Victory of Coins (The Judas Chronicles, #7) (7 page)

My brief survey of the tense gathering revealed much more than this, and the first clue that it was going to be a completely new experience for me came when one of the troops looked at me and nodded, wearing a slight smile.

What in the hell?!

It wasn’t until I looked away that I caught a glint of the armor I was wearing....

I’m dressed as a Roman officer? Shit, you’ve got to be kidding me!

But it was true. I lifted my hand that still clung to the glowing coin—which was another thing I rarely encountered. Most often, I simply visited this wretched place, forced to watch the terrible event from inside my
old
self. And, as the mortal Judas disguised as a woman, I still possessed nearly the entire bag of cursed coins. This time, however, my arm was presently adorned with a segmented protector—a manica—and my blood-red cloak, the sagum, covered much of my shoulder and bicep. I noticed also the weight of my helmet and the septum protector as it rubbed uncomfortably against my nose.

Greatly alarmed by this development, I increased the tightness of my grip on the coin to where it dug into my left palm. I worried it would fall out of my grasp somehow, and then I’d be stuck in the past forever as a Hebrew persecutor.

“Brutus, I have seen enough,” the centurion said, as he turned to regard me. “I hope you and Pilate are happy now... but this had better work in keeping the Hebrews quiet. Otherwise, this man’s blood is on your hands, and his.”

He pointed up to where Pontius Pilate stood, addressing the mob to wild cheering at whatever he was telling them. Odd that I could scarcely understand Pilate, who was speaking in Hebrew, or so I assumed, and yet I understood the centurion’s Latin tongue perfectly.

I could only make out the bottom edge of the Prefect’s ceremonial gown in the gallery above, and briefly felt a familiar revulsion toward the corrupt Roman serving Tiberius as governor of Judea. Yes, I understood the depth of the man’s sleaziness... but I also felt confused. A war waged within me as a result of my spirit taking over the body of an apparently equally corrupt Roman military officer. The centurion huffed at me when I didn’t respond, and I understood then that he and I must’ve shared similar rank for him to be so cavalier with comments that could’ve landed his ass on a cross, too.

“Nothing to say, Brutus?” he asked, when I continued to say nothing in response. “May the god of the Hebrews show you better mercy than you’ve shown this man—this Jesus—who has done nothing worse than all the others who claim to be saviors to this miserable people and their land.... I do believe I shall take the reassignment offer to Syria... so should you.”

I nodded while making sure my facial expression matched his in its solemnity. He motioned for one of the bodyguards to turn and follow him as he exited the throng, patting my shoulder as he left. It was a safe bet that the guy I was supposed to be and this officer were on friendly terms despite our present disagreement about Jesus of Nazareth. I dreaded being called to speak—much less having to address this cohort by name.

Even worse was the fact that the bodyguard left behind was apparently mine. My heart froze as he turned toward me, and I was terrified I would soon be engaged to speak to him. But like the other soldier from earlier, he merely nodded and smiled, before turning his attention to the agonizing screams of Jesus having His back torn open by the cat-of-nine-tails. Some people in the world are blissfully ignorant of the fact that Jesus was beaten and whipped to the point of debilitating agony before He tried to unsuccessfully pick up the cross on His own. And, yes, the punishment would continue all the way to Golgotha.

I hated this experience worse than any other—including being inside my mortal self and forced to relive Jesus’ eyes meeting mine in the crowd, my usual penance in a coin re-visitation. Jesus suddenly looked over at me, and I was struck by the odd timing of my loathing this event and His head deliberately turning specifically toward me, as if He could feel my detestation of having to go through this for the thirtieth time—if one counted my presence when alive as a mortal at the inaugural Passion Play.

I half-expected Him to force a wry smile and say something surreal along the lines of “Gotcha!” But it didn’t happen, thankfully. What did happen, though, was He turned His attention from me to a familiar face in the crowd. The real ‘me’ back then.

I remembered from my last visit to this place that I discovered my mortal body of two thousand years ago carried an infirmity that caused me to walk with a limp. When I was sentenced to an immortal existence, I was completely healed and allowed to be the very best ‘Judas’ possible, as far as my inherited genes would allow. Fortunately, that meant favoring my mother, who was quite beautiful; instead of my father, who was an average looking man prone to deep frown lines on account of his innate callousness.

Yet,
un
fortunately, that seemingly desirable status had turned into a wretched existence as the centuries wore on, and the thrill of surviving a ‘death’ by being reincarnated again and again in the prime of adulthood had grown tiresome at best....

Most of you are familiar with what I’m talking about by now, so I won’t rehash the details of my immortality any further than what I’ve mentioned here. My point to all of this is that the infirm version of me wasn’t someone to be proud of—especially when Jesus’ sorrowful but forgiving gaze met my partially hidden, stone face dressed in a black sari. I had thought of myself for centuries as a man who had always felt remorse for my horrible deed against God Almighty. However, as the Roman officer watching my reaction to Jesus’ telling ‘me’ that He forgave what I had done—while wracked in incredibly horrific pain, mind you—well it broke my heart... as the Roman. But I saw nothing in my ‘real’ countenance that hinted at remorse. Like the other Roman soldiers watching the crowd with contempt, the chicken-shit version of myself returned the Lord’s offer of forgiveness with an emotionless stare, as if Jesus was in fact a heinous criminal worth punishing by death.

I couldn’t fight off the urge to cry, and began to weep. I wanted to wade through the throng of hate to reach the old me and see if I could talk some sense into that unenlightened, waste of a human being. But when I took a step forward, the guard assigned to protect my Roman ass from harm stepped into my path. The guard’s face began to change, morphing into someone quite familiar. For a moment, I hoped it would it be my beloved son, Alistair, but then recognized a pair of steel blue eyes....

“Time’s up, Willie Boy!”

Viktor Kaslow peered at me from inside the guard’s armor. Although he had changed somewhat from our last face-to-face encounter nearly two years ago, it was definitely Kaslow. Same cold features, but no longer cartoonish.... If not for the deep scars along his cheeks, neck and forehead that he received from the demons he now ruled, Kaslow looked much like he did before being turned into an immortal—during our battle inside the Garden of Eden that had since been buried deep within a cavern in the Alborz Mountains.

“Let’s see how you do on the pop quiz, Judas, Emmanuel, William, or whoever the hell you are!” he sneered. “We’ll know that answer very soon.”

He laughed meanly, and as he did, the world around me began to blur. Unprepared, I was pulled out of that terrible place at lightning speed, and didn’t slow down until I returned to the porch chair I had sat in while holding the coin....

I still held the damned thing tightly in my left hand, and the edges of my fingers were white from lack of blood flow. For a moment, I thought someone had turned on all the porch lights. But once my eyes adjusted, I saw it was daylight. The experience felt like it had taken an hour at most, but had likely lasted seven to eight hours instead.

“There you are!” said Amy, as if I had purposely been hiding from everyone.

She and Jeremy were already showered and dressed to meet the day, and I could hear Roderick and Beatrice laughing in the parlor across the way from where I presently struggled to my feet. I looked for my cell phone and found it lying on the floor beside the chair I had apparently not moved from after embracing the latest coin ride to my regrettable past.

“Shit... it’s going on seven-thirty? Why didn’t anyone come wake me?” I didn’t immediately realize the harshness in my tone.

“You were asleep out here?” Amy sounded shocked, and her brother looked just as surprised.

“William?” Beatrice sounded worried, as she slowly made her way to the porch. She looked back at Roderick who quickly came up behind her. “He’s here, Rod—you were right. He must’ve fallen asleep outside.”

She moved over to me, and before I could respond, my wife wrapped her arms lovingly around my waist.

“Are you okay? I was worried sick—and I damned near called the police when you didn’t answer your phone....” She sniffed.

Despite my complete disorientation, I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her close while whispering apologies, and hoping no one saw me thrust the coin into my jeans’ front pocket. I mouthed another apology to Amy and Jeremy for my initial response to them, and said hello to Roderick, who eyed me suspiciously.

“You didn’t hear us call for you half an hour ago?” he asked. “We stood on the veranda above, and I guess we should’ve checked here, too.... You must’ve been out cold.”

I nodded in response, eerily acting as I had behaved as the mute Roman officer seemingly just an hour earlier... although obviously it could’ve happened around midnight and just felt recent.

What about Kaslow? Was any of this real, or was it just a bad dream sequence and I never actually made it to Jerusalem this time?

“You don’t look so good, hon’,” said Beatrice. “Let me take you upstairs, and you can rest for a while. I’ll be happy to bring you a Danish from the dining room, or maybe they can whip up an omelet for you to eat in our room.”

“I’ll be fine, babe... just let me take a shower and I’ll be ready to join you for breakfast.... Or have you all eaten already?”

“We wouldn’t think of enjoying a meal until we knew you were okay,” said Roderick, eyeing me in a way that I could’ve placed a safe wager on him gleaning from my thoughts most of what had happened since I reclaimed my coin from his possession last night. “We can wait for you.”

“Actually, it will work out perfectly, William,” said Beatrice, smiling as if a great idea had just occurred to her. “Jeremy spoke to the owner of the antique store a short while ago, and they are ready at any time for us to come and pick up the secretary. So, why don’t Amy, Jeremy, and I go on over right now to pick it up? Then by the time we get back, you’ll be ready to join us in the dining room.”

It sounded like a great idea... provided Roderick didn’t pester me for details on what had happened—or worse, demanded an explanation for why I had betrayed his trust by not waiting to deal with my coin until someone else could be present to keep me from getting into trouble, as ended up happening.

“Sure,” I said, though suddenly feeling out of sorts again... like this wasn’t real. I felt dismayed that I was just as lost as I had been before my coin experience. I had failed to figure out the cure for the uneasiness that continued to haunt me
. Fat good all of last night’s nonsense did!
“Just be careful, my love.”

I bent to kiss her, and we lingered a moment longer than was modest, prompting an ‘ah-hem!’ from Roderick.

“We will,” she assured me. “It’s just a few blocks away, and Jeremy’s driving, so you won’t have to worry about the baby kicking my back and causing a wreck.”

Beatrice brought a smile to my face, as well as my heart, pushing my worries away. To my surprise, Roderick didn’t follow me upstairs; apparently he was content to wait for us all to reconvene in the parlor. He picked up a copy of the morning paper and found a quiet spot to read it near the bay window facing the main drive that runs past the B&B. It wasn’t until my wife, Amy, and Jeremy were headed to the parking lot, that I noticed Roderick suddenly put down the paper and walk to the door, and I assumed he decided to join them in their little jaunt to
The Sorrel Gelding
after all.

I trudged up the stairs to the room I shared with Beatrice, when the rest of
The Lot of a Soldier
popped into my head....

A noble adventure

How it called to my soul!

Yet, death oversees this path unsure

Harvesting young that’ll never grow old....

I paused at the door, while mentally picturing the rest of the words as they scrolled before my mind’s eye....

Who hears the whisper?

Through the night’s bitter cold

A cruel harbinger

Warning I’ll soon be alone....

Not sure what prompted it, but I suddenly pictured Kaslow’s face in front of me from what I was beginning to believe had been just a dream, and not a genuine coin penance experience....

My blood on a saber

Betrayed by my own

My soul lost forevermore

A ghost for eternity... I now must roam....

Time’s up, Willie Boy!

I dropped the room key on the floor and ran downstairs. Before I made it outside, I heard the explosion. I sprinted to the adjacent parking lot, and knew when Roderick was on his knees on the lawn crying that I was too late—we both were far,
far
too late.

The Escalade and what looked like a small sports car parked next to it were engulfed in flames.... Or, what was left of the two vehicles now formed two unapproachable mounds of extreme heat. Amy, Jeremy, and the only woman I have ever truly loved were gone... forever.

I finally understood what ‘Tit For Tat’ meant....

But that answer came all too late.

––––––––

T
wo months have passed since my life ended in Corinth, Mississippi. Even now, I can barely think straight, not knowing how to carry on without Beatrice by my side.... Surely this is pain many can relate to, unfortunately, and it’s something I would never wish upon anyone this side of Viktor Kaslow.

If he was seeking a kill shot to gain a permanent ‘one upmanship’ over me, this soulless fiend more than succeeded. I quit caring about anything; since in the end my efforts to do the right thing have failed the only two people I loved so deeply, namely Alistair last year to Ratibor, and now Beatrice to Kaslow.