2 The Judas Kiss

by Angella Graff

  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.

  He had to almost fight it, fight to regain control of his senses as he remembered that he was there for a reason. He had limited time, he was alone, and he was going to have to fight her, this entity embodying his sister that he had thought long dead. He was shaking now, as he ran his hand along the crease in the wall. His fingers felt the depression in the drywall before he realized it, and without warning, the wall gave a
pop, and the panel shifted forward, almost knocking Ben off his feet.

  It shifted forward next, startling Ben, and he gave it a shove with one hand, holding his gun in front of him tightly in the other; positive there would be someone or something waiting in the shadows for him. There was a staircase, he saw, barely wide enough for a person to walk down, and it was dark. He wasn’t sure how many stairs descended, but he could barely make out a flicker of light under the doorway at the very end.

  This was it, he realized. This was the final moment when either he was going to die, or Nike was going to be stopped and Mark and Judas were going to come home. Ben forced himself to have confidence that he could take her. If he got the jump on her, before she was able to use her powers, he could stop her. He didn’t have to kill Abby in order to so, just incapacitate her long enough to get Mark and Jude out.

  Toeing off his shoes at the landing, Ben tiptoed down, making no noise as he approached. He held his breath, praying to any and every deity he could remember, including the ones he was waiting on to show up, that he was still shielded from Nike’s prying mind. She hadn’t been able to sense him before, but it was possible she knew someone was there. Someone human. Someone who didn’t belong. And now that Ben could feel her, he realized, it was possible she could feel him. He couldn’t worry about that now, however, because he was there, and it was time. There was no turning back.

  Ben took a breath, and with steeled nerves, he gave the door a shove with his hip and stumbled in. Ben had the advantage of being on his feet, gun pointing, eyes desperately trying to adjust to the dim light of the room, and Nike was there.

  She looked almost unconcerned at his presence, seated against the wall in an unflattering red dress, legs crossed out in front of her. She gave a lazy wave of her hand, almost knocking the gun away from Ben, but he had been prepared for her.

  He held on tight, fighting her power mentally, and though his body went in the direction of the gun, he held fast to it, his eyes fixed on her. He lost his breath for a moment, as his eyes fixed on the image of his sister. She was there, she was alive, she was scarred and her hands were trembling, but it was her. Safe. Alive. Abby.

  It’s not Abby, he told himself harshly as he righted his posture. He couldn’t think of her as the girl he had practically raised. Of the girl he’d lost, mourned and buried. He took in a deep breath as she climbed to her feet, wincing as her back gave a loud pop, and he willed himself to separate Abby from the monster controlling the body.

  “Oh look, your rescue team is here.” She stretched her arms up, groaning, and winked at Ben. “Army of one, is it?” Nike asked, glancing over at Mark.

  Ben’s eyes followed Nike over to the man behind the desk, taking a quick assessment of his injuries. Burned from the explosion, his skin was healing, but not quickly. His jaw was also swollen, Ben assumed broken or at least fractured, and his hands were trembling from the pain he was clearly in. He looked weak, his eyes darting to the floor where the crumpled body lay.

  Judas was in a far worse way. Blood was caked on his face, his mouth contorted, and every so often his body would jerk with spasms. He’d clearly been drugged with something vile, as Alex had said, and the man was completely incapacitated. Ben’s heart sank when he realized he would have to knock Nike completely out of the game if he was going to have any chance of getting the two of them out and away.

  He also realized right then, with heavy dismay, Alex had the get-away car, and there was no telling when she would be able to return. Ben had made a colossal mistake in going in alone. He almost dropped his gun, but he turned his eyes back to the god inside of his sister, preparing for what he was going to have to do. If taking her out was the only way, Ben was going to have to be ready for it. He steadied his hand, leveling the pistol at her face.

  “We both know you’re not going to kill me,” she said, picking at her nails lazily. “Ben, you’re like this big giant puppy, such a ferocious growl, but such small teeth.”

  “If I have to kill you,” Ben said through clenched teeth, “I will.”

  “Funny,” she said and let out a dry chuckle. “This coming from the man who almost let all of his friends and himself get blown up because he didn’t want to leave poor sissy behind. Never mind she was already dead from that toxic dose of anti-depressants you gave her.”

  Ben’s stomach twisted. “So she is dead.”

  Nike threw her head back and laughed. “Oh maybe, maybe not. Benny boy, just answer me this, are you willing to take that chance? Kill this body? What if she’s still in here, Ben? What if she’s crying out inside of me right now? Save me Ben, please! Save me!”

  Ben gripped the gun tighter and tried to take a step forward, but found his feet rooted to the floor. He grunted, trying to fight against her, but there was no give. “I’ll take you down if I have to,” he repeated, but in that moment he realized he was only saying that to convince himself.

  “You silly little human. So determined. It’s almost sad to have to kill you.”

  “Not if I-” but Ben’s words were cut off as strong, fierce hands closed around his neck, crushing against his windpipe. He hadn’t heard the footsteps behind him, he’d been too caught up with Nike. He fought desperately to stay conscious, to fight, but it was no use. His eyes rolled up in the back of his head and his arms went limp as blackness began to envelope him. His ears rang as he gasped for breath, finding no way to draw air into his lungs.

  He went calm, suddenly and unexpectedly. This was it. He was going to die, and he’d done his best, and this was it. Ben’s eyes flickered closed and his knees went weak. He was ready, he was letting go now. He could hear laughter far off, the sound of his sisters in the distance, a warm light rushing over him, beckoning him.

  Out of nowhere, air began rushing into his lungs as the hands that had been squeezing his neck were ripped away. His throat felt constricted, an aching, searing pain coursing through his body, but he was breathing, gasping in air. He fell to his knees, his arms barely able to support his weight as he gasped and coughed, his vision returning, but blurry. He was dizzy and out of sorts, and barely registered that the gun was still in his hand, hanging limply from his fingers, but he couldn’t make himself move.

  He heard the scuffle before he saw it, the frustrated growl of the god, and then a violent snapping as a bone broke. Ben heard a female voice cry out and he turned his head to see Nike cracking the bones in Alex’s arm and shoulder.

  A giant beast of a man lay on the ground next to Ben, dead, as whatever had been possessing him was gone. He had obviously been a comatose man, an empty vessel for the Greeks, the hands that had been around Ben’s neck now lying still on the concrete floor.

  Ben started to shift back, raising the gun as his strength started to return slowly, and as he did, Nike’s pointed heel kicked backwards, cutting into his hand, sending the gun flying across the room.

  “Mark,” Ben gasped, desperate for help, but when he looked at Mark, it was clear the writer was glued to his seat. Ben could see the strain on Mark’s muscles as he attempted to rise from the chair, but he was frozen by Nike’s power.

  Aching all over, head swimming, Ben struggled across the floor and grabbed the gun, flipping around to use the wall to support his back as he steadied himself. He closed one eye in an attempt to clear his double vision and he saw Nike with one hand around Alex’s neck and the other on her arm.

  He could hear the popping as Nike crushed the bones along Alex’s elbow, and Alex’s face was purple as she slowly lost consciousness. It was a sudden realization that shook Ben; she was going to die, Olivia was going to die and Thor was going to be expelled from the body, and without another host for Thor, Ben would be next.

  Without any other choice, without a single other option and no time to seek one out, Ben raised his gun and fired it. His aim was shoddy at best, but the bullet found purchase, lodging in Abby’s back. Nike let out a short cry of surprise, but before the god could react, Ben fired a second shot into the
back of her neck, and Abby’s body crumpled to the ground, Alex falling down on top of her.

  Ben sank further into the floor, the gun still in his hand, and he let out a cry as he watched Abby’s chest rise and fall, only once, and then stop. He dropped his gun with a piercing metal clang, his hand clapping over his mouth to stop from screaming, and he looked at Mark who was now able to rise from his chair.

  Falling to his knees, Mark crawled over to the fallen bodies, gently pulling Olivia’s body off of Ben’s sister. He laid her down gently on the concrete, just a few spaces away from Judas, who was still unconscious, but breathing steadily.

  There was no numbness, no shock this time as Ben watched the blood pour from his sister’s back and neck, a river across the dark concrete, nearly reaching his shoes. He wanted to move, he wanted to get up, to do something, anything, but he was frozen to the spot.

  “Can’t he…” Ben finally managed, looking over at Judas. “Even if he’s not awake? Mark?!”

  Mark shook his head, his face a mask of grief as he touched the side of Abby’s neck. There was clearly no pulse, Ben expected none, but he needed a miracle. He couldn’t lose her again. He wasn’t sure if there was a soul left in her, but he had to try something. Anything. He couldn’t let her go, not when he was this close.

  “I’m sorry,” Mark said, barely able to move his jaw. “He can’t do anything if he’s not conscious.”

  “Wake him up then!” Ben cried. “Just… wake him up! It can’t end like this Mark!”

  Mark winced, but then his face lit up and he stared at Ben with wide eyes. He licked his lips and cleared his throat, forcing his jaw more open as he spoke, despite the obvious agony it caused. “You might be able to take it, Ben.”

  Ben frowned. “What? What do you mean take it? Take what?” He felt on the verge of hysteria as he got up onto his knees, ignoring his pant leg as it trailed into some of Abby’s spilled blood. “Mark!”