’s smoking room, it is. Very nice, I guess, if you like that kind of thing. “Choose one, it’s your shot,” he tells me.

Apparently he’s just missed his own, I wasn’t watching very closely.

Not that I want to play, but sometimes it’s just better to go along than make waves. I choose a cue at random. Approaching the table, I do a quick assessment of the ball situation. I see six stripes, one solid. “What am I playing?” I ask, although I suspect I already know.

“Stripes.” Figures.

All right, I tell myself, let’s play this his way. There’s no rushing him, and I damn well know it. I chalk my cue, considering my options. And whether I actually want to win or not, or lose gracefully, quickly. I’m thinking the latter, as long as I can do it without being too obvious. “Are you calling the pocket, or am I?”

In answer, he uses his stick to point to the side pocket. “Six ball, there.” Well, that answers that. And naturally, the ball in question is being protected by the eight ball. Lovely.

Oh well, I didn’t really want to play anyway. I aim my stick carefully, making a bridge of my fingers, take aim, and shoot. And damned if I don’t hit the black eight ball directly into the pocket. Automatic loss. What a shame.

“Where’s Jesus?” I’ve waited long enough, now I’m asking.

“You did that deliberately.” No judgment, simply a fact.

“I know. Where’s Jesus?”

He regards me without answering my question immediately. “I thought you always play to win, Judas?”

“Depends on what the stakes are. Sometimes losing can be winning, if you know what you’re doing.”

“Do you know what you’re doing with my son?” His eyes are directly focused on mine; His words sucker punching me, although I should’ve been prepared. Not like I didn’t think He knows already.

“Where is he?” I repeat, neatly sidestepping the question. For now. I’m prepared for any answer He might give me, from flat-out refusal to say, to more questions. But His actual words floor me.

“Jesus isn’t here.”

“What?” I can’t have heard him right. He should’ve arrived before me, that’s how this works and I know better.

“Jesus…is…not…here…” He repeats, slowly, as if He’s addressing an idiot savant. Which would be me.

“W-why not?” I hate it when I stammer, and it doesn’t happen often, but it’s happening now, and I’m disgusted with myself for doing it.

“Because he’s still there.”

His words wash over me, and it takes me a few seconds to let them actually penetrate my thick skull before I begin to understand just what’s happened. He isn’t dead. Lucifer did what he said he’d do. He saved him. I didn’t even have to pay the price for that. Nice. I can’t help the small smile that crosses my lips at the idea Jesus is safe now, and will stay that way. Safe and happy. He is, isn’t he? The smile fades as quickly as it came. I don’t know that he is, something may yet go wrong. It’s Lucifer I’m dealing with, after all. And yes, I’m very paranoid, so don’t say it.

“Is he safe?”

“He is.” His father nods. “For the moment.”

For the moment? What the fuck does that mean? Has Lucifer screwed me over somehow, found a loophole in the bargain I made with him that will permit him to renege on it? Dammit, what a horrible time for me to be here and him there. There isn’t a lot I can do from here. Other than throw myself on the mercy of his father, and plead on behalf of His only son. Which you wouldn’t think I’d have to do, but go figure.

And naturally he knows just what I’m thinking. He has that omnipotent thing going on. Wonder how I ever forget that?

“No, it wasn’t Lucifer’s doing. He had nothing to do with it.” He pulls down the thick black glasses that sit atop his nose, looking at me over the top of them—

must be for effect, he has perfect eyesight. “Want to tell me anything, Judas?” As He speaks, He takes a seat on the rail of the pool table, setting His cue onto the table, and motions to me to do the same. Which I do, reluctantly. I feel as if I’m about to be lectured. And I suppose I do deserve it, strictly speaking. For even thinking of consorting with the Devil. Even if it was for a good reason. The best reason I can think of.

But when I’m face to face with Him, somehow I’m not sure He’s going to see it my way at all.

So, seeing as I really can’t lie to him, and I really don’t want to anyway, I bite the big one, find my balls, take a deep breath and just say what’s on my mind. And in my heart.

“All right then, here it is, the whole truth. I’m in love with your son, and I have been for a very long time. I don’t think it’s fair he’s forbidden from having a regular life, that he’s used as a human sacrifice time after time after time. I just want him to be happy. He deserves to be happy. He deserves to live for a long, long time, until he’s a very happy old man. And then he deserves to die peacefully, in his bed, for once, when his time comes.” There, I said it. Let him make of it what he will.

“And is that why you agreed to Lucifer’s terms?”

“Well, it sure wasn’t ’cause I wanted to get fucked by him.” I feel my face flush, but at least the stammer’s disappeared. Nothing worse than a stammering fool. Why do I have this incurable tendency to have a really big mouth at the worst possible times? I really should watch my tongue sometimes, although I know I never will.

He throws back his head and laughs, a deep booming laugh, rich and throaty. I guess that’s a good sign. I was half expecting thunderbolts, scowls, and divine retribution. I know, He’s not Zeus, it’s just a metaphor. By the time He’s done laughing, He’s wiping at his eyes. “Judas, you’re priceless,” He comments with a chuckle. “I can always count on you to speak your mind, can’t I? No matter what it is. No wonder my son loves you so much. And has for many years.” Okay, that one catches me unawares. I mean hearing it from his father and all.

So matter-of-factly, even. But what did I expect? God is all about love, all kinds of love. Would you really expect Him to look down on ours? My only concern was He might find me personally objectionable, or just not good enough for Jesus.

Guess I’ll have to rethink that. And examine my own blindness to what must’ve been right in front of me all this time. Damn.

“Which is why he made his own deal with Lucifer.”

“He what?” My jaw drops to the floor, and I damn near fall off the pool table in my surprise.

“Jesus made pretty much the same deal with Lucifer that you did. To save you, he was going to allow the devil his due, so to speak.” He was going to let Lucifer do what to him? Oh no, not that, surely not that? I know I shouldn’t feel indignant but I do. Not at Jesus. All right, maybe a little at Jesus. Mostly at Lucifer, for even daring suggest such a thing. “But he didn’t…I mean Lucifer didn’t…they didn’t…did they?” Is there a question in there? I’m not even sure. Dammit, do I even have a right to be jealous over something I myself was prepared to do? Yeah, I think I do, by my own twisted logic.

“No more than between you and Lucifer,” is the reassuring reply. All right, I can relax a little. Although this is a very weird conversation to be having with my lover’s father.

“You and he had a common goal, whether you realized it or not,” he continues.

I wait for him to say that it consisted of outwitting Him. “Self-sacrifice.” Not what I’d expected. “You were each willing to give up a part of yourself in order to save the other one, to make sure the other was happy. You were willing to move beyond the parameters of the plan to do so, too. Despite the script.” Uh oh, here it comes. The lecture for ruining His plans, going against the will of God thing. At this point, what do I have to lose? Jesus is still alive, and I’m dead. He can’t hurt me, and He won’t hurt him. And if He appreciates honesty, let Him have it.

“I’d do anything to make him happy, to keep him safe. Even if it means going against what you’ve told us to do. I’m sorry, that’s just how I feel about it. I love him too much to see him suffer.”

“I love my son, too, very much.” He pauses, as if considering just what it is he wishes to say to me. “I don’t like seeing him get hurt any more than you do. You have no idea how difficult it is for me to see him in pain. Even knowing he understands why I do it. He’s without sin, you know.”

“I know, he’s perfect.”

“Completely so. And yet he was willing to commit a sin for you Judas, he loves you that much. He didn’t consider it a sin, but an act of the love he bears for you.”

Dammit, now I think I’m going to break down and cry in front of Him, and I swore I wasn’t going to do that, no matter what. Me saying I was going to do the same doesn’t mean anywhere near as much, ’cause face it, I’m far from perfect, what’s another stain on my record, right?

“Judas, I don’t think you truly understand my big plans for my son.” I must have a skeptical look on my face, or perhaps it’s that eye rolling thing. Kinda hard to overlook. “You think it’s only about mankind, about the lessons Jesus preaches, the ones that must be learned by them?”

I nod, not trusting my voice. What else is there, if not that?

“I’ve been watching him for a very long time. Watching you both, actually.

There was always something else I wanted for my son. I wanted him to learn about an aspect of love he had no familiarity with, something he’d never experienced or completely understood…before you.”

I’m not sure I know what he means, so I remain silent. Although I have an inkling.

“To put it simply, Jesus couldn’t completely understand love in all its glory until he experienced it. I knew he was in love with you, but I couldn’t do anything.