2 The Judas Kiss (38 page)

             
“We have to go to him,” Yehuda said, his voice hoarse and low. 

             
“I know,” I replied, and it was true.  I wasn’t sure why I knew, or how, or what awaited us there, but I knew we had to go there.  As we cleared the side of the mount, I saw that it was far later in the day than I had originally thought.  It felt like I had only slept an hour or two, and I was frightened by my loss of time.

             
Shoulder to shoulder, we made the trek through the town and down the winding road where we could see the sharp crosses erected in the distance.  People were all around, some weeping, some looking triumphant.  I tried not to meet their eyes as we pushed past, trying to make our way to Yehuda’s dying brother.

             
A stench met us as we approached; the place where men died was foul and terrifying.  It was a small hill, much smaller than the mount we’d climbed, but it felt like every step carried with it impossible weight.

             
A crowd gathered at the base of the men hanging there, moans and tears flowing, the tortured screams of the suffocating men hanging there in the fierce afternoon sun.  Flesh baked, bowels emptied on to the ground.  This was hell, this place here; there was not another word for it.

             
Yeshua hung there, in the middle of the men, his eyes closed, his breathing ragged.  Blood flowed freely from his wrists and feet and I tried not to stare at the vicious stakes rammed into his delicate skin.  My stomach twisted as I stared up at him, my very being aching to do something, to somehow alleviate his pain, to pull him down and end his suffering.  But I stood there, paralyzed, helpless to make a move.

             
Yehuda let out a small sob next to me, grasping my arm for support, and I found I could not look at him.  “I can’t…” he breathed.

             
He lost his grip on himself and sank to his knees, taking me with him.  The sand there was soft, inviting, and all I wanted to do was lay there and close my eyes, waiting for it to be over.  It would be days though, I knew, days of suffering and agony before his body would give up, and I could barely stand the thought.  This man was kind, he was good, he had suffered as no man should have to suffer, and now he was dying for it.  My faith in the world, in my own kind, was dwindling.

             
I looked up again, at Yeshua, and to my great surprise, his eyes were open.  He was staring own at me, his eyes boring down into my very soul, and I swear I could hear words whispered on the wind.  Something was calling my name, a disembodied voice telling me that it was my time, it was our time.  Yehuda stiffened next to me, but I could not take my eyes off of Yeshua’s face. 

             
His lips were moving now, whispering something, the voice carrying across the din of mourners and into my ears.  “Forgive me, and forgive them.  It’s time for you, time for my brother, and for me this ends.  Makabi…”

             
And then, as subtle as the breeze, something around us shifted.  Clouds began to roll in where there had been none before.  They were dark, frightening, as they rolled in, thunder in the distance.  The sun blotted out and it was then that Yeshua opened his eyes even wider and looked down upon us both.

             
“They were wrong,” he said loudly, his voice stronger than I expected it to be.  “They meant you.”

             
“I tried to take your place,” Yehuda sobbed, his face downcast.  “I tried.”

             
Yeshua smiled.  “That’s not what I meant.  Be prepared brother, for this burden isn’t an easy one to bear.  And Makabi, you’ve made your choice, though you might not know it yet, and all I can say is I am sorry.”

             
Neither one of us knew what he meant, but the words had a weight to them that we couldn’t understand.  Yosef was at our side suddenly, a large bucket smelling strongly of vinegar.  “This has to end,” he muttered next to me.

             
I sat silently as Yosef was allowed to give his son a small drink from a sponge.  There was something to that, something different.  Something wrong, but I wasn’t sure what it was just yet.  I just knew that Yosef should not have looked triumphant.

             
“It is nearly time,” Yeshua whispered.  He let out a breath, and without warning, the earth began to shake.  The ground beneath us felt, for a moment, as though it would give way, that it would split open and devour us all.  I was terrified, crying out with the rest of the crowd as they scrambled to get away.

             
I tried to steady myself on Yehuda’s arm, but he was not there for me to grab ahold of, and then everything around me went bright white.  A sound enveloped me, loud and encompassing, and my head began to spin.  I felt lifted in the air, and beyond that impossible noise I heard my name being whispered.  My whole body vibrated as I felt lifted higher, into the sky, beyond, ripped from the world as I knew it.  Hands held me fast, and I contorted.

             
And suddenly, as quickly as it came upon me, it was gone.  I felt the sand beneath my feet as I came to my senses, and as I looked around, I noticed I had not moved.  No one appeared to have seen what I had, and I wondered if I was going mad.

             
The people were all staring at Yeshua, who now hung limp, his head to the side.  “He’s dead,” someone whispered, and the crowd began to mutter.  It drew me away from what had just happened to me, though my head was still reeling.

             
It was impossible that he was dead, however.  There was no way he would perish so quickly.  I looked at Yosef who gave me a knowing look and stepped over to the Roman guard.  I watched in silence as they examined him, stabbing him in the side, doing what they could to rouse him.  His chest was no longer moving.  He was absolutely gone.

             
Yehuda was at my side as we stepped apart from the crowd, and I looked at him.  There was something different about him, something in his eyes that I didn’t quite understand, but I had a feeling that he had seen what I had.  I didn’t have a chance to ask him about it, however.  There was a commotion as the guards agreed to let Yeshua’s body be removed after what was likely a very generous bribe.  They didn’t often take the expired bodies down immediately, so I knew that someone somewhere was pulling financial strings.

             
Yehuda’s hand closed around mine and together we watched in silence as they took his brother down, wrapped him in a shroud, and the body was taken away.  I wasn’t sure what propelled my steps, with Yehuda at my side, but someone nearby said that a tomb had been prepared, purchased by a wealthy Roman who had known of Yeshua’s great power.

             
“I need to see him,” Yehuda said to someone as we followed behind the men carrying the body.  I looked at who he was talking to and saw it was Miriam, holding her child on her shoulder, her face dirty and drawn from crying.

             
“Make it quick.  Events are unfolding,” she whispered. 

             
“What have you done?” I asked, as Yehuda was ushered into the small tomb ahead of me.  I stayed back, desperate for answers, my head still spinning from what I had seen.

             
“It may have been administered too late, but no one is sure,” Miriam said.  “If we wait until nightfall, we may be able to escape.”

             
I understood it then, what had happened.  It was not just vinegar on that sponge, and Yosef was not merely trying to ease his son’s suffering.  They were trying to save him, and they may have been able to do it.  The only thing that didn’t make sense was what had happened to me.  It would be years before I understood it all.  Years.  But as night fell and I waited outside of the tomb, all that mattered was Yeshua might be saved.

Chapter Twenty

              Ben was getting cold and stiff as he crouched behind the large bins.  He was wrestling with an urge to rush in, consequences be damned.  Enough was enough, really, and the longer he sat there, the more Mark and Judas sat in agony.

             
Another body count wasn’t what Ben wanted under his belt, however.  There was no cult scenario, no violently exploding bombs to cover up any evidence of cold-blooded murder, and Ben wasn’t sure his conscience could take another blow like that.  Ben was a good guy; murder was just not in him.  Not really.

             
He checked his phone for the hundredth time, groaning inwardly that it had only been thirty minutes, and it was likely that Alex has just left the hotel with Andrew in tow.  He tried desperately not to think of Stella, and what could be happening to her, because if he did that, he was likely to go crazy.  He’d had enough death, torture and pain for a lifetime.  He was done losing people he cared about.

             
He slipped his phone back into his pocket and began the painful wait again.  The minutes crept by, the night grew colder, quieter, and the gentle breeze floated through the large bits of plastic hanging over the glassless windows, making an eerie sound, triggering Ben’s anxiety even further.

             
It sort of felt like the beginning of a horror movie, or the ending to one, Ben noticed as he stretched out his legs and checked for the thousandth time that his gun was securely in place.  With a sigh, he rested his head back against the cold brick and hugged his middle.

             
There was no way to know if Alex had gotten Stella safely and made it out of wherever they were.  The only way Ben would know for sure is if she was able to show up.  Lost in thought, Ben almost didn’t hear the shuffling footsteps before he had time to dive further behind the bins and into the shadows.  His movements were stiff and careless from being startled, causing more noise than he intended.

             
He held his breath, pressing his back against the wall, hoping the shadow of the bin was dark enough to shield him from prying eyes.  Things had changed so much in the recent days, Ben wondered if the gods could detect him now.

             
He’d been told before that he was shielded from them based on his soul-deep disbelief, but he wasn’t so sure about himself.  He’d seen things he couldn’t explain, and he was no longer convinced that it was all a trick, or a lie.  He could only hope that he retained enough of that protection to keep them from noticing where he was.

             
He waited there as they walked by, all of them filing out and walking down the sidewalk in a line.  A few of them were chatting, some smoking, and a couple laughing.  He counted the bodies as they passed, and when the last one sauntered by, the number was up to ten. 

             
Ten, and no sign of Nike, Mark or Judas.  That could only mean one thing, and Ben almost jumped up with triumph.  Nike was in the building alone, or nearly so, with the missing men.  Alex had been pretty damn sure that there were only ten or eleven of the vessels in the building, and he trusted her numbers.

             
He wasn’t so sure how long these gods were going to be gone, however, and he knew if he was going to make a move, he was going to have to do it fast.  He couldn’t wait for Alex and Andrew anymore.  There was a good chance that by the time the cavalry arrived, these gods would have returned, and it was possible they were coming back with reinforcements.

             
Ben forced himself to wait until he heard the crunching of tires as several cars pulled away from the curb.  When he was sure he was alone again, he rose.  Drawing his gun, he took one step after another until he reached the stoop, leading into the building that held his would-be friends.

             
His nerves were frayed, and if he let himself explore his feelings for even a moment, he’d notice that he was absolutely petrified, but he wasn’t allowing himself to go there right then.  He was a detective; he was trained, he was skilled, and he was smart. 

             
The door opened without a lot of pressure, and his footsteps echoed in the large, hollow room.  He paused in the doorway, shutting it as quietly as he could, and he turned his ear up, listening as intently.  He heard nothing, not a breath, a footstep or a heartbeat.

             
He wasn’t completely certain he was alone, but it was as sure as he was going to get right then.  Crossing the floor, Ben found himself wishing there were more walls in the place.  The building had been gutted, including all of the drywall and insulation.  All that was left was framework, and that did little to hide his presence as he crossed through the massive room, trying to stick to the shadows.

             
Ben remembered that the police had already been through the building, so he knew he would be looking for a hidden room.  It would be something similar to Greg’s portal doorway, he imagined, something inconspicuous but easy to get in and out.  Seeing as only a few walls existed in the building, it wouldn’t be hard to find.

             
Ben spotted it right away, and not just visually.  For the first time, Ben could feel them.  Or more accurately, Ben could feel
her
.  Nike.  It was almost like feeling a subtle vibration in the air, reminding him of an electrical current.  He was startled by it, freezing to the spot he was standing as he let the feeling wash over him and through him.  He couldn’t quite explain it beyond a sort of buzzing like electricity.  It was like tapping into an energy source, and he understood it, understood the nature of it, and he was awed.  It was stronger as he approached the wall, nearly taking hold of him completely.