Dark Resurrection

by Frederick Preston

  * * *

  The next evening, a resigned Jesus listened to reason, the couple leaving the cemetery and making their way from the city, heading north on a Roman highway leading to Nazareth. At his side, he was carrying a leather satchel acquired from Pharisee Annas’ house. Originally used for Torah scrolls, it now held their change of clothing, and money they had come across, so to speak, in recent times.

  “Where are we going?” Mary asked, walking the dark road.

  “I figured I’d stop by Nazareth before pressing on further. See mother and dad; kill a few enemies, things like that.”

  “You are a vengeful bastard aren’t you?”

  “Let’s say I’m not the man I once was.”

  “That’s the truth, so, what happened to that idea you told us about called karma, when we were sitting at the shore of Lake Galilee?”

  “I imagine the concept of karma applies only to those who are alive,” a bitter Jesus declared, recalling his journeys through India and his ill-fated ministry in southern Galilee.

  “Don’t you still believe in karma?”

  “I don’t know what to believe in anymore; I tried to spread good karma during my days as a preacher and all it brought me was death.”

  “In other words, karma’s bullshit?” Mary asked, hoping he would deny her words.

  “More than likely,” said Jesus, at times wishing he had never bothered with his ministry, his father’s prophetic words of doom constantly repeating in his mind.

  As they continued along, a thought crossed the Magdalene’s mind. Her friend, Jesus the vampire, was slaughtering his enemies at an alarming rate, and with his peculiar method of selecting them, she wondered what they would do for sustenance after he finished killing them all.

  She thought about this for a while, and asked, “What are we going to do for food when you run out of enemies to devour?”

  “We’ll find more. People like Judas and the Pharisees are all over the place.”

  Mary, reflecting as they walked the dark and lonely road, found to her chagrin that she agreed with him.

  The first few hours of their trip were uneventful, the couple strolling in the darkness until they came upon a wooded area near the Jordan River. Out of nowhere appeared a pair of highwaymen, bent on robbery. Jesus eyed the pair warily and asked, “What brings you across our path strangers?”

  “You,” answered one, a Samaritan, eyeing the attractive Mary.

  “Really,” said Jesus, knowing exactly what they were after, having dealt with robbers before. “What do you want with us?”

  “Keep your mouth shut and give us your valuables, Jew,” a Syrian confederate snarled, Jesus rolling his eyes at the ignorance of the thieves, unable to recognize a Levite when they saw one.

  “Why don’t you take them from us?” the Magdalene asked, Jesus smiling and allowing Mary to play her game.

  “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  “She’s a smart one isn’t she?” the Samaritan observed, lust in his eyes, walking over and taking her by the waist as Jesus stood looking to the sky.

  “This cowardly Jew won’t even defend her,” said the Syrian.

  “I’m a Levite actually, and I’m certain she can defend herself,” Jesus retorted with narrowed eyes, paralyzing the Syrian with a cold stare.

  “You’re a good looking bitch,” said the Samaritan, not realizing that for all practical purposes, he was alone, the thought of rape crossing his mind.

  “Really,” replied the Magdalene as the Samaritan started kissing her neck. She looked to Jesus over the thief’s shoulder, bared fangs and plunged them deep in the neck of her assailant, draining him in seconds as the terrified Syrian looked on in horror. She dropped the body to the pavement and said, “That was delicious, now it’s your turn.”

  “Yes,” said a smiling Jesus, looking to the Syrian. “You love to play games with them don’t you?”

  “It’s fun, and better than revenge, don’t you think?”

  “Not really, but I’ll take your word for it,” said Jesus, baring fangs, going for the jugular and sucking the Syrian’s blood. “That was good,” he added in his vampiric monotone, the body collapsing in a heap on the road.

  “We’d best hide these guys so no one can find them,” Mary advised. “Remember, Decius told us leaving bodies all over the place is what tipped them off.”

  “He came in handy didn’t he?” Jesus asked in his Dracula voice.

  “You sound funny again.”

  “Oh,” said an embarrassed Jesus, disguising his voice, “Yes, let’s dump them in the woods,” jerking a thumb in the direction of the trees.

  Grabbing the Syrian by his foot and the Samaritan by his hair, Jesus dragged the corpses from the road, dumping them in a wooded ravine after checking for valuables.

  He had taken to robbing the bodies during the past few weeks, and had already acquired 750 Roman denarii in various currencies from his victims, most notably Pharisee Annas; this was not a small sum of money in those days. A group of jackals prowled in the distance, Jesus noting they would also have a good meal that evening. Returning to the road, he told Mary that he had found shekels, drachmae and jewelry, along with Roman gold aureus and silver denarius coins on the bodies.

  “Ironic,” he observed with a sinister chuckle, “They meant to rob us and we robbed them instead.”

  “We robbed them of more than money, we robbed them of their lives,” she replied, “Incidentally, isn’t our stealing supposed to be a sin according to the Torah?”

  “Who knows and who cares, they’re dead, so I don’t think they’ll have any use for it.”

  “True, I’ve always liked jewelry, can I have it?”

  “Sure,” said Jesus, handing her the baubles.

  Thus were the humble beginnings of their monetary fortune, Jesus usually handling the cash, his lovely consort controlling the jewelry. After a few weeks of night travel by foot and wing, along with the killing and robbing of several highwaymen for pleasure, nourishment and profit, they arrived in Nazareth, his home before he had begun his short-lived ministry.

  Stopping at an inn late in the night, as no tombs or caves were readily available, Jesus purchased lodging from the innkeeper with some of his stolen funds. He also informed him they liked to sleep late in the day, and not to disturb them during their slumber.

  The sleepy innkeeper nodded, the couple heading to their room.

  “Why didn’t you stop at your parent’s house instead of this inn?” Mary asked as he closed the door.

  “It’s very late, and I don’t know what mother may say, showing up like we are now. She was in Jerusalem at the time of my crucifixion, and probably heard the rumors of my resurrection,” said Jesus, sitting down in a dilapidated chair.

  “So what, you said you’d resurrect, why should it bother her?”

  “I don’t think she imagined I’d return as a vampire,” answered Jesus, “If we come early tomorrow evening it may be easier for me to inform her of that, and not risk harm to ourselves if she and dad find it unacceptable.”

  “If they don’t, why not kill them and be done with it?”

  “Because they are my parents Mary, you will not harm them,” ordered Jesus. She again felt her master’s power, remembering that she must obey him. “Besides,” he added, “There’s plenty of food around here, as most people in this town hated me when I was alive.”

  “So that’s why you went to Capernaum,” said Mary, as if finally solving a puzzle that had eluded her, lying down and relaxing on the bed.

  “That’s right, they wanted to stone me because the town rabbi said I was a blasphemer,” said Jesus, joining her in the bed.

  “Just like the Pharisees, I suppose you want to make them pay for that by killing them all,” said an exasperated Mary.

  “Correct,�
�� Jesus replied, settling into bed for a good day’s sleep.