As I approach the tent, I receive a call. Now what, I wonder, as I check the caller ID. This one’s from Sheriff Kaplan. My heart turns cold with dread, as I answer it.
“Miss Mary, there’s been some trouble at the jail,” he begins. I don’t want to hear what he’s about to tell me, don’t want to hear the actual words. I enter the tent apprehensively. I can see Mary’s awake, and she’s looking at me like she knows already. I’m not even sure how that’s possible, but she has her ways.
“He’s…he’s dead…” I blurt out the words into the phone, although I’m undoubtedly telling him something he already knows, but I have this desire to say it first, rather than listen to it, although there’s no way to make it any better no matter what I do. I reach for Mary’s hand, squeeze it, trying to convey all the sympathy and sorrow I can through my fingers, trying not to cry, but I know that won’t last long.
She returns my squeeze, whispers, “Stay strong.”
She is comforting me? I should be comforting her. The world has truly gone insane. I almost miss what the sheriff is saying, but suddenly my attention is riveted on the phone in my hand.
“I’m sorry, can you repeat that?” I ask stupidly. Surely I didn’t hear what I just think I did.
“Mr. Stone isn’t dead,” the sheriff is saying, “he and my wife have been taken to the hospital by ambulance, I’m on my way there as soon as I secure the jail.”
“Not dead,” I repeat, “not dead…” I’m crying now, after all, just for a different reason, and Mary is smiling at me, probably thinks I’m crazy.
“No, he’s not dead, thank God,” Kaplan is saying, “they’re both in bad shape, but the medics think they’ll be fine. I can’t find Mr. Jarvis, though. He was here but he isn’t now. I hope he’s all right. If you see him, maybe you’d tell him? And call me, just to let me know you found him, I’ll do the same.”
“I will, yes, thank you, Sheriff. I’ll go to the hospital right away. Thank you very much.” I flip my phone closed, and Mary and I hug, and I’m crying like crazy whoa, but I don’t care, I’m just incredibly thankful. Jesus is alive, he’s alive, he’s…
Wait a minute. Did he just say Judas isn’t with him? Why not? Oh dear God.
The boys…the boys think he’s killed Jesus. What will they do if they find him? I have to find him first. I have to. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I have to save Judas from them.
“Mary, I gotta go find Judas,” I mumble before I take off running, out of the tent. There’s no one in sight now, but the vehicles are still there. Then where did…
And suddenly I know. I kick off my heels and speed barefoot through the grass, holding up my skirt, screaming for Matthew. He’s the most likely one to listen to me, if it’s not too late for words to get through to any of them.
By the time I reach the pond, they’re already there, grouped around Judas, who looks like bloody hell. And Judas is goading Peter, as if he’s trying to deliberately provoke him.
“Noooooooo!” I scream, but before I can get the next words out, Peter’s on top of him, whaling on Judas. I grab Matthew, hard.
“Stop him!” I yell. “Jesus isn’t dead, he isn’t dead!” It takes all of them to pull Peter off of Judas, and as I hit 911 on my phone, I fall to the ground, covering his poor beaten body, and I begin to weep.
Chapter Forty-One: Judas
More than the bright white light, it’s the cessation of pain that tells me it’s all over. I’m dead. Dead again. That part doesn’t even faze me anymore, I’ve done it so often. And I don’t care, because I know I’ll see Jesus again soon. Even if it’s in his father’s house, where I may or may not be in trouble. Yes, I do have that whole deal with the Devil thing going on. But it was never consummated. Surely that’s a point or two in my favor? At least that’s the argument I’ll use when the subject comes up. And trust me, it will come up.
The bright light recedes as my eyes adjust to their surroundings. I pinch the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger, brushing my hand over my forehead. No goose egg. No blood. Nothing but me. Not surprising, it works this way each and every time. Why should I think this time would be any different?
Looking about me, I find I’m lying upon a leather couch. I note with a distinct lack of interest my robes are gone, and now I’m wearing the Armani suit again. The dark blue, pinstripe one. Whatever. I swing my legs over the side, bring myself up to a sitting position, so I can get my bearings.