Revelations (21 page)

“I’ll be honest,” she continues, her hand picking at the steering wheel, looking at it as she talks, rather than at me, “I haven’t liked you much for what you do to Jesus. For betraying him. Actually, I’m lying. I hate you for that. And for being an arrogant, know-it-all, stupid prick who spends most of his time with his head shoved up his own ass.”

“Thanks, I love you, too,” I mutter, wondering how long I intend to sit here and take this. Especially when I have things to do. But I wait. I know there must be more to this than that. And I’m right.

“I’ve always known you had a thing for Jesus. It isn’t exactly a secret, you know. And I admit, I liked aggravating you about it, ’cause frankly, you’re a whole lot of fun to tease. You need to lighten up a bit, don’t take things so damn seriously, Judas. You’d get along better, if you did.” What can I say to that?

Nothing, so I do.

Another few minutes tick by and I begin to think maybe there
is
no point to her words. I shift my weight on the seat, as if I’m about to leave. “No, wait a minute,” she says, taking my arm again—what is it with people grabbing my arm lately? I pause, but a bit impatiently, I admit.

“I never realized before now how serious you are about him. About Jesus, I mean.” She pushes back a strand of her dyed blonde hair that hangs loose about her shoulders, tucking it behind her ear, “I dunno, I guess I thought you were just trying to fuck with him, the way you fuck around with Thomas or any of the other guys you’ve been with. I never wanted you to have him like that. I didn’t want you to hurt him.” I can hear myself growl at her words, indignation bubbling from my lips, but she plows right through my anger. “I know, I know, you have a right to be angry, but you gotta understand where I was coming from. I love him, too, you know. Just not in that way. But in every other way.” She turns to face me then, looking directly into my eyes. “I know you don’t give a big fuck what I think, but for what it’s worth, I’m happy for him because he has you. I can see how much he really loves you, too, and I think that’s just great. But I have to tell you this—if you hurt him in any way, Iscariot, I’ll kill you. And that isn’t just a threat—it’s the God’s honest truth.” Despite the menace in her words, she’s smiling. I don’t return the smile, not because I’m upset with what she’s said, but because I’m thinking her threats are unnecessary. Suddenly I know what I must do, what I should’ve seen all along.

“I’ll lie awake nights just worrying about that,” I riposte, for good measure, but my mind isn’t on my words, I’m already thinking ahead, to my next move, as I ease my ass off of the leather seat.

“Be careful, Judas,” she says, leaning over far enough to kiss my cheek, “I’m going to go try to talk some sense into those guys, but I can’t promise anything.

Maybe you should just avoid them, for now.”

“That won’t be hard, don’t worry. I won’t go back there tonight, I promise. See you later.” Then I surprise the fuck out of both of us, by taking her hand and kissing it before I hop out of the Humvee. I should be more careful, my head is still not right. No comments, please.

I don’t bother looking back as I walk determinedly away from the encampment. I can hear the door of the Humvee slam behind me as she too goes on about her business. I hope that Mary M has the common sense to keep those dipshits away from where she must realize I’m going. If any of them dares to disturb me there, I’ll hurt them. No ifs, ands, or buts about it. I don’t have time for their stupid shit. Time or inclination.

Why didn’t I think about this before? Jesus doesn’t have to die if someone else dies for him. An obvious solution. I can’t believe I’ve never thought of it. But it’s the perfect solution. And I have the obvious candidate to take his place. Me, of course. If I die instead of him, he’ll be free to continue to live and preach and be happy for a long, long time. His mother and Mary M will see to that. I can’t afford to think past that, to being without him, or he me. It’s more important that he live.

I’m expendable, and I know it.

I know just the person who can arrange it. Yeah, I’m about to make a deal with the devil. Just this once.

I reach the pond, which is my destination, throw off all my clothes and simply dive in. Maybe not the brightest thing to do, since I might be suffering from a concussion, but I don’t give a shit right now. The water feels good, warmed by the sun all day. I’ve no real agenda, I just want to keep moving, as I stroke my way from one end of the pond to the other. My mind is churning up memories, images that replay themselves as I swim. So many memories. Two thousand years plus worth. I remember swimming with Jesus like this, him beautiful and naked, and me just naked. So many places over the many years, so many times. The pain in my chest is rapidly becoming worse than the one in my head.

I swim back and forth until I’m too tired to feel anything, until my entire body is one big numbness. Jesus would probably tell me I’m getting a great cardio-vascular work-out—he always looks on the positive side of things. My beautiful, little optimist. My beautiful savior.

Enough. I drag myself from the water, throw myself down onto the grass, catching my breath. I wonder how long it will take for him to find me, now that I actually want to see him. Probably longer than if I didn’t. In my experience, that’s just how shit works. You don’t want something, it slithers up behind you and bites you in the ass. You want it—it’s a fucking long time coming. I fall asleep waiting.

As the dream begins, I find myself in the audience of a live concert. Not one of ours, someone else’s. There’s a huge fucking crowd around me, a lot of middle-aged people, but a fair sprinkling of the younger generation, too. They’re all chanting something, but I can’t make out what it is.

I glance around me, as if searching for someone; he was just by my side a moment ago, but now he’s not. I call his name, trying not to sound as anxious as I feel, but my voice becomes lost in the chorus of the chanting throng. I’m standing right in front of the stage now; my eyes continue the search, but with no luck. I’m surprised that security hasn’t told me to step back, but they don’t seem to be in evidence. The house lights suddenly go out, and we’re plunged into blackness, which sets the audience to cheering in anticipation.

A sole spotlight appears, aimed at a figure at the far corner of the stage.

Everyone cranes for a better look. I hear a solo flute begin to play. More screaming and cheering. They’d hear better if they’d fucking shut up, I think. The figure leaps up in a dramatic vault, catapulting up a nearby ramp until he’s in the center of the stage, by which time more lights are trained on him. Removing the flute from his mouth, he begins to sing. I recognize the song, Very old school; vintage even.

Great fucking song. The flashing lights begin to strobe across the stage, revealing the heretofore hidden members of the band. The crowd goes wild. I turn and shout Jesus’ name, but to no avail, no one can hear over this; it’s an impossibility.

The first song ends, and to the frantic applause of the multitude, the lead singer begins his spiel—good evening (insert name of town) blah blah blah. I’m growing frantic now, searching for my Jesus, but there’s no sign of him anywhere. I’m ready to lash out at the first person I see who looks as if they have an inkling as to what’s going on here, my anger rising along with my frustration. Suddenly, before the next song begins, the singer is beckoning to someone else to join him on stage and before my startled eyes my sweet Jesus appears, garbed in the purest of white robes, halo set upon his dark head as he steps forward from the wings. What the fuck?

Now they each have a mic, and together they are singing. This is just going from the ridiculous to the sublime. But at least I can see him. And now that I can see him, I intend to take him with me, to quit this place. Suddenly I don’t want to be here anymore. Something foul is in the air, and we need to get away from it. I throw one leg up on the stage, prepared to climb up, when I feel hands upon me, several pairs of them, pulling me backward.
Now
the fucking security goons make an appearance? I struggle against them, determined to break free, to reach Jesus, but I’m not gaining any ground. “Jesus!” I scream. “Jesus!” But he doesn’t hear me over the deafening cries of the rabid fans, their shouts rising to a horrendous din that assaults my ears. I never stop struggling, but it’s getting harder, I’m being pulled backward, into the crowd, and I’m being sucked into this cacophonous black hole in their midst, farther and farther from my love. The stage is receding, along with its occupants, until I can no longer see it. Still I continue to scream, and one persistent security guard is shaking my shoulder, shaking me, shaking me…

I awake with a start, bathed in sweat and breathless. The inky night surrounds me in perfect blackness until my eyes begin to blink their adjustment, as I try to remember where I was when I fell asleep. The trees loom silently above me. I’m still beside the pond, near the copse of trees there. I have no idea how long I’ve been asleep. Only belatedly do I realize that the hand upon my arm is very real, and I’m not alone. He has arrived. I tense, aware I’ve placed myself in a rather vulnerable position. I struggle to rise to a sitting position, wondering how long he’s been kneeling beside me. At least he’s fully clothed, for which I’m grateful.

“Judas, darling, have you been waiting for me long?” he baits me, even as he attempts to assist me to my feet. I pull away from him, disconcerted at both the strange dream and at having been awakened in this fashion. I should’ve been better prepared for this.

I don’t bother to answer his question, wondering if I can even find my clothes in the dark, or if I should give it up for the moment. Somehow I think I’d be less vulnerable as I am now, rather than bending over to pull on my clothes. Luckily the darkness provides cover of a sort.

“Cut the crap, I’m not in the mood,” I mutter.

Unperturbed by my surliness, he presumes to cup my chin in one hand, gazing into my eyes. I presume the fucking Prince of Darkness has no trouble in seeing in the dark, come to think of it, only belatedly considering whether maybe I should dress. “I admit to being surprised at finding you here, sweet one, I would’ve thought you’d spend what time you have left with your lover. Getting the most bounce for the ounce while you still can.”

I slap his hand away. “Just stop it,” I warn him. “I don’t wish to discuss him with you in that way.”

“In what way
do
you wish to discuss…
him
? I presume that’s why I’m here, isn’t it? You wish to make a deal with me in this, your oh so final hour, do you not? Why am I not surprised?”

“I don’t give a fuck if you’re surprised or not, but you’re right. I’m ready to deal with you.” There, I said it. Aloud. I’m going to make a deal with the fucking devil. Better me than Jesus, though. Much better. I don’t think I could bear it if he were forced to abase himself in such a way before this bastard. Me, it doesn’t matter so much. Or not at all, actually. Everyone probably assumes I fuck him on a regular basis anyway, that’s how low their opinion of me is.

“Well, I know what it is that I want, but let me hear from your own sweet lips what you wish in return.” He actually moves back, crossing his arms expectantly against his chest as he regards me, waiting for my reply. How can he not know?

Apparently he doesn’t know everything. News flash. Or else he’s simply toying with me, which wouldn’t surprise me at all.

“All right, I’ll spell it out for you. Jesus lives and I die. There, plain enough for you? Or would you like me to draw you a diagram?”

His deep throated laughter echoes through the night. “Yes,” he retorts,” make it a Venn diagram, and we can see just how we intersect.” He reaches for me, his fingers sliding into my hair. I shake him off irritably.

“Don’t do that, you don’t have permission to touch me!”

“Yet…”

“Yet,” I echo. “You haven’t agreed to my terms. Without that, there is no bargain. I know how this works, you tricky bastard, you’re not going to put anything over on me. Not now, not ever.”

“As if I would,” he counters smoothly, his hand sliding, very much against my will, down my back, cupping one bare cheek. “Succulent,” he comments succinctly.

I reach back, grab his wrist, and force him to release me, before stepping farther away from him. “The bargain,” I repeat. “You know what I’m willing to do.

Tell me if you’ll do as I wish.”

“You can be so tiresome.” He rolls his eyes at me. “Very well, let’s get this part out of the way and get down to something more entertaining, shall we?”

“Just tell me,” I snap. “I don’t intend to wait here forever, I have a busy day tomorrow, as well you know.”

“Indeed I do know just how full your itinerary is, Mr. Jarvis,” he responds in his bemused way. “As you wish. I take it you intend to take Jesus’ place, and die in his stead, is that a fairly accurate summation?”

“It is.”

“And how do you propose I substitute you for him?”

“That’s your problem.”

“I see. Have you overlooked just one little point, Judas, my sweet?”

“What?” My head is still aching, and I want him to go away, once we’ve concluded our damnable bargain. I wish for sleep. And better dreams.

“If you’re killed in Jesus’ stead, how will I get what I want from you?”

“That’s your problem,” I snap. “And frankly, my dear demon, I don’t give a damn.”

“You divas are all alike.” He chuckles. “Temperamental to the bone.”

“Just tell me he’ll be safe,” I say wearily, closing my eyes against the pain, a dull pounding in my temple now, exacerbated by his presence. “All I want is for him to live and be happy, that’s all. Can you do that or not?”

“Of course I can,” the slick trickster assents, reaching into an inner pocket, from which he produces some sort of document. Three guesses what that might be.

It probably reeks of sulfur and brimstone.