The Greatest Gift (3 page)

The smell of death intoxicated Titus. He raged around the top of the impressive structure, strutting in his shiny armor like he was Caesar in his chariot. He bellowed out orders to the soldiers below who were dragging a lifeless body inside the Antonia Fortress. “Hang him upside down,” he said, slamming his spear to the ground.

Nearby, another man was welcomed with Roman force. The sound of his head striking the ground echoed across the courtyard. A group of soldiers roared in delight as Titus broke up the group. “Why is he up here?” He raised his spear toward the fallen man’s head.

“We thought he was important enough to bring him to you, sir,” said one of the soldiers.

“Who is he?”

“Another follower of that preacher.”

“What preacher?”

“The man who was once said to have come back from the dead,” the soldier said.

“Those are lies spread by religious zealouts. No man can survive being nailed to wood,” Titus mocked. “Do not deceive me. Send him where we are keeping the others. Make sure the one who writes sees his bloody head.” He kicked the man in his ribs, eliciting a faint groan from the victim.

The thirst for beating and maiming another prisoner only invigorated Titus more while the heavy heat suppressed his Roman comrades. Many were taking an early morning break from the strenuous activity.

Titus clamored for more action as he gained the steps leading back inside. He scraped the walls with his spear, echoing its chilly tone through the downstairs chambers of the fortress.

“Myah, who is next?” he asked, slapping the soldier in the side of his helmet with a sword.

“Sir, we have our friend back.”

Titus sneered. “Barabbas?”

Myah grinned. “He awaits your presence.”

“Where?”

“In the deepest dungeon.”

“Good.” Titus grabbed a nearby spear, scraping its edge against the bloodstained, concrete wall, sending hot flickers showering around them. He made his way down several flights of charred stairs, each step slower so as to relish the mental images he could conjure up in his devious mind.

“I know it is you, Titus,” shouted a faint voice. “You do not scare me.”

The sound of Barabbas’ voice, courageous indeed, enraged Titus. “I will torture you and let your filthy, beastly blood spill one drop at a time until your pain avenges every Roman you have killed.”

Barabbas stood tall, taking a few steps toward Titus and then backing away just as quickly. He dodged side to side near the bars, daring a response.

Titus tantalized his prisoner with the tip of his weapon, pricking him just below his eyelid. “An eye for an eye,” Titus said. “Is that not what you believe?”

Barabbas pushed away the spear, giving a disgusted look. “You can never avenge the cowards I slaughtered.”

Titus adjusted his shield.

“I have killed far more of your filthy pigs than you have of my brothers.” Titus jabbed at Barabbas’ neck, creating a gash as a short spell of blood sprinkled the grimy floor. Another droplet of blood slithered down the side of his neck to his bare shoulder.

Barabbas picked it off before it could fall, looked at it and sucked it dry. “I am stronger than a thousand Romans.”

Titus poked several times through the metal opening of the door as Barabbas continued to evade the weapon, using the far ends of the prison room to his advantage. “Stay still, coward.”

Barabbas growled as if mocking Titus. “Coward? It is you who fears me, Roman. You hide behind your armor and weapons and a metal door.” He moved side to side, never allowing Titus a clear shot. “Come and get me, Roman. You are strong with your spear and weak with just your hands.”

Titus pinned Barabbas in the corner, poking his spear into his rib cage. Barabbas winced. Titus pressed harder, trying to penetrate bone. “How do you feel now, murderer?”

“Ready as always for you, Roman, weapon or not. My brothers stand ready to fight you.” He let out a loud gasp, as if struggling to breathe. “We are ready to kill more of you, until the last soldier leaves.”

“You will die before we leave.”

“Kill me.” Barabbas extended his arms. “You martyred the preacher. Martyr me. Kill me like you killed the preacher.”

“You filthy pig.” Titus spat. “The preacher was a peaceful man while slime like you lives.”

“You gave him Roman justice.”

“He gave his life so yours was spared. Now that was an injustice.”

Barabbas leaned over, gasping, holding his side. “You should know about injustice, Roman. The smell of your blood pollutes this prison.”

Titus clipped him again in his side, drawing another round of blood. A few droplets raced down the side of Barabbas’ leg, too quick for him to stop them from reaching the floor. Barabbas growled and grabbed the end of the spear in a furious rage.

“Titus,” said Clavius, another Roman soldier, as he bounded down the final steps of the dungeon. “We have some terrible news. Come.”

“Help me,” Titus said.

“As you wish, sir.” Clavius jerked the spear away from Barabbas and smacked him in the side of the head. He watched the prisoner fall to the floor as he handed the spear back to Titus.

“It takes two Romans with weapons to stop me,” Barabbas said.

Titus thrust his spear one more time, shearing the outside of Barabbas’ ear. “Silence, you fool. The next spear that comes your way will take your tongue.”

Barabbas groaned.

“Not so courageous now, are you?” Titus asked.

“Sir, we need to go,” said Clavius.

“I am going.” He walked toward the stairs. “Do not kill Barabbas. He is mine to avenge.”

They climbed a few steps when Titus turned around. “What could be more important than butchering the murderer?”

Clavius stepped forward. “I have dreadful news, sir.”

“What is it?”

“Marcus has been found.”

“My brother?”

Clavius nodded.

Titus grabbed his arm. “Where? How is he?”

“He was found washed ashore.”

“Alive?”

Clavius’ head dropped and he let his spear hit the ground, its noise charring the darkness of Titus’ heart.

“I will take vengeance on those who have done this to my blood.”

“I think we should take this up with the governor, sir,” Clavius said.

“I do not need a politician to tell me what to do.”

“Sir, do you think it is wise not to consult with the governor? This is an extreme matter for the empire.”

Titus grabbed his throat, bending his neck back and pushing him to his knees. “Listen and do not misunderstand my words. No one kills my brother without vengeance. An eye for an eye, a heart for a heart. Do you understand?”

He gagged as Titus released his grip. Clavius nodded.

Titus leaned down to him still gathering his breath. “No one needs to know about this. Understand?”

Clavius nodded again. Titus grabbed his spear. “I will need this. Call upon Aegidius.”

“What do you want with him? I will need permission from the commander to speak to him.”

Titus placed his spear under his neck, lifting Clavius up with it. He trembled and backed into the wall.

“There is no need to carry this word to the commander. Go. You have your instructions. Tell Aegidius to meet me outside the gate.”

Titus pulled out several pieces of money. “Make sure he knows there is a lot of silver for him waiting outside. The trip will be short.”

“Sir … sir … where should I say you have gone?”

“Tell whoever needs to know I am visiting a Jewish widow and need to give her a proper Roman greeting.”

Leah pushed and swung her arms, falling off the bedroll and away from her husband. “Stop,” she screamed. “No more.”

Startled, he shot up and grabbed a nearby spear. “Who is there? Show yourself!” he demanded, ready to strike any intruder.

Leah rose, putting her hands in front of her face. “No, it is me, Aharon,” she said.

Aharon grabbed a nearby flickering candle and shone it on her face. “Leah. My darling. Again?”

She stood and touched his hand. “Yes, I was having a bad dream.”

“How many times must we suffer like this?”

She shook her head and hugged him.

“Did that man in the cave frighten you again?”

Leah didn’t answer.

“What did he say to you?”

“I am troubled.”

“It is the man. Am I right?” he asked.

“My love, it is more. More than I can tell you.”

“Speak to me, Leah. I am here to listen.”

How will I explain this to him?
She took a deep breath and inhaled Aharon’s smell as if a loving, protective shield encompassed her heart.

“Tell me, my darling,” Aharon said. He held her tighter.

Leah looked away. “I saw him.”

“Saw who?”

She flinched but did not speak.

“The Roman?”

She nodded and rested her head against Aharon’s chest.

“What did the Roman do?”

“There was a fight.”

“Who was the Roman fighting? That man?”

Leah shook her head.

“Yochanan?”

“No. Elizabeth.”

“The girl? Why her? Tell me, Leah. I am here for you.”

“We are not safe here.”

“It is just a dream. You have had many. We have been safe for many sunsets.”

Leah released her hold on Aharon.

“Why are you pulling away?” he asked.

“Sit,” she said, her eyes gazing into a lit candle. She placed it in front of him on a table. Leah touched his arm. “Let me heat some water. I have made some warm water. It makes my stomach feel better. Do you need some?”

“What I need is the truth. I cannot sleep this way anymore,” he said. “You need to tell me how you feel.” He pressed his hand on her heart. “What is in here?”

She went to the fire and warmed the water. It was several minutes later she was satisfied and placed a small cup of water on the table. Then she joined him.

They each took a sip, delaying the discussion. “I am in love with you, Aharon. Never doubt this. The man whom you have seen me speak with in the cave … ” She sighed.

Aharon raised her chin with his hand. “Speak honestly.”

“I was in love with him before I met you.”

Aharon stood. His anguished face tore at her heart. “Is there any more you need to tell me?” he asked.

“My feelings for him are in the past.”

“Why were you talking to him at the gravesite?”

She bent her head. “I was going to pray for his daughter. It is his daughter who rests inside the cave. It had been some sunsets since we had seen each other. I did not know he had returned.”

Aharon sat down and thumped the table with his hands. “Where does he come from? Why did he leave his daughter here and not bury her near his home?”

“I do not have those answers. Perhaps he was lost. He does not come from here. He has strange customs and beliefs. He is not like us.”

“If he is not like us, how did you fall in love with him?”

She threw her hands in the air. “Love chooses us. We do not choose love. Do we?”

Aharon pushed his cup away. “Chooses us? How can you say that? I risked everything to give myself and my life to you.”

“Do not be angry. I never sought out your love. It chose us, much like the stars that watch us when we sit on the rooftop.”

“Were you ever with him?”

Leah shook her head.

“How would you know you were in love with him?”

“It is not important now.”

“How can you say that?”

“It is gone, my love. You are my love.”

“I can tell you still have feelings for him.” He thumped the table again with his hands. “Is he the one you have been dreaming about?”

She looked up at the ceiling. “I do not know,” she said. “Sometimes I think it is Yochanan, sometimes Michael, sometimes … ”

“Yes?”

She picked her head up. “Sometimes you.”

“What happens?”

She waved her hands in the air. “No. No. I cannot talk any more about this.”

He pulled her chair close. He placed his hand on hers and wiped away a single tear at the top of her cheekbone. “Leah, tell me. You are my life. My love. I live my life for you. You have to know this.”

“I do. My dreams tell me it is not safe for us to be here.”

“Do not believe your dreams. What is in your mind when it is dark is not here with us in the light. We are safe. The Roman soldier was dropped in the sea. He is dead. You saw he was dead.”

She nodded, got up and looked out the lone kitchen window. “I know he is dead. Yet my dreams tell me there is a soldier coming to get me.”

He followed her to the window and she felt his big arms envelope her. “You have had these dreams many times and yet we are safe. Do not fear the soldier who is dead. He cannot hurt you. The fish ate him.”

“We do not know that. Did you see the fish eat him?”

Aharon didn’t respond.

“Tell me,” she said in a low tone.

“He is gone. He will never be found.”

She heard him yet her thoughts drifted. “I miss my tree,” she said. “I found God near my tree when I was so lonely.”

“I am sorry. You know why we had to take it down?”

She did not answer.

“For us to be safe,” he said.

“Why do I not feel safe?”

“You must have faith in me to protect you.” He touched her stomach. “And to protect our baby.”

Dennis ignored the footsteps echoing in the church as he greeted Susan and Connie in his office. “I wanted to speak to both of you for several reasons. I know Michael is important to each of you in your own way.”

He paused a few moments until Susan and Connie sat down. He went behind his desk and held up a black book. “I do know that it is possible.”

“What’s possible?” Connie asked.

“To travel to and from places and times.”

“Where and when?” she asked.

“To Jerusalem, the time of Christ.”

Connie shook her head. “Come on, Pastor. We’ve been over this a few times now. No one is going to convince me that my baby brother has the power to take trips to Jerusalem in this broken down old church. Are you telling me he has done something no one else has done? You want me to believe he has used time travel to go to another place and time in history? I love an entertaining story, but I’m not a fool.”

“It’s here,” Dennis said, pushing the book over to her. “There are stories told by the previous pastors of this broken down old church as you call it talking about such occurrences. I didn’t believe it could be true either, until a man named George Farmer convinced me. Michael isn’t the only one who has done this.”

Connie smirked. “Despite some unusual things I’ve seen, I still find this hard to believe,” she said. “I need a lot more proof. My brother has always had an imagination for the paranormal. He’s always watching that idiotic
Ghost Hunters
show on the Syfy channel. He was obsessed with that basement of yours too. He actually had me convinced at one time. I bet he was behind that snake trick. He was always planting fake bugs and snakes in my bed when we were kids. The worst part is he’s got my niece brainwashed with this religious crap.”

Connie paused, pulled back on her tone and glanced at the pastor. “No offense. But then he was up there with you by the manger and just disappeared into thin air,” she said, waving her hands. “What are you all trying to pull? What about the doorway where he disappeared? Did he go down there? Where does it lead? Did he leave the country?” She regained her composure for a short moment. “Tell me, Pastor, are you protecting him? Sure looks like he’s running away from this.”

Susan looked away and shook her head. “How could you say that about your brother?”

Connie glared. “Excuse me, miss perfect. I’m trying to look at this objectively. I’m worried about my niece.”

“We’re all worried about Elizabeth,” Susan said. “I’m also worried about Michael.”

Connie softened her look for a brief moment. “I wonder what your role is in this nonsense. All of a sudden, you show up and things get worse. Since when have you been part of his life? He hasn’t mentioned your name until recently. You leave the state and come back at a very odd time. I know what you’ve been after – a husband. Did you think he was vulnerable with Elizabeth missing?”

“Why you little … ” Susan said, slapping Connie in the face.

Connie shrieked in pain and surprise. “Little miss perfect has a temper!” she said as she shoved Susan back.

“You’d better get yourself another shrink, you nut job. The one you have now isn’t working,” Susan yelled as she stumbled against the side of the pastor’s desk.

“Stop it! Now!” Dennis shouted. He stood up and hurried over to the two women, putting himself between them. “Do you realize you’re in church?” He pointed to chairs on the opposite sides of the room and gestured to both of them to sit down.

Susan pointed to Connie, glaring. “That woman has had it in for her brother since the day I met her. She rips him and tears him down every chance she gets.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes. “Now this is nice,” Dennis said. “Isn’t it?” The women looked away from each other while Dennis paged through the book.

“I’m sorry,” Connie finally said in a pointed tone. She lowered her head. “I’m just upset about my brother and niece.”

Dennis sat on the desk between them. “Look, I’ll admit I don’t know much about women. I wasn’t very good reading my ex-wife’s moods or finding time to listen to my kids with their problems. I usually tempered her frustration with chocolate. Hmmm.” He reached over and rummaged through his top drawer. “Do either of you want some? Would that help?” He held up a couple of Kit Kat bars. “Left over from Halloween.” He waggled them in front of Susan and Connie with a smile.

Connie and Susan looked at each other. “Oh, pul-ease,” they said simultaneously.

“Okay,” he said. “I see I struck out with that suggestion. Forget the chocolate. I need your help, both of you.” He winced, pressing the bandage so it stayed intact.

Connie crossed her arms. “Only a religious nut would believe my brother’s story about traveling back in time and meeting Jesus of all people. Jesus.” She rolled her eyes. “Could the doorway lead to another part of town?”

“Sure,” he said. “But I doubt that’s where he ended up.”

“How can you be sure?”

“George Farmer told me some amazing stories. When George first told me about his travels, I didn’t believe him. But when I saw Michael leave with my own eyes, all my doubts vanished.” He held up the black book again. “I’ve read the stories about the miracles in here. It all adds up now. Didn’t you see what I saw?”

The women looked at each other.

“I wasn’t inside the church when he disappeared,” Susan said. “But, I was outside and I was in the back of the church. I would have seen anyone leaving.” She hesitated and opened her mouth, yet no words were formed.

“Tell me,” Dennis said.

“I saw what the cloth did when we were in the car accident.”

“What cloth?” asked Connie.

“Michael was carrying around this cloth. It had these red-stained markings on it. He kept pulling it out of his pocket, looking at it. We were driving to the church when some car comes out of nowhere and hits us. I had this big gash from the glass cutting me. Michael placed the cloth on my neck, and it stopped bleeding. It not only stopped the bleeding, the wound disappeared. It was a miracle.”

“Are you kidding me?” asked Connie. “Okay. You get hurt. You’re bleeding. My brother puts a cloth on your wound. It stops the bleeding. Wow, what a miracle.”

“I thought I was going to die,” Susan said. “I felt my body float. I could see myself sitting in the car from above.”

“Oh, you are the drama queen of Northport. I wouldn’t expect you to react any differently.”

Susan glared. “Pastor, you know about the cloth. Right?”

He nodded. “I didn’t see it do anything like what you said, Susan. So I can’t be sure.”

“I know what I saw, and I know what I felt,” Susan said.

Connie stood and waved. “I’m out of here. There are way too many crazy theories being discussed in this room. I’m going to do what any normal sister would do when her niece and brother go missing. I’m going to organize another search party. I do care about Elizabeth and Michael.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Dennis said. “I’m not sure searching here though will lead to finding them. I do know what I saw.”

“I know he was up near the manger with you and you handed him the doll. Then, poof, he’s gone. Magicians do this all the time. There’s nothing supernatural about this, Pastor. So he could have disappeared behind it and gone out another door. I know the church has hidden doorways. Right?”

“It does,” he said.

“The FBI agent told me he went down that stairway by the manger,” Connie said. “I believe what he said. I don’t believe in fantasy. Perhaps it’s a good way to draw people to your church, collect some more money after a sermon. Get everyone excited about miracles.” Connie’s voice spun a cynical tone. “Then pass around the big collection basket. A great way to sucker in the suckers.”

Dennis shook his head. “I’m not like that.”

Connie leaned forward. “What are you like, Pastor? Why don’t you tell us? Are you being truthful about everything you know? Or are you hiding secrets just like my brother? Why don’t you come clean and tell us about your relationship with Michael? Why have you been so friendly with him?”

He looked away, not sure where Connie was moving the discussion. He was relieved when Susan spoke.

“We’re getting off track here,” she said. “Our concerns are Michael and Elizabeth. If he went down the stairway, we need to follow the tracks and see where they might have taken him. It’s the only logical conclusion we can come to right now.”

“Don’t you think the FBI has done that?” Connie asked.

“But do they really know where all the tunnels are in this church?” Susan asked.

“Well, wouldn’t it be logical to first talk to this George Farmer person?” Connie asked in a triumphant tone.

“George has passed on,” Dennis said.

“Oh, great,” Connie replied.

Dennis dropped the book on the desk. “I don’t know why it happened for Michael or for George Farmer. Or anyone else who’s mentioned in this book.”

Connie grabbed it and started flipping through the pages. “This is nothing but scribbling by religious freaks. It doesn’t make any sense. Anyone can write this nonsense. I could have made up a story like this. My brother’s a writer. He’s always talking about far-fetched stories.”

A hard rap on the door halted the conversation. “Yes, who is there?” asked Dennis.

“Special Agent Hewitt Paul.”

“Um, okay. One minute, sir.”

“Please go home. Pray,” Dennis said, rushing Susan and Connie to the door. “Pray that the Lord helps Michael and Elizabeth to find their way home again. If you want to go out the back door and avoid the media, it’s open.”

Connie shook her head. “I’ll drink instead. Do you want to join me, Susan?”

“With you?” Susan grimaced and looked away.

“You can help me draw up another list of people we can call who might know Michael or Elizabeth. As much as I hate to admit it, he cares about you. You might know someone I haven’t thought of who could help us.”

Susan hesitated.

“I’ll buy,” Connie said, turning around. “I’m sorry about doubting you, Pastor. I’m just angry.” She looked down. “Sometimes I show it in the wrong way. But I would do anything for them. If he needed help, I’d give it to him. If he needed a place to hide, I’d help him.”

“Check his home. Maybe he left some notes or a journal in how he was able to travel,” Dennis whispered.

“What?” Connie asked as she opened the door and brushed past the special agent. Hewitt Paul gave her a look.

Connie sneered. “So arrest me. I love my brother. I hope you never find him. If he comes to me, I’ll give him whatever help he needs. I hope you rot in hell for this. I hope you never find him.” She slammed the door before Hewitt Paul could make his way into the office.

“Sweet girl,” he said.

“She’s upset about her brother and niece,” Dennis said.

“I know. I’m upset too. I don’t need you to sermonize me about her love for him. I heard the drivel.” Special Agent Paul sat down, stretched his long arms and legs and yawned.

“How can I help you, Mr. Paul?”

“Call me Hewitt. We have a fugitive situation and possible kidnapping or murder. Not a wonderful circumstance for a special agent to be in while the media has a field day highlighting our supposed incompetence. They’re laughing at us. Have you seen what they’re saying on TV and the Internet about the FBI? This makes me angrier.”

He frowned. “Pastor, I will tear this place apart, brick by brick, pew by pew, curtain by curtain. No one disappears in front of me. We had this entire church surrounded. The only way he could have escaped is through a passageway we haven’t found yet. You know this church better than anybody. I believe you helped him escape.”

Dennis pushed the black book across the desk. “Read it. I didn’t believe it at first until I heard another member of our church tell me about his experience.”

“Who is this person?”

“George Farmer.”

Hewitt opened the book and read the first page. “How do I get in contact with Mr. Farmer?”

Dennis sighed and rubbed his chin. “You can’t.”

Hewitt frowned. “Why?”

“He passed away recently.”

“Does he have any living relatives?”

“Yes. His wife.”

“Terrific. I’ll get his address and number through my office.”

“Please leave his widow alone. She’s been through so much. She’s old and frail.”

“I’m here to solve this case. If she can somehow help me find that poor girl, I’m going to sure as hell knock on her door and get some answers.”

Dennis stood, placing his foot in the small garbage can. He pressed down on a newspaper article, mashing it into little pieces. He grabbed an empty Styrofoam cup, dropped it onto the crushed article and wiped his face with a tissue. He tossed it in and turned around.

“I have to bring a special unit in here to lift fingerprints and gather more evidence,” Hewitt said.

Dennis glanced past Hewitt. When he didn’t respond, Hewitt reached over the desk and grabbed his arm. “Did you hear me?”

“I heard you.”

Hewitt’s phone rang, and he answered it. “Hello. Yes.” He turned his back on him. Dennis leaned back and grabbed the garbage can. “I need to take this out before the men come for the pickup.”

The special agent grabbed the black book and put it in his pocket.

Dennis looked back and saw Hewitt was following him out of the church. He stared at him as he placed the garbage into the big, green metal bin at the rear of the parking lot.

“You do everything around here, don’t you?” Hewitt asked.

Dennis shot him a nervous grin. “We’re not exactly a profitable church, Mr. Paul.”

“You can call me, Hewitt,” he said again.

“I don’t feel comfortable doing that.”

“Why is that?”

“I’d rather keep my distance from you. Number one, you don’t trust me. Number two, you don’t believe me. Number three, you don’t have much faith.”

Hewitt shrugged and grabbed his arm. “I don’t care about faith. I deal in reality. I have a job to do. And I’m going to do it until I find Mr. Stewart and his daughter. I’m going to feel like a mosquito on the back of your neck during a hot August night, buzzing around your head even when you’re sleeping. I’m going to find that girl, dead or alive, if it kills me. No one is above the law. Not even you. A collar doesn’t give you immunity.”