Pilate

by Reverend Steven Rage

  The father beheld it with bleary eyes. His thoughts were scattered, unclear. His belly was taut and bloated, but empty of food. Sounds of chaos reigned outside. The hovel was shared with the remaining members of his clan.

  Jerusalem was falling. The unclean swarmed the Holy City and razed Yahweh’s Temple to the ground. The siege bore fruit, bedlam was all around them. It was as if an ancient and unforgiving evil was unleashed. All, he knew, was lost.

  The baby’s father went to the fire. The clan gazed at him with crazed, starving eyes. The midwife stood beside the fire, stoked flames. She was a member of the father’s clan and there to help with the delivery. The offer for her expertise an unusual one, but it made her grateful beyond words. They offered her something far more valuable than gold in these days. Woe unto thee, O Jerusalem.

  She stirred the water to boil. The midwife looked to the father with the last of her tears. Screams bounced off the outside walls of their barricaded hovel. The Romans beyond were furious and unrestrained.

  They were coming.

  Even though the Romans neared; the clan was far too weak to run. They had nowhere to go. The Romans will brutally roll over them in a swarm. The father knew his women would soon be savagely raped and most likely killed. He will taste a blade himself before long. His whole family wiped out.

  But they won’t be hungry when the Romans finally arrive on their doorstep.

  The father went to the midwife. He couldn’t look at her. The children of the clan grabbed anything sharp they could find. They hovered over mother’s dead body. They began with her legs, worked their way up, seeking meat.

  At the fire water boiled rapidly. The father stood beside it. He stared hard at the bubbling water, seeking answers not forthcoming. The father could hear his dead wife being cut into, quartered by her own children. His mouth involuntarily watered at the sound of flesh carved.

  He gazed at the half-dead newborn vampire in his arms. The baby will save them. He will keep them alive for a time.

  And into the pot it did go.

  * * *

  Every disciple was present except Pedro. They were talking when Immanuel came in without him. Very unusual this was. They traveled always about together did Immanuel and Pedro. They asked after him. She did not want to talk about it. She loved them, so she told the disciples Pedro was lost. She knew he would eventually find the Way again.

  Immanuel told her disciples Pedro quit. The restaurant manager made sure a side-table was heavy laden with buffet. The disciples filled plates and cups. They milled about, some standing, others sitting. Most were discussing Pedro. Giving each other non-informed guesses as to where he was, why he’s not with them.

  Judas paced nervously, worrying a thumbnail. Immanuel sat, eating and drinking nothing. She watched Judas closely, stared after him.

  “There is a traitor among us,” she said aloud. Everyone stopped, Judas included. Still, she stared. Silence. “So,” she continued, “you have found your price, then?”

  Judas’ heart raced. Those eyes of hers bore a hole into him. He heard her voice in his head. The voice of Immanuel and sharp, precise images were inside him. And all the while she stared unabashedly at Judas. Immanuel poured images of carnival rides into him.

  A beautiful carousel, spinning colors frozen in fanciful poses to delight the crowd. The crowd consisted of people of every gender, age and hue. Every beautiful horsey taken except one or two, but none for Judas.

  The voice of her in his head told him he had no more turns; had already had. He missed the boat. Judas was fresh out of tickets to ride and she don’t care. His hand stamp was no longer valid. He was no longer welcome and being turned away. Heaven had a strict ‘no hand stamp’ policy. No shirt, no shoes, no hand stamp…no dice.

  It was time for Judas to go.

  “Get ye to your masters and earn thy reward,” Immanuel commanded. She sat still before the hushed room. “Go ye now.”

  Judas obeyed. With his head lowered subordinately, he left the room.

  The remaining ten disciples all spoke at once. Immanuel gave them a few moments to vent. After, she bid them to sit near and still. She needed to tell them of something they would not like. She needed to say goodbye.

  “The time is nigh that all should be accomplished,” Immanuel told them. “This will be our last evening together.” She raised her hand to stem the flood, let her draw thoughts to a close. “A sacrifice is demanded and I am such.”

  The disciples stopped chewing, their drink left standing.

  Immanuel hinted the last three years that time given to her by the Father was finite. The disciples believed she’s the Child of God. That their ministry the focus, Immanuel their charismatic leader and not truly a sacrifice. They didn’t believe she would have to pull a Jesus, as it were. They never figured she would leave. Not in a literal sense.

  Although Immanuel dumbfounded them, they were approaching the turnstile of understanding. The hollow chill nestled in the pits of their stomachs, the black-lit hand stamp. They had come early to the carnival, the first ones in. Their horsies were stunningly beautiful.

  All disciples, save Judas, were born and raised in The Harbor. Most weren’t raised in church. Their devotion to her was difficult for many to comprehend. Immanuel did. She knew her people and understood them. She knew trust was hard fought and rarely won where they lived.

  Her disciples had to peep her out for a good long minute. They needed to see for themselves how many layers of bullshit encased her. They needed to see if she could speak their dialect, talk to the people.

  Later, the disciples apologized for not dropping instantly all to follow her. Immanuel smiled and told them is she wanted or needed blind devotion she could call upon her Father, who art in Heaven. Legions of angels of every stripe would have descended to her.

  “Question always,” she told shocked ears, “Especially those who claim a calling. Any man of God in whom intent is not pure, will become angry when questioned. Purge ye of these,” she said, “wipe them from thy feet.”

  It was not long before she passed scrutiny and they did believe. She was worthy of their respect and admiration. She was better than they and, without wavering, the disciples did believe.

  Judas wasn’t from The Harbor. No one (with the exception of Immanuel, who seemed to read motives easy as pie) knew where Judas came from. He simply showed up one day and Immanuel took him in. She gave to him charge of donations and other duties specific to being treasurer.

  Judas obviously scorned La Raza. He dealt only in money aspects. He was good at it, too. The ministry never went without.

  They became less surprised as time passed. Consensus was that Judas was embezzling funds with the aid of an outside party and Immanuel found out. That’s what they guessed at any rate. No one much cared, however. The disciples never really liked Judas. He’s good with money, but so were lots of people. Judas was tolerated by them because of Immanuel. That was the only reason.

  Pedro’s a different story. Him, they cared about. He was vitally important to all of them.

  Pedro was Immanuel’s first disciple. Most knew Pedro from before, as someone to avoid at all costs. He was mean, nasty and scary for reals. Pedro used to be a big, bad dope fiend. It was as if she had located the best example of a lost sheep and was able to bring him into the fold. It wordlessly spoke volumes about her. She turned a sinner to a saint. She elevated Pedro above the others who followed after; the ten.

  Pedro was the one the disciples knew their Lord and Savior loved the most. They begrudged him not. Until today, he never let any of them down. Pedro had them all quite worried.

  “You will see your brothers again,” Immanuel assured them, reading their hearts, “Judas soon and Pedro after a time.”

  Immanuel rose, bid them stay seated. She held out her hands and a simple wooden bowl appeared in them. Before their very eyes the disciples witnessed the bowl filling with warm water. Pleasant scent and wisps of steam danced above the water’s surfac
e. A thick stack of fluffy hand towels appeared on the table beside her.

  “Ye have not given me pause,” she told them. She bent before Tomas, who was seated closest. “Ye have proven yourselves Children of the Lord.”

  She dipped a clean towel into the bowl. Tomas gasped when he realized what she meant to do to him. He was appalled when his Savior washed his feet.

  “Master!” he exclaimed, the verge of panic, “Please don’t. I should be washing your feet.” He looked at her. He said: “I am nothing.”

  “You are wrong,” she replied, “You are everything. All of you are. Why else would I have come again?”

  Tomas doubted. He knew his place and was happy with his lot. Having his feet washed by a Holy Person was difficult to swallow.

  “Tomas, Tomas,” she told him, placing dainty fingers on his neck. “Do not fear, for this I shall do to all of you,” she continued, knowing his heart, “For I love all of you so very much.” Tomas was still uncomfortable with the act. She glanced at him as she finished the ritual, dried his feet. Tomas’ feet were very warm. All nerves upstream tingled delightfully. “As I do unto you, so shall ye unto even the most despicable of sinners.” She stopped. Immanuel looked serious, all business. She said: “It is what religion has forgotten and what is necessary to bring upon this Earth my Father’s Holy Kingdom.

  “The circle has drawn its final turn,” she continued as she stood before the ten, “Soon I will be gone.” She held up a finger. A red drop of her blood beaded. “I require great things from you, my most beloved,” she told Tomas, “Canst thou do of this?”

  “By your strength, yes,” he replied.

  “I am the Blood and the Life,” she told him, “And by my strength, ye shall.”

  Immanuel polished her lips with the drop of blood from her fingertip. She clutched Tomas by his face. Heat rose such as prayer from her. All broke out in an instant sweat. Immanuel leaned in and kissed her disciple’s lips. She held his face fast. He quavered rigidly. His eyes rolled up, so only the whites could be seen. She rose.

  “By this time tomorrow, I will be gone,” she told them. “From that day forward, all of you will by my representatives and thus stewards of the Chosen Ones.” Immanuel cooled the shivered Tomas’ sweaty brow with bottled water and her sweet baby’s breath. “Ye shall live long; have health, strength and courage in abundance. Ye shall follow the leader I appoint and care for our people.” She announced: “Ye shall become Apostles.”

  Tomas slowed his shaking. His eyes pointed forward once more. She smiled at Tomas and he back.

  “Be ye a good steward, Tomas,” she commanded.

  “I will,” he declared before his brothers and sisters in Christ. She saw he would.

  Immanuel focused her attentions on the remaining nine.

  “To all of you I give these gifts,” she told them.

  The nine waited patiently and excited/nervously to be washed, blessed by their Lord and Savior. They understood. She knew they would.

  “Andrea,” Immanuel began, “my most beloved.”

  Immanuel held up her finger. A drop of blood beaded.

  Judas hit SEND.

  He watched the restaurant from across the street, hidden in a filthy darkened alleyway. Immanuel and the ten just left. Pain blossomed black and red in the vampire’s belly. He knew not yet why.

  Matthias answered straightaway:

  “Yes?”

  “She’s leaving now.”

  “She? By herself?”

  “No. All of them. Us.”

  “How will Herod’s police know which one she is?”

  “Herod’s police? I thought you said she would be in Pilate’s custody.”

  “She will be once he arrives. The police are on hand to keep anyone from interfering.”

  Judas thought. Then:

  “I’ll embrace her that will be the signal.”

  “Good. I’ll make sure everyone is ready.”

  One more thing: “I honestly don’t know how her followers will react when she’s arrested. They are very devoted to her. They might try something….heroic.”

  “That’s why we will have Herod’s police display a show of force.”

  “I see.”

  “Almost done, Judas. You still with us?”

  Pause.

  “Yes,” he assured, “All the way.”

  Judas hit END. His belly really hurt.

  W ith opened eyes and a sharp breath, Pilate regained consciousness. His phone rang. He looked around at the night, still in the grocery store parking lot. Phone was being insistent. The new vision was still fresh in Pilate’s head.

  I was their food, for fuck’s sake, he thought and reached for the resolute ringing.

  Pilate answered the phone, listened to Matthias. He disconnected and dropped the phone.

  The car started, he shoved it into gear. The Harbor was quiet at the moment. Pilate squealed his tires angrily, to the dogs’ great displeasure.

  “With an embrace,” he spat, quick-shifting through the column. “What a cute bunch of assholes.”

  G ethsemane Chapel was deserted this night. Immanuel chose the small church for that precise reason. She needed to be undisturbed for, at least, two hours to unburden herself to the Father before the last act commenced.

  Two hours is what Immanuel needed. What she got was only a few minutes.

  The police pulled up in undercover sedans. They squealed to a stop in the chapel parking lot, keeping engines idling.

  Judas came toward them from across the street. The police watched him come. There were eight of them, all in plain clothes. Not officially on duty. It was gang shit. She wasn’t going to be arrested and taken to jail. No media will even know what’s going to happen to the Christ.

  Judas stopped himself in front of the cop the rest deferred to. The one in charge barely listened as Judas relayed the game plan. The leader nodded his head with derision and dismissed Judas, almost out of hand. They have been given their orders already, direct from the big man himself. And Herod said they could have a wee bit of fun with the girl before bringing her in. She just had to be breathing and conscious when handing her over to the Mayor.

  Judas was irritated at not being listened to, but let it slide. He shouldn’t care how these pricks act now. After this bit of business was completed, Judas planned on requesting Matthias for these here clowns. Judas shall enjoy making the macho dumbshits do his bidding.

  For now, he waited, outside in the parking lot, for the Christ to come to him.

  Pilate slowed to a crawl and doused headlights as he approached the chapel. Out of habit, Pilate parked a ways up the block, under cover of a shotout street lamp.

  He exited the car, stood still and silent. He raised his nose to the night and sniffed. They were all present. Pilate walked slowly toward the rendezvous point, up around the corner ahead.

  Pilate felt strung out. His body still held the golden glow of rich, saturated blood, but his mind was weary. He supposed it was the past-life visions he’d been having since she touched him. The visions were strange, like dreams. You inherently knew more than just what you saw. He knew the location, the year in which each vision occurred.

  Including his present life, Pilate was a cat with nine lives. Eight visions in the last…had to think…Pilate stopped. It’s hard to believe it has only been a couple of days.

  He wanted to know why she did it to him. That was exactly what he was going to find out from her. Pilate really, really wanted her to tell him why.

  Pilate walked until he heard a sound coming from the chapel. He cocked his ears and listened, vampire hearing bringing it crisply to him.

  “Aw, FUCK,” under his breath.

  Pilate was a blur as he ran. The ten circled around Immanuel, sending their magus to her. She prayed fervently. They all now knew what was coming. She’d shared her knowledge with the disciples and they understood. They were able to comprehend the magnitude and the necessity of her sacrifice.

  They would
help her in any way she dictated. They knew something was coming, just as the missing Pedro predicted. They knew this something was, in fact, very nearly here.

  Time was up. She closed the circle and the energy brought down to lower, less dangerous levels. Then she stamped it back into the Earth. El Cristo was grounded, had her game face on.

  Immanuel placed a spell of protection over the chapel. She hugged fiercely the ten who would stay behind. Immanuel knew and she shared with them this. If they left the chapel before the morn, they would all die.

  The ten, now blessed with insight and understanding, would comply. They prayed all should be accomplished. They’ll stay the night in the tiny church and send their love to her, so she shan’t be completely alone. The will not, for any reason, leave the chapel before dawn.

  They entered Gethsemane Chapel as disciples of Immanuel. They now understood they would leave as Apostles. Then wait for their new leader to emerge; the one she has chosen for them.

  “Remember, all of you, my Father’s house has many rooms,” she told them with naught but a single tear, “I wish it filled. Go ye therefore and be fishers of men,” sayeth Immanuel. “Fill thy nets with souls and bring them unto me, so they may have life eternal.”

  The ten watched stoically as she pushed open the door. They saw plainclothes cops waiting in the parking lot. The police looked at each other wondering if Immanuel was the one. She held the door open and Judas walked toward her. He put his arms out to her.

  Immanuel glanced back briefly. Her hooded eyes regarded them with wisdom and power. She loved them so.

  “Be well,” she said. El Cristo lowered her head. Her long raven hair fell down her face. With a submissive posture, she stepped outside. Her disciples let her go, the hardest thing they ever had to do.

  The door shut. It locked with a loud click reverberating throughout the small church. Pilate stopped at the corner. What he saw Herod’s cops doing was distasteful and enough. In two heartbeats he was by her side.

  Judas saw her. She opened the door to the

  chapel and peered out. He walked toward her. She peeked back inside, spoke to them. The disciples were not coming out, she goes this alone.