I follow her, standing off to her right as the scene unfolds. Thea follows, standing to my right.
“This has to be…” Thea begins.
“Yeah,” I mutter.
She places her left hand on my shoulder as we stand together in silent reverence. They don’t know my son—all that he’s done. How much he’s loved by me, and by everyone who’s known him. But they’re here, right by my side, fighting to protect him.
Quiet tears stream down my cheeks as I watch the horrifying history repeat itself before me. The second time doesn’t make it any easier, either. Even knowing we’re here to help him.
After all these years, all that I’ve lived through in this era, nothing prepares a parent for witnessing the pain and, ultimately, the death of one of their beautiful children.
“I’m so sorry, Braham. This must be so hard for you,” Thea says, her face ashen.
“You have no idea,” I whisper.
My beautiful son, the man I’ve watched grow up and become the incredible man who will ultimately change the fate of the known universe, has never known how much I love him. Never known his real history or ancestry. And what’s worse yet, he’s wasting away before me, and there's nothing I can do about it in this moment. We have to wait for them to anoint his body and wrap it in his shroud. Then we need for them to put the boulder in place. If we intervene now, if we alter history, it could land us all right back where we started. Then we’d have to start all over again, assuming we even make it back from this mission. I don’t think I could handle that.
Turning my back to the scene I walk away to find a place where I can shed this burden and release my sorrow on my own.
“Braham, are you okay?” Morgan asks, following me.
I shake my head and sigh. “No, I just can’t understand humanity at times. They can be so cruel and blind, but so beautiful and understanding. It’s such a strange irony.”
“Maybe that’s the point?” Morgan whispers.
“I’m not following,” I mutter, blinking away my tears.
“How can we know what anything is without also knowing its opposite? Can it really exist if there isn’t that polarity? Is there really good without evil? Happiness without sadness? How could we tell the difference?”
“I suppose you’re right. I hadn’t thought about it that way,” I say
Morgan shrugs. “Most don’t. They can only see what’s right in front of them.”
“Yeah, but we’re angels. Shouldn’t we be able to see more clearly?” I say, shooting her a sideways glance.
“We’re still the creation of the universe—or God. We’re still fallible,” she says, shrugging.
“Morgan’s right. I’ve spent the majority of my life studying humanity, but as much as I wish it wasn’t true, I’m no different. At least not in what matters on the inside. I might have some wickedly cool tricks up my sleeves now, but I still find myself using dysfunctional thinking. We’re angels, but we’re still human first. That’s what I believe,” Thea says, flanking me on the other side.
“Well, all I know is I can’t stick around for this a second time. Walk with me. We can give it a few minutes for them to perform their ritual and close off his tomb,” I say, taking a deep breath.
Both Thea and Morgan nod, but fall silent. As we walk, the sounds birds singing fill the space, allowing me some much-needed time to simply be.
The first time I was here and went through this all, I thought I would die right along with him. I even thought about it—ending my own suffering too. The pain was excruciating. I’d never had children, never experienced the kind of devotion you have for someone else. Not even Cassidy held such a tight grip on me, even if she was close. Children take that to a whole new level.
To watch him suffering—to see his pain and the way he managed through it with such…grace, it was both awe-inspiring, and utterly horrifying.
I can see why his story would live on for centuries—millennia, even.
“What was it like? Living back in this time?” Thea asks after a few minutes of silence.
“It was—simpler,” I say. “And in other ways, far more difficult. No internet, cars, and modern medicines.”
“That must have been a difficult adjustment,” Morgan offers.
“It wasn’t as hard as you might think. But some aspects were hard— dealing with this, for example. Dealing with the loss of others you’re close to. It’s rough at times,” I say, taking another deep breath. “Then other times—it’s really awe-inspiring. Witnessing human history from a whole new perspective. This sets off a chain reaction of so many new histories that didn’t exist for us, Thea.”
“I think that’s sorta the point,” she says, smiling softly.
“Very true,” I say, trying to muster a smile back to her.
Suddenly, a gasp from our right has each of us spinning around.
A man dressed in simple, everyday clothing of the time stops in mid-stride. His eyes are locked on the three of us as his gaze flits from person to person.
“What are you looking at?” Thea says without thinking, then covers her mouth. “Ooops.”
“I didn’t think anyone would be coming this way. We must look so strange to him. Give me a moment,” I say, walking from the women over to the men.
“Who… who are you?” The man says in his native Aramaic language.
Raising my hands in the air, I use the same native tongue to say, “We are angels of the Lord, here to watch over the dying son of God.”
At first, he flicks his eyebrows upward in surprise. But upon reflection of what I’ve said, they lower in consternation and he says, “You are no angels. Where are your wings?”
“We don’t have wings,” I say, trying to sound reasonable. “As beings of God, we can do everything wings would offer—and then some.”
The man narrows his gaze “I don’t believe you. Guards—”
I take a step toward him, my hands raised. “Please. Don’t draw attention.”
“Thieves—they are here to plunder Jesus’s tomb!” he yells.
“What is he saying?” Thea demands, her eyes wide.
Looking over my shoulder, I say, “He thinks we’re here to plunder Jesus’s tomb. He’s yelling for the Roman guards.”
“Plunder the tomb? We most certainly are not,” Thea says, then screws up her face. “Okay, yeah, I guess we sorta are.”
“Thea,” Morgan says. “I think you need to get us out of here.”
“And go where?” she says, surprised.
Twisting around to her, I nod in agreement. “This won’t be good. We need to make it to the tomb and hope for the best.”
“What if they’re not done shrouding him up or whatever?” Thea says, backing away.
“Guards!” the man continues to yell, waving his arms in the air.
Stepping toward her, I grab hold of her hand and Morgan does the same.
“Just get us out of there. The other side of the tomb or something,” I say urgently.
“God, okay. Here goes nothing,” Thea says, closing her eyes.
The momentum of moving through space is more sluggish this time, like moving through molasses instead of water. But the effects are the same. A moment later, we land toward the top of the tomb. Not quite out of eyeshot, however, if anyone decided to look up.
Scrambling back, I make my way to a rocky outcropping for cover. The two women follow suit.
“What happened to the other side of the tomb?” I spit.
“Well pardon me. I couldn’t see that far. I’m just getting used to this whole thing. I didn’t want us to end up stuck in the middle of a boulder or something. I sent us as far as I could,” Thea whispers loudly.
“You guys shut up. You’re making too much noise. They’ll hear us,” Morgan says, eyeing us both.
She’s right. The Roman guards leave their posts, edging a bit past the entrance of the tomb to have a look around. So far, neither of them thinks to look up. The man who encountered us is st
ill screaming, but from this distance I can’t tell what he’s saying. Something about angels, though.
Perhaps this will further our cause, in any case. Give it an air of credibility.
We slide down behind the rocks, facing the opposite direction from the front of the tomb and the screaming man.
“How long are we going to have to sit here like this?” Thea finally asks after a couple of minutes.
I shrug. “Shouldn’t be long now. They’ll be wrapping up his body and they’ll take their leave. Once that happens, the door will be sealed.”
“Good, because I’m sweating buckets here,” Thea mutters, wiping a strand of hair from her face.
“Just be grateful it’s not mid-day. It would be a lot worse,” I say, shooting her a half smile.
“I shudder to even think,” she says.
Morgan leans her back against the stone and closes her eyes.
“You okay?” I ask.
Tilting her head back up, she exhales loudly. “Yes, just a little anxious to get back home. I thought I’d enjoy this, but being here ties my stomach in knots.”
“It’ll be over soon. Thank you for being here. Truly—I couldn’t have done this without the two of you.”
“Don’t get too excited. We haven’t succeeded yet,” Thea warns. “Don’t jinx us.”
“Noted,” I say.
The yelling of the man across the field has subsided, and we sit in silence for a few more moments, waiting for our opportunity to arise. When the commotion of the others filing out of the tomb filter through the air, I tap both women on the knee.
“They’re leaving now. Next, they’ll seal the tomb. That’s when we can get in unnoticed,” I say.
Sure enough, the sounds of grunting filter into the air, along with the crunching of sand and stone.
“I think we should have a little fun. Don’t you?” Thea says, her eyes sparkling.
“Fun? Fun how?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
“Well, we want to make a lasting impression. Don’t we?” She grins, vanishing before our eyes.
She reappears at the edge of the cavern, taking a step toward the large bounder blocking the door.
“Hiya fellas,” she says, placing her hands on her hips.
The boulder slams into place and the two men yell out in surprise. “Who are you? Get down from there—”
“I’m an angel of the Lord,” Thea says, somehow using perfect Aramaic as she crouches down on top of the large stone rock covering the tomb’s entrance. “I’m here to guard the body of God’s son so he may rise again and bring glory to this world. I have news for you, so listen well…”
“Seize her!” one of the guards calls out.
“This man—Jesus—was the son of God. He was brought here to show you what the world could be. All religions—every single one—are simply aspects of his love and devotion. None is greater than the other. Remember that,” she says, speaking fluently and eloquently.
The two men step back, their facial expressions ashen and indignant at the same time.
“Buh-bye gentleman,” Thea says, switching back to English as she waves at them with the tips of her fingers. Before their eyes, she vanishes, but she simply makes her way back to us with a big Cheshire grin. “Okay, all done. Are you guys ready?”
“Yes, the sooner we do this, the better,” I say, chuckling slightly under my breath.
“Oh my. Agreed,” Morgan says, standing up.
The three of us link arms and before I can even close my eyes, we’re spinning from the top of the cavern system and manifesting inside the tomb.
22
Morgan
Thea’s power is rising fast now that she’s found her center. She doesn’t even give a second thought to how she’s going to take us with her. She simply closes her eyes and we’re sucked into the vortex that is her gift.
This time, I’m a bit more prepared for the sensation of it, and I land with a better foothold. The two of them also land beside me, their hands still intertwined with my own.
“Holy—it’s pitch black in here,” Thea whispers, dropping her grasp.
“Well, it’s not like there are windows, is it?” Braham says, taking out his cell phone and flipping its flashlight on.
When it floods the space, it lands on Jesus’s body wrapped up in linens and adorned with flowers. Braham inhales sharply and takes a step back.
“Are you okay?” I ask, placing my hand on his shoulder.
He swallows hard, “Yes. At least I will be once we get him out of here.”
Thea walks over to Jesus and places a hand alongside his carotid artery.
“He’s not dead yet, but his pulse is very faint,” she warns, looking up with concern in her eyes.
“Hurry—let’s get the shroud off. It needs to stay behind as proof of his rising,” I say, walking to him and unwrapping it near his feet.
The two of them join me, gently unwrapping Jesus’s body from the fabric.
“We’re getting you some help,” Braham whispers, bending in and speaking next to Jesus’s ear.
He doesn’t move or make any sign he’s in there—or hears Braham in any way. The color in what I can only imagine were sun-kissed cheeks has all but faded into a sickly, greenish pallor.
“How long do you think he has?” I whisper, eyeing Thea.
“Not long,” Braham answers. “We need to get him out of here so we can get him seen by a doctor.”
“What will we tell them? Hey, sorry, our guy here was tortured and hung on a cross?” Thea asks, her eyes wide. “Yeah, ‘cause that won’t set off any alarm bells.”
“Let’s cross that bridge when we get there,” Braham says, pulling the fabric from Jesus’s hands.
There’s a commotion outside, and Thea’s eyes widen. “They wouldn’t try coming in here, would they?”
“Who knows? Maybe if they hear us talking,” Braham mutters.
“Dammit,” Thea curses. “We need to haul some ass here.”
“There’s no precedent for them opening the tomb early, guys. I wouldn’t worry,” I begin.
The boulder covering the entrance shudders, and all three of us freeze.
“Or maybe they will?” I squeak.
“Holy shit. Quick, everyone, place a hand on Jesus and the other on me. We need to get out of here,” Thea cries, reaching out a hand.
Suddenly, dust begins to fall, and the sounds of dirt crunching fills the space.
Thea whimpers, and both Braham and I exchange looks of terror.
“For God’s sake. Quickly, Morgan, you’re up. You better have a good foothold on the future because we need to get us outta here,” Thea says.
She places her left hand on Jesus’s forehead and reaches the other out for Braham. He nods, placing his hand along Jesus’s torso as he grabs hold of her outstretched hand. I barely have enough time to place my hand on Jesus’s knee and touch Braham’s shoulder before the boulder slides completely from the opening. The room vibrates, and Thea’s power bursts forth, sucking us from this time and space. I didn’t even see who had opened the tomb or gotten an idea of why. Hell, my mind hadn’t even had the opportunity to prepare itself for the voyage home.
Everything is off center as we tumble through space and time—disjointed and disassembled. I get snippets of time—different pieces of history from the various timelines. Maybe even the various realities, because some of them don’t make any sense.
As we move through time, things are different for how we navigate the waters. The clarity brought between the tandem of Gabe and Braham’s powers is no longer there, and I realize it’s all on me to be the bridge back. I always called myself the bridge, but until now, I had no idea just how right that really was. It’s the reason I came with them. Maybe the whole reason I was put on this path.
In the snippets, I get visions of Braham walking down a stone pathway, holding hands with a little brown-haired boy. Then I see Bea morph from her older self to a young woman with brown hair and bangs th
at slightly cover her shocking blue eyes. My memory tickles at the imagery like a déjà vu I can’t quite put my finger on. Before I have time to assess it, she reaches out for Braham’s hand and the two of them merge with an image of Jesus resting on the stone slab we just took him from. As if, together, they were somehow a part of the greater picture.
Shaking away the strangeness, I try to narrow my focus on the sanctuary, our time—our place. I envision Gabe and the others as vividly as I can. As if on cue, the seas of time begin to settle and a tunnel of bright light opens up inside my mind’s eye. At first, it’s a pinpoint of light—a speck in the overarching darkness. Then it begins to grow, getting bigger and bigger until I can make out something standing in the middle of the light.
Narrowing my mind’s eye, I realize it’s Gabe’s shape taking form in the center of the light. Suddenly, the uncertainty that gripped me dissipates and I focus on getting to the other end of the tunnel. Getting back to him—to feel him in my arms and know that I’m safe. That we’re all safe.
With that, the exertion propels us forward in time, and we topple over one another as we reach our destination.
“Morgan,” Gabe says, rushing to my side. He reaches out, wrapping his strong hands around my forearms as he helps me stand back up.
“Gabe, I’m so happy to see you,” I say, wrapping my arms around him and falling into his embrace.
He doesn’t say a word, just holds me tightly and presses his lips to the top of my head.
“Guys, Jesus doesn’t have much time. We need to get him to a hospital, STAT,” Thea says behind us, an air of panic rising in her voice.
“Move over people, give me some room,” Bea says, pushing herself to a stand and hobbling her way to the man dying on the floor.
The four of us back up, giving Bea some space. Braham watches her closely, his face bunched in a frown the entire time.
“Bea, what is it you’re—” he begins.
She shoots him a look and I swear her blue eyes sear right through him. “Abraham, I don’t question your gifts; don’t question mine,” she says.
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