They talk about love and God in one breath, and then proceed to revile us in the next. These are the sort of people I’ve failed to reach, and sometimes I’m not sure my message of universal love and acceptance will ever reach them. I know it’s just my weariness talking. I’ll feel more confident about everything once this is all behind me, and I begin to plan my next time. At least that’s what I tell myself. In the meantime, I have to get through this one first. “As long as they don’t do anything against the law, I can’t touch them. That Lassiter fellow is very persistent.
Sometimes I get the feeling there’s some kind of bad blood between him and Mr.
Jarvis?” He looks up at both of us, and it takes me a moment to realize he’s actually asking a question.
“You could say that,” Judas admits, but he doesn’t offer any more, and Kaplan lets the matter drop.
“At any rate, I just wanted to let you know my deputy and I are going out there, and we’re going to keep an eye on your friends ourselves, just to make sure there isn’t any trouble. Did I hear you say you won’t be joining them tonight, Mr.
Jarvis?”
Jude shakes his head. “No, I’ll be here all night. That’s not a problem, is it?” His tone is a bit too belligerent for my taste, as if he’s daring the sheriff to say anything about his presence, or try to do anything about it.
“Jude,” I attempt to soothe him. “I don’t think Sheriff Kaplan meant that at all.” I catch his eye, he gives me one of his Judas looks, and for a moment I wonder if he’s intent on causing trouble for some reason. But the moment passes, luckily.
“No, I didn’t, not at all,” the sheriff quickly replies. “I just got the idea you might not be getting along with them all too well,” and his eyes go directly to the swollen lump very visible on Jude’s forehead. “I figured you might not want to go.” Without him there is the unspoken part of his statement. He’s a very astute observer of the world around him. “I wanted to let you know not to worry about anything. While I’m gone, I’m leaving the jail in good hands.”
“Whose good hands?” Judas asks. “Not Lassiter’s I hope?” Kaplan laughs at the idea, but I can see Jude isn’t smiling. Surely he doesn’t think Lucifer could do such a thing, or that he would want to? Unless perhaps he’s found a new way of getting to Judas, of torturing him before he saves him? Most likely by causing harm to me before Judas’ eyes. Or worse. My blood runs cold at the thought.
The Sheriff snorts before replying, “Just between us, I think Mr. Lassiter’s a big bag of hot air that’s way too stuck on himself. He thinks he’s slick and charming, but he really isn’t. And definitely not trustworthy. Unfortunately, he has those people of his looking up to him like he’s some kind of god.” Now it’s Judas’
turn to snort at the concept of Lucifer as a god.
“Only in his own mind,” he adds, but at least he’s smiling, and I can feel him relax a little. “Then who is it? Or is this your way of saying you’re deputizing me for the night?” His grin definitely widens at the suggestion, although I don’t believe for a moment that’s the case, and I’m sure he doesn’t either.
“On second thought, I think I’ll keep you guessing.” Setting his hat back onto his head, he gives us a broad grin. “You have to put up with me for a little bit, but my relief will be here soon.” And he saunters back to his desk, leaving us more than a little perplexed. But it doesn’t really matter, does it? What it comes down to is we’re trading one jailer for another. As long as whoever it is doesn’t bother us in any way, we’ll be good.
Once he’s out of earshot, and we have as much privacy as we can expect under the circumstances, I scoot back on the cot, patting the bed beneath me, indicating I want him to lie there, and when he complies, I take his head into my lap, pushing his pale hair away from his temple as I lean down and kiss his poor bruised forehead. “Does that hurt?”
“Unh-uh.” He sighs, closing his eyes and giving himself over to my touch. I continue to brush my lips across his forehead, saddened at this evidence of what he suffers on my behalf. It’s not his fault, nor has it ever been, that he was given this part to play. It simply isn’t fair. And to think of how much pain he’s taken unto himself in order to comply with what he’s been told to do, knowing as I do how much he loves me. It boggles my mind. He’s never truly betrayed me. Never.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, leaning against him carefully, our brows pressed together. My hand caresses his cheek, rubbing across the trace of stubble there. His hair’s so pale and so very fine, though, that it can’t be seen, and only barely felt.