American Heroes Series - 01 - Resurrection (3 page)

Anne-Michelle replied patiently. “Because history tells us that after Jesus Christ had been beaten and tortured, the Romans threw a robe on his body and a crown of thorns on his head and called him the king of the Jews. When they were finished ridiculing him, a Roman centurion named Lucius Petronius Sulla pulled the robe off and exchanged it for the cross that Christ would eventually be crucified on.  Some scholars believe that Lucius was really a closet Christian because he secretly kept the robe.”

“So how did it end up with gypsies in France?” Milt wanted to know.

Anne-Michelle continued. “There are a few theories on that, but the most popular belief is that when Lucius was sent back to Rome, he didn’t want to take the chest with him, so he buried it beneath the Temple Mount in the hopes of retrieving it some day.  He never returned, but on his deathbed, he confessed everything to his servant, who was a Christian, and the servant spread the word throughout the Christian community about Lucius’ treasure.  Pilgrims dug around the Temple Mount for hundreds of years looking for the chest, but it wasn’t until the Crusades came that it was found by the Knights Templar.” She tore her gaze away from the robe and looked at her captive audience. “They had apparently heard the legend, too, and made a concerted effort to locate it. That’s how it found its way to Europe and was either bought or stolen by the Earl of Savernake.  It was his descendents who donated it to the museum.”

There was a heavy silence as the group digested the story. Stu, the consummate Catholic, crossed himself and moved in to get a better look.

“So Lucius told his servant that this robe belonged to Christ, and that it was stained with His blood?” he asked.

“Lucius was an eye-witness to the trial and crucifixion,” Anne-Michelle confirmed. “I’d love to get this thing out of the cover and get a closer look at it. There has never been any scientific study done on it like they have on the Shroud. No one really knew for sure if it existed until fifty years ago, and the museum has always denied requests to study it.”

“But it’s in our possession now,” Cydney said. “Why can’t we arrange to have it studied?”

Anne-Michelle smiled ironically. “I thought of that, too. But it’s explicitly in our loan agreement with the antiquity museum that we can’t allow any study, scientific or otherwise, on this piece.  We’d be in violation.”

“Not if they didn’t know.”

Anne-Michelle shook her head. “I’d love to, Cyd.  But we can’t jeopardize the museum like that.  The legal ramifications alone would be unfathomable and it would ruin our reputation with every other institution around the world.”

Cydney gave up on her suggestions, moving up beside Stu to get a better look. It was just old, crumbling material that could quite possibly be the most amazing relic in history.  She gazed at the sleeves, the stains, her focus running along the neckline and the seam between the body and the arms.  It was fairly simple in lines and design.  Then, something strange caught her eye.  She looked closer. Her heart began to pound.

“Am?”

“Yes?”

“Take a look at this.”

The curator looked closely at the area Cydney was indicating. After several long moments, her expression went slack.  She looked at Cydney as if trying to find some confirmation of what they were both seeing.

“Are you serious?” she breathed. “Do you know what that looks like?”

Cydney cocked an eyebrow at her, quite calmly. “Didn’t they beat up Christ pretty good during his trial?”

”So the Bible tells us.”

“Smacked him around a bit, landed a few good blows to the face?”

“I’m sure they did.”

“Hard enough to…?”

Stu would not be ignored from the conversation. “What are you two looking at?”

Anne-Michelle was incapable of talking at the moment. She just stood there, staring at a speck of something none of the rest of them could see. Cydney put her finger on the acrylic.

“What does that look like to you, Stu?”

He peered closely.  Then his mouth popped open. “My God… that looks like….”

***

“… a
tooth
?”

Cydney was still having a hard time with the concept. Olivia was nearly jumping up and down with mere thought of it.

“That’s what it looked like,” Cydney replied. “When I left work, Am was on the phone to England trying to talk to the director of the museum it came from. She was trying to get the guy out of bed.”

“But a tooth?” Olivia repeated. “Mom, can you imagine if it’s true? What if that’s Jesus’ tooth?”

Cydney shrugged, toying with her macaroni and cheese. It was dinner time at the Hetherington household and the Lucius Robe was the hot topic of conversation.

“I don’t know,” she replied honestly. “I don’t have an answer. Maybe there is no answer. I mean, it’s not like we can prove it’s really Jesus’ tooth.”

Olivia fell silent, unusual for the teenager. A sophomore in high school, she was taking all college prep classes, including Calculus. Olivia had been brilliant from a young age and even at fifteen had the makings of an eccentric genius. Cydney worried about her some times because she seemed detached from kids her own age.  Fifteen going on fifty was an understatement.

“I read about the robe today after I talked to you,” Olivia said after a moment. “It’s like the Veil of Veronica or the Spear of Longinus. It’s the holy relic to end all holy relics.”

“It’s pretty powerful, I’ll give you that.”

“But a tooth?” she was back to the subject at hand. “I learned in my chemistry class that maternal DNA is the same from generation to generation and that teeth are one of the best places to find DNA. All you’d have to do is find someone in Jerusalem who can tell you who Mary’s family was. There’s got to be scholars like that who can tell you about her lineage.”

“And?”

“And…,” Olivia responded like her mother was an idiot. “Get a sample from some relative.  The mother of Jesus did exist, right?”

Cydney looked at her daughter, more logical and excited about the possibilities than Cydney was at the moment. Olivia would make a great scientist someday. But the truth was that Cydney just didn’t know what to think. She finally sighed and set her fork down.

“Look; I’m only Operations, not scientific endeavors. I don’t know the first thing about DNA sampling.  If you’ve got any bright ideas, then you’d better email them to me at work so I can pass them along to Am.  She’s the authority on this.” Finished with her dinner, Cydney stood up from the table and collected her plate. “One more thing, Liv – you need to keep this to yourself. I don’t want you talking about this, to anyone.  I’m not sure what kind of consequences this could lead to, but I don’t need you involved in anything. Understand?”

Olivia made a face; she looked much like her mother did when she was annoyed. “Who am I going to tell?” she wanted to know. “The kids in my marching band? My math teacher?”

“A teacher who could pick up the phone and call the local paper,” Cydney snapped gently. “That would open a whole can of worms and I’d be in trouble for it.”

Olivia’s expression suggested how ridiculous she thought her mother was, but the absence of any argument meant that she understood. 

It was a peaceful evening in their little house in the city of Arcadia, California, about fifteen miles from the museum. Cydney and her husband had bought the two-bedroom bungalow several years ago before the real estate market went crazy.  They had a nice little yard and Olivia had a fat orange cat she had named Agent Orange. 

All in all, it was a nice life, perfect except for the fact that Brad Hetherington’s shadow still lingered everywhere. Even though it had been eight years since his death, Cydney still saw him in every room, nearly every night.  She felt him all the time.

Not like a ghost, but more like a memory.  Sometimes, she looked at the front door and remembered the rainy night that the cops had come to tell her about the accident.  She’d painted the door and changed the hardware to alter the appearance and the memories associated with it, but it was still the same door.  She could do nothing to change the fact, much as she’d tried.

Brad had been changing a flat tire on the side of the freeway, they had told her. The bobtail truck never saw him until it was too late.  The rain had been heavy and the roads slick.  The truck swerved, but it still hit him.  The truck had flipped onto its side and slid into center divider.  The driver and his passenger weren’t hurt, but Brad was beyond help.  The cops thought it might make her feel better to know that he’d never felt any pain. He’d died instantly.

It hadn’t made her feel better to know that. In fact, it took a good three years before the pain wasn’t a constant daily companion, like a migraine that never went away.  These days, it was easier to look at the faucet Brad had tried to install but ended up just messing up the works. Cydney didn’t have the heart to fix it. She had just left it, cursing him every time it sprayed a stream up into her face.  Oddly, it was those things that had eased her pain more than anything. 

It was all a distant memory, her happy marriage that once was.  Cydney turned on the kitchen faucet, now wise enough to dodge the spray that came up at her. Olivia was beating a hasty retreat from the kitchen like the coward that she was, knowing it was chore time. Cydney called her back to load up the dishwasher. While Olivia begrudgingly loaded, her mother cleaned the stovetop.

“So tell me more about what you found out on the Internet,” Cydney tried to make conversation.

Olivia slammed a glass against the dishwasher, nearly breaking it.  “It was just basically the same stuff you told me about the Savernake guy donating it.  Because it was stashed away for so long, no one seems to know a whole heck of a lot about it. Do you think I can see it?”

“I don’t see why not. Maybe tomorrow after school.”

“Sweet!”  Olivia chirped. She closed the dishwasher and started it.  “Can I bring some friends?”

“You may not. They’ll have to wait for the opening, like everyone else.”

Olivia dried off her hands. Agent Orange slinked into the room and she grabbed the fat tabby before it could get away.

“I read some other stuff about the robe,” she sat at the table and stroked the cat. “There are a few websites that claim the Savernake dude didn’t buy it from gypsies. They say he stole it from the Knights Templar when the King of France wiped them out on Friday, October the 13th. Did you know that’s why everyone thinks Friday the 13th is so unlucky?”

Her mother shook her head. “Because of the Templars?”

“That’s the day the king ordered their arrest.”

“Interesting. What else did your websites say?”

“That Jesus didn’t die on the Cross. The Templars believed that someone else died in his place.”

Cydney cocked an eyebrow. “Weird.”

“Not really.” Olivia let the cat slide to the floor. “One website said that Judas didn’t betray Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemene and that he betrayed one of the disciples instead.”

“Which one?”

“James, Jesus’ brother,” Olivia was very matter-of-fact about it all. “The disciples had it all arranged so that Jesus would escape, marry Mary Magdalene, and live happily ever after.”

Cydney paused in cleaning the stove. “You know, if you lived in the middle ages, they’d burn you at the stake for saying this kind of thing.”

Olivia grinned. “The bottom line is that even if you were able to get some DNA from that tooth and compare it with DNA from Mary’s descendents, it would still come back a match because James and Jesus had the same mother.”

Cydney threw away the used paper towel and washed her hands. “Now you’re making my head hurt. I forbid you to tell Grandma about all of this, do you hear? One word about Jesus running out and leaving his brother to die on the cross and she’ll have an exorcism performed on you. You know how religious she is.”

Olivia, pleased she had bewildered her mother yet again, went off in search of the television.  Exhausted, Cydney retired to her bedroom and was about to put on her pajamas when the doorbell rang.

It rang again, shortly after the first chime. Olivia was up, moving for the front door, oblivious to the fact that it was almost nine o’clock at night. Before Cydney could stop her, she opened the door.

The porch light was on, illuminating a tall man with dark hair. He said something to Olivia through the screen door as Cydney approached, but she didn’t quite hear what he said.  When she drew close, the man focused on her and the first thing Cydney noticed was his stunning good looks.  Had she seen him on the street, she would have given him a second glance; the guy was unbelievably gorgeous.  Startled, she pulled her daughter away from the door and took her place, protectively.

“Can I help you?” she asked politely.

“Cydney, it’s okay.” She hadn’t even noticed Hemeshuk standing slightly behind the man.  He seemed oddly strained. “Sorry it’s so late, but these gentlemen came to the museum after you left. I’ve been briefed on the reason for their visit and it is important that you are, too.”

The focus returned to Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome. He and Cydney gazed at each other a moment, sizing one another up. There was instant curiosity, and perhaps interest, in the air.

“My name is Special Agent Ethan Serreaux, Federal Bureau of Investigation,” the man flipped his badge up against the screen; he pronounced his last name ‘Sir-row’. “This is my partner, Special Agent James Lowell. Mr. Hemeshuk was nice enough to drive my partner and me over here. Sorry it’s so late, but this is fairly important we speak with you.”

Cydney noticed the third man, standing back in the shadows. He was very tall, and very blond. Opening the door, she led them into the living room.  The agents took the couch and Hemeshuk took the overstuffed chair. Cydney was left standing with wide-eyed Olivia hovering just out of sight. The atmosphere was odd and uncomfortable.

Cydney couldn’t help but wonder why the FBI wanted to speak with her. Maybe they had a hot relic in the museum.

 “What can I help you with, gentlemen?” she asked.

Agent Serreaux sat casually against the back of the couch. “I know it’s late, so I’ll get to the point. Mr. Hemeshuk tells us that you’re the Director of Operations for the Western Pacific Museum of Art and Antiquities.”