Revelations(46)
Jesus’ hand tightens on my arm, and it is only this that restrains me from going after Lucifer, for I’m ‘justthisclose’ to doing so. But I refrain. For his sake.
I manage to find my voice. “What do you want here? We’re having a privileged attorney/client meeting, and you aren’t invited.” This only produces a smirk. “Wouldn’t that entail you being an attorney first?” Without waiting for an answer, he turns to his group. “See what unnatural creatures they are? Even now, they think only of carnal pleasure. We’ve done a good thing, getting this man off the streets and away from our children.”
“You have no children,” I remind him with a sneer.
“Jude, please ignore him,” Jesus murmurs softly, “they’ll get tired and go if you don’t give them any reason to stay.”
Which is the point at which the sheriff returns, probably having heard the hubbub all these bleating sheep are making, paperwork in hand as he steps out of his office. “Mr. Lassiter.” He nods politely to the big dick. “Ladies and gentlemen,” to the rest. “Is there something I can help you with?” How badly I want to say he can help them by adjusting their holier-than-thou attitudes, and by removing the big sticks they have shoved up their asses. But Jesus’ wisdom prevails, and I remain silent. For once.
Chapter Twenty-Five: Lucifer
He’s such a needy child sometimes, and ridiculously easy to see through. Did he think he really fooled anyone with his act? I’ve known for years he has a boner for Jesus. I’ve just been too much of a gentleman to mention it before.
Yeah, right. Being a gentleman has nothing to do with anything. Timing is everything. And my timing is nothing if not impeccable.
All I can say is they’re both fools. And it’s been great fun playing them for all it’s worth.
In case you’ve already pegged me as the bad guy in this drama, that’s fine with me, I don’t really care. I guess from most everyone’s viewpoint, I am. But then again, how can good exist without evil? So that also makes me necessary in the scheme of things. This whole good/bad thing is so subjective, anyway—it all comes down to whose ox is being gored. (look it up, if you have no idea what I mean). Remember this—history is always written by the winner, not the loser. The Bible only shows you what they want you to see, and from their perspective, I’m the bad guy. Think about this, too—women get the short shrift there as well. Written in as second class citizens, they’re kept from any roles of importance within the church. Think that’s an accident?
Hell no. Not to mention certain books of the Bible have been conveniently lost. So keep that in mind before you start making judgment calls.
“Good morning, Sheriff Kaplan.” I smile at him congenially, reaching out to take the expected glad-hand. “I merely wanted to assure these concerned citizens justice is indeed being done. I didn’t realize we’d walk into a re-creation of the crime.” I can feel the heat emanating from the Iscariot from here. The only reason he isn’t in my face is that Jesus is restraining him. Good call on his part, but also no less than I’d expect from the son of God.
My group is still stunned from the sight of seeing two men romantically entangled at the mouth, averting their eyes once they realize what is happening. Again. Well, most of them. I do notice a few of the women are casting surreptitious glances toward the cell—a couple of the men as well. Ah, human nature, how I do love your hypocrisy. One grey-haired little woman of indeterminate age, anywhere from fifty to sixty, I think, detaches herself from the group and cautiously approaches the cell where Judas and Jesus are still sitting. How cute that Judas is trying to keep us from seeing his lover. So very innocent of him, the naive fool. Not that it will do him any good, in the end. It never does.
The woman is making some sort of a hex sign with her fingers, as if to ward off whatever they have that just might be contagious enough to sully the purity of her mind. “You boys are young, why are you ruining your lives this way? God made Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve.” Oh Lord, not that tired old chestnut. Seriously?
Luckily I’m a consummate actor and above bursting into fits of laughter at another’s expense. At least when it suits my purpose.
Murmurs of agreement from the peanut gallery. Naturally. You truly didn’t expect any sort of original thought from this group, did you? A second figure steps forward now, to offer his testimony, no doubt. He points an accusatory finger in their direction.
“It’s your fault,” he intones, “your fault that my son’s gone wrong. You homos took my son away. Ever since he told me he’s a fruit, he’s been in nothing but trouble.