But holy shit, I just really want to know what happened. I can’t get a straight answer out of anyone. Something happened after the show last night, obviously, but what? Judas knows. He was there when it happened. But he isn’t talking.
About anything. And that’s what scares me. I mean, usually that man will talk your ear off, like he has a motorized mouth or something, and usually about nothing of interest to anyone. Well, when I tried my damnedest to push some of his buttons, the way I always do—he never even took the bait. Never said a word.
I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I feel sorry for him. I can tell he’s in pain, and I’m sorry about that, but he needs to snap out of this. We all do. Jesus needs us now, more than ever. Whether or not it came early, that doesn’t matter a whole lot.
The point is it’s happened. We have to get ready for what comes next… again.
I’m giving him fifteen minutes to get his shit together, and then I’m going to find out what he knows so we can act on it.
I’ve decided to cancel all my concerts for the next couple of weeks and stay around here. They need me, I can feel it. I sent Ruth on vacation. She doesn’t need to be involved. I’m back, boys, back with my family. Mary M is going to stay…
until the end.
It’s so very hard to think when he isn’t here, to act without him. I know that probably doesn’t make any sense, as many times as we’ve been through this. And as long as I’ve been standing on my own two feet now, doing my thing. But it still hurts. I do love him, we all do. And right now there’s only one person that can hold us together, keep us on track. But he’s still sitting at the very spot where they arrested Jesus. I can’t bear the look on his face, like a wounded child. Even so, him getting drunk like this isn’t going to help at all. I’ve told Thomas to quit bringing him alcohol. I don’t give a shit if Judas gets mad at me, I’ll take the blame. I want his anger, at least then I’ll know he’s feeling something other than pain.
All right, Iscariot, it’s time to snap out of this.
Chapter Twenty-Two: Judas
It doesn’t matter how much I drink, I can still see him. I can still feel him being pulled from my arms, taken away from me. Oh God, I thought I’d felt pain before, but that was nothing compared to this. I was useless, not a damn thing I could do. Kaplan made that quite clear, the smarmy asshole. Did he have to cuff him—seriously? Who was he showing off for? Three guesses who the chief instigator and architect of my misery was. I don’t care how well he thought he disguised himself, I knew who he was, the bastard. Some things never change.
For the first time in my life—in any of my lives—I feel paralyzed, unsure of myself. I don’t know what it is I should be doing. I know I need to do something. I have to do something, it’s an imperative. But what? All that’s running through my brain at the moment is how can I lose him when I just got him? How? It isn’t right, it isn’t fair.
And yes, I know, you don’t have to tell me—no one ever promised me life would be fair. It never has been before. But just this once, for just this one moment, there was hope, a possibility, a glimmer of a chance. He loves me, he truly loves me…and now he’s gone, taken from me. Oh fucking hell.
Life’s not only not fair, it’s damn cruel.
I haven’t moved from the spot where last I saw him. How can it be only hours ago? It feels like forever. One moment we were sleeping together, curled about one another, holding each other. I kissed him gently, something I’d done maybe a few times over the course of the night—or maybe a few hundred—ever since we fell asleep after making love. As if to reassure myself that he was indeed there. A purely blissful moment. Until I became aware of a voice that whispered my name, and the most hateful words I think I’ve ever heard—“Thank you, Judas, for all your help, there you have your evidence, gentlemen”—and then they were there. And he was gone.
I take another pull of the bottle that rests in my lap. I’ve long ago forgotten just what it is I’m drinking, and I’ve stopped caring as well. Good Thomas, he’s taking care of my every need. Drinking needs, that is. Nothing more. No one else for me but Jesus. And so, no one…
I can barely breathe, my heart is being squeezed so fucking tight I can’t even feel it beat, and this roaring in my head is only growing louder, as if I’m trying to drown my pain with a mindless cacophony. But it’s not working. Not at all. Time has become a meaningless blur. I finish one bottle, reach for another. “Thomas!” I yell.